Chapter Three
Leo hailed a passing hansom cab the moment they reached the sidewalk. As he approached the vehicle and opened the door, Claudine stayed back, bewildered and inexplicably miserable. He was about to pass out of her life as suddenly as he’d passed into it.
Then he turned and reached out to her, his face inscrutable under the diffused light of the streetlamps. “Come. I’ll take you home.”
She placed her hand in his without hesitation and climbed inside the waiting carriage. His touch felt warm, dry, and slightly rough. Her entire arm tingled even after the contact ceased. When he sat beside her on the worn leather bench, she feared he could hear the furious pounding of her idiotic heart.
The trapdoor in the roof slid open, and the cabman’s ruddy face peered down at them. “Drive on for now,” Leo ordered. “We have no destination as yet.”
The craggy face smirked before it disappeared from view. A moment later, the carriage lurched into traffic. Le Chien Vif was soon well behind them.
Leo’s heat and essence permeated the dark confines of the cramped compartment: the scent of lavender bergamot soap and some agreeably male fragrance with notes of clove and cinnamon. Though keenly aware of the importance of the moment, she had absolutely no idea what she should say or how she should behave around him. He didn’t know her.
His low crowned hat left his eyes in shadow, drawing her attention to the stunning profile of his angular jawline, the distinctive curl of his lower lip. His beauty made her acutely aware that her old infatuation had never really disappeared. It had only become irrelevant as time passed and memories faded.
Their chance encounter felt too fortuitous to be random. She’d worshipped him once despite his utter lack of interest in her, and now he’d miraculously reappeared in her life just in time to rescue her. Maybe this would be the beginning of some impossibly romantic tale of predestined love.
“Where can I leave you?” he asked tersely. “I’ll need my ring back.”
How could she be so foolish as to think time might change anything? “Of course.” Vowing silently not to look his way again, she tugged on the ring to remove it, but the fit was snug. Again, she wondered how he’d managed to place it on her finger without her awareness. She angled toward the window and licked her finger surreptitiously to loosen the wretched thing.
That old familiar pain engulfed her, taking her back to the last time she’d seen him in New York. She was fourteen and gawky. He was handsome, witty, and worldly at twenty-one, one of the top students in his class at Harvard. He was going to become a lawyer and fight for social reforms. No one questioned that he could achieve his goal, least of all Claudine. Surely, if anyone could ameliorate suffering and injustice in the world, he could.
Everyone liked him and listened when he spoke. No one listened more intently than she. Whenever he was near, her body would hum with excitement, agitation, and longing.
She didn’t know what exactly she hoped for. They lived in two different countries, and he was much, much older than she. Seven and a half years seemed an insurmountable gap.
But the greatest obstacle by far was his failure to see her as anything but a child. He was so busy reminiscing with her adoptive brother Alexandre, he scarcely spared her a glance.
Aunt Henriette’s invitation to accompany her on her travels the following summer came as a relief as it gave her an excellent reason to forgo the voyage to America and another bitter dose of indifference from Leo. They proved to be ideal travel companions so it took little persuasion to convince her parents to allow her to spend every summer thereafter with her aunt.
With a few concerted twists, his ring slid off at last. Resolving to think no more about her pathetic infatuation, she brushed the ornate item against her skirt a few times and handed it back to him. “I live at 32 rue Duperré.”
While he repeated the address to the cabman, she wondered how much longer she could stay in her apartment. A week? A day? The rent was overdue, and she had no hope of paying it if Le Chien Vif closed down. Did she still have a job there in any case? Technically, she hadn’t met the requirements of Monsieur Giraux’s ultimatum. And what about the other women? She shuddered at the thought of the indignities Nicolina might be undergoing.
“Are you alright?” His deep voice was disconcertingly gentle.
She steeled herself against any sort of reaction to him. “Perfectly.”
“You’re trembling.”
“You are mistaken.” Now she sounded peevish.
“It’s over now. No one is going to hurt you.” There was that soothing tone again, the one that made her want to burrow against him.
“I hope you realize that entire incident was a mistake based on vicious lies.” Even as she made this assertion, doubt made her voice waver. “I think my friend was unjustly arrested…”
“She’ll be fine. I don’t believe the police mean to harm those women. Their methods are unnecessarily rough, but their intentions are reasonable. Prostitutes transmit potentially deadly diseases.”
All desire to burrow ceased. “You’re defending their actions? What gives them the right to make assumptions about every woman there based on circumstance?”
“It may not be fair, but that is the world we live in.”
The quiet bitterness in his voice shifted her view of him into the realm of uncertainty. Maybe his life hadn’t been quite as glamorous as she’d imagined it to be. Why should she wonder about him at all? He was looking out the window as though he’d forgotten about her entirely. More likely, he was eager to be rid of her.
Why had he bothered to intervene in the first place? It would have made sense if he’d recognized her, but she was a stranger to him. Had he merely been motivated by kindness and sympathy when he’d come to her rescue? Somehow she doubted it. “Out of all the girls there, why did you choose to rescue me?”
He shrugged. “You were practically kneeling at my feet. I either had to claim you or step over you in order to leave.”
“I think most men would have had no difficulty stepping over or on me, for that matter.”
He studied her face and frowned. “You’ve known some fine men, I take it.”
She immediately wished she could rescind her last remark. What had possessed her to speak her to speak so openly to him? Now she felt as though he could guess the most shameful thing about her when he was the very last person on earth she would tell. Changing the subject was imperative.
Her attention fell upon the ring she’d returned to him. He wore it on his smallest finger. Dreadful. The showy item seemed out of keeping with his personal style. He wore no other jewelry. His attire looked expensive but subdued. Perhaps the item had a personal or symbolic significance. “Where might one find such a distinctive piece as that?”
He grinned. “Are you in the market for gentlemen’s jewelry?”
“I might be… someday. I was only curious.”
He glanced at his hand with disinterest. “Ah. Well, I have no idea. It was a gift from a dear friend. She had it made for me. I’m not one for jewelry, but the lion’s head is the emblem for my company so it appeals to me.”
Dear friend indeed. What sort of a man accepted expensive gifts from a lady, and what would inspire such generosity?
“I enjoyed your song,” he said abruptly. Now he was the one eager to change the subject.
“Then you would be in the minority.”
“You have great potential, but you would benefit from professional voice training and some… refashioning.”
Career advice. Lovely. Once she’d dreamed of singing spinto soprano roles in the opera, but Papa, a composer, strongly discouraged her ambition. He’d taught her how to read and play a wide range of music and then expected her to be content to sing only at home. She’d felt stunted, and that had strained their relationship, especially in the last year or so.
Now she understood he only meant to protect her from those who would seek to take advantage. How ironic that the exact
thing he’d tried to prevent occurred anyway in the supposed safety of their home. She could see herself as Philippe must have: eager for any bit of encouragement, naive, pathetic.
“You’re shaking your head. You think you’re above that?”
“Not at all. It’s just that the training I’ve had in the past hasn’t done me much good.”
“Well, you ought to demand your money back. Your instructor failed to educate you in even the most rudimentary skills.”
Resentment prickled over her like a heat rash. Wounded pride aside, her future—her survival—depended upon her voice. “I’m surprised you said you liked the song. It seems all you have to offer me is criticism.”
“I have everything to offer you,” he said with such certainty her skin prickled. “But you must be willing to leave behind all that you have here and put yourself completely under my guidance.”
The force of his scrutiny, the sudden tension between them, made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, but she managed to ask, “What exactly are you proposing, monsieur?”
“I own a number of theaters in Manhattan and the eastern seaboard of America, but the newest one will far surpass the others in capacity and grandeur.”
She knew all about his theaters. Maman’s censorious voice echoed through her brain. Leonardo’s theaters were not highly regarded in the Valencourt family.
“When it’s completed, The Elysian will be the most magnificent building in Herald Square—Beaux Arts with a frescoed ceiling, an inlaid marble floor, and eighteen hundred chairs upholstered in silk brocade imported from Lyon. The Austrian crystal chandelier weighs over a ton. I’ll offer only upscale entertainment fit for the entire family. Almost all the acts are lined up for the opening in September, but until now, I haven’t been able to settle upon a main attraction.”
A dreamy look had come into his eyes as he’d recounted the merits of his new venue, but now his gaze rested upon her, practically scorching her with its intensity and leaving little doubt of his intent.
She tried to envision such an absurdity and laughed when she failed. Her mirth lasted no more than a few seconds. It was no match for Leo Barnett’s sober silence. “Isn’t America in the midst of a depression? Who would spend money on entertainment at such a time?”
His slow grin transfixed her. “You are well informed for a cabaret girl.”
“I am capable of reading a newspaper. Many of us are.”
“My business has never been better. I cannot account for people’s priorities.”
“Why would you make me such an offer? You saw how the audience reacted to me. They were bored.”
“They were philistines, and everything was wrong for you—the lighting, your dress, the music, and most of all, that appalling paint on your face.”
At the reminder of her brazen appearance, she casually brushed the back of her hand over her reddened lips. “You said you liked my song.”
“I only liked what I heard in your voice when you sang it, your passion. You must keep that and discard everything else you do. You’ll have to learn how to carry yourself and project your voice. You’ll have to memorize entirely new music. In English… Do you speak any English at all?”
Maman, an American by birth, had spoken to her in English from infancy, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Even though she’d changed physically since the last time he’d seen her, there was still a chance he might realize he knew her if she revealed too much about her background. “A little,” she finally said in French.
“That won’t do. American audiences might be tickled by the occasional French word, but more than that will weary them… I could hire a tutor for you, but I must know you are committed to the idea. Otherwise, I’m wasting my time.”
She could already see he would be impossible to please.
“I thought you might wish to be appreciated for your talents, perhaps even adored. I suppose I was mistaken.”
Both concepts stirred deep yearnings. This theater of his sounded spectacular, and he genuinely seemed to believe she possessed some modicum of talent when no one else did. She didn’t doubt his claims or his judgment. His instincts for success were far better honed than hers. If he felt she had potential, maybe she did.
And he was offering the perfect escape. If she continued to pursue a singing career in Paris, there was always a chance someone might recognize her and link her to her family. She would disgrace them even further. The old rumors about Maman might start up again.
Even worse, she might encounter Philippe again. His contemptuous voice grated in her ears. “I suppose you expect me to make you my wife now.”
Mortification and self-loathing washed through her in a hot, sickening wave. By all outward indications, he should be glad to be free of her, but his nature was cruel. He would take pleasure in her reduced circumstances and do whatever he could to make her suffer further.
In New York, she could reinvent herself entirely and leave everything distasteful behind. Maybe she could even find Alex… “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m ready to leave whenever you wish.”
Her burst of enthusiasm must have been excessive because now he looked wary. “Are you in some sort of trouble? I think you’d better tell me everything about your background. I don’t relish the prospect of angry parents accusing me of abduction.”
As their judgment now stood upon Leo Barnett’s character, her parents might indeed accuse him of that very thing. They’d paid his college tuition because his mother lacked the resources. Leo had been one of Maman’s many causes. “Such a bright boy. Just think how sad it would be if he never realized his potential.”
He lived up to expectations in his first few years at Harvard by excelling in all his courses as well as track and football. As quarterback, he set a new record for the most passing yards in one season. But then in the summer before his final year, he disappeared. His mother feared the worst when he did not return to school. They all did.
About four or five years later his mother spotted his name in The New York World. Leonardo Barnett, thriving impresario lately of San Francisco, was opening a music hall on 23rd Street. He must have charmed the reporter because the story made the commonplace event sound extraordinary, even historic.
Madame Barnett would have found the story astonishing in any case because she’d given up hope that her son was alive. Hurt and resentful but desperate to see him, she went to his opening and confronted him. He apologized for his lack of communication with her but failed to give any reasonable explanation for failing to complete his education, changing his career, and allowing those who loved him to assume he’d died. Claudine heard the whole story from her mother, who denounced Leo as a self-indulgent wastrel and a heartless ingrate.
Heartless or not, Leo never would have offered to make her his main attraction if he’d realized who she was. He would have disentangled himself at once by delivering her safely at home and putting as much distance as possible between them. Her golden opportunity wouldn’t exist.
So she really had no option but to continue pretending she didn’t know him. “I grew up on a farm in Burgundy and moved to Paris after my parents died.”
Her lips felt numb from the utterance of such a disturbing lie. Her parents were in fact alive and well in Switzerland, attending to the latest “crisis” of her younger sister. Only Jacqueline could find so much occasion for drama at a staid finishing school for girls.
“So you are entirely on your own, without attachments of any kind? There is no one who might object to your leaving?”
“No one, monsieur.”
Leo gave her a suspicious look. At that moment the cab turned sharply, and she lost her balance. Almost instantaneously, he gripped her shoulders to steady her. Her breath caught, and she slowly gazed up at him.
He was squinting at the top of her head. “There’s something caught in your wig.”
She’d forgotten she was still wearing the blonde beacon. What a sight she must look. She tried to pull bac
k only to realize he hadn’t let go of her. “I suppose something might have gotten stuck there when I was hiding under the table.” The range of possibilities made her cringe as she felt for the foreign item or substance.
He leaned over her. “Let me see.”
“No need. I’ll attend to the matter when I get home.”
She turned away, but this did nothing to dissuade him. His fingertips foraged through the fake mass of hair. “Stay still. It’s broken glass. I need to remove the wig before it cuts your scalp.”
“There are too many pins. I’ll do it later.”
“Hush. This will only take a moment.” He was surprisingly gentle, his fingers nimbly finding and removing pins along her hairline with an expertise that bespoke much experience with women.
But he seemed to be taking an inordinately long time, and he was far too close in every way. Her gaze settled upon his silk necktie, neatly knotted and striped in a mesmerizing pattern: black, green, blue, green, black, green, blue.
She blinked to clear her vision and focused instead upon the slight indentation in the middle of his chin. Her eyes drifted lower to his strong neck. He’d lifted her so easily. She supposed his entire body would be muscular…
“I think that’s the last of them. And now for this work of art…” Her head felt instantly cooler and lighter as he removed the wig and dropped it by his feet as though it were a rodent carcass. When he looked back at her, she felt utterly exposed. Surely he would recognize her now.
“More pins. No wonder you looked so uncomfortable onstage.” He began to remove the pins binding her hair to her crown. Her scalp tingled with relief as the pins slipped easily away one by one, and an alarming current coursed down her neck and spine.
His woodsy, spicy scent, both refined and darkly mysterious, flooded her senses as he continued his delicate work. Adrift in the strange electricity wrought by his fingertips, she inhaled deeply and felt at once lightheaded. Her long chestnut locks gradually spilled about her face until she was entirely free.
His hands left her entirely, and she suddenly felt the unseemliness of her proximity. Her posture stiffened as she increased the gap between them. “Thank you for your assistance.”
The Rake's Proposition Page 3
