Swansea Destiny
Page 2
A young beauty stood atop a huge table, its base three nude crystal nymphs. Her most recent claim to fame resulted from being hoisted on the trunk of an elephant in a jungle number for the Ziegfeld Follies. But now, waiters poured Jeroboams of the finest French bootlegged champagne into a towering pyramid of crystal glasses on the table, and the girl bent to dispense them, offering the guests enticing views of her scantily clad bosom.
At the other end of the ballroom, a flapper danced atop a gleaming mahogany grand piano, twirling and slapping her derriere in time to "The Black Bottom." As she danced, an admirer grabbed a shapely ankle and she tumbled gaily into his arms.
Jacob Deverell stood to one side of the glittering ballroom and lazily surveyed the chaotic merriment.
It was not yet midnight, but the party was in full swing. All in all, this gathering differed in only two respects from the hundreds of other parties he had given here at SwanSea since he had graduated from Harvard seven years before: It was New Year's Eve, and it was snowing outside.
A fire roared in the mammoth marble fireplace at one end of the room, but no one Jake saw looked as if they needed the warmth of its flames. The fuel of the night was champagne, and it was flowing like Niagara Falls.
Lucas Moran ambled up, an amused expression on his good-looking, intelligent face. "You've got one hell of a volatile mix here tonight, Jake old boy. The corrupt, the powerful, the glamorous, the dangerous, even a damned reporter to cover it all. I think the only groups not represented are nuns and orphans."
"A diverse mix is what gives a party its energy."
Lucas nodded casually. "Energy's nice. Explosive is bad, very bad."
Jake grinned, appreciating both his friend's wit and company. Lucas stood shoulder to shoulder with him and always had, even before they had started school. But where he was powerfully built, Lucas had a wiry grace. And they were different in coloring and temperament. Lucas was light where he was dark. Lucas's eyes were colored like the day, clear and sky-blue. Jake's eyes were like the night sky, black and opaque. Lucas was more cautious, yet at the same time more easygoing. Jake was headstrong and driven, and he freely admitted it.
When they were kids, their mothers called them night and day because, they said, it was sometimes hard to tell where one left off and the other began.
"What in particular is bothering you tonight, Lucas?"
"Two of Wade Scalia's men are here."
"Ram and Barton. I saw them."
"Then why in the hell haven't you thrown them out yet?"
"They're not causing any trouble. I thought I'd let them enjoy the party for a while. They even wore their spats. Elegant, don't you think?"
Lucas chuckled. "Look at them. They're over there flirting with two of last year's debutantes."
Jake's gaze followed Lucas's, then narrowed with cynicism when he saw them. The two girls were having the time of their lives, taking full advantage of the opportunity to have a relatively safe encounter with known gangsters. They were out for a thrill, and they were getting it.
Lucas pulled a slim silver case from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, extracted a cigarillo, and lit it. "And what about Noah Calloway?" he asked after exhaling a stream of smoke.
Viewing Scalia's men as harmless, Jake had lost track of them after their arrival. But at any given moment of the evening he had known where the Treasury agent was. Noah Calloway was a man of medium height and build and had the ability to blend in with any crowd. Right now he was standing beside the entrance to the ballroom, his hands in the pockets of his conservatively cut tuxedo, watching without expression the ebb and flow of the party. A waiter approached and offered him a glass of champagne. Calloway waved him and the bootlegged wine away. Jake smiled. Calloway was obviously out for something bigger than a private cache, however large, of illegal hooch. "I assume he'll let me know what he wants when he's ready."
Lucas nodded. "He's a good guy. Too bad he's a T-man."
Jake laid his hand on his friend's back. "That's an interesting kind of prejudice you have there. Besides, admit it, not everyone can make the wise career decisions you and I have made."
Lucas threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that mixed perfectly into the happy, high-spirited jazz being played.
Jake laughed too, then heard the volume of noise in the large room drop a level. Surprised, he glanced around to see what had attracted everyone's attention and saw a young woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a short, sleeveless evening dress that was embroidered in silver and matte gold and drenched in gold sequins along with thousands of tiny silver beads and paillettes. Circling her softly waved white-gold hair was a wide band of the same brilliants that drizzled onto her forehead and sparkled against her ivory skin.
She looked like light.
And in front of her stood two magnificent snow-white peacocks wearing diamond collars. She held their golden leashes in her left hand.
Within moments she was surrounded by admiring men.
"Nice entrance," Lucas murmured.
Jake stared at the group, wondering at the sudden tightening in his gut. "That's Arabella Linden, isn't it?"
"Yeah, she's Kenneth's sister. I was with you when he phoned and asked if a room could be made available for her. Don't you remember?"
"Yeah, I remember." Jake swiveled to face Lucas. "I saw her arrive this afternoon and thought I recognized her from pictures in the society sections of the papers. She had two maids and fifteen suitcases in tow, but there wasn't a peacock in sight."
"Interesting. Offhand I'd say she's worked a small miracle."
"Why? Because she managed to produce two albino peacocks out of those suitcases?"
"No, because she managed to attract your attention."
Jake shrugged dismissively. "She's just another spoiled little rich girl."
"Yeah, sure. You're probably right." Lucas put two fingers to his forehead in a salute. "See you later. I'm going to go rescue the two guys standing over there with Vanessa. From here it looks as if they're arguing over her and she's had about enough."
"Better hurry," Jake advised in a wry drawl, "or she'll deck them right where they stand."
Arabella smiled and laughed at the men who circled her, all the time taking in what was happening all over the ballroom. She saw a man throw a giggling woman over his shoulder and carry her out the door. And there was a woman wearing a low-backed dress, lying stomach down on a sideboard with several men taking turns sipping champagne from the valley formed by her spine. In Boston, she went out four or five nights of the week, but the sheer opulence, glitter, and near-the-edge-of-control wildness of this party was beyond her experience.
As was Jake Deverell. He stood to one side, yet it was clear he was the center of the party. He was at least six feet tall, she judged, and heavily muscled beneath his finely tailored black evening suit. His jaw was square and hard, his hair and eyes were black, and his gaze held enough intensity to cut a diamond.
There were stories about him. Some said he was the new financial genius behind the Deverell business, yet they also said he was out to ruin the Deverell name. They said he was involved in a myriad of illegal activities. They said he had a new woman every week. They said he was dangerous. Only one thing was certain: He was the master of this great house. It was time, Arabella thought, to meet the master.
As the orchestra swung into "Lady, Be Good," Jake glanced back at Arabella's group, just in time to see people clearing a path for her as she walked toward him, the peacocks stately and exotic before her.
"Mr. Deverell, I'm Arabella Linden."
Her voice was more musical than the music being played, he thought. "Yes, I know. And I'm Jake."
She fluttered her fingers at the peacocks. "I hope you don't mind me bringing my little friends into your home."
"Not at all."
"I decided they'd be appropriate because of the peacock design of SwanSea's grand staircase. The staircase is as famous as your parties." She sent a c
ool glance around the ballroom, then looked squarely at Jake. "I know several people who publicly declared they would die if they weren't invited to one of your parties before the last year of the decade began."
"Is that right?"
She nodded solemnly. "Yes, indeed."
The sparkle of amusement he saw secreted in the depths of her golden eyes took him by surprise. "And are they here, these people?"
"I don't see them. I may have a lot of funerals to attend when I return to Boston."
He reached out and briefly encircled her throat with his hand, resting his thumb on the pulse at the base of her neck. "If that's the case, I'm glad you came, because I'd hate like hell to see you cold and in a grave."
The rhythm of her breathing was momentarily disrupted. Without much thought, she'd thrown out one of her outrageous "party" statements, and just as casually he'd returned a touch that somehow hadn't seemed casual at all.
"I didn't say I'd die."
"No," he said thoughtfully. "You didn't. Tell me, Arabella, is there anything you'd die for?"
It had been a long time since a man had challenged her with anything unexpected. Jake Deverell was everything she had ever heard and more, and the fact pleased her on some impersonal level. Her laugh came lightly and easily. "Let's see… I'd die for a sea of snow-white orchids and a crystal goblet of moonstones."
"What else?"
"A gleaming mountain of pearls and white-chocoiate ice cream with diamond sauce."
"What else?"
One smooth, powdered shoulder rose and fell. "I'm not sure there really is anything else."
He gazed steadfastly at her, then looked down at her dress and flicked one of the silver beads that lay over her breast. "You have unusual tastes."
"Judging by this party," she said, careful to keep her voice even, "so do you."
"Yes, I do like to taste the unusual and rare."
He was looking at her, she reflected, as if he wanted to take a bite out of her. For a split second she considered the possibility that the experience might be worth the pain, then, slightly shocked at herself, dismissed the thought.
"And how do wild, exotic white peacocks fit into your life, Arabella?"
"Beautifully. They fit beautifully." She drew a waiter to her just by looking at him and took a glass of champagne with her free right hand.
He was no longer touching her, but his slow smile burned its way through her silver- and gold-beaded dress to her skin.
"I should have guessed that answer."
"You would have if you'd given yourself a little more time."
The thread of laughter that ran beneath her reassuring tone further intrigued him. Unlike most women, she wasn't showing a trace of sexual interest in him. As a matter of fact, she appeared completely natural and was obviously having a great deal of fun. But he was too experienced, too knowledgeable about women and society to believe her flirtation was all innocent.
She was watching someone, and Jake glanced over his shoulder to see who had taken her attention away from him. It was Kenneth Linden flirting with a pretty young thing while she propped her leg on a chair and adjusted her garter. He looked back at Arabella with speculation. "I can't imagine your having to rely on your brother to escort you to a New Year's Eve party."
She replaced the scarcely touched glass of champagne on a waiter's tray and sent him on his way with a smile. "Really? And do you have a good imagination?"
Irritation prickled at him. Her effortless replies didn't seem to be intended to charm him, yet were doing just that. "No one has ever complained about my imagination."
She smiled sweetly. "I'm sure they haven't."
"So answer my question. Why are you with your brother?"
She gave him a look that said the answer was obvious and she was astonished he would even ask. "I always choose with whom I want to be, and for tonight and for the next few days, I chose my brother. And, of course, the peacocks."
There were so many things he could say or ask, but he decided it would be more interesting to follow her lead and see where she took him. "The peacocks… do you often take them to parties?"
"Hardly ever, actually, but this is a special occasion."
"How's that?"
With a grace and graciousness that could only be inborn, she extended her bare arm and handed him the golden leashes. "Because I brought the peacocks for you. To thank you for saying I could come tonight and stay for the house party."
He stared thoughtfully down at the leashes in his hand. "You know, grand staircase or no grand staircase, most people bring wine to their host."
The spark of amusement in her eyes became more pronounced. "Haven't you heard of Prohibition?"
The idea that rumors about his bootlegging had reached her caused him neither amazement nor disturbance. His gaze dropped to the soft curve of her lips. "So, Arabella, you brought me a pair of peacocks for saying you could come to my New Year's Eve party. I wonder what you'd give me if I really put myself out and did something truly extraordinary for you."
"Could you? Do something extraordinary for me, I mean?"
Suddenly his expression seemed sharper, more dangerous. He didn't answer, but merely looked at her. She wasn't slow. She knew that flirting with Jake Deverell was an entirely different matter than flirting with the young men in her crowd. But she saw no reason to be intimidated by him or to change her ways, even temporarily. And she was curious. He had let her get away with the Prohibition remark. He might decide not to let her get by with her flirtatious question. She waited.
"I'll work on it," he said softly, and at the same time made a motion with his hands that drew a silver-haired, exceedingly dignified man to him. "How are things going, Marlon?"
"Reasonably well, I'd say, sir."
"Splendid. Well, it seems, Marlon, that we have two new pets. Would you mind taking them to Bernardo?" He handed him the peacocks' golden leashes. "Thank you." Marlon nodded and turned away. The peacocks followed, their tails spread into snow-white fans. "Marlon is my majordomo," he said to her by way of explanation, "and Bernardo is my head grounds-keeper."
"I know."
He stared at her and after a moment nodded. "Of course you do."
"Both men were of great help."
"I'm glad to hear it." His mouth twisted wryly. "Most of the staff has been here since SwanSea was built. They don't really approve of me, but for SwanSea's sake they tolerate me."
"Tolerate?" The idea of the man before her passively accepting anything startled her. "I'm surprised you haven't replaced them."
"If a man has a job that he likes and he's reasonably good at it, he should be able to keep it."
"That's a rather marvelous way of thinking."
He shrugged away her praise. "It's only practical. I like to be comfortable, and I have no wish to spend days interviewing a new household staff." Wade Scalia's men were returning to the ballroom from the bar that was set up outside in the hallway, he noticed. Each of them had a highball glass in hand. Scotch, undoubtedly, Jake thought. It was not only their favorite beverage but also their source of support.
"Who is that woman who keeps watching us?" Arabella asked suddenly. "The one sitting on top of the sideboard over there."
Jake threw a glance over his shoulder, quickly spotting the woman to whom Arabella referred. Her shingled hair was hennaed and her cheeks and lips were rouged. And the fringe that formed the skirt on the short red chemise she wore was coming off, strand by strand, as she gave it to the three men standing in a semi-circle before her. One shapely thigh was already exposed. "That's Marian Talbot," Jake said, his gaze returning to Arabella. "She's my date for the holiday."
"Date?" Arabella was shocked. Or was she disappointed? No, she told herself, she couldn't be feeling either of those emotions. If she had given the matter any thought at all, she would have known he wouldn't be alone. But he'd been paying such close attention to her, she had simply assumed there was no one at the party who was special to him.
"She's ruining her dress," she said, all at once finding it difficult to breathe. No man on such short acquaintance had ever dared touch her as Jake was doing.
"It doesn't matter. She has dozens of others upstairs."
She took a step back from him, an automatic action, almost as though it might help her see him better. But his expression remained enigmatic and she had no clue as to what, if anything, he might feel for the girl. "She's trying to make you jealous, you know."
"Then she's wasting her time," he said flatly, "because I don't get jealous."
"Never?"
"Never." Ram and Barton, he noted, were idle at the moment. And Noah Calloway had moved from his position by the door and had come deeper into the ballroom. He mentally cursed. He supposed it was time to do a little housecleaning. Jake reached for Arabella's hand and raised it to his lips. "Enjoy the party."
She saw Jake motion to a tall, sandy-haired man and then he disappeared into the crowd. Without being aware of what she was doing, Arabella put one hand over the other, covering the spot where his lips had been.
Jake dropped his elegantly shod feet onto the rich, exotic citron wood surface of the big desk in the study, leaned back in his chair, and viewed Ram and Barton with what appeared to be mild interest. "Scalia has all bootlegging sewed up from Boston south to New York and beyond. What does he want with our operation?"
"You don't have to turn over the entire thing to him, Jake," Ram said. He was a thickset man with thinning hair and narrow eyes, and he was smart enough to be Wade's right-hand man. "He'll accept a percentage of your net."
"But it has to be the percentage he says," Barton added, "and he has a hefty number in mind." Barton was tall and broad-shouldered, with a small scar on his cheek and a nose that showed signs of being broken more than once.
Jake grinned at Lucas, who was leaning against a bookcase. "I think Wade's been drinking too much of his product."
"I think Wade's just flat out lost his mind," Lucas said in a drawl that didn't disguise the steely determination underlying his words.