by Renee Ryan
He wanted to warn her to be careful. But then he remembered this was Elizabeth. She respected authority, always did the right thing. There was no cause for concern.
Unless, of course, someone came upon them.
His patience evaporated. He took her shoulders and gently turned her toward the open terrace doors before dropping his hands.
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Good night, Luke.”
“Good night, Little Bit.”
She floated up the marble steps like a snowflake, slowly, smoothly, as graceful as a well-trained dancer. Once she’d completed her ascent, she swung back to face him.
Luke’s heart kicked an extra-hard beat.
What a picture she made in the soft glow of the moon. No longer a child, no longer his Little Bit. But a fascinating woman. She looked untouchable. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her gown.
Luke feared that elegant façade hid a penchant for rebellion that matched his own.
He wanted to go to her.
He resisted—barely—then, out of self-preservation, made an exaggerated shooing motion with his hand.
She let out a soft laugh, the musical lilt turning his guts to mush. Still smiling, she gave him a small wave, nothing more than a wiggle of her fingers.
It did not occur to him to return the gesture.
He was too enthralled watching her spin around and slowly place one foot in front of the other. She was being so very, very deliberate and working so very, very hard to force herself to enter the house.
Luke had his own decision to make. He could follow Elizabeth inside and claim the next dance. He could hold her in his arms and spin her around the parquet floor, letting her sweet, endearing laugh wash away the gloom building steadily in his heart.
Or . . .
He could enter the house from the back and forget their accidental meeting had ever happened.
There was only one choice.
Luke turned his back on Elizabeth and took off in the opposite direction.
Disaster averted. Temptation squashed. Problem solved.
Luke took the most circuitous path around the house, wanting to put distance between himself and the highly attractive Elizabeth St. James.
He shoved the woman out of his mind. He’d made mistakes in his past that could not be repeated. Though he’d escaped scandal—barely—there had been whispers, most of them true, none of them favorable. For his sister’s sake, Luke needed to maintain the respect he’d cultivated since returning to America four months ago. Until Penelope was happily settled, he must be on his best behavior.
Objective clear, he strode around the back of the mansion his father had built for his mother over two decades ago. Griffin Manor was one of the largest of New York’s private palaces, second in size only to the one built by Elizabeth’s grandfather, Richard St. James.
Luke’s mother had decorated the home in grand fashion, her reward for marrying a man solely for social status. His chosen route took him past the smaller building attached to the larger house. The private theater lay in darkness this evening. In less than a month, a production of Carmen would be presented for his father’s closest friends and business colleagues.
Warren Griffin had a fondness for opera. And a passion for opera singers. Dishonoring his wedding vows didn’t seem to bother the business titan. His infidelity certainly bothered Luke’s mother.
Luke was also repelled, more now that his father was pressuring him to marry and produce a son to carry on the Griffin name. There weren’t enough words in the English language to convince Luke to enter into a marriage like that of his parents.
His breath burned white-hot in his lungs. This was Penelope’s engagement party, not the time for moralizing. Or, perhaps, this was the precise time for moralizing. By all accounts, Simon Burrows was a righteous man who followed a strict moral code. He’d chosen Penelope because of her impeccable reputation. Any hint of scandal could jeopardize the engagement.
Simon must not find out about Warren’s well-kept secret, far more scandalous than his affairs.
Luke felt the burden of protecting Penelope, not only because of his father’s transgressions but also because of his own. The cost of his youthful indiscretions had been high.
An image of Elizabeth St. James flared in his mind.
Her desire to defy her mother’s rules struck an unpleasant cord. The recklessness of youth, the need to push against the constraints of a controlling parent, was too familiar.
Luke battled against old memories. They came stronger tonight, bringing back the guilt for hurting a woman who’d misunderstood his intentions.
Furious at the direction of his thoughts, he shoved into the house through a back door and made his way to the library on the second floor. He went directly to the bookshelves lining an entire wall, floor to ceiling, and randomly ran his finger along the spine of a book.
The din of conversation and high-pitched laughter from the party grated on him. He reached to close the door, but his hand fell away when he spotted the man standing on the threshold.
“Lucian, there you are.” His father entered the library, the requisite scowl on his face. “Your mother and I were concerned you’d already left.”
The reproach was unmistakable in his low tone. It exasperated Luke that his parents questioned his word, yet he kept his reaction hidden behind rigid control. “I said I would remain the entire evening, and so I will.”
“Your absence has been noted by several of our guests.”
“Then I will return to the party at once.” He stepped toward the door.
His father barred his exit, feet spread, hands clasped behind his back. “Before you go, I’d like a quick word.”
Luke adopted a similar pose and waited for the older man to stop scowling and state his business. In his mid-fifties, Warren Griffin was still handsome, still as fit as a man half his age. He’d come from a wealthy banking family and had been given all the advantages of a privileged birthright, including an education from the finest schools in the country.
The same privileges Luke had received as Warren’s only son.
Always the outward picture of propriety, Warren wore one of his hand-tailored suits. The tall, leanly muscled build and classically handsome features fooled many. He was considered a man of impeccable taste, with a mind for business and a heart for philanthropy. Even Luke’s closest friend, Jackson, considered Warren an upright example to be imitated.
Ah, but Warren Griffin was not what he seemed.
Like recognizes like, Luke thought, a harsh reminder of the things he’d done to prove he wasn’t his father’s son. Only to make choices that made him, in fact, exactly like the man he’d tried so hard not to be.
Though Luke’s choices had been in reaction to his father’s hypocrisy and impossibly high standards, there was no excuse for most of the things he’d done. He would have much to answer for when he faced the Lord.
Sobering thought.
His father continued eyeing him with a disapproving look and, finally, broke his silence. “I understand you are contemplating a new investment.”
Luke covered his surprise with a bland stare. How his father knew about his recent discussion with Ryan Pitney was more disturbing than the accusatory tone. “I am.”
“It’s unwise to go into business with a friend.”
Luke thought he’d given up winning his father’s approval. Yet he still felt the need to defend himself. “I’m not going into business with Ryan. I am planning to purchase his company outright.”
Once he secured another investor.
“Even worse.”
Luke forced calm into his voice. “Motorcars are the future.”
With slow, deliberate movements, his father unclasped his hands and balanced evenly on both feet. “I have attempted to teach you sound business practices, yet you refuse to learn.”
Luke struggled to contain his bitterness, telling himself he was no longer an impressionable boy facing a disapp
roving parent. “Let me remind you, Father, that in my three years working out of the London offices, I turned Griffin Shipping into an international success.”
Warren’s mouth went flat. “That may be. But you take too many risks with your personal finances. Continue on this path, and you will lose everything.”
Or gain a fortune.
Luke had already made several successful investments. He’d also had a few setbacks.
His father only pointed out the failures.
“You should be using tonight to reacquaint yourself with the young ladies of New York society.”
And they were back to Warren Griffin’s second-favorite topic. “You mean the unmarried ones.”
“There are many suitable matches.”
Luke couldn’t argue the point. Elizabeth St. James came to mind. The image of her smile chased every other thought away. The way her beautiful eyes had softened when he’d leaned over and . . .
He beat the memory back.
“We’ve been through this before. I want Penelope settled first. I also want—” He darted his gaze around the room. This was yet another conversation he didn’t want to have with his father. “I’m not ready to marry.”
“No man is ever truly prepared for marriage.”
Luke’s friend Jackson had been, almost as soon as he’d laid eyes on Caroline St. James.
Warren’s features turned distant, his mind clearly lost in thought. “While I have you here, there’s something else you should know.”
Luke waited.
“Esmeralda Cappelletti is returning to America next month.”
Every muscle in Luke’s back coiled and tightened.
“She has agreed to give a private performance in my opera house immediately upon her return.”
Esmeralda was the previous century’s most celebrated diva. Warren had launched her career in his private opera house a decade ago. “Will Sophie be with her?”
“Yes.”
Luke closed his eyes, fought off a frown as he did a quick mental calculation. Sophie had to be twenty-one years old by now, possibly twenty-two. He remembered her as a young girl. She’d been Penelope’s friend, along with Elizabeth St. James. For a time, the three had been inseparable.
“Does Mother know about Esmeralda’s return?”
“I will tell her in good time.”
Throat tight, Luke tried to empty his mind of all thought, but a distant memory shimmered to life. His mother working in her garden, day after day, her hands covered in dirt as she waited for her husband to tire of his latest opera singer and return to her.
Warren always returned.
As a boy, Luke had been too young to understand the strange dynamics between his parents. He wasn’t sure he understood any better as a grown man. God’s design for marriage did not include paramours who sang opera.
“I expect you to welcome Esmeralda and her daughter with the cordiality that is their due.”
A spurt of outrage ignited in Luke’s chest. He had the presence of mind to sit in a nearby chair. As if in a dream, he was transported back in time, to the night he’d discovered the truth about his father and Esmeralda, about the true parentage of Esmeralda’s child.
Luke barely heard his father explaining the need for discretion. “For Penelope’s sake, we must be circumspect.”
A part of Luke listened, taking it all in. The other part was unable to forget that he and this man shared the same blood. They came from the same world, where a man could have a mistress and a wife, so long as he was circumspect.
Luke surfaced back into the conversation at the word mistake. “What did you say?”
“Simon Burrows must never know about my mistake.”
Warren was referring to Sophie Cappelletti—his own daughter—as a mistake?
Disappointed in the man who’d fathered him, Luke remained outwardly calm. Inside, he burned. He thought of the days after he’d uncovered the truth about Sophie, his half sister. Warren’s duplicity had been too much to bear. As a result, Luke had made choices he would have to live with for the rest of his days.
And he walked in all the sins of his father, which he had done before him . . .
Luke shuddered, thinking of his carelessness and the pain he’d caused.
“I trust I can count on your cooperation in this matter.”
Luke cleared his face of all expression. “I will do everything in my power to protect Penelope’s future.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Luke rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve neglected our guests long enough.”
“As have I.” Warren wrenched open the door, exiting first.
In silence, Luke strode down the hallway beside his father. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of them in a gilded mirror on the wall. There was no denying he was Warren Griffin’s son. They had the same build, an identical breadth of shoulders, and a similar stubborn angle to their chins.
While Luke may resemble his father on the outside, he would not become the same man on the inside. “I bid you good night.”
Warren started to speak.
Luke continued on without looking back. He entered the ballroom, his gut roiling. With the din of at least a dozen different conversations buzzing around him, he made a silent promise to himself. No other woman would suffer because of him.
As if to test his certitude, he caught sight of Elizabeth St. James on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by several young men her age. She looked troubled and entirely too unhappy for a woman of twenty.
Luke took an involuntary step toward her. His wits returned almost immediately. Elizabeth was a grown woman, not a child. She didn’t need rescuing. He turned in the opposite direction, then went in search of his sister and her fiancé.
Smartest move he’d made all night.
Chapter Four
The morning after Penelope’s engagement party, Elizabeth woke with gritty eyes and a conflicted heart. She was pleased her friend had found love. In truth, she’d never seen Penny happier. But the evening had been distressing for Elizabeth. Overhearing the gossip about her family had been bad enough, but those precious few moments in the garden with Luke had been positively dreadful.
Under the intimacy of the moon and stars, when everything was possible and anything could happen, he’d kissed her—on the forehead.
Some things never change.
Something has to change.
She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t travel to London and begin a new life with so much uncertainty plaguing her.
Looking for guidance, she retrieved her Bible from the nightstand and opened it to a random page. She attempted to read, but the events of the previous evening kept intruding. Hand flat on the open book, she looked to the ceiling. There was no inspiration to be found there, either.
Her world had tilted off-kilter, and Elizabeth couldn’t seem to find her balance. She’d tossed and turned most of the night. When she finally did fall asleep, she’d dreamed of Luke in the garden, smiling at her with a look that was far from brotherly.
Luke.
He was so handsome, so familiar, so much a part of her fondest childhood memories. If she was honest with herself, Elizabeth would admit she hardly knew the man anymore. He was different since his return to America. He certainly didn’t know her. Like every other male in her immediate acquaintance, Luke treated her as if she were a parian doll.
Surely there was more to her than a blank-eyed, pretty plaything.
What if there isn’t?
What if she was nothing more than the finished product of her mother’s grooming, a woman bred to marry, to drink tea with friends, and to raise her daughters to do the same?
Teeth clenched, Elizabeth set her Bible back on the table.
The direction of her thoughts was only adding to her distress.
She threw off the covers and climbed to her feet. She was Elizabeth St. James, a grown woman who could take care of herself. To prove it, she didn’t r
ing for her maid. She dressed quickly in a cream-and-coral-striped dress with matching accessories and low-heeled ankle boots.
At the mirror, she gathered her mass of unruly curls in a simple twist atop her head, smoothing and tugging until only a few wisps were left curling around her face.
She’d barely secured the final pin when Sally entered the room, carrying a tray laden with toast points, pastries, a pot of tea, and a soft-boiled egg nestled in an enameled cup.
“You’re up.” The maid’s feet ground to a halt. “And ready for the day.”
Annoyance flared. Elizabeth tapped the emotion down with a hard swallow. “I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.”
“Of course you are.” Sally continued through the room. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Giving Elizabeth a sidelong glance, the maid set the tray on a table near the large picture window currently hidden behind heavy green drapes. Hints of sunshine streamed through the center slit, then burst into the room when Sally tossed back the curtains.
Momentarily blinded, Elizabeth covered her eyes. By the time she lowered her hand, Sally was already bustling through the room, tidying as she went.
Elizabeth took her place at the table and silently watched the young woman go about her chores. What was it like, she wondered, to work for another person, as Sally worked for her?
She found herself asking, “Do you enjoy your position here at St. James House?”
Hands pausing over the bedcovers, Sally answered without turning around. “There is dignity in a life of service,” she said in a carefully restrained tone. “The Lord himself came to serve His flock.”
The maid’s response didn’t really answer the question, and yet Elizabeth suddenly felt small and insignificant. Sally had a purpose. She did not.
Something has to change.
How many times had she said that to herself in the past two days? Too many. Lips pressed tightly together, Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the table. Her first act of rebellion had been a futile attempt at best, hardly worth noting.
