A Touch of Scarlet

by Renee Ryan

“I am”—he cocked his head, attempting to process what he’d just heard—“puzzled.”

  “Ah.” She stepped toward the door, paused when she drew alongside him. “Now that the rain has stopped, I would like to investigate my rose bushes. Won’t you join me, son?”

  Stepping onto the gravel path outside the glasshouse, Luke walked quietly beside his mother. Their progress down the walk was slow, due primarily to the fact that his mother stopped every three or four steps to examine one of her flower bushes. She favored cheerful, varied plants.

  The sky was bright now that the clouds had vanished, and a family of bees was hard at work in the sweet-smelling blossoms lining the pathway.

  “Is it safe to say you are put off by marriage because of the example you have been given in this home?”

  Luke was surprised by the blunt question. “I am not averse to marriage.” In theory. “But it would take finding the right girl to entice me to take the plunge.”

  You’ve already found her.

  He resisted the thought. If he hurt Elizabeth, it would slay him.

  “Oh, Lucian.” Digging out a pair of clippers, his mother cut a group of enormous yellow blooms and then handed them off to him. “Matters are far worse than I feared.”

  His alarm must have showed, for his mother patted his arm again, this time a show of reassurance.

  “You have avoided marriage because you believe mine is unhappy.”

  Again, he thought, how could it not be? “Isn’t it? Father is—”

  “A man with a great many passions.”

  “You know about his many . . . passions?”

  “I said my wedding vows understanding exactly what sort of man I was marrying.”

  She looked off into the distance, her gaze circling past her garden, past the grand mansion, pausing on the smaller building where Warren’s current paramour had spent the morning preparing for her debut. “Your father and I have found our rhythm. He may wander at times, but he always comes home.”

  Luke had heard his mother’s rationale before. Hearing it again, spoken in such simple terms, was laughable in its understatement. The press of outrage on her behalf pushed him to ask, “How can you accept Father’s passions and wanderings”—the terms stuck in his throat—“with such ease?”

  “I didn’t say it was easy.” She put great effort into plucking a series of brown-edged leaves from a bush. “Our shared life is worth the occasional season of pain.”

  That was her reasoning? That was how she slept at night? He thought of Sophie. “What if his past shows up, hypothetically speaking, in a form you cannot dismiss?”

  “That would never happen. Your father is too smart for that.”

  His mother didn’t know about Sophie, Luke realized. Could Warren’s deception be any more complete?

  “That is not the sort of marriage I wish for Penny.”

  “Or, I dare say”—his mother’s smile turned sad—“for yourself.”

  “I would rather never marry than enter into a union like yours and father’s.” Though he meant every word, he hadn’t intended to sound so harsh. “I apologize. I did not mean to pass judgment on your choices.”

  “Yes, you did. But that’s beside the point.”

  “What is the point?” He didn’t know anymore.

  She sighed, her face growing thoughtful, as if she needed a moment to choose her words.

  “Mother?”

  “I am trying to help you let go of your anger toward your father. Here, give me those.” She reached for the flowers in his hand. “You’re strangling them.”

  Luke looked down, frowned at his hand. He was gripping the stems so hard his knuckles had turned white. Carefully peeling his fingers away, his mother took the bunch of flowers.

  “Forgive your father, Luke. I have.”

  His mother asked too much. Warren Griffin continually inflicted pain on her, some of which she didn’t even know about, and she accepted it as if it were a normal part of marriage. If his father suffered even a small amount of remorse, perhaps Luke could find it in his heart to forgive. As matters stood, he could not.

  In that moment, he understood Elizabeth’s animosity toward her mother on a whole new level. She carried a great burden, and was clearly suffering, while all he’d done was think of her reputation. “I have to go.”

  “Where?”

  “To help out a friend.” And he would do so without Elizabeth ever knowing his involvement. Luke may not be able to overcome his past, he may not be able to release his fear of repeating the sins of his father, but he could do something to ease the burdens of a woman he adored, maybe even loved.

  It required calling in several favors—and a considerable amount of money. But a week later, as Luke watched the carriage pull away from the hospital in the direction of the train station, he knew he’d done the right thing.

  For one brief moment, his heart didn’t feel so hard, and his burdens felt a little lighter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three hours after seeing the hired conveyance off to the train station, Luke hired another carriage, this one for him.

  Dressed in formal evening attire, he alerted the driver of his destination. “The Waldorf-Astoria. You may drop me off at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-Third Street.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Placing his hat and gloves on the empty spot beside him, Luke leaned his head against the cushions and closed his eyes. He could have driven his motorcar, but his thoughts were too muddled with the events of the past week to concentrate. Tonight would be the first time he’d see his parents stand together in public since Penelope’s engagement party.

  His mother’s startling revelations had forced Luke to rethink everything he thought he knew about their marriage. Violet Griffin was evidently content with her life and didn’t mind her husband’s infidelity. Or at least turned a blind eye to his wanderings.

  Then again, Violet didn’t know the entirety of her husband’s secrets. She didn’t know about Sophie.

  Would his mother be so quick to push Luke to forgive his father if she knew the truth?

  For one black moment, he was tempted to tell her. To what end? The disclosure would release his burdens but would only cause his mother pain. The facts wouldn’t change.

  Luke clamped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth together until they throbbed.

  Keeping Warren Griffin’s secret was becoming nearly too hard to bear. The worst of it was that an innocent young woman had no idea who her father was or that she had a half brother and sister. Sophie deserved to know the truth. Perhaps she already did.

  Blowing out a frustrated hiss, Luke lifted his head and glanced out the window. People rushed about, no doubt hurrying home or to some sort of special occasion.

  The current event requiring Luke’s presence was yet another ball celebrating Penny’s engagement, given by Mavis and Leonard Newman, close friends of Simon’s parents.

  Luke didn’t know the couple very well. They were among the more conservative of the old Knickerbocker families, rivaled only by Simon’s family. Luke had nearly completed his investigation of Penny’s fiancé. So far, the man appeared to be the solid, upstanding citizen everyone thought him to be. Luke still wasn’t convinced.

  The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jerking Luke’s attention to the snarl of traffic on the streets. They were still three blocks from the hotel. Hoping to avoid this very thing, he’d left his home an entire hour after the official start of the party. Clearly, he should have waited two.

  He disembarked from the carriage and, after paying the driver, conquered the remaining blocks on foot.

  Luke crossed onto Fifth Avenue.

  The lofty hotel loomed half a block ahead. All slanted slopes and hard angles, gables and turrets, tile roof–topped balconies, alcoves, and plant-filled terraces. Not yet a decade old, the hotel was already considered the social center of New York.

  The interior was as lavish as any grand hotel in the world. Wood-paneled
walls and rugs with swirling patterns of several shades of blue glittered under the silvery light of the chandelier. Having been here for a ball years ago, Luke knew he needed to take one of the elevators to the top floor.

  The crush of people was unprecedented and required every ounce of his patience as he made his way through the wide hallway into the actual ballroom. At least a hundred voices clamored for supremacy, each trying to be heard above the loud din.

  Although he thought he’d seen opulence in the grand homes in London, Luke was still struck by the beauty of the Waldorf ballroom. The elegant decorations, abundant with greenery and an assortment of white flowers, sparkled under the long row of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

  The golden, silvery light provided an old-world feel to the party. An added touch of glamour came from the guests themselves. The ladies wore lavish, colorful ball gowns. Like Luke, the men were clad in formal black.

  The ballroom didn’t fall silent as he entered, but there was a definite lull in conversation among the guests closest to him. He smiled and greeted everyone he knew, then proceeded to find his sister.

  Several feet later, he spotted Penelope standing with Simon. She didn’t look as small and vulnerable as she had at the ball announcing their engagement, but she didn’t appear fully comfortable, either.

  Once again, Simon was doing all the talking.

  A familiar protective instinct took hold as Luke watched Penelope with her future husband. She didn’t like attending balls or parties, but Simon apparently thrived at them.

  The poor girl needed a distraction. Perhaps a dance with her favorite brother was in order.

  Luke navigated the crowd and had nearly made it to his sister when Simon escorted her out onto the floor himself. At least Penny was smiling now.

  Releasing a relieved breath, Luke continued moving through the room, straight for the buffet tables lining one entire wall on the west side of the building. As he wended his way through the hordes of party guests, he paused at intervals to speak to friends and acquaintances, stopping to kiss the hands of several older ladies he knew were friends with his mother.

  He’d nearly made it to his destination when a low, wicked laugh sent a chill up his spine. That laugh belonged to the man he’d nearly throttled a week ago in the Harvard Club.

  Luke’s pulse picked up speed. Blood rushed in his ears. Memories yanked at him, the ones he’d ruthlessly blocked the last time he’d encountered Bertie. They came at him harder this evening, emptying his mind of everything but a miserable sense of guilt and regret.

  He hadn’t expected Bertie’s presence at Penelope’s party, though he should have. The man was Simon’s cousin after all, and a favorite among the upper classes of New York. Bertie relished his reputation as a pillar in the community, a man who was everything polite and proper—on the outside. Luke knew far too well the man was nothing but evil on the inside, a user of people, especially women.

  Luke recalled the challenge Bertie had tossed at him in the Harvard Club, and his presence tonight made a sick sort of sense. Luke fought the urge to close his eyes. If he did, he’d be back to the time when he’d called Bertie friend, when he’d thought he could escape his father’s influence.

  He’d gotten involved with a man far worse than Warren Griffin.

  Bertie had introduced Luke to a world of decadence, filled with glamorous women and men who relished the finer things in life. The women were sophisticated, world weary, and fast. Dazzled at first, Luke had enjoyed their company, both publically and in private. There’d been no promises made, no suggestion of a future. His relationship with Abby had seemed as casual as the rest, the rules the same. But then she’d revealed her love for him.

  Luke had been completely taken off guard. Looking back, he realized he could have handled the situation with more delicacy. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he had. Instead of escaping his father’s sins, he’d followed in Warren’s footsteps. And Bertie had been more than willing to pick up the pieces, hurting Abby in far worse ways.

  But this wasn’t about Abby, or Luke. Not about you. It was about the innocent woman Bertie had in his sights.

  Not about you.

  The words finally sank in, releasing Luke from the past, at least temporarily.

  Mouth grim, he looked in Bertie’s direction. Who was he charming?

  The man’s back was to Luke, preventing him from seeing Bertie’s companion. A woman, he knew. Luke could see her gloved hand gesturing as she spoke. He could also make out the outline of her dress. It was not the usual pale-colored gown of an innocent. Rather, it was the definition of drama, the blue silk a rich sapphire that sparkled in the chandelier light.

  Relief nearly buckled his knees. Evidently, Bertie was chatting up an older woman, or at least one with a bit of experience behind her. No innocent girl would wear a gown that bold and eye-catching. Luke was just turning away when Bertie shifted and the woman in question came into focus.

  No. No.

  Luke staggered back a step.

  Bertie was speaking with . . .

  No. Not her. Not Elizabeth.

  His throat began to burn.

  Elizabeth had no idea the danger she was in merely talking to a man like Bertie. The very real possibility of her ruination hit Luke like a solid punch to the gut. After his altercation with the odious man, Luke should have foreseen something like this. He should have been better prepared.

  Luke was back on the move, all but shoving his way through the party guests. His ambition had one focus now: save his sister’s friend—his friend—from Bertie’s clutches.

  After his own boorish behavior of late, Luke owed Elizabeth that much, and he was a man who always paid his debts.

  Catching sight of him, Elizabeth’s eyes widened, then softened with something that looked like pleasure. She was happy to see him. Luke found himself caught between yearning and frustration.

  Their gazes fastened, stuck, held. He smiled.

  She smiled back.

  Bertie followed the direction of her gaze, frowned at Luke, and then said something to Elizabeth that had her breaking eye contact, and now she frowned as well.

  Luke increased his pace, determined to separate Elizabeth from Bertie as fast as humanly possible. Some have not the knowledge of God—the Bible verse had never been truer than in the case of Albert Phineas Fitzgerald III.

  Had Bertie decided upon his next conquest? No. Luke all but broke out in a run, coming to a stop at a less-than-polite distance from the innocent young woman he’d kissed not once but twice. A stark reminder that he was no more deserving of her smiles than Bertie was.

  “Luke.” He loved the way she said his name, with a mix of fondness and delight, as if she’d been waiting for his arrival.

  “Elizabeth.”

  As was becoming a habit whenever they were close, he had to remind himself this was his Little Bit, that same skinny kid who’d played hide-and-go-seek with his younger sister.

  Except, their relationship was morphing into something new, something charged with tension and awkward pauses and . . . kisses. Can’t forget about the kisses. Ever since Penelope’s engagement party something had changed between them.

  Everything had changed.

  Elizabeth had changed.

  She’d done something remarkable with her hair. The mass of blonde curls had been captured in a loose knot, and she’d twined pearls and ribbons throughout, all of them red. She looked sophisticated, mature, no longer a girl but a woman in full bloom.

  His heart yearned.

  Panic reared.

  He had to get her away from Bertie.

  “Luke.” She touched his arm, the connection as natural as her smile. “I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  “We know one another.” Luke flexed his neck to relieve the knotted muscles there. “We attended Harvard at the same time.”

  “Luke and I were more than classmates.” Bertie eyed him narrowly, then smiled benignly at
Elizabeth. “We were once very good chums, but that was before he left for London.”

  “I hadn’t realized you two were that intimately acquainted.” Elizabeth said this directly to Luke, her confusion very real.

  Bertie responded for both of them. “We were as close as brothers, practically inseparable for a time.” He chuckled. “The stories I could tell.”

  Luke shot the man a silent warning. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Not that long.” Bertie’s smile turned sly as a snake’s. “We must get together and reminisce about old times.”

  Elizabeth divided a look between them. Clearly reading the tension, she gave Luke’s arm a reassuring squeeze before releasing her hold. “Mr. Fitzgerald was just expounding on the wonders of vaudeville.”

  “As I was saying, you must attend a show, Miss St. James, as soon as possible.” The man’s manner was all politeness. “You won’t have lived until you do.”

  Inside his chest, Luke’s lungs tightened. Attending a vaudeville show was on Elizabeth’s list. Had she shared this with Bertie?

  “Oh, my, Mr. Fitzgerald.” Her lips curved in a half smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “That’s certainly an ardent endorsement.”

  Bertie’s smile was full of slimy charm. But his eyes had a calculating glint, black, sharp, and predatory. “I am enthusiastic about many things, Miss St. James, vaudeville being only one of them.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well . . .” Elizabeth clearly had no idea how to respond to that. Luke had a few ideas, all involving his fists.

  “I see I have made you uncomfortable.” Bertie’s voice turned conciliatory. “That was not my intention.”

  Elizabeth’s smile slipped. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  Bertie accepted her words with a brief nod, then turned his head and shot Luke a grim twist of his lips meant to annoy. “Been to the Harvard Club lately?”

  If circumstances were different, and this wasn’t a party in Penelope’s honor, Luke would have no qualms about wiping that smirk off the man’s face.

  Luke focused on Elizabeth. Only her. “Dance with me.”

  “I . . .” Her head angled in confusion. “Now?”