by Laura Parker
Mrs. Watson’s gasp of outrage was echoed by that of Mr. Jones, “See here, young lady!”
Confronted by the disapproving stares of her three dinner companions, she rose to her feet with a flushed complexion. “I’m sorry but I don’t care to have my meal compared to the female anatomy. It makes it quite indigestible. Excuse me.” She dropped her napkin in her plate and turned away.
“Well, I must say!” Mrs. Watson said in her wake. “And to think she was somebody!”
“Was?” Mr. Miller echoed. “What do you mean by ‘was’?”
As Philadelphia entered the vestibule of the boarding house, she heard Mrs. Watson begin the story of her father’s scandal. Stung by anger, she swirled about to go back and face her detractor, but the sight of the two men leaning eagerly forward to catch the woman’s every word stopped her. Creating a disturbance would only give the gossips more to say about her. The murmurs and stares had become like the hum of wasps in her ears, every comment a venomous sting.
Turning back, she reluctantly climbed the stairs to her quarters. The only thing she hated more than meals at the boarding house was her room. It was cold at night and too warm during the day. It smelled faintly of last winter’s ashes, years of dust, ancient mildew. When she was feeling particularly low, she thought she detected the rancid odor of previous tenants. Even so, the room was her only refuge from the street.
The auction had brought more than three times what the auctioneers had hoped for but the courts had confiscated the entire sum, saying that she wasn’t entitled to even a penny of it until all debts were paid. The hoped for allowance, predicted by her lawyer, that would have allowed her to live modestly was not to be. And there was no recourse, for unlike her father who had been caught in the scandal, the other partners in the disastrous investment deals remained anonymous and therefore untouchable. According to her lawyer, the entire affair smacked of collusion to defraud the bank yet there was not a shred of proof that he could act on. He couldn’t pursue his speculations, he had said, without knowing the identity of the secret partners.
Philadelphia recalled how anxious her father had been during those final days. He had looked—well, haunted was the word that came to mind. He’d even spoken once of old ghosts rising out of their graves to taunt him. When she had questioned him about it, he had smiled the smile she recognized from childhood as one that meant she was too young, too sheltered to understand. Yet the laughter never reached his eyes, and he had grown more reclusive with each day. She was accustomed to his habit of burying himself in his library after dinner. She knew nothing of the business that had always been paramount in his life. The love he had shown her had been doting but doled out during the quiet moments in his busy world. If only he had said something that last evening, anything that would have given her a chance to prove her belief in him. Maybe then she’d have been able to save him, and herself.
Philadelphia shivered and closed her eyes. She had dreamed the night before of being an item for auction. The piece de resistance of Wendell Hunt’s collection, the auctioneer had called her: a pretty pleasant distraction from the realities of life. Had she been of no more practical use to her father than his favorite objet d’art? The thought shamed her. Had she failed him, as she was now failing herself? In a week her rent would be due. Yet the scandal surrounding her made the possibility of finding employment in Chicago remote. With time and references she might find a teaching position elsewhere.
She caught back a sob. She did not want more time! She did not want references! She did not want a job! And, most of all, she did not want to face another moment of the future! She wanted to be safe again and carefree, but that was never ever going to be. She had made a promise at her father’s grave side to find the man or men responsible for his ruination. Some intuitive sense told her that the letters in her possession held the clues she needed, and that she should keep the secret of their existence until she knew more. Yet, unless some miracle appeared soon, she might wind up in a poorhouse.
Stung by frustrations and doubts, and unable to keep back a second sob, she hurried down the hall to her room and burst through her doorway.
“Senhorita Hunt!”
The sound of her name brought Philadelphia up short in astonishment. Standing by the small table that served as her desk and tea table was Senhor Tavares. On his face was a reflection of her own surprise as he said, “What’s wrong?”
Even as he came toward her, she put hands to her cheeks to wipe away the telltale moisture. “No—nothing! I—I’m only surprised,” she stammered out over the tears clogging her throat.
“But you’ve been crying,” he protested and reached into his pocket to withdraw a handkerchief.
“I’m not crying!” she answered furiously and waved away his attempt at aid. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as weak and chastened before this vividly alive man.
He looked at her skeptically but said only, “My mistake. Perhaps there’s a cinder in your eye. Allow me to examine it for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she answered, rapidly regaining her composure.
“But I insist.” He moved to block her as she would have stepped past him. “I’m quite skilled and won’t hurt you.” He lightly lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Come, turn toward the light. A little more. Yes, that is better.”
As he leaned toward her, Philadelphia forgot to resist. His bronze, absurdly handsome face was within inches of her own. Dark eyes fringed with long black lashes stared into hers, and she wondered if he could really look as deeply into another’s soul as his gaze implied. “Ah yes, there is something painful here.”
She could feel his strength as with the gentlest of touches he wiped the remaining tear tracks from her cheeks with his handkerchief. She felt his assurance as he smiled and those wide-set eyes narrowed in amusement. She felt his ease with himself as he nodded and moved away. “You must be careful in future, senhorita, to keep annoyances from your lovely topaz eyes.”
“Thank you.” Released, she moved away to the far side of the room, for in his vicinity the air seemed to be lacking. Belatedly, she remembered to ask the question she should have asked at once. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“But certainly. I knocked. There was no answer. I entered. There was no one here. So I waited.”
“I was below having my dinner. You shouldn’t have entered my room without permission.”
“You are right,” he answered promptly. “I wouldn’t have been able to do so had you locked your door.” He frowned at her. “You’re not accustomed to caring for yourself, senhorita, so I will warn you not to leave your door unlocked in future. Your next guest may not be as well meaning as I.”
Small comfort, Philadelphia thought. He didn’t seem the least bit safe to her with his arrogant manner and presumptions. He was dressed conventionally this time in an evening cutaway coat with velvet collar and silk lapels. Yet the careful tailoring that drew her eye to the superb lines of his body was distinctly un-American. And there were other traces of foreign influence. The studs of his white silk waistcoat and shirt were diamonds rather than the usual pearl. Instead of a stiff high round collar he wore a pristine soft white neck cloth in which was nestled an immense sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The contrast between the white linen and his deep skin tone was more remarkable because it drew the eye inevitably to his unusual profile and hypnotic eyes. Despite superficial appearances, he seemed as out of place in her parlor as a parrot in a sparrow’s nest. To break the awkward silence she said, “You’re a curious man.”
He cocked his head to the side in puzzlement. “Curious?”
“Strange. Odd. Unusual.”
He seemed to consider this before saying, “I would prefer that you found me attractive.”
She looked away. He was flirting with her, she was almost certain of it. Harry had never flirted, he was too s
erious and earnest. But this man with a smile that transformed his whole being seemed to be constantly amused by life. Well, she wouldn’t have it. She did not want to flirt, and certainly not with him. “I believe I asked you why you’re here.”
He gestured for her to sit. “I’m here to show you something, several things, which should relieve your mind concerning my intentions.”
“I told you before that I’m not interested in any proposition you might have for me,” she replied. “In fact, it isn’t at all proper for you to be here. I’m not accustomed to entertaining strange men in my rooms.”
He looked at her in disappointment. “Must we waste time with out-of-place modesty? I’m not interested in your virtue.” Laughter flowed from him at her gasp of indignation. “So you’re not immune to insult as you are to flattery. That is a curious trait.”
Telling herself that the only way to be rid of him was to hear him out, Philadelphia perched on the edge of a chair. “You may have five minutes, Senhor Tavares.”
She hadn’t noticed the stack of jewelry cases lying on her bed until he walked over to them and picked one up. Returning to where she sat, he opened the latch and then the lid.
Philadelphia gasped. She had seen many beautiful things in her life—her father had owned more than a few of them—but never had she seen a necklace as spectacular. It was a collar of gold; heavy barbaric medallions of gold hammered with designs that she recognized as pagan. In the center of each medallion was a topaz the size of her thumbnail. But that was not all. From each medallion there hung a gold lozenge. In the center of each gold lozenge was an amethyst the size of her thumbnail. Suspended from each lozenge was a conical drop of pierced gold. At the wide end of each drop a ruby had been set. Philadelphia looked up at him in mute wonder.
“Well?”
“It’s incredibly beautiful.” She looked up at him in amazement. “Is it yours?”
He didn’t answer but smiled as he shut the case. “Perhaps something else.” He went over to the bed and brought back a long flat case this time. When he opened it, Philadelphia thought she knew what to expect, but she didn’t.
On a bed of white satin lay a choker of pierced gold in the Spanish style, an inch and a half wide. Studded along its length were a dozen faceted stones as bright as diamonds but the color of a robin’s egg. “What are they?”
“Blue topazes,” he answered, smiling as she reached out to lightly touch one. “They remind me of a summer day when the heat shimmers across the land and the sunshine hurts your eyes and the sky is a clear hard gem blue.”
She glanced up into his face which always seemed too close for her comfort. “Are they from your mines?”
Again he didn’t answer but withdrew the choker from its case and placed it about her throat. Nodding in approval he said, “Yes, you are meant to wear such a piece.” Slipping his fingers behind and under her hair, he fastened the necklace, then reached for her hand mirror which lay nearby.
Philadelphia held up the mirror. Even in the poor lighting, the blue topazes winked cerulean fire. “The necklace is quite lovely. I can’t imagine anything more exquisite.”
“Certainly you can!” he answered. “You have the gift of making anything possible. All you need do is to imagine it.”
Philadelphia turned to him, her eyes suddenly clouded. “I wish that were true.”
His expression sobered but the light never left his eyes. “What you would imagine? New clothes? Money? More jewels?”
Philadelphia glanced away. “I’d imagine a way to prove my father’s innocence,” she said slowly. “But first, I’d find a way to pay back every cent he is accused of stealing so that when the truth is known, his debtors can choke on their recompense.”
Eduardo saw the absolute conviction of her belief in her father’s innocence in her face, and the barrier that lay like a mine field between them. “What about the truth? What if what you imagine is a lie?”
She looked up sharply. “You’re strangely infatuated with the notion of the truth. I wonder if it’s because you don’t deal in it yourself?”
He shrugged and moved a little away from her, uncomfortable with his knowledge about her father and the hurt the truth would cause her. “The jewels are real.”
Philadelphia reached up and released the choker. “Then I must return this to you and thank you for showing it to me.” She offered it to him.
Instead of taking it from her, he closed his hand over hers. “What if I could make real at least a part of your desire? What if I were to offer you enough money to pay off your father’s debts in return for your services?”
Philadelphia paled. Money for her services? Was that the reason he had come here to dazzle her with jewels? Did he believe that she was so poor and despondent that she would sink to—to …
She tried to draw back her hand, but his held hers firmly and she began to struggle. “Let go of me. I’m no trollop!”
“Trollop?” He frowned and released her hand. Then his brow cleared. “Ah, you think I want to make you my mistress. No wonder you’re insulted!” He sounded genuinely indignant. “I have told you, I want you to help me sell my jewels.”
He sighed and took a few steps away from her to pick up the heavy gold collar he’d first shown her. “What if I told you that this piece is hundreds of years old, that it was made by the Amazon Indians for a Portuguese queen, and that it’s for sale to any lady in Chicago who can afford it.”
Uncertain whether or not she should believe him, she said stiffly, “I would answer that it’s a stunning example of the jeweler’s art but far too ostentatious for anyone less than royalty. No American lady would wear it.”
He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand, for his newly formed scheme had taken that into account. “What if you weren’t an American lady? What if you were someone else, an impoverished aristocrat, perhaps. You have come to America to forget past wrongs, to erase the memory of your lost family, your father’s death at the hands of enemies. What if this necklace were the only thing left of your family’s legendary cache of jewels? What if you were now forced to part with it? But not to just anyone, but someone who would cherish it as you do, if only the buyer understood what it represents!”
Philadelphia had closed her eyes before he finished speaking, and she was reluctant to open them now. “You mock me.”
“Never.” He said the word softly but so persuasively that she opened her eyes.
He had moved to her side and, as he bent toward her to bring his face down on a level with her own, she had only one thought: he’s more beautiful than sin.
She didn’t know why she thought that or why she suddenly wanted so very much to believe him. But the thought came and remained as a shiver of fear and excitement. “What do you want from me?”
He smiled and the tremble of excitement in her deepened. “You possess the gift of dreams. You are able to make people imagine what they cannot see with their own eyes. I offer you a chance to use your very special talent. If you help me sell my jewelry, I’ll give you half of whatever profit we make. What will it be, menina?”
His persuasive voice stroked her fears yet objections continued to sprout within her. “It’s madness. I can’t. If I went about with you, I’d be branded a whore. I’d be banned from polite society forever. I can’t do it.”
He straightened. “Can’t or won’t?”
“I won’t take part in any scheme to defraud.”
His smile widened until a dimple appeared in his left cheek and Philadelphia wondered if it had been there all along or if he were the possessor of the kind of magic he said he saw in her. “What jewel is more prized by a woman than the one she spies about the neck of another? Call it envy or mere greed. Because you are beautiful, every woman who sees you wearing my jewels will long to own them. By selling them, we will only be allowing these women to do what they’ve always wished they could do, which is to buy beauty from another.”
Philadel
phia was so astonished by his speech that she didn’t know what to think. Oh, but yes she did. “That’s outrageous! And illegal—I think.”
He shrugged and dropped blue topazes back in the box. “I beg your pardon for having disturbed you, senhorita. I misunderstood you entirely.”
She knew she shouldn’t provoke another word from him but she couldn’t help herself. “What did you misunderstand?”
He shrugged, a habit she was beginning to associate with exasperation in his tone. “I thought you were adventurous. Brave. Willing to risk a great deal to prove your point.”
Her eyes widened. Had he truly thought he’d found those qualities in her? Certainly her father had thought the exact opposite. She didn’t feel adventurous. And yet there was a need, a great pressing need in her to be brave and adventurous. Perhaps Senhor Tavares was the savior she’d prayed for. She doubted it. With his outrageous masculine beauty, he seemed more like Lucifer than any guardian angel. “If I were to consider this—this offer, I would have to be assured that what we do is legal.”
“But of course,” he answered quickly.
“And, I must be free to leave your employ at any time.”
He stared at her a moment. “You have a purpose for accepting my offer that goes beyond necessity, am I correct?”
She shrugged this time, a gesture she had never before made in her life. “I need my share of the profits, senhor. You can be certain I shan’t leave it behind.”
The look of triumph on his face was out of all proportion to the victory of her acceptance she decided with renewed suspicion, but then he was speaking.
“It is done! A bargain struck!” To her amazement, he put his hand out to her like one man would to another and when she extended hers to him, he heartily shook it. “Partners!”
“Partners,” she echoed, feeling the heady winds of chance blowing hard against her back. Had she made this choice of her own free will, or had this gorgeous man simply bedazzled her? Adventurous, he had called her. Then why did she feel as reckless and foolhardy as a schoolgirl? She knew the answer. It was in the allure of his absurdly beautiful face.
