Beguiled

by Laura Parker

  3

  The night was warm. Somewhere a woman was singing, her voice melancholy despite the tinny piano accompaniment. The fetid night wind came fitfully, teasing the curtains that he’d left open against his American landlord’s advice, yet it didn’t calm Eduardo’s restlessness. The odors of baked pavement, dung, and the Chicago waterfront carried by the breeze were alien to his state of mind. He was far away from home, had been away far too long for his peace of mind.

  At times such as this, he longed for the open veranda of his estancia, where the air was scented with the bounty of his fields. He grew orchards of oranges, limes, mangoes, and bananas, as well as fields of cane, pineapple, and yams. At night the odor of jasmine and wild thyme and the smoky aroma of burning wood scented the air. There was peace there, a deep abiding peace that he’d never found anywhere else, not even in his dreams—especially not in his dreams.

  Eduardo began to absently rub his left wrist. Hidden beneath his starched cuffs were knotted and smooth scars, tactile reminders of a past that had ruled his life these last fourteen years. The pain was long gone. Only memories brought it back occasionally when, like sharp-toothed ghosts, they still occasionally terrorized his nights.

  After a moment he propped his booted feet up on the desk before him and picked up an unlit cigar. He had taken rooms along the Chicago waterfront because he was less likely to draw attention to himself and the comings and goings of the people he employed than if he were ensconced in the grand suite of a Michigan Avenue hotel. The rooms of the townhouse were much finer than the tiny dreary closet that had been Philadelphia Hunt’s living quarters for the last few weeks, but the horsehair stuffed seats, heavy velvet swags, and dark woods offended his eye. He much preferred the decor of Tyrone’s New Orleans house, which was furnished in cherry wood, mahogany inlay, and the lightness of Louis XV chairs and a Directoire settee.

  The reminder of Tyrone annoyed Eduardo. In his pocket was a letter containing the final accounting between them. For seven years they had worked in concert, but while Tyrone had proved a strong and resourceful ally, he was also unpredictable. Tyrone wouldn’t understand what he was doing now. In fact, Tyrone might take exception to the fact that he was aiding the daughter of one of the men they’d schemed together to ruin. That’s why it was better that Tyrone never know about it.

  Eduardo patted his breast pocket. He was sorry to be severing their tie yet he was also relieved. He would mail the letter to Tyrone before he left Chicago. By the time Tyrone received it, if he were even in New Orleans to receive it, he and Philadelphia would be long gone and their trail quite cold.

  He placed the cigar between his lips, bit off the end, and reached for a match, but he didn’t strike it. Instead, his gaze went to the closed door of the guest bedroom. For more than three hours Philadelphia had been closeted there with the woman he’d hired to serve her.

  The method of bringing her under his control had been deceptively simple. She had been vulnerable to his proposition because she needed what he could most easily provide her with—money. Yet their association of a week had only deepened his fascination with her. He had expected that she would behave as other women of his acquaintance, offering him their company in return for his generosity. Yet she refused to move from her cramped quarters into his apartment and steadfastly refused his offers of dinner or the theater. Instead, she treated him with the polite respectful distance she would show an employer.

  Eduardo smiled and shook his head. To his astonishment, she had accepted at face value his absurd excuse for hiring her. During what brief time they did spend together she talked of little else other than her desire to prove her father’s innocence and pay off his debts. So, there was nothing to do but play out the first charade.

  His offer of employment had been complicated by the realization that as Philadelphia Hunt, she was no longer accepted in “good” society. Therefore, it was necessary that she should become someone else. After years of altering his own identity in order to pursue his own purposes, choosing a new identity for her was easily accomplished. As of tomorrow morning, Philadelphia Hunt would no longer exist. In her place would be Mademoiselle Felise de Ronsard, aristocratic French orphan and heir to a lost fortune. It remained to be seen if the final ploy of the transformation would be a success.

  Eduardo dropped the match back into its container and took the cigar out of his mouth. He should be pleased. He should be congratulating himself. He should not be feeling this twinge of doubt about what he was doing. Yet, he did feel it. His involvement with Philadelphia Hunt went against all reason.

  Still, he couldn’t simply walk away from her. From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d felt that they were fated to be together. He couldn’t explain it nor the irony that bound him to the one woman who would be his mortal enemy if she found out the truth about his part in her father’s ruination. For nearly as long as he could remember, he had been driven by an oath pledged over two shallow graves in the heart of a Brazilian rain forest. Now his fate was his own, and if necessary he would fight heaven and hell for the right to aid Philadelphia Hunt. He would be patient and gentle. He would make her trust him and then, perhaps, she wouldn’t be able to turn away from him when the truth was revealed. That was his hope and his dread.

  He murmured a Portuguese curse and sat back with a sigh. Suddenly the door he’d been watching opened, and he forgot about his doubts.

  A young woman entered the room. Her brunette hair was caught back from her face to cascade in long dark curls over the slender shoulders revealed by her low-cut squared neckline. She was lovely, poised, and apparently a complete stranger.

  Philadelphia entered the room reluctantly. She had balked at the idea of wearing clothing that Senhor Tavares had bought for her, preferring to remain in her own gowns, which reflected the strictest form of deep mourning. Yet, when she saw this formal black dress, she couldn’t refrain from trying it on. About the rest of the changes in her person, she felt both foolish and a little anxious. When Senhor Tavares rose from his seat behind the desk, her trepidation didn’t ease. He was watching her intently, and nothing in his lazy-lidded expression expressed approval.

  Mrs. Collins, who’d helped Philadelphia dress, was quick to sense the gentleman’s reservations and sought to ease the awkward moment. “Ain’t she a picture? You must be pleased, sir.”

  Apparently he wasn’t. His neutral expression became a frown as he came toward the elegantly dressed young woman.

  Philadelphia held herself perfectly still under his dark-eyed stare, but her heart pounded in heavy strokes beneath her bodice as he reached out to touch the curl twining by her left ear. The touch of his finger, the merest brush of contact, sent a ripple of pleasure along her cheek. Instantly, she dropped her gaze, hoping he hadn’t noticed her response.

  When she glanced up again, he was still staring at her with that melting gaze that was deceptive. She sensed, for reasons she couldn’t put into words, a frightening strength of will behind those almost too-tender eyes. The inspection made her angry. Why didn’t he speak, even to say that he hated the way she looked? But no, he simply held her in his inscrutable black stare until she thought she’d either scream or faint. Finally, he made an impatient gesture with his hand to indicate that she should turn around.

  Murmuring under her breath in protest, she made a sweeping turn about the room that showed to advantage the fan-shaped train of her skirts.

  As she turned away, Eduardo smiled. The transformation was a success. No, an inspired idea! The dye that had turned her gold-highlighted chestnut hair into the darkest shade of brunette seemed to have transformed her features, as well. Her eyes appeared lighter now, amber without the dark honey, her complexion creamier. A bit of rouge cunningly applied to her lips and the subtlest of kohl darkening her brows and lashes made her features a little more prominent and piquant. Not even her best friend would recognize her at first glance, as he had not.

  His smile widened
as she walked about the room. The formal gown of black chambray gauze with gold-colored stripes accented the new contrast between her skin and hair while the trimming of embroidered scarlet, yellow, and black silk roses relieved the severity and accented her youth. His eyes lingered an instant on the low decolletage that revealed the generous swell of her breasts, then moved to where the sleeveless bodice exposed her softly rounded arms and dimpled elbows. The scarlet bow attached to her bustle accentuated the sway of her hips, and he felt a sudden quickening in his loins, but he resisted the pleasure. If she even suspected how she affected him, he knew she would be frightened away.

  When she’d completed her modeling, Philadelphia turned to face him and folded her arms across her bosom. “Say something.”

  He smiled broadly to show the dimple in his left cheek. “What does a man say to a beautiful lady other than you are enchanting, menina, thoroughly enchanting and quite delectable.”

  Philadelphia blushed and glanced toward Mrs. Collins. “Thank you, though your compliments are more extravagant than is polite.”

  He, too, glanced at the woman. “You may leave us.”

  The woman nodded. “I’ll be in the other room, in case you need me.”

  Eduardo withdrew his wallet and removed a bill. “That won’t be necessary. You won’t be needed again this night.”

  The sight of money brought a smile to the woman’s face. “Why, that’s most kind of you, sir!” The gentleman had hired her as a maid for his ‘ward,’ or so he said, but she hadn’t missed the gleam in his eyes as they lingered on the girl just now. His mistress, was more like it. Still, it wasn’t her business to sort out other folks’ morals.

  She gave Philadelphia an arch look as she passed her on the way to the door. “You have a nice evening, dear. Your gentleman’s most generous when he’s of a mind to be.”

  The woman’s expression made the intent of her words unmistakable. Philadelphia gave her a chilly glance before looking away. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said when the door closed. “That woman now thinks that I—that we—well, it’s most improper.”

  He shrugged. “She knows less than she thinks.” His attitude wasn’t what she had hoped for and his next words didn’t soothe her concerns. “In any case, we won’t be here long enough for it to matter.”

  “If we are going to do business together then you must consider my feelings,” she maintained. “You shouldn’t have complimented me in such a manner. It isn’t done in Chicago.”

  He looked amused, wanting to catch her against him and give her a thorough kissing that would erase her prudish expression, yet he held back. “A lady of my country would have pouted in response to so small a compliment as the one I made you and demanded more.”

  “I’m afraid I shall prove to be a disappointment then,” she replied coolly. “I don’t intend to make a goose of myself.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I begin to suspect this spinsterish attitude comes from too much starch in the many petticoats American women wear.”

  Insulted, she took a step toward him. “I may not be your ideal lady, but then you’re hardly my idea of a perfect gentleman!”

  His sudden laughter startled her. “Bravo, senhorita! This passion, I knew it was there!”

  Philadelphia’s cheeks burned as she realized that he’d deliberately roused her anger. “You baited me. That’s unfair.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. But you refuse to flirt with me and I enjoy watching the roses bloom in your cheeks. I provoke them in the manner that you allow.”

  Feeling retreat was the better part in this case, she crossed her arms in silence.

  “You are pleased with the dress?” he asked.

  She saw his gaze lower to her neckline and remembered all the reasons she shouldn’t be here. “It’s a lovely dress,” she answered formally, “but I feel I should mention that the style is dated.” She caught up a handful of her skirts and twitched them so that the train swept forward. “The fan train is at least three years old. New formal gowns have court trains.”

  His black brows drew together over his dark eyes. “You were expecting the latest Parisian design?”

  She blushed. “No, of course not. I wasn’t expecting anything at all. I only mention it because you paid for the gown and I think you shouldn’t be cheated by having outdated fashions foisted upon you.”

  “But this is exactly what I ordered. You are playing a role and must dress the part. Have we not agreed that you will present yourself in New York as a French aristocrat who was orphaned when the Prussians besieged Paris six years ago?”

  “You agreed,” she answered shortly. “I’m not at all certain that anyone would believe so ridiculous an assertion.”

  “They will believe it if you make them believe it,” he answered. “Fortunately for us, your finishing school education included five years of the French language. Your accent is more than passably correct.”

  “Thank you, I think,” she rejoined dryly.

  “You think I’m not a good judge of this? Allow me to tell you that I have lived in Paris.”

  “You’ve a remarkable history.”

  Her sarcastic tone was not lost on him. “So, we are agreed about your role. You left Paris after the Second Empire fell and have been living abroad for the past three years. In the beginning you were dressed in the latest style, but now you are a little threadbare. This gown looks too new so you must age it. Sit down. I suggest that you spill something on the skirt during dinner. You might even tread on the hem once or twice. Nothing too difficult to mend. Then when it’s laundered, it will be perfect.”

  She stared at him, appalled. “The gown clearly cost a fortune and you want me to damage it? You really are mad.”

  “Not at all.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a slender leather book. “I have for you your papers. From now on you will be known as Mademoiselle Felise de Ronsard. Here is your ticket for the train to New York City. You will depart in three days’ time.”

  She took the papers he offered her, but one glimpse of the unfamiliar name brought back all the misgivings she held about whether or not she should have agreed to this masquerade that bordered on deceit. She didn’t trust him and yet if she hadn’t agreed to work for him she wouldn’t now have a roof over her head. “I’m not certain I can do this.”

  The dark eyes regarding her narrowed. “Why?”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “I don’t know if it’s wise. How will I know what to say to people? What if I forget my new name?”

  “Would you rather go about as Miss Philadelphia Hunt? You may do so if you wish.” He turned away in annoyance at her repeated reluctance to join in the spirit of his game and began pacing the room. “I wonder what people will say when they hear that name? Gossip travels fast, much faster than you imagine. People who’ve never heard of you will have heard of your father’s misfortunes. He was a man of business, of finance; his losses will have had repercussions, however slight, throughout American financial circles.”

  “I need not be reminded on every occasion of who and what I am,” she answered in a husky voice.

  He didn’t expect what he saw when he turned back to her. Her regal elegance had vanished and in its place stood a lovely but vulnerable young woman with tears trembling on the end of her lashes.

  He went to her and, reaching out instinctively to console her, brought her close against him. “Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”

  He held her lightly but Philadelphia felt as if she couldn’t breathe while his warm hands framed her bare upper arms. She was vividly aware of the masculine body only a breath away from hers. “Please let me go,” she said softly.

  He released her at once, but when he looked at her, expecting fresh anger, he saw that the icy look that was so often a part of her gaze had vanished. The gemlike amber, melted by sadness, was a liquid gold more heady than strong liquor.

  Once more desire dragged at him, and it was
only with the greatest effort that he took a backward step. “I’m afraid I must leave you for a while.” The sooner the better, he added in his thoughts.

  “Leave me? Why?”

  “You must travel to New York on your own. You can’t expect society to close ranks about you, the poor orphan, if there’s a gentleman hanging about.” He smiled. “They will think, as Mrs. Collins does, that you’ve taken me as your lover.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that all? Only ‘Oh’?”

  Refusing to be baited once more, she said, “Well, what you say makes perfect sense.”

  “I always make perfect sense,” he said carelessly, “but sense is not always to be preferred.”

  Philadelphia avoided his gaze. “Nothing about the last week has made the least sense. You can’t expect me to go alone to a city where I know no one.” She looked up. “Where will I go? What will I do?”

  Eduardo returned to his pacing for standing near her was disturbing his train of thought. “You will be met at the station. Until you arrive, you needn’t know anything more.”

  The stubbornness that was never far from the surface of her personality broke through once again. “I think I do. I need to know a great deal more before I set foot on the train.”

  “Very well.” Eduardo paused and, turning to her, folded his arms. “What do you wish to know, menina?”

  “I wish to trust you but how can I? I don’t even know if the things you have told me are true.”

  Eduardo smiled. “Is it not a little late for second thoughts?”

  Philadelphia tossed her head impatiently. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You say you are a wealthy man but how am I to know you did not steal the jewels in your possession?”

  “If I were a thief I would not be offering to show stolen goods to the public. A jewel thief would break up an expensive piece and sell the gems separately because the original would be easily recognized. As for my wealth, I won my first gem mine in a card game in Santa Teresinha with a murderous guaquero who thought his luck could not run out. Would you like a listing of my other holdings?” He straightened and moved toward her. “I am very wealthy, menina.” He reached out and brushed a curl from her brow. “Does that please you?”