The Lady and the Robber Baron Read online

  Christopher raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “This is Peter’s business? Does Peter tell you about the young women with whom he sleeps?”

  “Of course not.”

  Christopher shrugged as if he had made his point.

  Jennifer leaned her head on Christopher’s shoulder. She took a ragged breath and forced herself to look at him. “I’m afraid to trust him. What if he doesn’t really love me?”

  “That would be unfortunate, though I can’t imagine it. Even I am almost in love with you.”

  Jennifer laughed and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I know he likes me. He has wonderful eyes. The warmest, wisest, kindest eyes I’ve ever seen…”

  “Ahhh, young love…”

  “And something happened to me. I can’t explain it, but the moment he took my hand, I felt like a flower opened within me. It was uncanny.”

  Christopher smiled. “The gift. You have the same gift your grandmother had. She recognized her husband the first time she met him. She described the feeling in almost the same way, only she said it was like the strings of a harp quivering inside her…”

  “Ohhh.” An anguished moan escaped Jennifer’s lips. Goose bumps rose up on her arms; pale, silky hairs stood on end.

  “Ahhh. It was the same for you, mon ange.”

  Eyes brimming with sudden tears met his gaze.

  “What am I going to do, Christopher?”

  Christopher raised both eyebrows and quirked his thin mouth into a sardonic slit. “You’re worried now about losing your options. Real freedom comes from making your own choices from your own deepest feelings. Decide what you want most.”

  “I want what I’ve always wanted. I’m a dancer.” She straightened her spine. “I won’t see Kincaid again.”

  Christopher shook his head at the speed with which she had leapt to the wrong conclusion. “Do you expect to go blind before you reach the hotel? Don’t let your fear make you blind to the surrender that may have already taken place in you,” he said softly.

  She didn’t know what he meant, but a hysterical laugh burst from her lips. She covered her face with her hands. “I’ve already gone stupid. I might as well go blind.”

  After his appointment, Chane searched the hotel for Jennie, to no avail. At the practice room he learned that she still hadn’t shown up for the rehearsal, either. Puzzled as to what she was doing, he went back to his office and tried to work.

  Steve poked his head into the office. “How was the meeting?”

  “Great, great. Just fine,” Chane said, distracted.

  “Good. Well, I have some good news and some not-so-good news.”

  “Sure. What’s up?” Chane asked, glad to be interrupted from wondering where Jennie was and what she was doing.

  “Well, I found out we got the loan guarantees from Washington.”

  “Excellent. Now what’s your second bit of news?”

  “Captain Kirkland sent a message in by another ship,” Steve said, dropping into the chair across from Chane. “He’s afraid the harbor is going to freeze over. He wants permission to take the Golden Treasure to Norfolk harbor.”

  The Golden Treasure was Chane’s personal pleasure yacht. Kirkland loved the ship and would do anything to protect it. “Tell him to go ahead.” Chane stopped. “No, wait. Hold him there until I find Jennie. Maybe she’d like to take a short trip.”

  Chane finally found Jennie in the exercise room. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said.

  “I visited a friend.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Bellini would be furious if I left ten minutes after arriving,” she said tensely. He reached out to massage her shoulder, but she stepped smoothly away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly.

  Chane quirked his eyebrows at her. She didn’t return the signal. Her face stayed carefully neutral. She was like a beautiful rosebud closed tight against him.

  “So,” he said, expelling a heavy breath. “We have a problem. When are you going to tell me what I’ve done?”

  Jennifer’s heart pounded so hard she felt sick from it. On the ride back to the hotel, she had decided to get rid of the baby and go to Europe, where she could study with one of the greatest teachers on the continent, Eduardo Valentini. She didn’t want to have to face Chane, because she feared her courage would fail her. But he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he deserved a decent good-bye. And a decent explanation.

  “I can see you at five-thirty, after rehearsal,” she said reluctantly.

  “You’ll be hungry. I’ll have dinner waiting.”

  Jennifer did not trust herself to eat. The thought of food made her queasy. “I’m not hungry.”

  “It’s not five-thirty yet.”

  She walked back to her dressing room. Chane watched her with a feeling of doom. His heart seemed to swell, turn cold, and sit like a rock on his stomach. Something had happened. Something terrible. She was going to tell him that she felt nothing for him, perhaps never had.

  The energy drained from his body and sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart was pounding.

  He stopped in Steve’s office. The clock on the wall gave the time as three-thirty.

  Steve looked up from the newspaper spread on his desk. “Did you see this story?” he asked.

  “Which one?”

  “About the train that jumped its tracks near Brooklyn. Derek Wharton called it an act of God.”

  “Must have been one of the Commodore’s trains.”

  Steve whistled. “If you’d designed it, it would have been the crime of the century.”

  “When penny newspapers like the Manhattan Times Record want to expand their readership, they slander someone. It must be God’s turn.”

  Chane had no energy to worry about Derek Wharton. He had two hours to wait. The clock’s hands did not appear to be moving.

  Simone looked up from the ice skaters on the lake in Central Park, and her heart almost stopped. On horseback, Peter Van Vleet had paused at the beginning of the riding trail at the park’s entry. In a brown tweed riding coat with jodhpurs, and with the sunlight shining on his wheat-colored hair, he looked immaculate, untouchable.

  Appearing not to see her sitting forlornly on the park bench, Peter turned to scan the other side of the park. His cameo-sharp features were ruggedly handsome. She imagined him taking her by the hair, pulling her onto his horse, and riding away with her. Her heart raced at the thought.

  “What’s wrong?” Bettina, a friend from the dance company, asked, turning to follow Simone’s gaze.

  Simone grabbed Bettina’s arm. “Don’t look. It’s him.”

  “Him?”

  “Jennifer’s brother!”

  Bettina smiled as if she had never fallen foolishly in love, and Simone could have strangled her with her bare hands.

  Derek Wharton waved at Peter, and Peter raised his chin in acknowledgment and urged his horse toward Derek. As he rode beneath leafless trees, shadow and sunlight played on his features. To Simone, everything about him seemed perfect and deliciously manly.

  She wanted to wave to him to let him know she lived in the same world as he, but she did nothing. Peter walked his horse within fifteen feet away, apparently without seeing her.

  The sound of his rich, husky voice as he said something unintelligible to Derek triggered an old memory in her. She remembered lying in bed in Toulon, listening to Peter and Jennifer laughing and talking on the other side of the wall. His voice then had been a great deal like his father’s, except huskier.

  Peter looked just like his father, but he was more idealistic and purposeful. Reginald had been devoted to enjoying life. Peter was more earnest and serious. In school he had been an honor student. She knew, because she had made it her business to learn everything she could about him. At St. Cyr, a cavalry school catering to the crème de la crème of society, he had been among the best of the best.

  That evening in Toulon, she had lain
in bed listening in a dreamy state to his deep voice on the other side of the wall. Its manly charm had seeped into her very bones, until he said, “How long is she going to be with us?” The bitterness in his voice made her feel hot with shame.

  “Shhh,” Jennie had whispered. “She might hear you.”

  Simone had heard Peter’s footsteps as he walked across the floor and stood next to the wall that separated her bedroom from the sun porch where they were lounging. “Well, we wouldn’t want her to hear, would we? Pretty little Simone must be protected from the raw truth that not everyone in this family approves of Reggie’s little whore.”

  “Why don’t you call him Papa, like he wants you to do?” Jennie had asked.

  Then she must have pulled Peter away from the separating wall. When he spoke again, it came from a different part of the room. “Reggie and Simone don’t care that we lie in bed and listen to them making love. Why should I care whether she hears that I resent it?”

  Simone had refused to let Reginald make love to her in that house again. He’d had to take her to hotels after that, but the damage had been done. She knew Peter would never forget what he’d heard. Or forgive her for her part in it.

  Jennifer had apologized to Simone and assured her it was nothing personal, but of course Simone knew better. It was extremely personal, and Peter was entitled to hate her.

  “They’re back,” Bettina whispered, poking Simone in the ribs.

  To Simone’s amazement, Peter stopped his horse a few feet from their bench, dismounted, and removed his hat. His sky blue eyes fairly sparkled as they looked at her. Derek stayed on his horse and seemed deep in thought.

  Peter’s gaze stopped on Bettina, who wriggled into her most seductive pose. “Yes?”

  “I saw you in Can-Can, did I not?” Peter asked.

  Bettina smiled and nodded. “Why, yes, I suppose so.”

  “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your performance. You were ravishing,” he said.

  “Was I as good as your sister?” Bettina asked.

  Peter looked surprised. “You know who I am?”

  Bettina laughed softly. “Please, Mr. Van Vleet,” she said archly. “A handsome man is not invisible in the theater.”

  Peter laughed. He glanced at Simone, who prayed her mouth wasn’t hanging open like a dog’s. He looked so sophisticated and worldly, and he smelled of horses and tweed, an expensive, unreachable combination for a girl with her past. His slight Harvard accent reminded her that he was worlds above her and always would be. He turned and mounted his horse, which was almost as beautiful as he.

  Simone struggled to hold back tears. Up close Peter was contradictory and devastating. He seemed to exude self-confidence, as if he had never been hurt by life. As if he never expected to be hurt by life. And yet, she knew he’d been badly hurt when he was expelled from Harvard and when his parents died. She had sensed his anger and pain when he stood on the other side of the wall, speaking for her benefit.

  Simone’s heart beat so hard she felt rattled by it. Peter probably had never seen Bettina perform in anything at all. He had made that up to torture her, because he knew she wanted him. He had known all that summer, too. He had bathed nude in the backyard pool. Oh, he’d been circumspect, with his well-placed towel and his bathrobe, but he had lain in full view of her room.

  It had been like a pact between them. Simone wore her sexiest gowns, and Peter flaunted his perfect, golden body. He swam naked in the pool every day, and Simone watched. At night she swam naked in the pool and prayed he watched.

  At last, mounted on his horse again, Peter acknowledged her. His gaze locked with hers, and she felt faint. “Miss Simone,” he said, with studied formality.

  She nodded mutely.

  He touched his hat. The brim put his eyes into shadow, drawing attention to his seductive mouth. Her lips ached to touch it again. She could not believe he had actually kissed her the night of the fire. She felt faint.

  “Good day, ladies,” Peter said softly, kicking his horse’s sides with his boots. She watched his lithe back until her view was obstructed by trees and the sound of hooves on the dirt path slowly diminished.

  Bettina’s pouty bottom lip pulled down at the corners into a sneer. “He’s handsome, but he can’t be too much, hanging around with a garden slug like the wart.”

  Derek Wharton had dated a number of ballerinas. Women usually ended their relationships with him by throwing things at him. Later they sneered whenever his name came up.

  “Peter is different.”

  “Sure. They’re all different,” Bettina said bitterly. She picked up a stick, tossed it away, and glanced at the pendant watch hanging around her neck. “Our time’s up.”

  Simone felt sick. She wanted Peter to like her, to love her, and he wouldn’t. He would sooner die than love her.

  Chane interrupted Steve. “I don’t care what you’ve heard about his financial problems. If Peter Van Vleet wants credit to gamble, give it to him.”

  Steve frowned. “What if—”

  “He’s Jennie’s brother. Give him whatever he wants. If he breaks the bank, we’ll still build a railroad from La Junta to Timpas.” Timpas was about ten miles from La Junta. “He’s a kid. He’ll gamble a little, lose a little money, and not be able to pay me back. So what have I lost? Unless he steals the chips, we’re out nothing. It’s all smoke.”

  “I hope he doesn’t gamble as recklessly as he rides a horse.”

  “Steve, I know you’re only trying to protect me, but I don’t want to be protected from Jennie’s brother. Her problems are my problems.”

  “As long as you remember that her brother hangs around with Derek Wharton—”

  “They probably went to school together.” Tom Wilcox, Chane’s security chief, had given him a complete report on Peter Van Vleet. He had no history as a compulsive gambler, and in fact he had gone to school with Derek Wharton.

  “That could be, but Wharton sold his soul to the Commodore a long time ago. Laurey owns that kid. That gives him the right to use Wharton and all his contacts. And the Commodore doesn’t miss many tricks.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Anything else happen I need to know about?” Chane asked.

  “Latitia Laurey came by to see you.”

  Chane frowned.

  “She said she’d be back.”

  The telephone rang. “Damn.” He picked it up and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Yes.”

  “You sound so businesslike,” a woman’s voice said.

  About mid-sentence he recognized it as Latitia’s, and he was disappointed it wasn’t Jennie.

  “Chane, it’s Latitia.”

  “Hello. What can I do for you?”

  “Not a very good job of keeping the disappointment out of your voice. I’m in the lobby. Would you rather come out, or shall I come in?”

  Chane had been dreading this confrontation. He’d put her off for the first two weeks, then she’d gone out of town for three weeks, and now it was time to face her. His first impulse was to have her come to his office, but he rejected that. Perhaps she would be intimidated by an audience. “I’ll come out.”

  In the lobby, he found her engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman. Her slim black patent slipper tapped nervously on the marble slab circling the water fountain in the center of the lobby. At sight of him, she excused herself and strolled forward, her face breaking into a smile.

  Latitia had beautiful bone structure, a full mouth, and sultry brown “bedroom eyes.” Her luscious body was encased in a flawlessly tailored red satin gown, and her auburn hair was arranged in a cascade of curls that complemented her dusky rose complexion.

  “You look wonderful,” she said, her dark eyes intent on his. She leaned close to him and sighed. “You smell wonderful, too. I’m not sure I can wait until the Van Vleet girl is through with you.”

  Damn her, Chane thought. Latitia always managed to kindle a fire in his loins. “What are you doing out in such bad weather?”
he asked, hoping to sidetrack her from the topic she seemed most interested in. It had been snowing all day. The temperature was still dropping.

  She took his arm and steered him toward the Burgundy Room. “Relax. Your little ballerina is working. She works for hours and hours. With her stamina, she must be wonderful in bed…”

  Chane scowled, but kept quiet.

  Latitia laughed at his disapproval. “She’s a Van Vleet, darling. She’s accustomed to being talked about.”

  The muscle in his jaw began to twitch. “Jennie is not like her parents,” he said coldly.

  Latitia laughed. “My my. It is love.” Latitia went up on tiptoe as if she were going to kiss his cheek.

  Chane stepped back. “Behave yourself. We’re in public here.”

  “Behave myself?” she asked bitterly, flushing. “I did behave myself, and look where it got me. My man took up with another woman.”

  “So, where are you going from here?” he asked, hoping to remind her of other business.

  Latitia giggled. “Don’t look so frustrated, darling, I’ll go when I’ve had my say.”

  “Which is?”

  “You come from a very traditional family, Chane. Your mother is the only woman I know who has been faithful to her husband. You aren’t going to be happy with a woman who doesn’t know the meaning of fidelity.”

  Chane clamped his jaws. A gentleman could not do anything more; according to his father, anyway.

  Latitia’s eyes narrowed in spiteful anger. “Like it or not, it’s true. Reginald bedded every woman in New York except the hopelessly ugly. Cocksman extraordinaire. And Vivian was his female counterpart. I understand Peter is following in their footsteps. He was expelled from Harvard for being caught with a girl in his bedroom after lights out.

  “Of course, that probably means that Jennifer inherited their insatiable penchant for pleasuring herself. She had to have learned something from watching her father’s petite mademoiselles parade through the house.”

  “Get to the point,” he said grimly, wondering how he had ever thought Latitia attractive.