For the gift he had taken and couldn’t return.
****
Grace woke to an empty bed. She stretched languidly, noting each aching muscle with a smile. She virtually tingled with new awareness. The darkened room allowed a slice of intense light to escape from behind the heavy draperies and cut like a dagger across the blanket. Someone had drawn the drapery closed, but, judging from the intensity, it was midday.
Grace stared dreamily at the indention on the pillow where he had laid his head. Rolling over onto her stomach, she pulled the pillow to her face and breathed in his essence. She last recalled curling up next to his warm body, his arm circling her and his hand cupping her breast.
Last night she had felt his uncertainty and his struggle with what she offered, but they both knew what was meant to happen between them. Both were powerless to stop it. Neither had wanted to stop.
A small part of her was disappointed he’d not stayed the night, but there were servants to contend with, and Zia Br...
Rhatz!
Zia Bruna! She sank back onto her own pillow, pulling his scent over her face.
Zia Bruna would know. She always knew. Well, it just didn’t matter. She loved him with every cell of her body, and they had made love—glorious, wonderful, crazy love. And it must have been the same for him. He had called her his love, hadn’t he?
He couldn’t have touched her in that way without feeling something deep and wonderful. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for what had happened between them, the experience beyond anything she had imagined two people could create. Incredible. Magical.
He just needed time. She hoped it wouldn’t take too long, as the events of the previous night cascaded through her memory.
****
Jared had been under the critical eye of Zia Bruna since breakfast. He had explained the dramatic events of the prior evening as calmly and with as much accuracy as possible. Except for the part about deflowering her niece. He wanted to keep all his body parts intact, he thought morosely. Actually, Zia Bruna’s wrath would have been a welcome relief to the self-chastisement he had been engaging in all morning.
Jared remembered Grace’s smile after the passion. How she had pulled him deep within her. How she had said she was glad it had been him. But none of it eased his conscience.
In his own way, he’d tried to warn her off last night, until his need to have her overcame his common sense. He winced at the recollection of his behavior, realizing he had lived up to what everyone expected of him.
He had gone unwanted by anyone for most of his life. What could possibly possess him to crave being wanted now? He needed time to sort out these strange feelings and fears. He needed time to gain some control over himself.
He’d always been alone, and he wasn’t planning to change that. So he would solve this mystery, dispose of her enemy, ensure her safety, and he damned himself a coward for running from this one small female.
Chapter Thirty
“Talk to me, Sallie.”
“Nothing in a week on this end. No one has gone near either house. Nothing new at The Peacock Club, though one of the regulars is spending more money than he ought to have.”
“Who is he?”
“Just a working stiff. No record. Probably just inherited a few bucks when Aunt Gertrude died. Nothing real suspicious. How’s it goin’ there?”
“Oh,
Madonne!
” Sallie’s favorite Italian expletive punctuated the end of Jared’s story. Salvatore had a large Italian family, none of whom, unfortunately, had been in a financial position to take on an extra mouth to feed when Sallie was orphaned at the age of ten, but he could recite a litany of Italian curse words if the situation required it.
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t seem to protect her here without putting her under lock and key. We’ll be returning to Chicago after I talk to the police and see to Will. Probably about a week. Do me a favor, Sal. Stop in at the shop and let Mr. Hollister know Grace will be a few more days. She’ll not want to inconvenience him any longer.”
“The shop has been closed since you left, Jare. And who is this Mr. Hollister?”
Jared snapped his pencil in half. “Find out for me, Sal.”
****
Since Zia Bruna was taking an afternoon nap by the time Grace came downstairs, she peeked into the library and saw Jared hang up the black receiver and swivel his desk chair around to face the door. He stood immediately, rounded the desk, and extended a hand to escort her to a chair near the bay window. He took the seat opposite her. The stiff gesture had the effect of making her feel uncomfortable and awkward.
Jared leaned forward, elbows on knees, his fingertips tented together. “How are you feeling this morning, dear?”
Dear?
Last night she’d been his love.
“Quite well considering...everything.” Her hand went to her shoulder, but that wasn’t where the ache was. She searched his eyes for answers but found none.
“I’ve...been worried about any discomfort you may be feeling and...and how I could be of assistance.” He frowned at his own words.
Grace suddenly realized how awkward this encounter must be for him. She quickly rose and moved to sit on his knee, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh, Jared,” she assured him, “I’m fine, really I am.”
Jared pulled her wrists gently but firmly from his neck and stood, spilling Grace to her feet, steadying her with his hands before he took several steps away toward his desk. The implication of the movement spoke volumes.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I need some information, Grace.” The chiseled planes of his face were hard, not at all like the gentle man who had made love with her last night. Not like the man who had made an unspoken promise to her heart.
Grace hoped the incredible disappointment she felt hadn’t registered on her face. “Yes?” she asked trying desperately to maintain her dignity.
“Do you know of anyone who would try to harm you? Anyone? Think carefully.”
“No.”
“How did your mother die, Grace?"
Grace stood stiffly as she recounted the story of her mother’s valiant fight with tuberculosis and her death from influenza.
“And your father?”
“As I said before, he didn’t fare well after Mother passed. Zia Bruna really raised me. Papa loved me, but he was just so lonely.” Grace raised her chin and held his eyes as she spoke. “He loved my mother, and I guess a part of him died with her.”
After a slight hesitation, Jared turned away to round his desk and return to his chair.
Grace folded her hands in front of her and continued calmly, “He frequented a speakeasy over the river several times a week. One night, coming home, I guess he must have lost his footing and fallen in the river.”
“Did the police suspect foul play?”
“No. He had a wound on his head, and the police found his blood on a piling at the foot of the bridge. It looked like he simply fell and hit his head on the way down.”
Emotionally weary, Grace sank into the chair behind her.
“Are you all right?” he asked solicitously.
No, I’m not all right,
she wanted to shout.
How will I ever be all right again?
“Just a few more questions, Grace.” He cleared his throat. “What is the process you go through when you get a new client for your appraisal business?”
“The gems are brought by courier to the shop. I take them home to complete my sketches. It usually takes a week, and then I work up a detailed appraisal and report, usually two to three more days. The insured courier is dispatched to return the jewels to the owner within a set time period. I make a follow-up call to make sure they arrive back to the owners on time.”
“What is the value of the work you have done so far?”
“I took over after Papa’s death and have done it on my own now for two years. Cumulatively, the pieces are worth several million dollars.”
“And the stones alone?”
“A million, at least.”
Her cooperation deteriorated. “Are we almost finished?” She would not utter his name. How had she misjudged him? If he thought he was allowing her a modicum of pride by not mentioning what had passed between them, he was gravely mistaken.
She felt humiliated. Abused.
No, not true. She had been more than willing.
Foolishly so.
She kept her face averted from his gaze. If he felt awkward, it didn’t stop him from continuing.
“What is your relationship with Mr. Hollister?”
“He was my father’s friend. Mother’s friend first, actually. My father and Leo were in business for twenty years. Partners. Father sold out to Leo right before the accident, so I would have security before he drank himself to death, but I had taken over the appraisal part of the business long before Papa died. He taught me everything I needed to know. Actually, I did the work when he no longer could. Leo kept me on and even promoted my business, finding clients and building my reputation.”
Grace slumped back in the chair. Her shoulder felt tender, and she had trouble concentrating on the questions now.
“Grace, I don’t know where to begin...”
“Are we finished?” she interrupted, rising to her feet.
If he was going to apologize, she had to stop him. She could not bear an apology, of all things—couldn’t bear for him to tell her how much he regretted their lovemaking.
“Yes.”
“I’ll need to go to the hospital to visit Agnes and Will this afternoon.” Grace turned stiffly and took a few steps, then turned back to face him. “And I want to go home soon.”
She needed to get away from him to think. She couldn’t think, much less make a sane decision, with him so close.
“In approximately one week. There are loose ends to tie up,” Jared said as he walked her to the door. “Henry can take you to the hospital whenever you want.”
She didn’t bother to respond.
****
Damn!
Jared cursed himself as Grace closed the library door firmly in his face. To express concern at this point would have seemed like mockery when he had been the source of her pain.
When she sat on his knee, touched him, he felt ashamed, as if he had no right to her embrace. And yet the shame was twofold, for not wanting her and at the same time wanting her so badly he had to restrain himself from taking her again right there in his library.
Marriage and children were all she wanted out of life. His lapse of judgment, clouded by his lust, had blinded him to that simple fact. While he wouldn’t abandon her, he had to distance himself. For her sake.
For over an hour, Jared returned to his work, trying to concentrate on the business at hand, but his mind kept wandering back to Grace.
Her scent lingered in the room, picking at him, until he slammed the ledger shut and shouted, “Donagon! My coat!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Grace looked in on Zia Bruna, crossing the room quietly to peer down at the frail woman. Propped up on plump pillows, Bruna rested in the big bed. Her breathing seemed a bit labored, and a grey pallor had fallen over her features.
The old woman stirred slightly, and then her eyelids fluttered open. The condemnation Grace expected to see in her aunt’s eyes never surfaced, and she felt a wave of relief. Maybe Bruna didn’t suspect.
“He had shame in his eyes this morning. This is good.”
So much for that theory,
Grace thought glumly as the old woman continued.
“He will come around, Graciella. But you cannot go to him. He must see he cannot live his life without you. If he never understands this, you have nothing. Nothing.
La pazienza
, Graciella. Go now. I am fine, but I need to rest. Go.” Bruna wearily waved her off and closed her milky eyes.
In a few minutes, Bruna’s soft snoring could be heard. Grace tucked the covers under the wrinkled chin and wondered how much longer she would have her aunt. She ran her fingers over the soft gray hair. Her beloved aunt had been the mother she needed when her natural mother hadn’t had the chance to be. As Grace’s memories of her mother faded, Zia had led her from childhood into adulthood. She sat on the arm of the upholstered chair next to the bed.
After a while, Bruna’s breathing became even and she slept deeply.
Grace glanced at the nightstand next to the bed, where a rosary of brown wooden beads, worn and smooth, curled next to a prayer book. The beads reminded her of the woman herself, practical, functional.
Dependable.
Grace held the novena prayer book and touched it reverently, remembering the many times she’d seen her aunt in quiet recitation, her lips moving silently to the memorized petitions.
A card held her place in the book. Removing it, she realized it was a mass card, “In loving memory of Angela Hathaway” commemorating her mother’s death. She ran her hand over the aged card so lovingly preserved. It would be just like Zia to think that as long as she carried the card with her she still had a small piece of her baby sister.
La famiglia è tutta.
Grace crossed the room and closed the door silently behind her.
She slumped up the staircase to her room and stood in the middle of the chamber for a very long time, the silence broken only by the steady ticking of the eight-day clock on the bureau.
Would the memory of him, his touch, and his kiss ever go away? If you could choose love, who in their right mind would choose this pain? Oh, poets could wax on about courting and wooing, deciding and choosing, but there was no choice in the matter. Love was as undeniable as the dawn. It was born with the curve of a particular smile, or a gleam of gold in an eye, or a lone dimple. To deny it was ludicrous, for it would take and ravish and bruise its way into your heart.
Bruna had been right.
Her mistake had not been in giving him her body but in giving her heart when he didn’t yet know his own mind.
Dropping to her knees on the thick carpeting, she gave herself over to gut-wrenching grief. The hard part, she realized as she wept into her hands, was knowing she would still love him, no matter how hard she fought against it.