Fires of Paradise (31 page)

"So tell me about it," Joanna said, once they were seated comfortably in a small parlor with lemon cakes and tea.

"There's nothing to tell," Lucy said casually. She thought about Leon's horrible accusations.

"Oh, Lucy, you were with him for almost two months! You can tell
me.
I'm your best friend; I already know about the two of you anyway."

Lucy felt distinctly uneasy, remembering how Joanna had witnessed her and Shoz in an intimate embrace when they had been traveling to Paradise by automobile. "Joanna, I know you'll never say anything unseemly."

"Of course I wouldn't!"

Lucy's uneasiness increased, but she told herself that she was being silly. She managed to avoid Joanna's prying questions, but there was no mistaking her friend's avid interest. Before she left, Joanna invited her to a croquet party being held by her mother later that week. Lucy promised to attend. She was eager to reimmerse herself into society and get any unpleasantness associated with the scandal over with as soon as possible.

Lucy arrived at the croquet party on a perfect, sunny August day. She had dressed with particular care, and she wore a lacy white dress, one she considered fetchingly romantic, and, secretly, too innocent for her now. Knowing that her abduction was still the biggest scandal in town, Lucy was determined that she should appear as beautiful and carefree as ever—as if untouched by the events of the summer.

Joanna's parents treated her as they always had, as if she were a dear member of the family. While Lucy chatted with them casually, she peeped carefully around at the ensemble on the lawn, from beneath the large brim of her straw hat. She found that while she was trying to discreetly observe everyone,
they
were all trying to discreetly observe her. A little shaken, Lucy left Joanna's parents, heading for Joanna and a group of their girlfriends on the other side of the lawn. They were not just watching the croquet players—they were watching her.

She was stopped by one of the players, a young redheaded man she had known most of her life. "It's good to see you, Lucy; glad you're back," he said with a wide smile.

There was only politeness in his tone, but there was something in his smile and his gaze that she did not like, something she could recognize now only too well—lurid male interest in her person. "Thank you, Brian," she said, more coolly than she'd intended.

Before she could leave, he actually restrained her, gripping her gloved hand. "It's a beautiful day for croquet. Are you going to play?"

Lucy did not like the fact that he had not let go of her, and that he was crowding her. She curtly told him that she hadn't decided, and practically wrenched herself free. She hurried over to her girlfriends.

"Oh, Lucy, I'm so glad you're feeling better," cooed Janine Taylor-Smith, embracing her.

"We have been dying for you to get out; you must tell us all about it!" Elizabeth Sinclair cried. "Joanna said he's so dangerous—and so handsome."

Lucy froze. She managed to say stiffly, "Who?"

"Who?" Elizabeth and Janine broke into gales of laughter, Joanna giggling, too. "Why, that man—the one who kidnapped you—that Mr. Cooper."

Lucy shot Joanna a confused, perturbed look. She had asked her not to say anything. Joanna shrugged. "Well, he is handsome," she returned.

"Did he?" Janine asked slyly.

"Did he what?" Lucy could barely get the words out.

"You know," Janine whispered. "Did he touch you? Kiss you? Did he—"

"Excuse me," Lucy said abruptly, turning. She hurried away, hearing them explode into giggles again. Her heart was thundering. She should have expected this—she had expected it—but it was awful.

She slipped into the house to use the washroom to refresh herself and regain her composure. It was quiet and cool inside, but when Lucy approached the powder room, she heard female voices within, and she hesitated, not wanting to see anybody just yet. She froze in the hallway when she realized that the two ladies were discussing her.

"Only Lucy Bragg would have the gall to try and pretend that nothing's happened."

"Maybe nothing did happen." Lucy did not recognize either of the voices, which were muffled by the partially closed door.

"Nothing happen?! I heard she's ruined, I heard it practically firsthand!"

The door opened. Both ladies came out of the powder room and froze, stunned to see her standing there. Lucy managed to look them right in the eye. Somehow she held her head high and smiled, as if she hadn't heard every horrible word. "Why, hello, Mrs. Currey, hello, Mrs. Livingston. Isn't it the perfect day for croquet?"

Before they could find their tongues, Lucy slipped past them into the powder room and locked the door. There she took a few deep breaths to still her trembling. When she had become calmer, she had also become mad.

Who the hell was that Margaret Currey to throw stones at her! She had been having an affair with Rose Abbott's husband for the past year—and she was no widow! And as for her friends . .. Lucy shook with anger. It was clear now that they were enjoying her brief fall from grace. They could not know anything, and were hoping for the worst—because she was prettier and richer than they were, and her family was more powerful than theirs. In short, they were jealous! Lucy slammed the bathroom door behind her and strode down the hall. Let them hope for the worst! Let them laugh behind her back! Who were they, anyway? Janine was not only barely pretty, but engaged to a fat oaf just for his blue blood—since she had none of her own. Her father had been nothing but a butcher before he became the owner of one of the largest meat-packing companies in the East. And as for Elizabeth, she could trace her ancestors back to the
Mayflower
, but her family was practically impoverished, and everyone knew Elizabeth
had
to marry for money— and a lot of it.

As for Joanna.. . Lucy's steps slowed. Lucy knew Joanna was a follower, and if she was in a crowd, she would concur with everyone else. Lucy did not believe that she would really harbor the same feelings as her other supposed girlfriends would. Still, if she was really a friend, she should at least attempt to stick up for Lucy.

Lucy re-joined the party, determined to enjoy herself and ignore any gossip that might be flowing behind her back. Meanwhile she spent a good deal of her time fending off her new admirers. None of the young men there knew that Leon Claxton was no longer her beau as Lucy now assumed, yet they had all suddenly taken a roaring interest in her. She was surrounded by suitors the entire afternoon, vying for her attention—and any favors she might grant behind closed doors, she realized. She found she was quite adept at handling them—flirting with ease to a precise, instinctive point before making it clear that that was all it was, flirtation and nothing more—not ever. And all the while she enjoyed the open jealousy and resentment her "girlfriends" could not manage to conceal. By the time Lucy left, she felt that she had put Janine and Elizabeth and a few others in their proper places, but she was drained.

The summer could not end soon enough. Lucy went everywhere, determined to bury the scandal and disprove the gossip that she was "ruined," yet the scandal would not die. And as difficult as it was, she did not want to go back to Radcliffe, where the scandal would follow her and in essence she would have to go through the same charade over and over with her classmates. Her parents agreed that she should take a leave of absence until things died down.

Lucy delayed her return to New York, even though everyone left Newport after the last weekend in August. The peace and quiet was welcome, although the solitude gave her too much time to think—and remember. Shoz Cooper still invaded her thoughts frequently, and despite her anger at him, she could not shake him from her mind. Then, at the end of September, she received a note from her father asking her to return to New York. She was curious as to why her father was so impatient for her to return. It didn't take her long to discover the reason. She had barely walked through the front doors of their home on Fifth Avenue when he descended upon her, beaming.

"Darling," he said, hugging her. "I'm so glad you're back! I've arranged a marriage for you!"

Lucy froze, shocked.

"And I think you'll be very pleased."

Chapter 38

Lucy wondered if she was doing the right thing marrying Leon Claxton tomorrow. She wondered if, at the last minute, she dared beg off. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she wanted to beg off.

In the midst of dressing for the evening, clad only in her underthings, Lucy sank onto a chaise. She didn't love Leon. She didn't love anybody. Once, once she had loved Shoz, but those feelings had long since died, and only the fierce anger remained.

And Leon didn't love her. Maybe he had once, last spring, before he had come to Paradise, and before she had been held prisoner by Shoz. It had been clear to Lucy from their last meeting in August that he was very angry with her, and when she had returned to New York, she had been shocked that her father had arranged this marriage.

Because Leon had so clearly shown his feelings for her, Lucy was sure he was only marrying her for her money and the Bragg connection, with all the power it would bring him. Lucy knew from the gossip that despite the scandal, Marianne and Roger Claxton had still favored her as his bride, and Marianne had made it quite clear on one occasion when their paths had crossed that she was responsible for convincing her son to marry "in these unfortunate circumstances". Marianne had been smiling, yet rude and condescending—Lucy was certain that she had gone out of her way to corner her and make her point that she would not be fooled by Lucy's pretenses, that she knew Lucy was ruined, and that this was Lucy's last and only chance at real social redemption.

That encounter had disturbed Lucy, as it had been intended to, and Lucy realized Marianne did not like her in the least. She supposed it was because she was coming to her son "ruined". Lucy imagined that Leon had been pushed quite hard by Marianne to accept her, and the proof was in the short, curt note of apology that finally arrived by telegraph a month after their betrothal.

At first Lucy had refused to marry Leon—because she didn't love him. She had closed her ears stubbornly to her father's arguments, finding herself thinking more and more about Shoz—and what they had briefly had. But it hadn't taken Lucy long to come to her senses. She was an intelligent woman, and in 1897 there weren't that many options open to any woman. She could stay with her family and grow old, a spinster sheltered first by her parents, then, when they were gone, by one of her brothers. She could become a shopgirl or schoolteacher. Or she could marry Leon, or someone else like him, and it would never be for love, because she would never love anyone else again. If she married Leon, she could start over immediately, putting the past behind her. She would live abroad as a diplomat's wife, have children—in short, make a real life for herself. The choice was obvious.

She would not call it off. She wanted back what she had once had, or at least a semblance of it. Lucy was determined to be happy. Leon had finally written to her, their last encounter apparently forgotten, and had assured her that they would not live in New York and would spend most of their time, at least in the immediate future, abroad. The idea almost made her happy.

Although Lucy had reasoned through this many times, especially as the wedding grew nearer, and always reached the same decision, the niggling panic remained. It was just nerves, she assured herself. Every bride was nervous. Every bride had doubts. She needed time with Leon as his wife. Time would bring mutual respect and friendship and, she hoped, caring. Unbidden, she remembered the hot love-making she had shared with Shoz. No, she didn't expect that. Although she knew Leon was still attracted to her, she would try not to think about sharing his bed.

There was a knock on her door. Lucy pulled on a dressing gown and opened it. She was surprised to see her father and mother there, already dressed for the evening. "Hello, Daddy, Mother."

"You're not dressed yet?" Her father stepped in. "I'm sorry we're interrupting."

"I'll hurry." She met her mother's warm yet worried gaze. "I'm fine," she reassured her. "I've just been daydreaming."

Rathe handed her a flat velvet jeweler's box. "We wanted to give you your birthday present." He grinned. "So you can wear it."

"Oh, Daddy!" Lucy sat down to open the box. It was a breathtaking necklace of rubies and diamonds, fit for royalty. She had received many gifts of jewelery in her life, but never anything as stunning and valuable as this. "It's beautiful!"

"Very," Grace said, coming to help her try it on. "It's too much for a girl of twenty-one, but—" suddenly her eyes teared "—you're getting married." She hugged her daughter. "Oh, Lucy! I just can't believe it!"

"Neither can I." Lucy laughed nervously. She went to the mirror to admire the choker. She thanked and hugged them both.

"Lucy," her father said, "there's one other thing."

"Rathe, for God's sake, not now!" Grace cried.

"Then when?" he demanded. "On her wedding day?"

"That would be better than right now!"

"What are you two arguing about?" Lucy asked.

Rathe reached into his tuxedo and withdrew some folded papers. "I think we've forgotten something, Lucy."

Lucy was confused as he unfolded the three sheets carefully. She looked at her mother, who was angry. She looked back at her father, and suddenly she knew. Her heart slammed to a stop.

"You can't get married until you sign these," Rathe said quietly.

The divorce papers. Lucy had forgotten about them. Hadn't she? She turned away. She had refused to sign them in Brownsville after her rescue and Shoz's capture, until the issue was set aside and allowed to cool down. Yet during the past months she had always known deep in the back of her mind that she hadn't signed those papers, that she and Shoz were still husband and wife. God, was she ever a fool! He was a lousy bastard and she wanted him out of her life! It was over, it had been over for so very long, and if she dared to admit it, it had been over before it had even begun.

She turned. "Okay, Daddy." She smiled too brightly while a tear ran down her cheek. "It's about time, don't you think?"

Shoz arrived at east Sixty-second Street on foot, having chosen to walk. He leaned against the cold stone wall of Central Park and calmly lit a cigarette. Dragging deeply, he stared across Fifth Avenue at the Bragg mansion. His pose was relaxed, but he was not.

Only a few hours ago he had been in Washington in a grueling meeting with some of the top brass of the McKinley administration. Members of the State and Defense departments and the Pentagon had been present. They had grilled him for hours on the Cuban situation, and fortunately, Shoz had had all the answers. At the end, he was finally given his chance when the assistant secretary of the navy, Roosevelt, had asked him for his own opinion. Shoz had given it with no holds barred.

He told them that the promises of the Spanish government to grant autonomy were bunk, and he warned them that the situation was escalating and would soon be out of control. Even if the Spanish did grant the Cubans autonomy, it was too late—they would never settle for it now. Cuba was a powder keg about to explode.

Shoz wasn't tense from the long meeting he had endured. He was rigid with anticipation, and dammit, he did not like it. He was practically breathless because he was so close, because he was going to see
her
.

She still had a hold on him, a dangerous hold, and he'd thought it had been broken long ago.

It was already dark, but the street was well lit, and his shadow stretched out along the sidewalk under the iron streetlamps. The upper floors of the Bragg mansion were dark, the floors where the family obviously lived. Where Lucy lived. The ground floor, though, was well lit. Shoz waited for an hour. When his watch told him it was ten, he knew he had missed them and he cursed. She had obviously gone out for the evening with her family.

A bribe got him the information he wanted. She had been escorted by Leon Claxton to the Claxton residence for the rehearsal dinner. The whole family was in attendance, except for her youngest brothers, as was the Who's Who of New York.

Don't be a fool, he told himself.

But he went anyway.