To Love a Scoundrel (7 page)

She heard his exaggerated yawns, weary groans, and heavy sighs. Then, silence.

Jewel lay there for what seemed like hours before the sounds of light snoring finally reached her ears. Bridling the impulse to scoot out then, she waited until the snores became deeper, more rhythmic, before she acted on her revised plan.

* * *

Before the first light of dawn trickled in through the open window, Brent woke up, startled and confused. Something was wrong. He breathed deeply, already sensing there was no longer a hint of violets in the air.

He leapt from the bed and checked the door. All the coins were in place. Perplexed, he turned back to stare at the bed. Was she... or wasn't she?

Impatiently he crossed the room and dropped to his knees. Lifting the coverlet from the floor, Brent peered underneath.

The only thing hiding beneath the bed was a lot of lint.

Chapter 4

A light sleeper by necessity, Harry Benton woke at the grating sound of wood scraping against wood. The rustling of fabric near his window alerted him to the fact that the noises were probably caused by an intruder. Quietly reaching beneath his pillow, he withdrew the derringer nestled there. Then Harry sat up, his catlike eyes searching the darkness.

When a form glided by the foot of the bed, he demanded, "Who goes there?"

"Oh, ah..." Jewel mumbled as she crept across the room. "Hotel security. No need to be alarmed. Everything's all right now."

"Hotel what?"

But by the time Harry got the words out, his door had opened and closed. The intruder had vanished.

Beside him a sleepy female voice said, "Was someone just in here with us, H.C.?"

"Hush," he whispered as he climbed out of bed. "Whoever it was just went out the door. I'm going to have a look around."

Harry tiptoed over near the doorjamb and pressed his ear against the wood. He heard the patter of fading footsteps skipping across the carpeted hallway, then silence. A burglar? Or had the law somehow gotten wind of his return to the States? His eyes more used to the dark by now, he made his way to the window, then slammed it shut and locked it. Feeling uneasy, he crossed back over to the bed and slid beneath the covers.

More awake now, the countess DeMorney sat up and said, "Will you please tell me what that was all about?"

"I'm not sure," he said as he pushed the small pistol back under his pillow. "The woman said she was hotel security, but I wouldn't bet your jewels on it."

"What on earth would a woman guard be doing in here?" she asked through a yawn.

Ninety percent sure the intruder had been nothing more than an inept member of his own profession, Harry relaxed and sighed. His features well hidden by the moonless night, he broke into a knowing grin and said, "Probably something to do with the poker tournament."

"So they guard us from
inside
our rooms?"

"My dear, you really can't be too careful these days," he warned as he gently pushed her back down on the mattress. "Why a big pot like that is bound to draw its share of crooks and swindlers."

"Well," the countess said in a huff. "At least she could have knocked."

"I don't think you understand. It is generally unwise for thieves to announce their presence." At her gasp, Harry explained further. "If that young lady was a security guard, I'm the duke of Kent," he laughed, nearly strangling as he remembered he'd once passed himself off as that very member of the nobility.

"Maybe you'd better get up and check your money clip,'' she suggested.

"I doubt she was after anything of mine, dear lady." Barely able to suppress the urge to laugh, he said, "You are the one wearing the jewels. I imagine a person with less than honorable intentions might think you're just ripe for the plucking, Countess."

"Oh, don't be silly," she scoffed. "I don't have anything to worry about as long as you're with me, H.C. And by the way," she added playfully, "you don't have to call me Countess. My name is Penelope."

"I'd be delighted to call you Penelope, my dear. And you may call me... Harry." He leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder. "Now then—where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"Sleeping."

"Were we?" he said, feigning astonishment. "I must have been having a very vivid dream. Would you like me to show you what happened in it, my dear Penelope?"

"Oh, Harry, I don't know."

"Allow me this small indulgence, my sweet." Without waiting for her reply, he reached beneath the sheets and slid his hand along her nude body. After gently coaxing her fleshy thighs apart, he whispered, "If I recall, one of us was reciting a little rhyme...
This
little piggy went to market—''

"Oh, Harry," The countess giggled.

"And this little piggy stayed home. But
this
little piggy went whee, whee, whee... all the way
home."

The countess gasped, then groaned, "Ohhhhh, Harry."

* * *

Standing above them in the hallway on the third floor, Jewel trembled at the door to her suite. She rapped against the wood again, calling as loud as she dared, "Mac? Wake up and let me in."

The second a space appeared near the jamb, Jewel pushed her way inside the room and slammed the door shut behind her. "Holy hell if I haven't had myself a night."

Trying to rub the sleep as well as the guilt from his tired eyes, Mac said, "Where have you been all this time? I looked for you, but—"

"I know you did. I recognized your shoes," she joked, finally able to relax a little. Pulling off her glasses, Jewel crossed the entryway and headed for the sideboard. "Have we got anything to drink in here? Some brandy or cognac? I could definitely use a belt."

"Sure," he said, joining her. "You sit down. I'll get it for you." As he worked, he continued his interrogation. "So you were under Connors's bed?"

"Uh-huh." She groaned as she eased her aching body down onto the soft couch. "For hours and hours. Now I know what it feels like to be stretched out in the morgue."

"We'll get you warmed up in a minute here," he said, studying the row of bottles. "How did you get out of his room? Peach brandy all right?"

"Sounds wonderful, and through the window."

"The window?" Mac wrinkled his nose, then poured two large snifters of liqueur. Balancing the drinks, he walked back to the couch, his head cocked. "Pretty steep drop from the second floor, wasn't it?"

"Not if you crawl along the ledge and duck into the first open window you come to, it isn't." Jewel accepted the drink. Without waiting for Mac to join her, she took a long, slow pull on it. Then she leaned her head against the back of the couch, closed her eyes, and waited for the brandy to loosen the tight knots her muscles had become.

From beside her, Mac's kind voice inquired, "Did he ever see you or realize you were in his room?''

"Who?" she said lazily as the liqueur spread its fire through her system. "Brent Connors or the unfortunate fellow I woke up?"

Mac laughed. "Both."

"We'll start with the stranger," she said, laughing along with him. "He most assuredly knew I was in his room. I passed myself off as hotel security, but God knows what he thought when I waltzed across his bedroom and swept out his door. He'll probably wake up in the morning and think he had a really strange dream."

Through a chuckle, Mac said, "And Connors? Surely the experience was a little more... disturbing than a gay stroll through the room."

Jewel inched her eyelids open, her green eyes darkening along with her thoughts. She lifted her glass, drained the contents in one large swallow, then held the empty snifter out to Mac. "Again, please."

"Jewel, I don't—"

"Please, Mac?" she pleaded. "I'm beat, and I figure I've got maybe two hours before I have to report to my new exciting job. I intend to sleep the sleep of the dead for those two little hours, and Mr. Peach Juice here is going to see that I do. If you won't get it, I will."

"No, no. You stay put." Mac grabbed the snifter, then hurried back to the sideboard. As he refilled the glass, he said, "I saw the girl Connors had in his room. I hope you weren't subjected to, you know, too much—"

Jewel laughed out loud, cutting off his words, unraveling the last of her tension. Mac approached her, his brow drawn, and gave her the drink. "Sorry," she said, still laughing, "but our handsome, cocky Mr. Connors was—how shall I say it?—unable to perform."

Instantly sorry he'd even broached the subject, Mac looked away from his partner. He cleared his throat and said, "Maybe he realized you were in his room. Is that possible?''

Jewel hesitated, closing her eyes again as another swallow of brandy trickled through her veins. The thought had occurred to her, especially when Brent had been telling the girl about his experiences with the "dance hall gal from Chicago." She knew that if she studied his behavior from every angle, she would most likely conclude that he'd known she was there all along.

The trouble was, she would also have to accept the fact that he'd bested her. If he
had
left her to rot under his bed while he slept the night away, his actions would warrant an elaborate act of revenge from her at the very least. Jewel thought back to the things he'd said, remembered his condescending attitude at the Harvey House, and decided it didn't much matter if he'd known or not. In either case, she owed him one.

Jewel tossed the rest of the brandy down, then struggled to her feet. "That's it. I'm off to bed. Good night, Mac—or should I say, good morning?''

"Try to fool yourself and say good night." Mac collected the empty glass, then caught her attention one more time before she disappeared. "What time would you like to get up?"

Hesitating at her bedroom door, she looked back over her shoulder. "Mr. Harvey likes his girls plain and unattractive. I don't need to spend much time getting ready for this job—six-thirty ought to do it."

* * *

At one minute before seven Jewel passed through the depot waiting room and into the Harvey House restaurant. Fred Harvey stood by the door, holding his watch fob in his hand.

"Good morning, Miss MacMillan," he said as she approached. "Just go on into the kitchen and report to Mrs. Jahner. She will show you what to do."

"Thank you and good morning to you, Mr. Harvey." Jewel made half curtsy as she passed by the man, then bit her lip and forced herself not to yawn as she reached the kitchen.

She stood in the doorway, trying to look interested in her new surroundings, and studied the assortment of chefs and helpers as she glanced around for her supervisor. When a large, thick woman elbowed her way through the workers, then stomped in her direction, it was all Jewel could do to keep from spinning around and running out through the front door.

"I'm Maggie Jahner. You looking for me?"

Jewel nodded and produced a shy smile. "I'm Jewel MacMillan. Nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand, but the big woman ignored it and went on with her speech.

"In the future be in this kitchen at ten minutes before the hour." She stood back, gripping her own pointed chin between two meaty fingers, and examined her newest charge. "Hmm," she grumbled. "I s'pose you'll do, but don't forget that Mr. Harvey expects perfection from everyone who works for him. If you get so much as a speck of egg on that white apron, have someone watch your station while you come in here and change it immediately." Maggie lifted a slablike arm and twirled her finger. "Let's have a look at your skirt and blouse."

Still fighting the urge to yawn, Jewel did as she was told and turned around in a slow circle.

"Guess that'll do, but don't be sitting around getting all wrinkled up. Just 'cause you got on a black skirt don't mean the creases won't show. Come, I'll show you to your station." As they walked, Maggie glanced at her watch. "The first train arrives in about a half hour. You got till then to acquaint yourself with the other waitresses and find out the best way to do things, but once we get some customers in the place, not another word between you—understood?"

"Between who? Me and the other waitresses or—"

"'Course, you and the other girls. Nary a word—hear?"