Tomorrow's Dreams (9 page)

He stroked the angle of his jaw, considering the idea. It had merit. In fact, it was downright brilliant. He'd get started on his plan this very evening. He'd invite one of the saloon girls to partake in the private dinner Penelope had declined earlier, and let her feed his carnal hunger.

For the first time since his encounter with Penelope, Seth's lips curved into a genuine smile. Come tomorrow night, Penelope Parrish could lounge in his lap buck naked, and he wouldn't feel so much as a twinge of desire.

Chapter 7

For the first time that evening, Penelope was alone. Slowly she raised her face from where it lay cradled in her hands and stared at her tear-soaked reflection in the mirror.

Inky runnels of eyelash black streaked through layers of greasepaint and rouge, etching war-paint-like stripes down her cheeks. Her carmine lip paste, so carefully applied earlier that evening, was now smeared across her chin, resembling blood oozing from an open wound.

It might have been blood if Seth hadn't come to my rescue
, she reminded herself. Disturbed by the thought, she tore her gaze from the mirror and turned her attention to removing her makeup. After slathering her face with a thick layer of cold cream, she snatched up a crumpled bit of cloth and began her messy task.

She usually found the ritual calming, reassuring in its mundanity. But tonight, as she scrubbed her skin with hide-flaying fierceness, she found the cream's familiar scent oddly disturbing … subtly different.

Perplexed, she lifted the jar to her nose and sniffed.

Almonds and glycerin and … what?

Her brow furrowed. She'd smelled that provocative fragrance before; somewhere in a different life, a hundred years ago and a million miles away from the Shakespeare's dingy dressing room. Mystified, she closed her eyes and took another whiff. Like a balm to her battered spirit the warm, woodsy aroma coiled around her heart, soothing her with memories of happier times.
Boston …

I don't want to remember Boston
, her heart protested, all too familiar with the wrenching aftermath of such reminiscences. But Penelope's mind betrayed her heart and blissfully surrendered to the sweetness of yesterday.

Back in time her mind slipped, back almost three years to the night she'd made her triumphant solo debut at the Boston Theater. Back to the unforgettable moment when Seth had proposed.

Beneath Penelope's hand the rough table shifted and changed shape, transforming itself into an exquisite dressing table. The walls, a tattered collage of newsprint and playbills, were magically overlaid with fine yellow silk. There were bouquets of hothouse flowers everywhere. And behind her, reflected in the mirror, his blond hair shining like sunshine silk against the Cimmerian darkness of his evening clothes, was Seth Tyler.

Penelope's heart thrilled at the sight of him; she was giddy with joy. With his quicksilver wit and indomitable spirit, he was everything she ever wanted, all she would ever need.

Standing close behind where she sat, he bent down and nuzzled his face to her ear.
Marry me
, he whispered passionately. Then he pressed a string of kisses down the side of her neck, fervently demonstrating the sincerity of his proposal.

A soft moan escaped Penelope as she arched against his lips. His breath was hot, scorching her with desire. And when he slowly trailed his tongue across her bare shoulder, the slippery warmth of his licking caress sent a flurry of sensation rushing to the pit of her stomach, melting her insides into liquid fire.

Seth
… she gasped, breathlessly protesting his amorous assault. But then his mouth slipped lower to nip at the swell of her breasts, and she surrendered to his seductive ministrations.

Say yes, Princess
. Playfully he bit the delicate lace edging the neckline of her dressing gown.
Say you'll be mine forever
.

Her breath was coming in short, strangled gasps now, her body quivered out of control. Instinctively she curved her back against his belly, eagerly absorbing the heat of his passion, hungrily accepting his promise of rapture.

Moaning his name over and over again, she reached back and wrapped her arms around his lean waist, urging his body nearer. Like a submissive slave helplessly obeying his mistress's sensual command, he sobbed once and pressed his groin against her back.

The feel of his arousal, rock-hard and thrusting between her shoulder blades, maddened her beyond shame. Heedless of everything, save her own desire for Seth, she slipped her hands lower and wantonly clenched at his tight buttocks.

No
, he growled, pulling away.
Not like this
.

Penelope whimpered, suddenly bereft without his touch.
Seth
—

Kneeling beside her chair, he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. His expression tender, he reached out and lightly sketched through the masklike coating of cold cream on her cheek.

Marry me
, he wrote. Then he enclosed the words in a heart, branding her with his loving declaration. She could smell his scent now. Distinctively woodsy … exotically sweet … beguiling.

Slowly his lips curved into the crooked smile she always found so entrancing. As his gaze captured hers in the mirror, she saw his naked longing reflected in the topaz richness of his wonderful eyes. It was then that he whispered …

“It was dreadful, my dear! Absolutely dreadful!”

Instantly Penelope's bittersweet dream shattered into a thousand razor-edged slivers of regret. “W-what?” she stuttered, completely disoriented.

“Why, the way those filthy cretins tried to ravish you, of course.” Euphemia Hotchkiss plopped down onto the stool next to Penelope's and kicked off her slippers. “I shudder to think what might have happened if your brave knight hadn't rescued you.” Resting her left foot on top of her right knee, she inspected where her big toe had poked a hole through her stocking.

Penelope stared stupidly at her companion's exposed toe for a moment, her mind still too foggy to grasp a coherent thought.
Knight? Rescue?
Then the fog cleared, and she grimaced as the events of the dismal evening came crashing back.

Too distracted by the sorry state of her stocking to notice her friend's discomfiture, Euphemia rattled on. “Fine figure of a man, your rescuer. Handsome as a prince. Gallant to a fault.”

Penelope rolled her eyes heavenward. She was in no mood to listen to Effie's tiresome fluttering over members of the opposite sex. Especially when that member happened to be Seth Tyler. Snatching up her cleansing cloth, she grumbled, “Believe me, Effie. The man isn't gallant.” As she resumed scrubbing her face, she was again surrounded by Seth's distinctive scent.

Frowning, Penelope held the cold-cream-stained square of fabric up by one corner. What in the world …?

Abruptly she released the cloth, wrinkling her nose with distaste. No wonder she was daydreaming like a witless ninny. She was cleansing her face with Seth's handkerchief. The blasted thing smelled just like him.

“He didn't take …
liberties
, did he?” Effie dropped her foot to the floor, her blue eyes round as saucers. “Do tell!”

“Well?” Effie prompted, scooting her stool closer.

Which she undoubtedly has
, Penelope thought sourly. Still glaring at the handkerchief, she snapped, “I know the unsavory man from San Francisco. His name is Seth Tyler, and he's considered to be the worst kind of rogue.”

“Seth.” Effie sighed like a schoolgirl with a crush. Penelope decided she'd nip Effie's romantic infatuation in the bud quickly enough.

Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she confided, “Mr. Tyler has a terrible reputation where women are concerned. He's so lecherous that mothers shudder in horror and lock their daughters in their rooms when he comes to call. Why, the only reason polite society receives him at all is because he's so darn rich. The cad practically owns half the town.”

Of course, except for the part about Seth being rich, the allegations were out-and-out lies. Not only was Seth respected by the men of the city; he was considered quite a catch by the unmarried girls and their matchmaking mamas. Not that she was about to tell Effie any of that.

Apparently she didn't have to. “A naughty rascal, eh?” Effie's face took on an expression of starry-eyed bliss. “Nothing like a touch of wickedness to make a man interesting. I remember being courted by a particularly handsome devil back in—” She stopped mid-sentence, squinting myopically at her friend's face. “Why, just look at your nose! It's redder than a piece of raw meat.” She pointed at the offending feature, clearly appalled.

Penelope drew the cracked lantern closer to the tarnished mirror and peered at her reflection. Effie was right Her skin looked dreadful. Not only did her nose look as if someone had dropped a cherry in the middle of her face; her skin was blotchy from her agitated rubbing and her eyes were red from crying.

Lovely. Not only had Seth Tyler destroyed her peace of mind, but he was ruining her looks as well.

Seeing her friend's morose expression, Effie crooned soothingly, “Never you mind, dear. I have just the thing to restore your complexion.” After giving Penelope's cheek a fond pat, she turned to the bewildering array of toiletries on the table before her, her face as serious as that of a conjuring necromancer. After much muttering and frowning, she finally settled on and exotic-looking bottle with a mysterious label.

“This should do the trick. ‘Persian secret skin beautifier.' The advertisement says it's guaranteed to whiten the complexion and instill a pearllike luster. It's
patented
, you know.”

Suspicious of anything touted patented, Penelope shook her head. “Thanks, Effie. But I don't want to waste your beautifier.”

“But, my dear! What if someone … especially one of the gentlemen … should see you looking like that!” Effie's face perfectly reflected her horror at such a happenstance.

“No one will see me. I intend to go straight back to the boardinghouse and climb right into bed.”

Effie eyed her friend dubiously. “A girl can't be to careful, you know. It simply wouldn't do—”

“Lorelei!”

Both women jumped at the pistol-report sharp exclamation.

In a snakelike hiss of silk skirts, Adele stepped from the doorway and stalked across the narrow confines of the room.

Just the sight of the woman was enough to send a suffocating wave of fear crashing in on Penelope. She'd prayed that Adele would recognize that she had been an unwilling player in the scene on the stairs, but as the woman came to a stop just inches from her back, she sensed that her prayers had been in vain.

Reluctantly she raised her eyes to meet Adele's gaze in the mirror. Pure, unconscionable evil glared back at her. She had seen that expression in the awful woman's eyes once before; it'd been the day Adele had condemned her to a life of shame, and her newborn son, Thomas, to a future of terrifying uncertainty.

Tommy
. Penelope's breath caught in her throat.
How she loved him
. His every smile was a miracle, his sweetness a gift from God. He was her heart, her very reason for living. And his fragile life was being held in the balance by a malevolent demon named Adele du Charme. Paralyzed by fear and panicked almost beyond reason, Penelope could only stare back with mute appeal.

“Madame du Charme,” Effie began, her voice quavering as badly as Penelope knew her own would if she were' to speak. “What happened this evening wasn't our fault. We—”

“Leave us, Madame Hotchkiss,” Adele interrupted brusquely. “I want a word alone with Lorelei.” Never once did she release Penelope's gaze from the punishing shackles of her own.

Not daring to countermand her employer, Effie gave Penelope's hand a reassuring squeeze and then complied.

As the door closed behind the elderly actress, Adele buried her hand in Penelope's curls and brutally yanked her head back. “You little fool! Didn't I warn you what would happen if I caught you cozying up to a man?” She gave Penelope's hair another scalp-rending jerk. “Are you really stupid enough to believe that I won't harm that half-witted brat of yours?”

Held immobile more by fear's merciless grip than by Adele's physical one, Penelope moved her mouth in soundless terror.

Adele's lips twisted into a cruel smirk. “Children have been known to die of exposure when left alone in the mountains. That is, if the animals don't get them first.”

It took all of Penelope's control not to lose the contents of her stomach at the thought of her son's frail body being savaged by wild beasts. “Please …,” she managed to choke out.

Ignoring Penelope's strangled plea, Adele continued, “Not that anyone would mourn the loss of the little imbecile, mind you. After all, he's nothing but a dirty little secret … yours, mine, Miles's, and, of course, the Skolfields'. But unlike yourself, Minerva and Sam Skolfield are wise enough not to disobey me. They'll do as I say, when I say it.”

With a sinking feeling, Penelope acknowledged the truth of Adele's words. While the Skolfields were genuinely fond of Tommy, caring for him as best they could under squalid conditions, they, too, were victims of Adele's treachery. And like herself, they had no choice but to follow the vile woman's dictates.

Desperation born of that terrible knowledge gave Penelope the courage to blurt out, “But I didn't disobey you! I swear it! That wretched Mr. Tyler forced his attentions on me.”

“Indeed?” Adele's thinly arched brows rose in disbelief. “According to Miles, you weren't struggling any too hard to escape the man's embrace.” She let out an unpleasant laugh. “Not that I blame you. That Tyler person is a virile-looking piece.”

“I-I didn't n-notice.”

“Then, you're either blind or a fool. Or could it be that you're lying?” She gave the ebony curls in her hand another vicious pull. This time Penelope cried out, a response that brought a smile of sadistic pleasure to Adele's lips. “Shall I guess which answer is correct?”