Once an Heiress (Gilded Promises) Page 10

  Another shiver worked its way down her back. This one came with something more than fear. Something that didn’t bear considering. Surely, she didn’t find him . . .

  No. Not worth considering.

  Gigi had a plan. Christopher Nolan Fitzpatrick would not prevent her from atoning for her sins.

  Realistically, his very presence made him an obstacle. He knew her name, her background, her secret shame. One word to the wrong person and he could derail her efforts to make matters right.

  “You have no cause to interfere in this matter.” She hated the desperation in her voice. “I would have thought you learned your lesson.”

  Her verbal jab had the desired effect. His flinch was small but noticeable and very, very gratifying. Gigi was feeling rather smug until he leaned over her and said, “Where are the pearls, Gigi?”

  “In a safe place.” For now.

  But for how long?

  What if Mr. Ryerson sold the pearls before her deadline? Gigi could practically hear time running out for her.

  Should she tell Fitz the truth? Would he loan her the fifty dollars she needed to redeem the pearls? Or would he buy them back himself and steal her only chance for penance?

  Gigi tried to think past the welter of emotion growing inside her. Did she dare trust Fitz? “Give me the pearls, Gigi.” His face had changed somehow, becoming inflexible.

  The stern man staring back at her hadn’t always been there. Oh, Fitz had often been quiet and somewhat distant, but the tough exterior had only revealed itself after he and his cousin had taken over his family’s investment firm. Looking at him now, she could believe him capable of anything. This was not a man she could trust.

  “I don’t have them on me.” It was all she was willing to tell him.

  “I’ll wait while you go inside and get them.”

  Though she’d purposely meant to mislead him, she hadn’t expected him to call her bluff. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  The question came out harsh and unforgiving. She refused to cower. “They aren’t in the town house.”

  “Where are they?”

  “As I said before, the necklace is in a safe place.”

  Eyes narrowed, Fitz stared long and hard at her.

  Gigi held his gaze without flinching. They might have been two furious armies, neither willing to give quarter, both wanting possession of the same piece of land.

  “Did Dixon take them with him when he left you?”

  “No.” She struggled for the right words to convince Fitz she spoke the truth. “I . . . He never even knew about the pearls.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true.” She hated how defensive she sounded and felt her lips curl in a self-deprecating sneer. What she’d thought would be the best day of her life had been her worst. She’d planned to wear the necklace on her wedding day, as all the Wentworth women had for generations. She’d wanted to surprise him. Instead, it was she who got the surprise.

  Fitz had asked if she still loved Nathanial. How could she love such a man? She’d sacrificed her entire world for his, only to find herself abandoned in a strange city with no money or skills to speak of. Her only hope of survival had been the pearls.

  If Nathanial showed up, contrite and apologetic, would she want him back in her life? In the early weeks after he’d disappeared, to her utter mortification, Gigi had hoped he would come looking for her, that he would find her and beg for her forgiveness.

  He was supposed to marry me.

  The disgrace came again, scorching and hopeless, and with it, the tears. Gigi furiously blinked them away. She would not cry in front of Fitz. She would not cry for herself. And she definitely wouldn’t cry for Nathanial.

  Nathanial.

  He was supposed to be my prince.

  We were supposed to live happily ever after.

  Yes, well, life was no fairy tale. The prince really was a toad, and the princess was never meant to live happily ever after.

  If Gigi still believed that God heard her prayers, she would pray now for guidance, for help, for comfort. But her Heavenly Father had turned His back on her in the same way her earthly father had done.

  “What now?” she asked Fitz, feeling as beaten as she sounded. She was tired of running, of lying about who she was, of hoping atonement was a mere fifty dollars away.

  “It appears we are at a stalemate.”

  “Then I’ll bid you good night.”

  “Not so fast.” His hand shot out and took hold of her arm. His grip was firm but not painful. “I will give you two days to retrieve the pearls from their ‘safe’ place. Then you will surrender them to me.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” He tightened his grip ever so slightly. “You do this, Gigi, you give me the pearls and I’ll keep your identity secret. I will leave you to live out the rest of your life as Sally Smith.”

  How she hated his calmness, his control of the situation. “How very fair-minded of you.”

  “Gigi.” Sympathy flared in his eyes, and she’d never disliked him more than in that moment. “Though you may find this hard to believe, I have come in the spirit of friendship.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re on a mission of goodwill?”

  “Choose to believe whatever you like.” His obvious frustration sounded in his voice. “Connor wants Annie to wear your great-grandmother’s pearls on their wedding day. I am here to make that happen.”

  “Why send you?” Above the whirling and clicking of the blood rushing in her ears, Gigi managed to say, “Why didn’t Connor come himself?”

  Fitz rubbed a hand over his face, a small chip in his calm exterior exposed. “It’s complicated. Suffice it to say, I owe my cousin a great debt, and this is one small step in repaying him.”

  “What if I refuse to give up the pearls?”

  There was a short, taut silence as he contemplated the question.

  “What if . . .” She swallowed. “What if I wish to return the necklace myself?”

  Fitz took one—two—three furious breaths. “Nothing must be allowed to jeopardize the wedding.”

  “I agree.”

  “Then give me the pearls and stay hidden, at least until after the occasion.”

  He spoke as if he had all the power. He does have all the power.

  No, not all.

  Gigi could end this now. She could return to Boston tomorrow. Tonight. This very moment. She could confess her sins and ask for forgiveness.

  What of your promise to Esmeralda? What of Sophie?

  Gigi was trapped, more now than even this morning. Anger swept through like a violent thunderstorm, fast and fierce and unforgiving. She wasn’t aware of moving, but suddenly she launched herself at Fitz. “How dare you interfere in my life again!”

  He easily caught her wrists. “Calm yourself.”

  The cold voice of sanity cut through her torment. She breathed in sobbing gasps, desperate and fearful she would never earn her freedom. Afraid that forgiveness would never be hers if she didn’t return the pearls on her own.

  Fitz held her steady, staring hard into her eyes. His hold didn’t hurt but was strong enough to keep her hands from making contact with his far-too-handsome face. In the darkened alley, he should look menacing. Instead, he looked as weary as Gigi felt. As if he were fatigued by his own impossible burdens.

  Carefully, deliberately, he lowered her hands to her sides. He gentled his hold, then released her completely.

  “The marriage between Connor and Annie will happen, Gigi. The wedding must go off without a hitch, not a single whiff of scandal. And . . .” He held her in place with a look. “Your sister will wear your great-grandmother’s pearls.”

  Somehow the quiet conviction in Fitz’s voice reached Gigi as nothing else could have, and she found herself nodding in agreement. “Is Annie happy?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “You’re not just sayin
g that?” Annie could have been forced to take Gigi’s place, the sacrificial lamb for her father’s desire to align with Fitz’s family and her mother’s wish to climb several more rungs on the social ladder. “My sister truly wants to marry your cousin? She is not being forced into marriage as I would have been had we . . .”

  She left the rest unspoken.

  Fitz had no problem stating the obvious. “You mean, if we had become engaged.”

  “Yes.”

  His chest rose and fell in a soundless sigh. “Your sister is pleased with the way things have turned out.”

  “And your cousin? Is he also pleased?”

  “He claims theirs is a love match.”

  A love match. Gigi’s remaining shreds of resistance faded but then returned full force when Fitz said, “The pearls, Gigi. You have two days to produce them.”

  She felt her face drain of color. “I need more time.”

  “You have forty-eight hours. Not a moment longer.”

  Having made his pronouncement, he stalked off. He didn’t look back, not once. Gigi decided to be relieved. Fitz had given her two days to produce the pearls. She would use the time to figure out a way to get rid of him.

  How? She didn’t know. It would require careful planning. But she would free herself of him eventually.

  She predicted a long, sleepless night ahead.

  Chapter Seven

  Fitz’s throat tightened. He brutally swallowed the burning ache, composed himself, and strode across the street. He waited until he heard Gigi enter Esmeralda’s town house before turning back around.

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he stared up at the three-story structure. A man used to getting what he wanted, and wise enough to reject what he couldn’t achieve quickly, he found himself in uncharted territory.

  His heart pounded with antipathy. Gigi’s resistance to giving up the pearls wasn’t a surprise, precisely. The woman had always been difficult. It was, however, a complication he could do without.

  One of the previously darkened windows on the third floor came alive with flickering light. Gigi lived in the servants’ quarters, Fitz concluded. The thought sat about as well as her inability to be reasonable had earlier, which was to say not at all.

  There was more to her story, something she wasn’t telling him about the pearls. She’d seemed genuine in her desire to return the necklace. And yet, Fitz sensed a secret there. He knew all about keeping secrets.

  Maybe he was overthinking the situation.

  Frowning, he rocked back on his heels and pulled in a deep breath of the frigid night air. He caught a wisp of stale cigar smoke mere seconds before a murky figure stepped out of the shadows and joined him on the sidewalk.

  “You want me to keep following her?”

  “Yes.” Fitz didn’t take his eyes off the third-floor window. “She could run again.”

  Gigi could be packing her belongings even now.

  “She won’t get far.” The confidence in the detective’s voice was why Fitz was paying the man a small fortune.

  Fitz swiveled slightly to his left. The investigator’s eyes glinted black in the dark night. Mr. Offutt had come highly recommended and proven competent, except for the mistake he’d made this morning when he’d lost Gigi in the crowds on Thirty-Fourth Street.

  They discussed their next meeting time and place. And then Fitz waved down a carriage for hire to take him back to his hotel.

  Thirty minutes later, he entered the Waldorf-Astoria and retrieved his key from the front desk.

  The evening clerk, an older gentleman with a receding hairline and a perfectly trimmed beard, was dressed in an impeccable blue suit and a silver brocade waistcoat. His nameplate identified him as Marvin Kapinsky.

  “Good evening, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

  Fitz returned the greeting, his mind back in the alley with Gigi. She’d mentioned her father’s ultimatum as the reason for staying in New York. No ultimatum would keep her from going home. She loved her sisters too much.

  So why not return home the moment Dixon had abandoned her in this very hotel? Fitz would find out why, in time.

  Regrettably, time was something he didn’t have.

  “A telegram arrived after you left earlier.” The clerk set the slip of paper on the counter and then wished Fitz a good night.

  Fitz shot the telegram a cursory glance, noted the name of the sender. The muscles in his back instantly tensed. Connor wouldn’t have contacted him unless it was important.

  It could be nothing more than checking in.

  Fitz’s gut said otherwise.

  Fitz always trusted his gut.

  A headache beat behind his eyes. He ignored the pounding as he stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor.

  In his room, Fitz sat at the writing desk and read the telegram.

  Your father left his house before dawn. Showed up at the office hours later. Took entire staff out to lunch at the Parker House Hotel. Situation under control.

  Fitz’s heart sank. So much said in a spattering of sentences. So much left unsaid. His father had escaped his nurse this morning and wandered the streets of Boston for hours, alone. He’d then shown up at the office and played the benevolent boss.

  Lowering his head, Fitz read the last sentence again. Situation under control. Translation: Your secret is still safe.

  Once again, Connor had proven his loyalty to the family and protected them from scandal. Fitz had only to recollect how the press pilloried members of society for something far less than a business titan’s erratic behavior.

  Time was running out. He had to find a cure.

  Fitz ran a hand over his face. No doubt today’s incident had left his mother in a frantic state. He would write back in the morning and recommend his cousin hire an additional nurse for their father’s care. One clearly wasn’t enough.

  Finding trained workers that could keep their mouths shut was costing the family a fortune. Fitz would find a way to cover the expense.

  And his father’s bad investments. The company had been teetering on the edge of ruin for a while, thanks to Calvin Fitzpatrick’s loss of sound judgment. Had Fitz not insisted on reviewing the ledgers, the situation would have become dire, perhaps even irreversible. Immediately upon discovering that the firm was on the brink of bankruptcy, Fitz and Connor had taken control of the company.

  Although they’d made remarkable progress, it would take years to restore the business to its former glory. Fitz had settled his father’s debts, paid off the bad mortgages, and reorganized the accounting system.

  The investment firm was solvent again, but not yet thriving. Connor’s marriage to Annie Wentworth would go a long way to putting them at the top again. Her inheritance would provide the necessary income to expand.

  Even without Annie’s inheritance, Fitz would bring the firm back to greatness. The source of his larger concern was his father. The man’s unpredictable behavior was getting worse.

  Unable to sit still, Fitz stood abruptly and paced along the perimeter of the room. Few knew of Calvin Fitzpatrick’s condition. Connor had aided Fitz in keeping his father’s illness from becoming public knowledge. So many secrets, he thought, feeling the weight of them like a millstone around his neck.

  An image of Gigi flashed in his mind.

  The woman he’d encountered today was so far removed from the vibrant young girl he’d once adored from afar. He didn’t know quite how to process the changes. Even the name she’d chosen spoke to her situation.

  Sally Smith was plain, unassuming, practically invisible. Gigi Wentworth had been charming, sparkling, a woman who turned heads and—

  Fitz experienced a pang of guilt. He’d seen the sadness in Gigi’s eyes when he’d mentioned Nathanial. The wistfulness. As though she wished for his return, regardless of what she’d said.

  Fitz knew about wishing for what he could never have.

  He knew about pining for someone who could never be his.

  Lips pressed in a ha
rd line, he pivoted on his heel and retraced his steps around the room. If Gigi refused to give him the pearls, he would have to rethink this strategy.

  He must gain Gigi’s trust. Therein lay the problem. She’d never trusted him, and time was working against him. Originally, Fitz had thought to return to Boston in a few days, a week at most. He could tell her family where she was and let her father handle matters from there. But the last time Fitz had interfered in her life, he’d caused more harm than good.

  By his third pass around the room, his headache had settled into a dull throb. An improvement, yet Fitz couldn’t shake his foul mood. He picked up the telegram, read the typed words again, let out a slow hiss.

  Situation under control.

  For how long?

  Fitz crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, then tossed it in the fire. He shut his eyes and searched his pounding, churning mind for answers. Answers, he resolved, that would come in time. He needed another week.

  Perhaps two. Three at the very most. Far more time than he’d arranged to be gone. It couldn’t be helped. Connor would have to understand. Fitz sat at the writing desk and composed a response to his cousin.

  When Gigi awakened the next morning, her mood was as dark as the sky. Mechanically, she rose from her bed and proceeded to braid and coil her hair with an efficiency born of habit. The previous evening’s encounter with Fitz had been frightening, but the man hadn’t broken her will.

  Two days, indeed.

  He could stay in New York a week, a month, a year, and she wouldn’t give him the pearls. She’d had the courage and fortitude to create a new life for herself on her own. She would figure out a way to send Fitz back to Boston empty-handed. He could not—would not—be the one to return the necklace she’d taken.

  You mean the necklace you stole.

  Borrowed. She’d always intended to return it.

  Blinking through the pre-dawn gloom, she stared up at the ceiling. The plaster was peeling in places, its repair evidently not a priority.

  Sighing, Gigi lowered her gaze. She’d tossed and turned all night and still hadn’t been able to decipher Fitz’s motivation. What did he have to gain by playing the hero in this little farce of theirs? What sort of debt did he owe his cousin?