Once an Heiress (Gilded Promises) Page 6

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Ah, but I have much to say to you.”

  She tugged her hand. Fitz held on tight.

  He didn’t know what he meant to do or what he planned to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to let Gigi go.

  Not yet.

  Gigi reached the end of her endurance, all because Fitz had her hand wrapped inside his. This was the first time in nearly a year that she’d seen him. So much had occurred in the months since. Yet he’d reached for her with such ease. There’d been no hesitation, no pretense.

  The unexpected familiarity of the gesture put her immediately on guard. Fitz had never been this forward with her, or this calm and casual. He was up to something.

  Of course he was up to something. The man had not earned his ruthless reputation without reason.

  She yanked her hand again.

  He pulled her a step closer, looking as if he had much to say, none of which she cared to hear. Unless he had news of her family.

  Blinking hard as her throat cinched closed, Gigi struggled to contain her conflicting emotions. Fitz’s touch felt so . . . so . . . safe. That had never been the case before, at least not since they were children. There had been nothing easy between them as adults.

  Time seemed to slow as past overlaid present. Fitz looked as uneasy as Gigi felt. Yet, still, he held on to her hand.

  “Please,” she said, the word barely a whisper. “Please,” she repeated more fervently. “Let me go.”

  His eyes narrowed, and she knew better than to look away from the portrait of upright perfection he made. He was tall and inflexible, with a handsome face and an air of complete assurance. A man confident about his place in the world. A man who owned his place in the world.

  Why wasn’t he speaking?

  Why wasn’t she?

  “Say what you’ve come to say and then leave me in peace.”

  “You wish to do this here?” He made a point of looking around them, his gaze pausing over a group of dancers who watched them intently and made no attempt to hide their curiosity. “Now?”

  Gigi shrugged one shoulder, remaining silent in an attempt to gain some bit of advantage over him. On the surface, Fitz’s words were calm and controlled. Yet she heard the warning in them. The man might not prefer an audience for this conversation, but he wouldn’t let a few nosy dancers deter him from his goal.

  Whatever goal that might be.

  “Let me go,” she hissed.

  “Not yet.”

  Feeling trapped and needing to lash out, she did what any wise woman would do in her circumstances. She went on the offensive. “We both know why you’re here.”

  His eyebrows lifted in silent challenge. “Do we?”

  “You have no interest in buying this theater.”

  His brows moved a shade higher. “Don’t I?”

  “You are here for me.” She held his gaze, daring him to object. When he continued staring at her with that unreadable expression, she issued her own challenge. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong.” He leaned in then and raked her with one long look, taking in her face and plain black dress.

  Gigi had never felt more unworthy. Or confused. “What do you want from me?”

  One side of his mouth twitched in what she imagined was displeasure, perhaps disdain. “You have to ask?”

  Her shoulders bunched in irritation. He was toying with her, drawing out this moment for some cruel purpose.

  “Give it your best guess,” he said. “Contemplate the possibilities long and hard before you respond.”

  Fitz wouldn’t relent until he got what he’d come for. He never accepted defeat. In that, he was just like Gigi’s father. Too much. The two had plotted out her future as if she were just another one of their business deals. That cold, impersonal lack of consideration had left her vulnerable. Easy prey for Nathanial to swoop in and win her affection, and . . .

  Gigi wasn’t being fair to Fitz. Or her father.

  Her decision to run away with Nathanial had been hers. It was no one’s fault but her own that she’d been desperate for romance. She’d wanted—needed—to be treasured and admired and, yes, loved.

  Marriages in her world provided none of those things. Gigi had been full of romantic illusions. She’d wanted something grander than an arranged marriage. That stubborn desperation had made her the ideal target for a fortune hunter.

  She’d been such a fool, believing God had brought Nathanial into her life at just the right time for the Lord’s perfect purpose. How utterly fanciful. Gigi had left all she knew, all the people she loved, for empty promises whispered under the moon and stars.

  Fitz had been right to warn her about Nathanial. So why wasn’t he demanding an explanation?

  Because they had a captive audience, leaning in, straining to hear their exchange. Fitz was not the sort of man to indulge in unnecessary drama. Then why did he still hold her hand cupped in his?

  Surely he would say something, anything to put a halt to this endless moment.

  Gigi searched for words to fill the void, but nothing came to mind. She and Fitz hadn’t spoken directly to one another since the night he’d confronted her about Nathanial. All she could do now was force herself to breathe. Even that simple task proved nearly impossible.

  At last, he let go of her hand and stepped back.

  The lack of contact left her feeling oddly alone. She turned to go. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Try to run from me,” he warned. “Give it your best effort, but know that I’ll find you again.”

  She glanced down at his hand on her arm, back up to his face. “Is that a threat?”

  “A promise.” His green gaze swept over her as he spoke, his features still unreadable.

  The embroidered waistcoat he wore highlighted the unusual color of his eyes. Why had she never noticed how the irises were rimmed with a thin band of gold?

  Gigi wondered at the direction of her thoughts. At the same moment, Fitz’s glance flicked to a spot just over her right shoulder. Only then did she become aware the music had stopped.

  “Fitz, darling, I fear your attention has wavered.” Stepping beside them, Esmeralda gave Gigi a sidelong glance, frowned, then returned her full attention to Fitz. “You will come with me now. I wish for you to hear my rendition of Carmen’s signature aria.”

  The husky command was followed by a short pause as the diva turned to glance at Gigi. Her eyes were not quite hard, but neither were they soft. “The crimson satin gown I wear in the final act has acquired a stain at the hem. I require it gone before my next fitting.”

  Though stain removal was not her forte, or her job as Sophie’s maid—and since Mrs. Llewellyn didn’t need her assistance—Gigi couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do more. “I’ll see to the matter at once.”

  “Yes. Well, then. Off you go.” Esmeralda made a shooing motion with her hands.

  Happy to oblige, Gigi spun in the direction of the wardrobe closet. In her haste, she moved too quickly, and her skirts tangled around her ankles. She stumbled back a step.

  Fitz’s hands clasped her shoulders from behind as he supported her against him. “Easy now,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

  Gigi should have been frightened by the underlying meaning in his declaration. Instead, his low voice steadied her and brought to mind a time when life had been simpler, a time when she and Fitz had been friends.

  A time when her head had been filled with nothing more complicated than a stain on the hem of one of her own dresses. She closed her eyes a moment, only briefly, and reveled in the feeling of security that washed through her.

  So much had changed. She’d done things that couldn’t be taken back. Gigi had lost the woman she’d once been and barely recognized the woman she was now. What was real and what was fantasy?

  I’ve got you.

  Did Fitz know how terrifying those words sounded? He was so stable, so predictable, so . . .
familiar. There’d been a season in her life when she’d scorned him for his steadfast ways. She’d accused him of being boring, as if that were the greatest crime a man could commit.

  How ridiculous she’d been. How silly and naïve and utterly horrid.

  “Sally, are you unwell?” The suspicion in the diva’s voice nearly, but not quite, matched the concern in her eyes.

  Gigi pulled herself together.

  “I’m perfectly well, thank you.” Readjusting her collar, Gigi stepped away from Fitz, away from the burst of emotions and memories and impossible wave of hope that had no place in her new, pragmatic life. “I merely lost my balance.”

  Esmeralda tilted her head at a curious angle. “It was fortunate Mr. Fitzpatrick was here to catch you.”

  Gigi gave a humming response that could be interpreted as agreement.

  Fitz gave an equally dispassionate response. They shared an awkward glance and then, as if they’d practiced the move, looked away from each other.

  Eyes widening, as though suddenly realizing the oddity of their familiar manner, Esmeralda looked from one to the other and back again. Her gaze filled with questions.

  Gigi willed the diva to keep them to herself, at least until Fitz was out of earshot.

  Of all the people Gigi had met in New York, Esmeralda asked the most pointed questions about Gigi’s past, never quite believing her answers. No wonder, that. The woman made her living inside a character, taking on a role that had little to do with reality. Of course she would recognize that Gigi wasn’t who she pretended to be.

  “I believe you wanted me to listen to your rehearsal?” Fitz spoke to Esmeralda with the sort of gentle patience he’d used with Gigi all those years ago. “I find myself quite enamored with your talent.”

  “You are a man of discerning taste.”

  He cast a brief glance in Gigi’s direction. “Some in my acquaintance would disagree.”

  Esmeralda sniffed delicately, the sound almost musical. “Then they aren’t worth knowing.”

  “Indeed.” A small smile played across his lips as he offered his arm to the singer. “Shall we?”

  “But of course.” Adopting a queenly posture, Esmeralda allowed Fitz to escort her back to center stage.

  Neither acknowledged Gigi again.

  Relief weakening her knees, Gigi went to do Esmeralda’s bidding. She hurried her steps. The more distance between her and Fitz, the better. But the drama unfolding onstage had her pausing in the wings a moment longer. The story of two young lovers desperate to be together, doing what they must to avoid discovery, hit too close to home.

  Gigi couldn’t help but look back at Fitz. Distance and dim lighting couldn’t hide the way he pressed his lips in a flat line, or how his gaze bore into her.

  Her first instinct was to run. From Fitz, from the theater, from New York and the life she’d created for herself out of necessity and shame. So much shame. Unfortunately, Esmeralda paid her too well. If Gigi was to redeem her great-grandmother’s pearls, she had to endure her circumstances a while longer.

  At last, Fitz turned away and focused on Esmeralda. Gigi should have been thankful. But as she watched him give his undivided attention to the beautiful singer, the sensation running through her blood felt like . . .

  God help her, the sensation felt like longing.

  Chapter Four

  As Fitz exited the theater, a touch of shock wound through his determination. His encounter with Gigi had left him unsettled. He felt restless and uneasy, and no closer to securing the item he’d come to retrieve.

  Pulling out his watch, he checked the time. Not yet four o’clock. He could meet with the private investigator before heading back to his hotel to change for dinner with Esmeralda and her daughter.

  Fitz allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. An evening with the opera singer—in her private residence—would afford him the opportunity to seek out Gigi once again. He would end their business tonight, once he figured out how best to approach the matter.

  Gigi had changed considerably. He’d hardly recognized her. But there was no reason for him to grieve. She’d made her choices.

  And so had he, some harder than others.

  Wishing for a different outcome to their story belonged to his younger self. He’d made initial contact with the woman. The hardest part was over.

  Yet the image of Gigi’s vulnerability slammed into Fitz’s mind, shaking his concentration. He took a hard breath. What did it matter that, for a brief moment, he’d encountered the friend from his childhood?

  What did it matter that, with her pulled up against him, he’d felt her pain as if it were his own? Let it go, Fitz.

  Let her go. Your loyalty lies elsewhere.

  A man dressed in a wrinkled suit beneath a frayed overcoat approached him from the alleyway on his left. Hat pulled low over his eyes, he advanced on Fitz with hardened tenacity as he shouldered his way through the crowded sidewalk.

  Fitz greeted the private investigator with a short nod. “Mr. Offutt, what news do you have for me?”

  “I have a few answers to the problem that presented itself this morning.” He pushed his hat back, revealing a face like a mountain terrain, all rough lines and recessed planes. “I trust now is a good time.”

  “Let’s walk up the block.” Fitz took off without checking to see if the other man followed him. He always thought best on the move.

  The investigator fell into step beside him. “I went back to Herald Square as you requested.”

  The man had been following Gigi for well over a week, ever since he’d sent word to Fitz that he’d found her. Apparently, she’d become a creature of habit, which had made Mr. Offutt’s job easy. Her days were filled with mundane tasks as expected of a woman in service. Her one indulgence was a solitary walk every morning just after dawn.

  This morning had been no different. However, she’d chosen a different route. Because of her switch in routine, Mr. Offutt had lost her in the crowds near Herald Square.

  “Were you able to discover anything?” Fitz asked.

  Retrieving a small notepad from an inside pocket of his jacket, the investigator proceeded to run through the list of shops and restaurants in Herald Square.

  Fitz listened, his mind working through several scenarios. Gigi could have disappeared into any of those businesses. The question was whether she’d gone on an errand for herself or her employer. Or had she gone to meet someone?

  Nathanial Dixon, perhaps?

  The latter possibility was unbearable in a way Fitz refused to acknowledge on any conscious level. By all accounts, Dixon was out of Gigi’s life. Mr. Offutt had been adamant.

  What if Dixon isn’t out of her life?

  It didn’t matter one way or another, Fitz told himself. Still, doubt prowled through his attempt not to care.

  With considerable effort, he returned his attention to the investigator’s report.

  Pausing mid-sentence, Mr. Offutt flipped the page and placed a finger on the final item scribbled there. “A millinery is also in the area, but it wasn’t open at that hour, so she couldn’t have gone in there.”

  Fitz gave the man a skeletal grin. He was paying far too much for information he could gather on his own. “Of the dozen or so businesses you just mentioned, which do you believe she ducked into this morning?”

  The man shut the notebook, tapped the binding with an agitated finger. “From my calculations, considering her walking speed, she could have gone into one of two shops.”

  Fitz waited.

  “A delicatessen or a haberdashery. However, the delicatessen is more likely.”

  Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickled between Fitz’s shoulder blades. “What makes you say that?”

  “The haberdashery specializes in men’s wares, and she wasn’t carrying any packages when I caught up with her again.”

  Who had Gigi gone to meet? It could have been any number of people besides Dixon.

  “I couldn’t get any infor
mation out of the waitresses or cashier at the delicatessen, nothing conclusive, at any rate.”

  Fitz made a mental note to visit the restaurant himself. Although the private investigator didn’t exactly instill confidence, the employees’ tight-lipped refusal to answer his questions didn’t make sense. Were they being difficult, or did they simply not remember Gigi? “Let me see your list of businesses again.”

  The investigator flipped back two pages, then gave Fitz the book. Fitz scanned the page, pausing at Ryerson’s Pawnbroker Sale Store.

  Surely, she wouldn’t have . . .

  Fitz dismissed the thought before it had a chance to take root. Gigi had made any number of bad decisions in the year she’d run off with Dixon. But she wasn’t a bad person. She would never sell off something that didn’t belong to her. If she had, she wouldn’t have needed to take on a life of service.

  Unless there was more to the story than the private investigator had uncovered.

  What have you been up to, Gigi?

  Frowning, Fitz handed back the book.

  “You want me to continue following her?”

  “Yes.” Fitz’s response came immediately. He’d seen Gigi’s fear this afternoon and recognized her internal struggle to stand her ground or flee.

  She’d run once before. She could easily do so again.

  “I’ll return to the theater and wait for her there.”

  “Very good.”

  They parted ways at the street corner. Fitz watched the investigator retrace his steps before heading in the opposite direction, his mind in turmoil.

  Fitz was a man who dealt in facts. He refused to let his thoughts wander to supposition and unfounded concerns.

  He’d found Gigi. That was enough for now.

  It had to be enough.

  After completing the exhaustive process of removing the stain from Esmeralda’s costume, Gigi returned to the town house on Riverside Drive. Twice, she feared she was being followed. But each time she scanned the area, nothing seemed out of place.

  Her anxious state, bordering on panic, was the same numbing sensation that had lurked in the shadows of her mind all day. She was hardly aware of moving, of entering the house, of mounting the back stairs, of passing the second-floor landing. But suddenly she was in her room, gasping for a decent breath of air that had nothing to do with exertion.