Nan Ryan (15 page)

This year he would have to adjust as well to having Nevada and Miss Annabelle with him in London.

Dressing for the opera on their second night in New Orleans, Johnny placed the gold studs in his shirt. His thoughts were on the upcoming London game when Nevada called to him through his closed bedroom door.

“Johnny, Miss Annabelle and I are ready. When are we leaving?”

Johnny scowled at himself in the mirror. What had he gotten himself into? Saddled with two women. One so young and foolish she thought she was in love with him. The other so kind and intelligent he felt obliged to take her to the opera when what he really wanted was to get to the tables.

“Be right there, Nevada,” he called. He took his black suit jacket from the mahogany valet, slid his long arms into the sleeves, cocked his wrists so that just the right amount of French cuffs showed, and went forth to meet the ladies.

Miss Annabelle, seated primly on a blue winged sofa, looked almost pretty, Johnny thought, as she smiled at him. Her dress of beige faille was new, chosen only this afternoon from a small expensive shop a block off Jackson Square. Johnny had insisted she and Nevada buy new gowns for the opera. It was the first new dress Miss Annabelle had bought in years, and she had proudly shown it to him when they returned from the shopping spree. Nevada had refused to show hers, saying she wanted to surprise him.

Crossing to the stately pale-haired woman whose eyes were sparkling with excitement, Johnny said, “You look lovely, Miss Annabelle.”

“Thank you, Cap’n,” she answered. Her smile slipped a bit and she said, “Wait until you see Nevada.” Her thin eyebrows lifted and Johnny caught a flash of stern censure in her eyes.

“Where is she? I thought she was ready to go.”

“I am, Johnny,” Nevada said, slinking seductively into the sitting room, feeling more grown-up and pretty than she had ever felt in her life.

Johnny turned, looked at her, and almost had a heart attack.

She wore a gown of scarlet satin that looked like something the
Moonlight Gambler
gals had discarded as too daring. With the aid of a tight corset her waist was nipped in and her breasts pushed up and almost spilling from the gown’s scandalously low-cut bodice. Shimmering scarlet satin pulled so indecently tight over her hips and bottom and down to her knees, she could hardly walk.

Her face was painted. Her Cupid’s bow mouth was flaming scarlet, a black beauty mark beside it. Another was on her left breast just above the plunging bodice. Her black hair was piled high atop her head and adorned with cheap rhinestones.

“What do you think, Johnny?” she said, slowly turning about. He saw that the naughty scarlet dress was slashed all the way to her nipped-in waist in back. Not totally certain whether he wanted to paddle her little scarlet-covered bottom or bare it and caress it, Johnny waited a heartbeat or two to speak. Nevada turned back to face him, smiling, pleased with herself and his stunned reaction.

He said, “Nevada, sweetheart, I’m afraid you’ve overdone it.”

“Overdone it? Whatever do you mean?”

Johnny glanced to Miss Annabelle for help. She lowered her eyes, her lips were compressed, she was not going to comment.

“Your gown, Nevada. It looks cheap.
You
look cheap.” Johnny frowned.

“Cheap?” Her hands went to her hips. Hurt, disappointed, she said angrily, “I’ll have you know this dress is the latest style and I think it’s beautiful and I don’t care what you think!”

Johnny was struggling to control his temper. This foolish young girl seemed to make him lose it quicker than anyone he had ever known. He took his gold-cased pocket watch from inside his white vest pocket, flipped it open, glanced at it.

“The curtain goes up in half an hour.” He returned the watch to his pocket. “That dress will not do. You can’t wear it to the opera. Please change clothes immediately.”

“Change clothes? I’m not about to change clothes. I picked this dress. I like this dress. I’m damned well wearing this dress to the opera!”

That did it. Johnny Roulette got angry.

A muscle working furiously in his tanned jaw, he advanced on Nevada. “You’re not going to the opera in that dress.”

“Oh, yes, I am!” She looked past him to the nervous lady seated on the blue couch. “Are you ready, Miss Annabelle?” Nevada started for the door.

“Excuse us, please, Miss Annabelle,” said Johnny, and crossed the room in half a dozen long strides. He took hold of Nevada’s bare arm and spun her around.

She jerked her arm free, causing the low, slippery bodice of her scarlet dress to slide even lower. “Stay away from me! You can’t tell me what I’ll—”

“You’re wrong,” said Johnny, cornering her. ‘I can and I will.” He picked her up and carried her, cursing and screaming, into the large bedroom she and Miss Annabelle shared. He kicked the door closed behind him and Miss Annabelle jumped as though she’d heard a pistol shot.

Inside the bedroom Johnny went straight to the tall armoire where a profusion of colorful dresses hung. He lowered Nevada to her feet but clung to her waist with one strong hand. With the other he riffled through the dresses, choosing a girlish summery white silk with puffed sleeves and ruffles around the neck.

He said, “Either you put this on or
I’ll
put it on you.”

Glaring at him, Nevada replied forcefully, “I’m not putting that dress on, Mr. Johnny ‘God Almighty’ Roulette!”

“Suit yourself.” He jerked her about and began unhooking the scarlet satin gown. The battle of wills quickly turned physical and became a strenuous wrestling match on the plushly carpeted floor. Unmerciful in his quest, Johnny roughly stripped the scarlet gown from Nevada’s body. Her fancy hair came tumbling down, rhinestones scattered, and tears of anger caused tracks of black from her painted eyes to drip down her flaming-hot cheeks.

Amazed by the strength of a girl so tiny, Johnny, breathing heavily, pinned her to the floor with a long leg over her knees so he could rest for a minute. One of her hands gripped firmly by his was shoved high above her head, but the other was inside Johnny’s white shirt, clawing and scratching.

“
Owwww!
” yelled Johnny. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m hurting you?” She choked, anger clogging her throat. “What do you think you’re doing to me, you big ape.”

Johnny moved his leg at once and loosened his grip on her fragile wrist. “I’m sorry, Nevada. I forget my own strength at times. You all right? Have I hurt you badly?”

“I don’t mean physically!” She closed her eyes and tears washed down her cheeks. “You’ve hurt my feelings, Johnny Roulette.”

Johnny ground his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes fluttered open, wet lashes clinging together. “I just wanted to be beautiful.”

He looked down at the half-naked, crying girl and felt like the biggest heel in the world. “You are beautiful, Nevada. You’re always beautiful.”

And she was, he thought, as his dark eyes traveled down from the perfect face, marred by make-up and tears, to the ivory bosom rising and falling rapidly with emotion. He felt his stomach tighten. In pushing her arm up over her head he’d caused a barely covered breast to pull free of the low, lace-trimmed chemise. A shy pink nipple, as smooth and supple as satin, was visible.

His eyes darkened.

Tempted to bend his head and kiss the soft nipple until it blossomed and hardened in his mouth, Johnny forced his attention back up to her face.

“I apologize for hurting your feelings. I was insensitive and mean and I’m sorry. If you want to be beautiful, please wear the white dress to the opera.” A brown thumb went to the black smudge beside her mouth. “You don’t need beauty marks or lip rouge.”

“I don’t?”

He smiled at her. “That’s for older ladies who want to look young. You are young. And pretty, very pretty.” His voice was soft and deep and persuasive. “Wear the white dress for me.”

Warmed by his voice, his gentle hands, his coaxing black eyes, Nevada sighed and nodded. “Will you help me so we won’t be late for the opera?”

“At your service, madam,” said Johnny, and levering himself from the floor, reached out to her.

Miss Annabelle, having heard the scuffling and shouting and crying coming from behind the closed door, was relieved when the pair came breezing back into the parlor, laughing and acting as if they had never had a cross word.

Nevada, she noted, was wearing a lovely frothy white dress and all the vulgar paint had been scrubbed away. Her dark hair had been brushed and was held back off her unblemished face with a pair of oyster-shell combs. She looked young and fresh and happy.

“Shall we go, ladies?” said Johnny, drawing on a pair of white kid gloves.

Nevada was awed by the magnificence of the Théâtre d’Orléans. And by the glittering crowd in attendance. She noticed that Johnny was not the only gentleman wearing white kid gloves, and she asked him about it. He told her it was expected, just as it was expected that the ladies attending the opera be dressed tastefully. And he raised a dark brow and grinned at her.

Miss Annabelle was breathlessly happy. She was where she belonged and in all her glory. She loved the opera and the crowds and the way of life it represented. She had been reared on visits to New Orleans and the opera, and as she sat now in the coveted dress circle she waved and blew kisses, acknowledging old friends, reclaiming her place among the Old Guard. She was, despite the fact that she was penniless, still a Louisiana Delaney, a respected member of the elite, a lady of impeccable background who had not relinquished her position in high society along with her deed to the lost Delaney mansion.

She still had the name.

The opera began and Miss Annabelle lifted the mother-of-pearl opera glasses purchased just that afternoon. Nevada lifted hers as well but soon lowered them and looked up at Johnny. His jet hair and black eyes gleaming in the muted light, he turned his head to look at her and his lips beneath the suave mustache lifted into a grin. He winked at her. She was relieved. He didn’t care for the opera either. He was just as bored as she.

When finally
La Traviata
mercifully ended, Miss Annabelle, her face aglow, turned to them, clasping her hands together as though in prayer and said, “Cap’n Roulette, Nevada, have you ever heard such glissandos and arpeggios in your life?”

Johnny looked at Nevada, his expression asking, You want to answer that one?

“I never have, Miss Annabelle,” Nevada said, then whispered to Johnny as Miss Annabelle turned to acknowledge an old acquaintance, “And I hope to high heaven I never do again.”

He whispered back, “Well brought up young ladies are supposed to enjoy the opera.”

“I was raised on a keelboat, and opera bores the pants off me. Let’s go gamble.”

15

“She has no regard for convention,” said the prim Miss Annabelle Delaney.

“That’s very true,” admitted Johnny, “so I appreciate your task will not be an easy one.”

The two were having breakfast alone in a sunny sidewalk café, while the topic of their conversation slept the morning away in the St. Louis suite. It was the first chance they had had to discuss Nevada.

Johnny recounted Nevada’s background to Miss Annabelle, relating all that he knew, up to and including her brief stint as an entertainer on board the
Moonlight Gambler
, where he had found her. He did not include the fact that they had shared a night of passion.

Miss Annabelle listened intently, nodding, shaking her graying head and murmuring, “The poor child. That poor sweet girl.”

“You can understand, then, why I felt obliged to take her off the
Gambler,
” said Johnny, spreading sweet creamery butter atop a hot French roll.

Miss Annabelle took a sip of her café au lait, then set her cup down. “You could have done no less. I hate to think what might have happened to the girl had you not come along, Cap’n Roulette.” Her eyes narrowing, she spoke exactly what was on her mind. “Why, some despicable amorous rogue might well have … have … taken advantage of the innocent child!”

Johnny wondered miserably if he looked as guilty as he felt. Purposely keeping his voice level, he said, “Yes, that was entirely possible,” and quickly changed the subject. “Nevada’s safe with us now, Miss Annabelle, and I’m depending on you to teach her all the things she needs to know.”

“It will be my pleasure, but I will need your cooperation.”

“You have it, of course.”

Miss Annabelle’s expression became one of mild accusation. “In the future I will be the one to help Nevada with her wardrobe.”

Johnny’s mind flashed immediately to last evening’s altercation over Nevada’s choice of evening gowns. Grinning sheepishly, he said, “Absolutely. I won’t interfere again. You have my word on that.” He shook his head then and added, “You’ll find, however, that Nevada is very strong-willed. Her father indulged her and apparently he spun unrealistic dreams of romance.”

“Cap’n, I’m glad you brought up the subject of romance.” Miss Annabelle colored slightly, patted her thin mouth with her napkin, and continued. “While I’m no expert on affairs of the heart, my instincts tell me that Nevada cares far too much for you.”