Nan Ryan (27 page)

She snuggled close to Johnny’s warmth and smiled dreamily. And barely lifted her dark head when Johnny shouted to a street urchin hawking papers on the corner. The dirty-faced boy hurried to the slow-moving carriage, held out the late edition of
The Pall Mall Gazette
, and said, “Why, thank you, governor” when Johnny tipped generously.

When they arrived back at Claridge’s, Miss Annabelle had retired for the evening. The fire in the grate had burned low but the sitting room was warm and cozy. Johnny helped Nevada out of her cape, touched her bare shoulder, and said, “Do you suppose Miss Annabelle is asleep?” His dark eyes flashed and his easy smile suggested that he hoped she was.

“I’m sure of it,” Nevada said.

“I’ve ordered champagne sent up.” His fingers slid along the sapphire-and-diamond necklace around her throat. “Why don’t you get more comfortable? I’ll do the same.” He grinned engagingly. “Then join me for a nightcap.”

In her darkened bedroom Nevada was very careful not to wake Miss Annabelle. She tiptoed straight to the dressing room and closed the door behind her. And then hurrying anxiously, she prayed nothing would go wrong, that Miss Annabelle would sleep the night through, and that she and Johnny could be alone.

Suddenly wondering exactly how comfortable she was supposed to make herself, Nevada stood in the mirrored dressing room undecided. She debated what she should slip into. And quickly made a daring choice.

Nevada stripped down to the skin, save for the diamond-and-sapphire necklace. Smiling mischievously, she drew from the glass-doored armoire a pale blue nightgown she had purchased at Harrods but had never worn because of its seductive sheerness. She slipped the lovely nightie over her head, pulled it down over her breasts and hips, and looked at herself.

She blushed hotly.

She was as naked as if she wore nothing at all; the gauzy gown hid nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nevada bit her lip, considered changing, then smiled and lifted her chin. Feeling wonderfully naughty, she pulled on an ice-blue silk wrapper over the revealing gossamer gown. She tied the robe’s sash and then carefully folded back the silk lapels so that the sparkling necklace as well as a generous expanse of bare bosom would show. Slipping her feet into a pair of satin slippers, she brushed the puffs and braids from her hair, allowing the long black tresses to spill loosely down her back.

She blew out the lamp and tiptoed from the mirrored dressing room across the darkened bedroom and, reaching the door, took a deep breath, glanced one last time at Miss Annabelle, and went out to meet Johnny.

With limber grace he came to his feet when she entered. And the thought struck Nevada that all the royals were not back at Buckingham Palace. Johnny looked like some kind of lord in a dark burgundy jacket of soft velvet and open-collared silk shirt all ruffled down the front.

A shiver of excitement skipped up her spine when he said, his voice deep and sensuous, rich as fine brandy, “That palace crowd would really think you beautiful if they could see you now.”

She came to him, stood directly before him. “And you?”

His black eyes pierced her, but before he could respond to her question a soft knock on the door caused him to turn his dark head.

“Excuse me,” he said and crossed the room.

A hotel steward wheeled in a linen-draped table bearing candelabrum, champagne, caviar, and candies. Johnny winked at her and Nevada laughed softly, thinking to herself that they
were
two of a kind, they most surely belonged together. Johnny, like her, was planning a long, lovely night of self-indulgence and sweet decadence. Just the two of them. Alone together in the privacy of his room. A romantic fire in the fireplace. Chilled wine. Crunchy caviar. Rich chocolates.

And a big soft bed.

When Johnny closed the door behind the departing steward, he turned and said teasingly, “Will my lady join me in a bit of very private celebrating?” He lifted the chilled champagne from its icy depths.

Nevada smiled and softly replied, “My lord, I can think of nothing that would please me more.”

She could hardly wait to hear his toast, but just as they raised their stemmed glasses there was another soft knock at the door.

Ben Robin walked past Johnny and into the suite as though he had been expected. Clutching the lapels of her robe together, Nevada looked from Ben to Johnny, puzzled.

“I hope I’m not … ah … interrupting anything,” Ben said, noting Nevada’s nightclothes.

“Not a thing,” Johnny assured him. “Come on in and have a drink with us.”

Johnny poured another glass of champagne, handed it to Ben Robin, and looked around for the newspaper he’d bought from the street boy. Spotting it on a drum table beside Nevada, he asked if she would bring it to him.

Annoyed that Johnny had invited Ben to join them on this night of nights and wondering why the sudden interest in the
Gazette
, she picked up the paper and held it out to him.

Grinning, Johnny took it, turned to an inside article, skimmed it, and folded the paper. Handing it to Ben Robin, he said, “Read it for yourself. Aloud, if you please.”

Baffled, Nevada listened to Ben Robin read aloud from
The Pall Mall Gazette
. He read of the night’s royal reception at the palace and of them, Johnny Roulette and Miss Marie Hamilton, having been presented to the queen. Her slight irritation fled.

Excitedly she flew across the room. “Let me see that, Ben! Johnny, we’re in the paper. Isn’t that wonderful? I can’t believe it.” She snatched the newspaper from Ben’s hands and sank down onto the couch, reading and rereading the article, totally engrossed.

When she lowered the paper she realized that Johnny was laughing. And that Ben Robin was counting out bills into Johnny’s palm. Lots of bills. Big bills.

The counting finally stopped.

Ben said, “An even one thousand.”

And Johnny, taking the
Gazette
from her, handed it to Ben. “And your receipt.” Johnny wadded the bills in his hand and said, “It was so easy, I feel almost guilty taking your money, Benjamin.”

Ben Robin was smiling when he replied, “I deserve to lose.” He glanced at Nevada. “I’ve no doubt you were a true lady tonight. My congratulations.” He stood up, ready to leave.

The smile left Nevada’s flushed face. Warily she rose from the sofa. “Why are you congratulating me, Ben?”

“Why, because, my dear, you—”

“You fooled them at the palace,” Johnny laughingly cut in as he stuffed the bills in the breast pocket of his burgundy velvet jacket. “They took you to be one of them, a true blue-blood.”

“But of course I am not,” said Nevada, her voice flat.

“No,” said Johnny evenly, “and neither am I. That’s what made it a challenge.”

Nevada’s blue eyes had lost their sparkle. She stared at Johnny. “You took me to Buckingham Palace on a bet?”

“Ah … I’ll say good night,” Ben Robin said. With the newspaper tucked under his arm, he made his exit.

“Yes. And we won, didn’t we, Lady Hamilton,” said Johnny carelessly. He offered his hand to Nevada. “One thousand pounds. A year of comfortable living, by most standards.”

Ignoring his hand, she said, an icy edge to her voice, “You bet with Ben that you could take me to Buckingham Palace and pass me off as a lady?”

“Yes, indeed, darlin’, and you came through with flying colors. There was not one duke or prince there who suspected your background.” He laughed aloud. “The nobility thought you a true lady.”

Stunned and deeply hurt, Nevada stared at Johnny, fighting to keep back the tears that were stinging her eyes. She had thought he was beginning to care, when all the time he had been grooming her to win a bet. This night had meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him.

Her pride swiftly surfacing to cover the hurt, Nevada said, “I’ll tell you this much, Johnny Roulette, I am damned sure more of a lady than you are a gentleman.”

“Well, sure you are, hon.” Johnny’s broad smile slipped slightly when he realized she was angry. “I never said—”

“I’ll tell you something else,” she interrupted, her voice as cold as the London night, “I have had enough of England and of you.”

“Now, Nevada, you don’t mean that.” He remained seated, unbothered by what he took to be an idle threat.

“I never meant anything more in my life.”

“Look, sweetheart, you’re—”

“I want my money. Including my cut of the thousand pounds you won tonight.”

Johnny nodded. “And you’ll have it. Tomorrow I’ll go to the—”

“Not tomorrow. Tonight. Right now!”

“Nevada, lower your voice. You’ll wake Miss Annabelle.” Johnny came to his feet.

“I don’t give a damn if I wake everybody in the hotel!” she shouted.

Johnny’s black eyes narrowed. He took a step toward her. But his tone remained low and well-modulated when he told her, “I said lower your voice, Nevada.”

“I heard you the first time but you obviously have not heard me. It’s over, Johnny. All over. No more bossing me around. I’m not an obedient child. I’m a woman and I’m leaving.”

“You’ll leave when I say you can leave.” Growing angry now, Johnny swiftly crossed to her and stood towering over her, his demeanor threatening. “You know I need you with me for the big game.”

“That’s your hard luck, not mine. I’m not staying for the game.”

Johnny experienced his first real pang of uneasiness. He immediately tried a different tack. He reached out and gently clasped her upper arms. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re upset. You’ll feel different tomorrow.” He favored her with his most irresistible smile, his white teeth flashing dazzlingly beneath his sleek mustache. “If after the game you still want to leave, I’ll permit it.”

“Damn you and damn your permission!” She shrugged away. “I don’t need either one! I can and will do just as I please.”

Johnny’s heart was beginning to kick against his ribs. My, God, she really meant it. She was planning to leave him. He couldn’t let that happen. He
wouldn’t
let it happen. She was his. His good-luck charm and she was staying.

He again pulled her close against him and pressed his tanned cheek to hers. “Baby, baby, I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.”

“Johnny, let me go.” Nevada was unreachable.

Johnny pulled back a little to look at her. She refused to meet his glance. He said, “Nevada, if you really want to leave London, then certainly that is your right.”

Her eyes slowly lifted to his. “Thank you. Now if you’ll kindly let go of me and—”

“All right. But won’t you at least stay until after the game?”

“No, damn you, I won’t. You can kiss your good-luck charm good-bye!” She stepped away from him.

Scowling, Johnny said, “I’ll do that” He effortlessly caught her and pulled her back to him. His gaze lowered to her lips. He was confident that if he kissed her, she’d be putty in his hands, just as always. But Nevada read his thoughts.

“It won’t work, Johnny,” she said in a flat, determined voice.

Knowing it would work, Johnny lowered his dark head and covered her mouth with his. His tongue easily parted her lips and he kissed her with a long, slow warmth, determined to melt away the ice and the anger. Nevada neither struggled nor participated. Her small soft body did not mold itself to his, her arms did not come around him. Johnny deepened the kiss, drawing her closer, cradling her head against his shoulder. Slanting his heated lips on hers, he brought his hand up to her face, caressed her delicate jaw, moved his lean fingers down the side of her throat where the shimmering diamond-and-sapphire necklace rested. Then to the satin lapel of her blue robe. Gently he tugged, urging the robe apart. He found the sash at her slender waist and eagerly untied it. His hand sought the rounded softness of her breast.

Still he got no response. Shaken, he finally lifted his head, his breath short, his heart hammering in his chest.

Nevada, her soft lips wet and swollen from his kiss, the open blue robe exposing her luscious body beneath the gossamer gown, looked him squarely in the eye. Defiant and beautiful, she stood there toe-to-toe with Johnny, a highly desirable, totally independent woman, unafraid and unyielding.

She said very softly, “For me you no longer exist. If ever we meet again, I don’t know you. You and I have never met.”

Then she whirled around and walked quickly across the room, the blue robe flaring out behind her. At her bedroom door she paused, turned, and looked back at him. “You never wanted me for anything but to bring you luck gambling. Well, from now on, Johnny Roulette, I’m betting on myself!”

Part Two

26

In the rosy, spectral glow of sunrise, General Andrew Jackson easily sat his rearing stallion. At noon when the Louisiana sun was high overhead, the general was still there, his hat lifted in flamboyant salute. At dusk when the warm afternoon gave way to the chill of southern night, the proud warrior and his stallion still dominated the square named for him.

And late at night when the Crescent City slept and a dewy sheen settled over the grassy park surrounding the mounted general, the fiery Jackson remained wide awake, his blazing eyes lifted to the night sky, his back held militarily rigid.