Page 21 of The Gilded Heiress

Leo

The next morning, I sipped my coffee and watched Josie bustle around the tiny kitchen.

How was she so damn chipper?

I barely slept last night, my mind tangled with thoughts of meeting Melvin, the kiss, the saloon... I didn’t care for the

feelings that were emerging when she and I were together.

Lines were not supposed to blur like this. Josie was part of a bigger scheme, nothing more. I’d get the reward money and she’d

gain a family, notoriety, wealth, everything her little heart desired. I couldn’t let my head—or my cock—get in the way of

that.

Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. Wondering what it would be like to fuck her.

I licked my lips and stared at her while she stood at the stove. Her waist was perfect for my hands, her backside round. I’d

caught a glimpse of her long blond locks this morning before she pinned them up. How I’d like to feel those silken strands

all over my skin...

Shit.

I had to stop this. It wasn’t productive in the least.

The persistent ache in my groin needed to be dealt with before we left for the day, however. I had to stroke myself and purge

this craving from my veins to prevent myself from doing something stupid. A climax was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Standing, I tugged my coat over my crotch. “I’ll be back—”

A knock sounded on the door, startling me. I glanced over at Josie. “You expecting someone?”

“No,” she answered, already moving to the door. “You?”

“Of course not.”

She cracked the wood and a young boy stood there. It was the same lad Josie had been talking to on the street when we first

arrived. Instantly, I recognized something in his world-weary eyes, something familiar from my boyhood. He’d seen too much

for his age. I was instantly on edge.

Coming up behind Josie, I stared him down. “What do you want?”

Josie pulled the door wider. “Sticks! What a nice surprise. Come in.”

The boy removed his cap and slid past me into the apartment. “Hey, Josie. Delivery boy just dropped this off for you.”

It was a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Sticks handed it to her, then tilted his head toward the cups on the table. “Got more

coffee?”

“How old are you?” I asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

He stared at me like I was something on the bottom of his boot. “Nine, and what’s it to you?”

“Yes, there’s more coffee,” Josie told the boy as she took the parcel to the table. “Go and help yourself.”

I frowned as Sticks went toward the stove. He found a cup on the shelf and then poured a healthy amount of my coffee into

it. I went to refill my own cup, asking dryly, “Would you like cream and sugar, too?”

“Prefer it black, but thanks.” Sticks lifted his cup in a toast and then sipped.

Jaw tight, I sat back down at the table, where Josie was now unwrapping the brown paper. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I followed you the other day. Watched you from the stairs when you entered this apartment.”

The clever bugger. I hadn’t even heard him behind us.

Josie took a newspaper out of the parcel, along with a note. She put the newspaper on the table to unfold the note. “It’s

from Melvin.”

I leaned over and reached for the newsprint. “What does the note say?”

“‘Dear Miss Smith, Have your manager escort you to the Metropolitan Opera House this evening. Have him ask for your seats

inside. It’s important you don’t speak. See the article and it will all make sense. Big things await. Regards, Melvin.’”

Our gazes met briefly before I opened the newspaper. It was a portion of the prominent society notices. The headline screamed:

MISS JOSéPHINE SMITH ARRIVES FROM PARIS

SOUGHT-AFTER SINGER MUST REST HER VOICE BEFORE NEW YORK CITY DEBUT

I whistled. “Clever. Melvin is a genius.”

“Is that you?” Sticks asked Josie. “I didn’t know you are from Paris.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Those are a bunch of lies.”

I wasn’t surprised she didn’t approve, but this was a smart move. The press loved nothing more than a spectacle, as did Manhattan.

“Think of it as a way to generate excitement, not to mention a bit of mystery.” I skimmed the rest of the article. “It says

you’ll be in a box at the opera tonight. You’ve lost your voice and will be performing again as soon as it recovers.”

With a huff, she frowned at me. “I hate this.”

“Josie, this is good business.” And perhaps an opportunity to rub elbows with the Pendeltons and their ilk. I rubbed my hands

together. I could hardly wait.

“I don’t want to be a sideshow spectacle. And Joséphine? I’ll never remember to answer to that name.”

“It sounds fancy,” Sticks put in as he went for another cup of coffee. “I like it.”

Though it was nice to have an ally in the name choice, I was still annoyed at his presence. “And has anyone invited your opinion?”

Sticks stuck his middle finger up at me.

Resisting the urge to kick the lad out, I concentrated on Josie. “You have one of Martha’s evening gowns?”

“Yes. Do you have a formal evening suit?”

“No, but Ambrose does.”

“Who’s Ambrose?” This was from Sticks, who was leaning against the counter and sipping from his cup.

“The person who lives here,” I said impatiently. Why was I explaining myself to a nine-year-old?

“Will it fit you?” Josie asked.

“It should.” Ambrose and I were of a similar build. If not, I could find a way to fake it enough for one night.

Nibbling her fingernail, Josie studied the newspaper article again. “What should I do with my hair?”

While I hadn’t attended a society event myself, I’ve certainly seen society ladies out on the town over the years. “You should

curl it, then pin it up.”

“I can’t do that. Pippa is the one who’s talented with hair.”

“My ma’ll do it,” Sticks said. “She used to be a maid in a big house uptown.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Josie gushed before I could weigh in. “We’ll pay her, of course. Won’t we, Leo?”

I saw more of my limited cash disappearing. But how could I refuse? Josie needed to look the part, and I liked seeing that

hopeful, excited light in her eyes. “Of course.”

Josie clapped her hands. “This is going to be fun. And I needn’t worry about saying the wrong thing or lying to anyone, because

I’m not allowed to talk.”

I had to admit, Josie’s silence would make it easier for both of us. One liar in our group was enough.

Staring at the newspaper, I sent up a fervent prayer that Mrs. Pendelton planned to attend the opera tonight. Georgie would

know for certain, but I couldn’t go all the way uptown to find out for myself without raising Josie’s suspicions. After the

other day, I promised we’d stay together.

A promise I was now deeply regretting.

Josie started across the floor toward the bedroom. “I should air out the dress. It might have wrinkles.”

She closed the door behind her, thankfully, which gave me a moment alone with Sticks. “Was your ma really a ladies’ maid?”

He set his cup down in the sink. “What’s the difference? She knows how to do hair.”

I glared at him, trying to figure him out. “What’s your angle, kid?”

“I might ask you the same thing.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the bedroom. “I see the way you stare at her. Like

she’s your free lunch and ladybird all in one. What gives?”

“Listen, Josie might tolerate you asking questions, but I won’t. Go home and stay there.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it, mister.”

“Yeah. That’s the way I want to play it.”

His tiny mouth flattened, but he didn’t argue. He put on his cap and gave me a cocky salute. “What time should I tell my ma?”

“Five o’clock. That should be plenty of time.”

“Sure. She’ll do it for a sawbuck.” He strolled to the door, in no hurry whatsoever. “And we want cash. No bank drafts or

promises.”

My eyebrows shot up. “That is highway robbery.”

“That’s my offer, take it or leave it. If you think you can get someone else to do it cheaper on such short notice, be my

guest.”

I wrapped my hands around the wooden kitchen table and dug my fingers into the wood. “A sawbuck, then.”

He grinned widely, his expression victorious. “See you at five, pal.”

The door closed behind the young boy, and I stared at the tabletop. Ten dollars to pin up hair? I felt as if I’d been swindled.

In fact, I was almost sure of it.

Damn, the kid was good. Maybe I was losing my touch?

I set that aside for later.

Tonight required careful planning. Above all else, Josie needed to meet Mrs. Pendelton at some point. During their introduction

I would plant a few well-crafted seeds about Josie’s background, then I’d comment on the slight resemblance between the two

women. That, along with Josie’s new name, should be enough to pique Mrs. Pendelton’s interest over the mysterious singer’s

identity. How could it not?

Also, Melvin’s newspaper story gave me a good idea. Maybe I could drop some hints in the press about her upbringing, subtle

crumbs to start the town wondering if she might be the lost heiress.

Damn, I was good. The plan was falling into place nicely and we’d barely arrived. Before long I’d have revenge for my family

and enough money to set them up for life. No more laundry, no more sewing. No more talk of factories or unwanted marriages.

We could finally afford a lung doctor for Tess.

Indeed, everything was about to change for the better.

Josie

I peered up at the hulking yellowish brick building on Broadway and Fortieth Street. “Is that it?”

Leo paid the hansom driver through the slat, then opened the door. “That’s it. Ugly, wouldn’t you agree?”

Not exactly ugly, but I’d expected something far grander. This building was flat and plain, comparatively. Perhaps the inside would make up for it.

Leo stepped to the walk, and I took a quick moment to appreciate how fine he appeared in his borrowed evening suit. Black

wool trousers were paired with a white vest and shirtfront. The topcoat was tailless—a tuxedo it was called, which Leo claimed

was all the rage. I didn’t know much about fashion, but my heart sped up every time I looked at him.