Page 23 of The Gilded Heiress

Leo

It’s nice having a tomcat around for moments like this.

The words still stung as we took our seats in the box. The entire tier watched as we sat down, curious stares and whispers

trailing our movements, but I hardly noticed. Yes, my pride was a bit bruised.

I’d lost myself in that kiss, my desire burning hotter than at any time in recent memory. Yet Josie’s comment made the whole

thing feel tawdry, as if I kissed every woman like I kissed her. As if the partner didn’t matter to me. Did she believe that

I indiscriminately fucked my way across Boston, without any care for where or whom?

She calls me tomcat. Of course she thinks that.

Had the partner mattered to her, or would any man have sufficed a moment ago?

I shook my head and tried to concentrate on the moment at hand. This woman was turning me inside out. She caused me to doubt

myself like no one else ever had before, and tonight was too important for hand-wringing.

Josie studied the program as if she were memorizing it, so I said under my breath, “Look up and let them see you.”

She lifted her face and focused on the stage, a playful smile on her lips. God, those lips. They were magic. No, heaven. Heavenly

magic. I lost my head whenever I kissed them.

The opening notes boomed from the orchestra and the houselights lowered. Josie bit her lip and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Her excitement was palpable, and like a desperate fool, I moved my leg closer until our thighs touched.

I’m becoming attached to her.

I shoved that idea ruthlessly aside. I was doing this for her , trying to keep her calm and confident. She was the focus here, the only person who mattered.

The performance began and though I didn’t know much about opera, I tried to appear interested. While the singers were talented

and the costumes elaborate, the whole bit was too stuffy for me. Give me a good saloon singer and a beer and I was a happy

man.

Josie, on the other hand, was enraptured by the happenings onstage. She gasped and smiled, cried and laughed. I more enjoyed

watching her as opposed to the actors.

Finally, she shoved my leg. “Stop staring,” she said under her breath. “People will notice.”

But she didn’t ease away, our thighs still pressed tight. I counted that as a win.

I focused on the crowd, looking for one person. Was Mrs. Pendelton here? I intended to find out during the second intermission.

Except I couldn’t see all the boxes, I could only see those in our tier. Mrs. Pendelton might be above or below us, and time

was too precious to waste on guessing.

“Excuse me,” I whispered to Josie, then slid out of my chair and went into the back of our box. Opening the door to the corridor,

I looked left and right. An usher was standing by the entrance to the smoking room.

He straightened as I approached. “May I help you, sir?”

“I need a favor.” Reaching into my inner coat pocket, I withdrew a sawbuck. “Do you know where the Pendelton box is located?”

The man eyed the ten-dollar bill. “I shouldn’t...”

But it was clear he wanted the money, his eyes gazing at the bill longingly.

I spotted my opening and gave him a wide, reassuring smile.

“Mrs. Pendelton is an old acquaintance. I wish to say hello and introduce her to my friend. It won’t take but a few moments, and I’ll never tell anyone we had this conversation. ”

Once more he snuck a peek at the money, then checked our surroundings to make sure we weren’t overheard. “Tier above, two

left of center.” Quick fingers darted out and removed the bill from my hand.

“Much appreciated,” I said with a nod. “And mum’s the word.”

I returned to our box, my veins vibrating with anticipation. During the second intermission, I would lead Josie up and get

her in front of Mrs. Pendelton. It wouldn’t be easy without a proper introduction, but I had a plan for that.

All I needed was a little buzz, tongues wagging about the Parisian singer in their midst. Once these Knickerbockers realized

they had a star here—according to Melvin’s newspaper article, at least—everyone would be eager to meet her. This was what

the first intermission was for. I’d ensure that everyone in our tier knew Joséphine Smith.

Josie cast me a worried glance as I retook my seat. Her thigh touched mine, almost as if she’d missed me. “Everything all

right?”

“Dandy,” I whispered back.

By the time the first act ended, I wasn’t paying much attention to the stage. My mind was racing ahead toward intermission

and my plans. As the lights came back up, I stood and noticed the older woman from the neighboring box staring at me and Josie.

Her expression was a mix of disapproval and curiosity. I didn’t like it. We needed to win this crowd over, fast.

I gave her the boyish and flirtatious smile that worked best on older women. “Excellent beginning, wouldn’t you say, ma’am?”

She tilted her head and opened her fan. “I cannot say that I have seen you here before. Are you an acquaintance of the Wetmores?”

“They are friends with Miss Smith’s producer. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Mr. Melvin Birdman.”

“Oh, goodness.” Recognition dawned in her expression as she tried to peer around me at Josie. “He is very well known. I saw

his production of The Shop Girl last year.”

“That’s him.” I reached for Josie’s arm and helped her to her feet. “This is Miss Joséphine Smith. We’ve just arrived from—”

“From Paris,” the woman finished, her gaze growing wide. “You are the woman mentioned in the newspaper today.”

Josie smiled and inclined her head. Then she pointed to her throat.

“She must rest her voice, you see,” I explained.

“I remember,” our neighbor said. “You poor dear. I do hope you recover soon. I am Mrs. Thomas Nyland. This is my husband,

Mr. Nyland.”

I eased closer and bowed over her hand, then shook her husband’s hand. “Mr. Leo Hardy. A pleasure, ma’am. Sir.”

Whispers in the adjoining boxes reached my ears. It was the sweetest music, sweeter than the performance onstage. At this

very moment eavesdroppers were spreading news of Miss Joséphine Smith’s appearance throughout the tier.

“We are great supporters of the theater,” Mrs. Nyland explained. “Which is how I know of Mr. Birdman and Miss Smith. Will

she be performing soon?” This question was posed to me.

“When her voice is strong enough. We have been in discussions with Mr. Carnegie’s Hall, as well as some of the Broadway shows.”

Josie tried to elbow me for the lie, but I ignored her. “It won’t be long before audiences here are cheering every bit as

loud as they did in France.”

Mr. Nyland leaned in to ask, “Where in Paris did you say she has performed?”

“We’ve been to many theaters there,” Mrs. Nyland added. “Perhaps we caught one of her earlier productions.”

I played along. “Perhaps you did. When was the last time you were in Paris?”

“Eighteen months ago,” Mr. Nyland answered.

“What a shame,” I said. “Miss Smith didn’t begin performing there until a little over a year ago. You must have just missed

her debut at the Paris Opera House.”

Other patrons began crowding into the Nyland box, edging forward with hope shining in their gazes. New Yorkers loved to brush

elbows with anyone who possessed a bit of notoriety. I didn’t mind. I needed news of Joséphine Smith to reach the Pendelton

box.

The next few moments were a blur, with a stream of theatergoers coming forward to meet Miss Joséphine Smith. Josie was regal

and beautiful and silent. She fit the part perfectly, and her demeanor only added to the hum of excitement surrounding us.

“You look so familiar,” one older man said to Josie as he studied her face. “I cannot put my finger on it, but I feel as though

I’ve seen you before.”

“In Paris, perhaps?” The suggestion came from another woman in the box.

“I haven’t been to Paris in thirty years. No, this is more recent. Do you have family in New York, Miss Smith?”

Josie shook her head ruefully. I rushed to shut this line of inquiry down. I couldn’t allow anyone else to collect that Pendelton

reward money—it belonged to me. “Her family is deceased, but they hailed from Boston. Are you acquainted with anyone there?”

“Not too many people, no.” He scratched his jaw, but he was soon edged out of the way by another patron.

We were peppered with the same questions over and over and I could feel Josie growing restless at my side. It was easy for

me to fib, but I knew she wasn’t comfortable with dishonesty. But she didn’t complain, thank goodness, and dazzled the crowd

with her ephemeral beauty.

The lights flickered, so everyone slowly returned to their seats. Josie tugged on my sleeve and tilted her head toward the salon. I followed her in and shut the curtain behind me. “All good?”

“That was awful,” she whispered, making a face. “None of that was the truth.”

It was smart of Melvin to give her an ailment that prevented her from lying tonight. She never would’ve lasted. “Don’t worry.

It’ll all work out in the end, I promise.” We’d both become rich when this was over.

“I know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, then exhaled. “I need a break. I’ll return

in a few moments.”

“I’ll escort you.”

I started forward, but she quickly held up her hand. “No need. I’m visiting the ladies’ retiring room and I’ll be fine on

my own. I won’t speak, I promise.”

Uneasiness crept through me. Her eyes were flat, missing their usual mischievous sparkle. I didn’t like it, but rule three

prohibited me from insisting.

You can’t feel sorry for your mark.

I shoved down my protective instincts. Keep it together, Hardy. This was no time for personal feelings. I wasn’t allowed to care about anyone without the same last name as mine.

I picked up my champagne glass and refilled it. “If you’re certain, then I’ll wait here.”

“How was that so easy for you?”

The question caught me off guard. I paused with the coupe halfway to my mouth and thought of an excuse Josie would swallow.