Page 27 of The Gilded Heiress

Josie

When I emerged from the bedroom the next morning, I found Ambrose stretched out on the sofa, asleep, with Leo in a chair,

his upper half folded over on the kitchen table. He looked uncomfortable and I told myself I didn’t care.

They were fortunate that I unlocked the door an hour or so after they left. As suspicious as I was of Leo, I still didn’t

want him sleeping on the street. Or worse.

As I completed my morning ablutions in the washroom, I avoided looking in the mirror. I knew without checking that I looked

tired. I hadn’t slept much, my thoughts running like a freight train all night. Ambrose’s arrival and their subsequent discussion

illustrated one point very clearly: I was right to be suspicious of Leo.

You know the rules.

Yes, but you’ve never brought in a woman before.

The exchange meant something. The phrasing was odd, a special conversation only Leo and Ambrose understood. But I could feel

its importance, like there was a message I should heed in there. I merely needed more time to figure it out.

My instinct had been to push them away, let them go elsewhere while I used the quiet to think. Because when Leo was in the

vicinity, my brain turned to mush.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t come to any resolution. The confusion and uncertainty were still plaguing me this morning. The only person who could provide answers—Leo—was unlikely to tell me the truth.

I returned to Ambrose’s apartment and began fixing my breakfast. I didn’t care if I woke them or not. I was here in this city

for me—and only me.

“Christ, Josie,” Leo grumbled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly sit up, then wince. “Ow.”

I will not feel bad for him.

I hated to notice the dark whiskers kissing his strong jaw, the rumpled hair. Had a woman run her fingers through those strands

last night? I bet he and Ambrose had a grand time out in the city, laughing and drinking with several ladies.

You are wanted. You are beautiful. Never doubt it for a single second in my presence.

I’d believed those words, felt them deep in my bones. Did he say such things to all the women he kissed... or only me?

“Have a nice night, tomcat?” I asked.

“No, for your information.” Leo yawned and stretched, a hand reaching to clutch his lower back. “I was worried about you.”

“Me?”

“You locked us out, Josie.”

I lifted a shoulder with more nonchalance than I felt. “Sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do, Leo.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

I spread a tiny bit of marmalade on a slice of bread and avoided looking at him. “It means I have to look out for myself,

not worry over your hurt feelings.”

Ambrose’s rough voice sounded from the direction of the sofa. “I do wonder if y’all wouldn’t mind carrying on this scintillating

conversation in another location?”

“Shut it,” Leo grumbled. “I slept in a chair last night, so you have no right to complain.”

“And as I have stated many times, this is my apartment.”

A knock sounded on the door. Ambrose groaned and called out, “Just who in the blue blazes is that at this ungodly hour?”

Leo rose to see who was there. It was Sticks, a newspaper in his hand. “Morning,” the boy said and came in, walking toward

me. “Thought you might want to see the early papers. You made an impression at that fancy opera.”

My breath caught as I took the newsprint from his hand. “Me? In the newspaper?”

“It’s you all right.”

I went to the table and spread the paper on the wooden surface. Leo was beside me, peering over my shoulder. “What page?”

he asked.

The young boy was pouring himself coffee. “Inside somewhere. Keep flipping, genius.”

I devoured the letters on each page, searching. When I reached the third to the last page, the headline jumped out.

MYSTERIOUS FRENCH SINGER DAZZLES DIAMOND HORSESHOE AT MET OPERA HOUSE

Gasping, I reached to clutch Leo’s arm. No idea why, but I needed to touch him, to anchor myself as I read the story in my

head. Leo began reading as well, vocalizing the words to the room:

“The Gotham elite lined up to meet Miss Joséphine Smith during the intermissions of last night’s performance of Goldmark’s

Merlin at the Metropolitan Opera House. The French beauty, accompanied by her manager, smiled and nodded, maintaining a regal presence

in the effort of the preservation of her voice. Miss Smith is reportedly in talks with several Broadway producers, who are

keen for this international celebrité to helm their latest projects.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said, turning to him. “That’s me. They called me a beauty. Regal. A celebrité.”

“Because it’s true,” Leo said quietly, and butterflies erupted behind my ribs.

“But y’all have forgotten an important flaw,” Ambrose said on his way to the stove. “What happens when she opens her mouth

and that dreadful Boston accent comes out?”

“That’s a good point,” Sticks said after a sip of coffee.

“Don’t worry. No one expects you to speak French,” Leo said reassuringly, probably in reaction to the panic on my face. “Stop

scaring her, you two.”

Ambrose leaned against the counter and stared down at Sticks. “And just who are you and why are you in my apartment?”

“I live down the street. I’m friends with Josie.”

“That’s Sticks,” Leo told his friend. “Leave him alone.”

Ignoring them, I read the newspaper mention once more. Now that I thought about it, Melvin never said I was French. He told

them I had performed in France. I’d be fine.

I could do this. Probably.

Persona, remember?

“So, what?” Ambrose asked me. “You’re a Boston singer who went to live in Paris? A bit boring, if you ask me.”

“I’d rather be boring than a liar,” I said. “It was awful not being able to speak at the opera, having people think I’m famous.”

“You have to maintain the ruse.” Leo pointed to the newspaper. “We must stick to Melvin’s story.”

“I know, but I don’t like lying. It doesn’t come as easy to me as it does to you, apparently.” I met his eye squarely, not

hiding the mistrust building in my gut toward him, and the moment stretched. His jaw grew tighter and tighter, the lines around

his mouth deepening. He wanted to argue, to press me on last night, but we weren’t alone, thankfully.

“Am I sensing trouble?” Sticks said. “Let me guess? You found out why he hopped an uptown streetcar the other day.”

“He went walking around,” I said, repeating what Leo had told me.

Both Sticks and Ambrose snorted. “And you believed that?” Sticks asked, shaking his head as if disappointed in me.

Leo pinned the young boy with a hard glare. “You followed me.”

Sticks shrugged his small shoulders. “Not the whole way. I know you went uptown. Is that where your ladybird lives?”

Leo continued to stare daggers at Sticks. “Like she said, I went out to explore the city.”

Doubt swirled in my head. Had Leo been merely exploring that day—and night? For more than eight hours? That was a long time

to “explore.”

I caught a glimpse of Ambrose out of the corner of my eye. He was studying Leo, his expression suspicious. It set off more

warning bells inside my brain.

What wasn’t Leo saying?

I needed to get an answer. “I don’t want lies or evasions. If you want me to trust you, then tell me where you went.”

Leo held up his hands, as if he had nothing to hide. “I told you. I was walking around, reacquainting myself with the city.”

No one else in the room appeared to believe it, so I pressed. “You didn’t stop or talk to anyone else once?”

He huffed and shifted on his feet, his attention on the far wall. I could tell the wheels were turning in his head, evaluating,

thinking, but I wanted the plain, unvarnished truth.

My stomach tightened in anticipation of bad news. “Leo, where did you go?” He locked eyes with mine and I could see the hesitation

in his blue depths. I wouldn’t budge, however. “Trust, remember?”

Throwing up his hands, he said, “I went to the house where my father used to work.”

“The Fifth Avenue mansion?”

“Yes.” Then he turned to sneer at Sticks. “Satisfied?”

Sticks shrugged, while Ambrose drawled, “Pendeltons? Interesting. I hadn’t realized you were still acquainted, Leo.”

“I went to see the gardens in the back. For old times’ sake. After that I stopped for a drink and supper, then I came back here.”

That was it? Why hadn’t he wished for anyone to know?

“Oh, yeah.” Sticks snapped his fingers, then pointed at me and Leo. “There’s a carriage out front waiting on the two of you.

Some bird guy uptown wants to see you.”

“Bird man ? As in Melvin Birdman?” When the boy nodded, I let out a strangled noise of surprise and confusion. “When were you going

to tell us?”

“After I had a cup of coffee,” the boy replied. “What’s the rush?”

I didn’t know how to respond to such a question, so I faced Leo. “There’s no need for you to come along. I’m fine traveling

uptown by myself, seeing as how you aren’t ready.”

Leo’s right eye twitched ever so slightly, then he began closing the distance between us. I couldn’t look away. He was sleepy

and disheveled, with no collar or necktie, and his shirt was open at the throat. His undergarment peeked out, as well as the

hair on his chest, and I found the intimate display of manliness both tantalizing and fascinating.

I suddenly longed to touch him there... and discover what other secrets he might be hiding under his clothing.

Heart thumping hard in my chest, I pressed my lips together and held on tightly to the back of the chair. I couldn’t allow

myself to do anything foolish.

Now at my side, he leaned down, his voice soft yet determined. “I know you’re annoyed with me, but under no circumstances

am I turning you loose on the streets of New York City. Give me a few moments and I’ll escort you.”

As he turned and walked out into the hall, I released the breath I’d been holding. I didn’t care for the warmth in the pit

of my stomach or the heaviness of my breasts. Memories of that kiss at the opera came flooding back, and I wanted more . More kisses. More sweet words. Even with all the uncertainty between us.