Appetites & Vices Read online

  “Still, it just wouldn’t be fair.” She hugged herself. Maybe she’d shrink herself down to nothing and he’d leave her be.

  His smirk deepened. Perhaps not. She gulped.

  “What wouldn’t be fair?” One long stride and he was mere feet away.

  Do not be intimidated, Ursula, do not be intimidated.

  “Taking advantage of a poor drunkard.” She brushed past him, her sleeve grazing the brass leaves at the bottom of a sconce.

  Her lungs pumped her ribs against her corset boning. She needed to find her father. She’d convince him to take her to Philadelphia. He’d get her into the parties. Money was money. Everyone had a price. Where to stay, that was another matter. No, she was getting ahead of herself. First thing was to get rid of Jay Truitt.

  The last thing she needed was to be humiliated by some smug, spoiled profligate. His type adored her for “pranks.” She couldn’t stomach another “accidental” spill down her bosom or wine in her hair after what happened with Hugo.

  And the metal biscuit was back, cutting off her air, along with a burning behind her eyes.

  Think Ursula, think.

  She grasped for a barb from the gossip she could hurl to repel him. “Isn’t that why you were asked to leave, where was it, Harvard? And then Yale?”

  Jay strolled over and leaned against the railing, his body so close the wool of his frock coat kissed the silk of her sleeve.

  “My parents would’ve preferred that.” He stretched his arms above his head in the most undignified manner possible. “Harvard’s dean didn’t appreciate my friendship with his daughter, and Yale’s with his niece. Fortunately, Brown’s dean was an only child with sons. To be fair, my marks weren’t anything to write home about either.”

  Jay’s arm brushed against hers again and she shivered.

  When she caught his eye, he cocked his head as if he dared her to react, to move away, or worse, move closer. Like she’d give him either satisfaction.

  “It’s a wonder you even have a degree.” Ursula scrunched her nose. “So, a dullard, not a drunkard, and libertine to boot. I’m not sure if that’s an improvement.”

  “Have you been conversing with my father?”

  He raised an eyebrow and dared to wink at her like she was some barmaid. Why did people toy with her so much? Why couldn’t they leave her be? It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

  “I like to argue I’m just a bit of an underachiever,” he added.

  “Either way, I don’t think you have anything of value to offer me, Mr. Truitt, and I believe any negotiation would put you at a deep and unfair disadvantage. I try to be very careful with those who aren’t as blessed as I am in certain departments.”

  She clutched at her gown. Good lord, she was sweating worse than Hugo.

  Jay placed the glass on the floor. He shook his shoulders and spine, like a peacock fanning his tail. He was only inches from her so the rise and fall of his chest was visible. A faint scent—almost like cloves mixed with wood and a trace of sweetness, but tart, like cherries—flit towards her. She’d have bet on alcohol. There was a hint of liquor, maybe whiskey, but not overpowering nor even unpleasant. The look he gave her though, was another story—a squirm-inducing other story.

  “You are certainly well-endowed, in more ways than one.” His eyes didn’t meet hers and instead settled several inches lower.

  Oh, for the love of—well, at least the corset and dress did what they should. All the servants swore her figure was perfect, and the other girls were jealous, though that was probably a lie aimed at preventing the extra work of cleaning tear stains out of silk.

  She gritted her teeth. She should slap him. She really should, and yet, somehow, she couldn’t muster the indignation. There was something—what was the word? Boyish, yes, almost boyish—that was it. And the way he teased was so...no. No, no, no, no.

  How was he muddling her so much?

  Ursula sighed. “What do you want, Mr. Truitt?” She might as well hear him out. She’d never see him again. After he finished, she’d find her father, plot in peace and everything would go her way. She’d make it.

  “It’s Jay, and what I want is to become engaged. With you. To you.”

  She blinked and swished the back of her teeth with her tongue. Just sugar, she hadn’t had any spirits so she wasn’t inebriated. But couldn’t have heard right. “Pardon me?”

  “Tonight, if possible, though I suppose I’ll have to officially ask permission from your father tomorrow.” His lip twitched.

  “Why?” The word was more of a gasp.

  He had to be mad. Also, did he have to stand so close?

  She wrinkled her nose. “Why would you want to become engaged to me? We don’t even know each other. We have nothing in common.”

  And they didn’t. They might have been born less than two miles away from each other, in similar houses, but the gulf between their experiences could never be traversed. Jay lived in a world free of real consequences. His type paid a pittance, if anything, for their mistakes, while hers could execute flawlessly and still be denied even the smallest opportunities.

  Ursula clenched her fists so hard she shook. “I mean, I’m serious and enjoy numbers and books. I need a husband to match my interests, one that will suit the Nunes businesses, and I’m sure people say you’re charming or some such nonsense, but I’m—”

  A single finger pressed against her lips. She blinked again, over and over. She had to be dreaming. He couldn’t really be touching her mouth.

  “I’m going to end that monologue before you say something you’ll regret, or more likely, before you say something you should regret. Though I’m not sure you’re capable of that emotion.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to actually marry you, Ursula.”

  She grabbed his wrist, yanking his hand from her mouth by his sleeve. Excellent quality material and stitching. The man might be daft and kind of mean, but at least he had some taste.

  “Then why do you want to...?” She couldn’t say all the words.

  “You have a problem. You’d like entrance to some of Philadelphia’s most exclusive social engagements to convince Hugo Middleton’s parents to permit your nuptials, or, better convince him to—how do I put this delicately?—grow a spine. However, your last name, background, and certain incidents in your past, at least so I’ve heard, will make that rather difficult. I have no such issues, despite my reputation for excess. My name still impresses people. Better, people of a certain set covet what Truitts have. Jealousy is an excellent motivator.”

  Ursula bit her lip. Why did he have to make actual sense? It would be much easier if he’d just passed out on the stairs or did something else irresponsible wastrels did. Worse, what was wrong with her that she was not only listening to, but considering his plan? Was marriage to Hugo worth that sort of humiliation?

  An image of herself wandering her father’s estate in the dark, face wrinkled, in complete, oppressive silence flashed in her mind. No invitations. No visitors. Her father’s family wrestling any control of the business from her...she’d be so bored and lonely she’d start pretending her animals talked back.

  Her heart squeezed.

  Worth it. Very worth it. Because, honestly, who besides Hugo would even entertain the idea of marrying her? With her mother gone and no friends to speak of she needed someone.

  She exhaled. “What do you want out of this arrangement?”

  Jay turned and gazed at the foyer below. He ran his fingers through his hair. She moved next to him, imitating his position, her elbows resting on the glossy railing.

  “My parents want me to return to Delaware, settle down and manage the business.”

  “And you don’t want to?” She suppressed a gasp. How could he not? Truitt Industries was vast and prominent, even if it had shed its most profitable line two years ago for a song. They’d previously
cornered the market on tincture of opium in America, but even without that...to head that sort of enterprise would be incredible. Jay’d get to devise a strategy to maximize profits over a variety of lines and markets. It’d be like playing chess, billiards, and cards all at once.

  “No.” Jay bent his neck, his voice almost serious. “I don’t have a talent for it. It’s better if I just stay away. I have cousins whom everyone finds more suitable.”

  “What do you want to do?” She studied him. What did this man enjoy? Besides the obvious?

  “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” He shrugged, still staring out over the party. “Travel? I like meeting people.”

  “And finding ways to remove their clothing.” She snorted.

  He whipped his head around, his eyes wide and she slapped both hands over her mouth. Ugh, she sounded like a hog. Her face grew hot. Double ugh, red was not a flattering color on her.

  Jay whooped, his laughter so loud it was a wonder the partygoers below didn’t stare up at them.

  “That wasn’t bad.” He wiped his eyes. “Are you offering?”

  The cretin had the nerve to lick his lower lip. His full, perfect, lower lip.

  “Hardly.” Damn it all, she was sweating again. Next party she was dousing herself in talc. “That’s a negotiation you shall never win, Mr. Truitt.”

  “Never is a long time, Miss Nunes.”

  Her hands shook so hard her fan bobbled against her wrist. She couldn’t use it. She didn’t dare.

  “So.” Ursula cleared her throat. “Back to the previous discussion, how would a temporary engagement solve your problem?”

  Jay tugged at his high collar. Perhaps he was becoming a little warm as well. Too bad he didn’t have a fan. That many layers of clothing...perhaps there were some advantages to womanhood. At least her neck was free.

  “Isn’t it enough that I find you amusing? The comment to Hugo about the steam engine was brilliant, intentionally and un. In my opinion, you’re the least boring person in Delaware. I’m not sure I want to know all the stories from your past, but as long as I have all my appendages after the engagement ends, I should be most satisfied.”

  Liar. Definite liar.

  She forced her spine straight. “I don’t believe it. No one, save my father and Hugo, has ever wanted to spend time with me.” She folded her arms and glared as darkly as she could. “This better not be some sort of elaborate prank designed to humiliate me because if it is I will see to it that none of the Truitt businesses ever get a loan from us again. Or any other bank.” Her throat burned, lemons followed by whiskey.

  Jay held his palms up to her, almost as if he was about to defend himself from a blow. “Woah, all right. No, I swear, that’s not what this is.” He brushed her shoulder, a small, intentional josh, as if they were friends. “Look, I’m supposed to go to the parties anyway and to attend with a beautiful woman on my arm who can joke and doesn’t require me to be anything more than myself... All I need you to do is jilt me. For once, I won’t be the villain. A good faux broken heart will be enough for my parents to stop trying to make me into something I’m not.”

  She gazed into his eyes and scowled. What was sincere? His explanation was almost too neat. There had to be more, but if there was, he certainly wasn’t sharing. Fiddlesticks. She’d never been able to read people, and Jay Truitt was confusing, to say the least.

  Still, what exactly did she have to lose? He was right in many ways. Her mind drifted to the letters her father wrote to Hartford Female Seminary, St. Mary’s Hall, Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, and several others, offering generous donations to admit her. The responses were the same. The lump in her throat grew spikes. Certain doors would never be open to her or her kind. Jay Truitt was probably her only hope of getting near Hugo for the next few weeks.

  Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad. She’d win, in the end. She’d have a big, beautiful wedding with tons of flowers and jewels and a dress like no one in Delaware had ever seen, and she’d be a Middleton. No one would ever be mean to her again. And she’d have a human companion who wasn’t related to her. Who’d chosen her.

  She sucked in another breath—blasted boning, she’d be bruised in the morning. Jay winked again and her stomach fizzed. If only she’d grabbed a few more crème puffs.

  “So, if I agreed, how exactly would this work?”

  Chapter Three

  The Nunes carriage hit a bump and the top of Jay’s skull slammed against the roof—the curse of being tall. At least the vehicle was well appointed, though a little ostentatious for his taste. Who knew one could gild so many types of fabric? He’d counted at least two dozen. Not to mention the trims. But what else could he do? No one had even glanced at him since he sat down almost an hour ago. He yanked at his tie.

  Too bad the Nuneses with all their riches neglected to bring ice. The box was like a blasted oven. Worse than outside. A difficult feat as Hell had nothing on summer in Philadelphia.

  “You think I’m going to fail.” Hostile was the tone Ursula chose for her opening remark.

  Fitting. After all, she hadn’t gotten her way. None of her excuses held muster and she was stuck with him the entire ride. The way she hid nothing—every emotion on the surface—and the problems it caused her were fascinating. So fascinating he’d hardly thought of anything else since his parents’ party three days ago.

  He stammered a vague response, which was met with a loud sniff.

  “Blast, Jay, that wasn’t an answer. Didn’t they teach you diction in those fancy schools?”

  He coughed back a laugh. One had to give her points for refusing idle chatter or even pleasantries. She had a bit of a singular mind, like some sort of ratter. A shapely, blonde ratter. She only looked like a poodle.

  What was so special about Hugo Middleton anyway? How anyone could think that pussy-footed, tongue-tied lackey was worth so much trouble was beyond him.

  A Harvard degree was one matter, but the man wasn’t even special to look at. Thin and pale, like an invalid, with brows that inched too close together. His taste in clothing was dour. He never drank, never told jokes and danced like he’d sat on a railway spike—after being clobbered on the head with the object.

  If Ursula hadn’t been a Jew, Hugo’d be so far beneath her it’d be laughable, chair tossing or no chair tossing. Encouraging her designs towards the man was almost like taking advantage of her.

  Jay sucked in a breath. “I think you underestimate the pressure that Hugo is under.”

  “But why?” She mewled the question, through her nose. Like an oboe. Played off-key.

  Just when she piqued his sympathy too. Jay gripped the silk fabric of the seat. Maybe there was no “almost” about her hopelessness. A man would have to be drunk or dead or a complete fool to find whining attractive. Especially with Ursula’s level of verve. And vocal tone.

  Perhaps he should walk to Philadelphia to rescue his ears. And nerves.

  He eyed her animals. The cat snored and the monkey was distracted by the rolling hills out the window. What were their ridiculous names again? Artemis—Arte and Hecate? Ludicrous. At least she hadn’t brought the damned bird. That thing had almost clawed his head.

  And the dog had watered his shoe. Thank goodness most of his extensive wardrobe was unscathed. For now. He shuddered.

  At the moment though, the situation was almost safe. Too bad she wore a travelling cloak. The flesh to fabric ratio was out of proportion.

  Also, there was the matter of Rose, the maid. Though silent, the glint in her eye conveyed she’d be of no assistance, at least not to him.

  * * *

  He drummed his fingers on his knee. What was the proper tack with his faux fiancée?

  “The Middletons need connections you can’t give them, more than they need money.” He made his voice patient, emulating his mother, not his father.

/>   “Those social constructions aren’t as important anymore. I mean, President Jackson was an abomination, but no one could say he didn’t transcend. Men voted for him, and he was an uneducated incompetent. I’m better than that. I’d never get rid of the Bank of the United States. Also, isn’t what Hugo wants enough to make them relent? My father’d never do that to me.”

  “Your father is—” Jay pursed his lips, searching for the right word. His mind wandered a little when she said the word “bank.” If only there was a way to suggest words to ban in social situations without losing an appendage to a primate.

  And how to explain her father? The man was...unusual. Ursula detailed the entire scheme to him and yet Nunes agreed—agreed to permit his daughter to either marry Hugo Middleton or make a fool of herself trying.

  Certain things have to be learned, even by the cleverest.

  Whatever Nunes meant by that. Some sort of game was afoot, though what its parameters were was anyone’s guess.

  The whole meeting with the man had been odd. A private chat with a young lady’s father was never Jay’s ideal activity. Judah Nunes had sat like a king on his throne, sipping brandy from a golden glass without offering Jay a drop.

  And staying with the family in Philadelphia, engaged but not married? The man just offered the arrangement—excellent for the plot, but completely improper. No parents he knew would permit such a configuration. Was it some sort of Jewish norm?

  Jay frowned as he caught a whiff of his shoe. His faux father-in-law’s smirk as the butler toweled him off flashed in his mind. The elastic-gusset Chelsea boots were his favorite. He might be beyond redemption, but his innocent wardrobe shouldn’t have to pay his penance.

  Fine. If this is what Ursula’s father thought appropriate, far be it from him to tell the man otherwise. Nunes could fight the gossip himself.

  Jay turned back to Ursula. Why was he being so delicate? She could handle the truth.

  She tightened her folded arms and tapped her toe—at him, at his careful, considerate silence.

  He resisted an impolite gesture. She was still a lady, after all. Sort of.