Flora's Wish (51 page)

So instead, Flora linked arms with him and turned toward the entrance. “Let's get this over with,” she said softly.

He stalled. “We'll be in presently,” he said to Winny, who ignored them both to disappear inside.

“Really, Lucas. We are expected.”

His silence irked her, as did the sound of the orchestra as it spilled out into the waning sunlight of the Louisiana evening.

“We have a plan, Flora,” he finally said, “and that plan involves the two of us—”

“Masquerading as an engaged couple.” She paused but only for a second, her gaze flitting to the as-yet-empty second floor balcony, where she'd arranged her assignation with Tucker. “Yes, I know. Let's get on with it.”

“You're claiming to be my fiancée. Aren't you the least bit curious about what those people in there know about me?”

Oh, but the man was far too handsome for his own good. Had her responsibilities not been elsewhere, she might have allowed that to distract her. To let him lead her into the ballroom on his arm feeling as if she'd snared the best catch in the room, even if it was all make-believe.

No,
she wanted to say.
I don't care because it is all a ruse.

And yet she did care. Deeply. Though her feelings for him were as doomed as the fiancés who came before him.

And yet her curiosity bested any other response.

“All right, Lucas. Tell me who you are.”

L
ucas reached for her, his hands easily spanning her waist as he lifted her to the ground. She might have protested had she the wherewithal to work up decent irritation in such close proximity. The last time he'd held her like this, a kiss resulted.

A wonderful, confusing, memorable kiss.

Despite her best efforts, Flora leaned slightly toward him. He moved, almost imperceptibly in her direction. Their gazes met. His lips parted slightly.

And then he turned away. “You're wasting time,” he tossed over his shoulder. “We can walk from here.”

Oh! Flora caught up and fell into step beside him, a step he likely slowed to match hers. Two blocks down, he paused in front of a distinctive Gothic-style home, the only one of that style on Prytania Street. She knew it well from the times she'd gone visiting with her aunt.

On occasion Flora and the daughter of the house had gone to the kitchen where they were treated to whatever sumptuous Irish fare was bubbling on the stove. Decadent indeed, though a grander sort of young lady would have preferred the teacakes and delicacies served in the formal parlor.

What was that girl's name? Time had stolen any recollection, unfortunately, though now that Flora thought on it, she remembered her eyes. They were such a unique shade of green. The Irish ladies with their lilting voices…yes, that she also remembered. The ladies called them lassies and said…and said that the girl, Marion? Marie? No, it was long gone. But the kitchen ladies loved to tease her and the elder brother, who often skulked on the perimeter but rarely approached, that they carried a bit of Ireland in their green eyes. Regarding Flora, they said she must truly carry the sky for the shade of blue she'd inherited. A much-reduced legacy in Flora's young opinion.

“That kitchen had the most wonderful smells.”

He turned and their gazes met. “Stews bubbling on the stove and—”

“And always something sweet under glass waiting to be dealt out to extremely bored young visitors curious about life outside their rather sheltered world.”

“Or a young gentleman of the house who had a foot in both worlds.” Lucas blinked, his expression soft. “The girl with the sky in her eyes. That was you?”

She searched his face even as she once again begged her memories to tumble forward. “The very serious elder brother with Ireland in his eyes?”

“Not so serious,” he said as he covered her hand with his. “Shy, mostly. But I was often accused of being the one who watched while everyone else went about their business.” Lucas shrugged. “A talent that has served me well as a Pinkerton, so I guess it was meant to be.”

Flora shook her head. “But how? That is, why do you say you were in both worlds when you speak perfect French and have a last name that is obviously…Irish?” She paused to grip the fence rail as things began to make sense. “One of your parents was a…that is you were born out of a relationship between…oh, I'm making a mess of this.”

Lucas's soft chuckle almost made up for the heat rising in her cheeks. “Yes, Flora, I'm half-French and half-Irish. The Irish whelp.”

“Oh, Lucas, I didn't mean to imply—”

“I know. Now hush and let me finish.” He pressed a finger softly to her lips to emphasize the point. “As you've guessed, my grandparents were less than thrilled when my mother chose the cousin of our Irish cook over the well-born gents who had been coming to call.”

He paused as if remembering. “Father was a prizefighter. A good one, from what I understand, and a mountain of a man. He was killed by a bunch of thugs who took exception to the fact he wouldn't throw a fight. My mother was expecting Mary-Margaret when she got the news. Some say that once my sister was born, nothing else held her here. She didn't last a week.”

“Oh, Lucas, I'm so sorry. First your father and then your mother. That must have been terrible.”
And now your sister
remained unsaid. The effect of that loss was something she had seen for herself.

“A Pinkerton man put those criminals behind bars for life.” He paused to allow a deep breath. “I wasn't but seven or eight, but I knew I would be one of those Pinkertons someday. As soon as I could I made that happen, though Grandfather Gus was almost as displeased as when he was introduced to my father.” Another pause. “His exact words.”

“Whatever for?” Flora demanded. “Being a Pinkerton is an honorable profession.”

“Not when you've been sent off to Harvard and groomed to take over the family cotton business.”

“I supposed not,” Flora admitted.

“Definitely not, though I wager Grandfather is more perplexed that I work at all. He settled my mother's inheritance on me years ago in the hopes I might give up the Pinkertons.”

So Lucas McMinn wasn't the man Grandmama had assumed at all. Nor, however, was he what she had assumed either.

“Thus far, the Pinkertons have suited me well. I've found no need for my mother's money, though I hope to put it to good use someday.”

“I see.” Flora shifted positions to link her arm in his and lean against him as she allowed her gaze to dance across the fanciful facade of the home. Shutters of deep mossy green stood out against the pale exterior, each of the three windows pointed at the center. As a child, she had always thought those windows looked like church windows. Even now, though they were shadowed in darkness, they still did.

“What happened to your sister?” she asked gently.

Lucas stiffened beside her, though his hand moved to cover hers on his arm. “She met a man who stole her heart. Grandfather insisted on a church wedding, likely because his own daughter had refused one. He was stubborn like that.” Lucas paused. “Still is. Anyway, when Tucker didn't show…”

“She was humiliated,” Flora supplied.

“Worse. She ran out of the church and directly into the path of a streetcar.”

“Oh, Lucas. I'm so sorry. What a tragic accident.”

He leaned away, and instantly she felt his absence. “Was it?” He shrugged. “I saw it with my own eyes when I watched her run out of the church, and yet knowing the temperament of the women in my family…” He let out a long breath. “Grandfather Gus and I are all that's left.”

Something inside her shifted. Flora moved to wrap her arms around him. “Lucas,” she whispered against his neck, “is your grandfather still alive? I would like very much to meet him.”

A smile dawned. “You would like him, I believe. And I know he would like you.”

“Then let's go inside.” Flora reached to open the gate, but he halted her progress.

“Not tonight,” he said firmly. “We have an appointment elsewhere. And besides, we'd likely find him already in bed.”

The darkness of the windows and the stillness that surrounded the home backed up his claim. “Tomorrow morning then?”

He seemed to consider the question a moment before offering a curt nod. “We may have things to do before your meeting with Tucker at noon, but I'll consider it,” he said as he turned her around and pointed her in the direction they'd just come. “Now, if your curiosity is satisfied, we should get back to the real reason we came to New Orleans.”

“Temporarily satisfied,” she amended as she took Lucas's arm and allowed him to escort her back to the party.

“Flora,” he said as they stepped into the circle of a streetlight's glow, “aren't those the earrings you claimed Tucker stole?”

So he'd noticed. “It just so happens that Grandmama has a matching pair. Don't you think they look lovely with this dress? Now come on, let's go in.”

Lucas stalled. “Flora…”

“All right. I sent an invitation to Mr. Tucker. And don't give me that look. I don't know where he is, but I paid a visit to a place where I might find someone who does.” She slid Lucas a sideways look. “All I did was send a simple telegram to that man who ran the office in Natchez Under-the-Hill. Nothing more.”

He groaned. “I told you to let me do the investigative work, Flora. You have a meeting with him tomorrow at noon. Can't we just stick to that plan?”

She shook her head and released her grip on his arm. “Please do remedy that expression of yours, Lucas. If we're to be playing a happy couple on the verge of marriage, don't you think we should look like it? Now, show me those eyes touched with the hills of Ireland, please.”

With that she swept through the doors and into the thick of the crowd, leaving Lucas to either follow or watch as she worked her way through the greetings. She spied Kyle Russell engaged in conversation with two other men over in the corner. Only Mr. Russell looked up when she walked in, and he quickly went back to his conversation as Lucas joined them. After a perfunctory round of greetings, she excused herself to slip out to the upstairs balcony.

The shadows had rendered the secluded spot almost completely in darkness. Only a sliver of the moon cast any sort of light, and that was poor and silvery. Flora leaned over the edge to peer down at the street. A moment later, she felt a tug on her sleeve.

She turned to see that her invited guest had joined her. His hair had been cropped short, and on his face was the beginning of a beard. Her gaze sought out Lucas through the window. He was now deep in conversation with Kyle alone, his back to her.

Will Tucker's attention went to her ears, and for just a moment Flora thought she saw his good humor disappear. “Interesting that you would have an engagement party tonight with one man and a wedding planned for tomorrow with another. Care to explain, Flora?”

“Not really, Mr. Tucker.” She made at playing coy. “However, if you insist, I will admit I much prefer a man who can produce a badge to one who only claims to own one.”