Читать книгу Naughty Marietta - Nan Ryan, Nan Ryan - Страница 12

Cole joined the departing crowd.

He left the opera house, but he did not immediately go to the hotel. Crossing the street, he approached a false-fronted business, now darkened and closed for the night. He stepped into the shadows of the roof’s low overhang, turned and leaned back against the building. Arms crossed, Cole stood looking up at the top floor of the opera house.

Marietta’s private quarters.

Cole wondered if she was up there now, entertaining her aging Romeo. He recoiled at the thought and quickly looked away.

From where he stood, he could see down the alley directly beside the opera house. The tall, spare man he’d observed in Maltese’s private box was posted there by a side door near the back of the building.

Cole watched him for a moment, then looked back to the front of the theater. The crowd had thinned dramatically. Only a few stragglers remained on the sidewalk, talking, getting into carriages. Two men stood out—both were big, burly fellows dressed in work shirts and buckskins. Undoubtedly, the Burnett brothers that Harry the barkeep had told him about. Cole studied the brothers for a while, sizing them up, wondering how he was ever going to slip Marietta past them.

His attention was drawn once more down the side alley, when the door opened and out into the mountain moonlight stepped Marietta and her middle-aged lover.

Cole sank farther back into the shadows. He watched as the couple came up the alley toward the street. They turned onto the sidewalk and into the glow of the gaslights lining the avenue.

Again Cole was struck by Marietta’s incredible beauty and for a moment he sorely envied the silver-haired man with whom she shared her time and her charms.

Cole’s jaw tightened.

He continued to watch as the couple, arm in arm, strolled up the street. The scar-faced bodyguard called Lightnin’ followed a few paces behind. Marietta and Maltese soon entered the bustling Castle Top restaurant at the top of the hill. Lightnin’ stayed outside. An armed, unmoving, black-clad sentinel.

Cole again glanced directly across the street. The Burnett brothers still loitered outside the opera house. They would, he surmised, be waiting when Marietta got home.

Cole pushed away from the building and headed for his hotel. Back at the Teller House he undressed without lighting the lamp, tossing his clothes over a chair. He mulled over what he had seen and heard. And he grimaced.

Old Maxwell Lacey’s beautiful red-haired granddaughter was the mistress of a wealthy, powerful man who was old enough to be her father. And it would not be simple or easy to whisk the gold-digging beauty away from Central City. Not with the lovesick Maltese certain to interfere.

Naked, Cole crawled into bed. He yawned and thought back over the evening. Like a quick jolt of adrenaline came the unforgettable moment when he’d gotten his very first glimpse of the gorgeous Marietta. Cole felt himself stir at the vivid recollection. She was without doubt the most beautiful, the most innocent-looking, the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

He wanted her. Wanted her now. Wished that she was here, naked in his arms.

Cole exhaled with frustration and silently cursed himself. He flopped over onto his stomach and pressed his surging erection into the softness of the mattress. He gritted his teeth, cursed his weakness and waited for this quick burst of unwanted desire to pass. He was annoyed with himself. And he was surprised. It wasn’t as though it had been weeks since he’d had a woman. He’d had one just last night in Denver. What the hell was wrong with him?

Cole waited impatiently for the stirring sexual hunger to subside. All at once he recalled the discordant sound of Marietta’s singing voice. He could hear it ringing in his ears. That did the trick. Desire fled. Heat passed. Cole relaxed.

He heaved a sigh of relief, turned onto his back, folded his hands beneath his head and wondered idly if the beautiful opera singer was in love with the Maltese mining magnate.

No, she wasn’t. He’d bet his ten thousand against it. Harry, the barkeep, had said Maltese purchased the newly built Tivoli Opera House solely so that Marietta could star in all the productions. Marietta was cleverly, cold-heartedly using the lovesick Maltese to further her fledgling singing career.

Cole lay awake pondering how best to get the heartless little gold digger back to Galveston. He decided he’d have to spend a few days in town before he tried anything. He’d watch her closely, check out where she went and when. And with whom. Try to catch her away from her big bodyguards. If he could get her alone for just a moment, he would introduce himself. Tell her he was a fan.

Cole briefly considered courting her, but decided against it. He wasn’t that big a heel. He would simply level with her. Admit that he had come to Central City to escort her home to Galveston and her waiting grandfather.

After all, he wasn’t sure she would refuse to go.

“New York. London. Rome. Amsterdam. Madrid!” exclaimed a glowing Marietta after the morning’s rehearsals. “Andreas, tell me that one day I shall sing in all those cities’ fine opera houses!”

The other players had left the opera house as soon as rehearsals had ended. Only Marietta, Sophia and the opera’s artistic director, Andreas, remained on-stage.

Andreas, a slender, refined man with sandy hair, a pencil-thin mustache and a fondness for the red-haired Marietta, smiled indulgently but was noncommittal.

He said, “My dear child, before you can hope to appear in the opera houses of London and New York, you must spend years mastering your craft. Listening to Madam Sophia, doing as she instructs. Learning, practicing, improving.”

This was not what Marietta had wanted to hear. She sighed heavily and sank onto a chair. “Andreas, you know very well how much I practice. That’s all I do all day, every day. Tell him, Sophia.”

The rotund Madam Sophia agreed. “She works very hard, Andreas. Perhaps too hard.”

The discerning artistic director, like the voice coach Madam Sophia, was all too cognizant of the unfortunate fact that the long hours of practice were not going to make a great deal of difference. Marietta, bless her, beautiful though she was and possessed of a great stage presence, was never going to sing in Rome and Madrid. She simply did not have the voice. But Andreas did not have the heart to tell her.

“Marietta,” Andreas said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I believe Madam Sophia is right. You’ve been practicing too much. Both you and Sophia need to take a rest. Why don’t you get out of that costume, get dressed up in something attractive and go out for a walk or a carriage ride.” He smiled and added, “The fresh mountain air will be good for you.”

Marietta’s weariness instantly fled. She jumped up out of the chair. “You mean it?” She looked from Andreas to Sophia. Both nodded. Her emerald eyes now sparkling, she mused aloud, “I could go shopping or out to lunch. Or just take a walk. I’d enjoy that so.”

“And it would be good for you,” Madam Sophia said.

“You go, my dear, and enjoy yourself,” said Andreas.

“I will,” Marietta replied. “Oh, yes, I will!”

Marietta felt a great surge of excitement wash over her as she planned her little adventure. She had the entire afternoon to herself. No practice. No rehearsal. Maltese was down in Denver and wouldn’t be back until late evening. She was free to do as she pleased!

Marietta, as happy as a child, impulsively dashed over to Andreas and gave him a big bear hug. The normally reserved artistic director was disarmed by her. He laughed and gave her small waist an affectionate squeeze. She released him and turned to Sophia.

Her arms around the short, stocky voice coach, she said, “Will you be a darling and help me dress?”

A half hour later, a smiling Marietta, fashionably garbed in a bronze poplin traveling suit, stepped out into the warm Colorado sunshine.

Her bright smile weakened a little when she saw both Burnett brothers in the alley. In her way. She wished, just once, she could go somewhere without them following her.

Marietta took a spine-stiffening breath and raised and opened her bronze silk parasol. She stepped up to Conlin Burnett, the older of the two brothers, and told him, “I am going to take a walk. By myself. I do not want either one of you getting in my way. I do not want you dogging my every step. In fact, I want you to just stay right here where you are. Will you do that?”

Con Burnett, twisting his battered hat in his big, callused hands, frowned and said, “Now, Miss Marietta, you know we can’t allow you to go off on your own. Lightnin’ would have our hides. We’re supposed to look after you.”

Marietta gritted her teeth. She was wasting her breath and knew it. Maltese swore he had hired the Burnetts to watch after her. She knew better. He had hired them to watch her.

Marietta whirled away and headed up the alley. The brothers exchanged worried looks and hurried behind her. She reached the sidewalk, looked up the street, then down. The parasol shading her delicate skin, she turned and sauntered up Eureka Street with no particular destination in mind.

Passersby, mostly men, recognized the lovely opera star. They stopped to speak to her, to tell her they had seen her perform. Pleased, Marietta smiled politely, shook some hands and graciously accepted praise and compliments. Her presence caused quite a stir on this still, summer afternoon. Everyone she passed warmly acknowledged her, spoke to her, lauded her.

Except one man.

The block ahead was empty, save a lone man leaning a shoulder against the striped pole in front of Duncan’s Barbershop. He did not look like a miner. He looked like a gentleman. He wore a pair of snug-fitting buff-hued trousers and a starched white shirt, open at the collar.

He was not looking in her direction, so Marietta had the opportunity to study him while he remained unaware. She stopped a few feet from him and stared. The man was tall and lean with broad shoulders, deep chest and slim hips. His hair, neatly brushed and shining in the sunlight, was as black as the darkest midnight. His smoothly shaven face was so deeply tanned it was almost swarthy.

But oh, what a handsome face it was.

High forehead, proud roman nose, full, sensual lips and strong, harshly cut chin. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she could see the long, black lashes that shaded them.

Marietta, feeling strangely faint, was half-afraid to move closer to the tall, dark stranger. Why, she didn’t know. She swallowed hard and moved cautiously forward. She was holding her breath by the time she reached him.

And she was confused. He had to know that she was approaching him, had to see her moving in his side vision. But he didn’t turn his head to look at her.

Not until the very last second. When Marietta passed directly by him, the man finally looked up and met her gaze. And Marietta thought her heart would beat its way out of her chest. Startlingly sky-blue eyes staring up from under improbably long eyelashes touched her, assessed her, frightened her.

Then quickly dismissed her.

Marietta was nonplussed. She hurried away, flustered and insulted. This darkly handsome man had looked directly at her, but was apparently not the least bit interested. Those beautiful blue eyes did not light up at the sight of her. Those sensual lips did not lift in a flirtatious smile. That lean, masculine body had not shifted, muscular shoulder had not left the barber pole. She had had no visible effect on him.

None whatsoever.

She wandered aimlessly up the street, both disappointed and excited. She was extremely frustrated that the handsome stranger had paid her no attention. At the same time she was strongly intrigued by his utter nonchalance. His obvious lack of interest made Marietta all the more interested in him.

That and the fact that he was a sultry, sexually suggestive, highly threatening male and just the sight of him had made her tingle all over. She wanted the feeling to last. She wanted to be close to him again. She wanted him to make her tingle. And she especially wanted to make him tingle.

Marietta paused half a block past the barbershop and the tall, dark, indifferent stranger. She lifted her chin defiantly, turned about and almost bumped into the lumbering Con Burnett. Her anger flared and she loudly berated him.

“I told you to stay out of my way!” she hissed.

“Sorry, Miss Marietta.”

Cole heard the exchange and grinned. He knew what she was going to do. She was coming back his way. She had noticed him. She wanted him to notice her.

So he wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Her heart in her throat, Marietta nervously approached the tall man who still stood there leaning against the barber pole. Cole waited until she was a few steps from him. Then he pushed away from the pole, turned his back on her and stepped down off the sidewalk. He unhurriedly crossed the street.

Marietta couldn’t believe her eyes. It was all she could do to keep from calling out to him and ordering him to come back. She was filled with anger and despair as she watched him casually walk away from her. She continued to stare, longing to know who he was and where he was going and wondering if she would ever see him again.

She blinked when he turned into the silver-floored entrance of the Teller House Hotel and disappeared. She was tempted to follow him, took a tentative step forward, and caught herself. She couldn’t go running after a stranger. Besides, even if she could, the Burnett brothers would tell Maltese.

Marietta sighed, her slender shoulders slumping.

The excitement of her afternoon adventure was gone. She had no particular interest in shopping or having a late lunch. She just wanted to go home. Parasol raised, she walked dejectedly back to the opera house, ignoring the passersby who smiled and called to her.

Back in her private quarters, Marietta undressed, drew on a satin robe and paced restlessly. She was agitated. Fidgety. Unable to relax. She had seen an incredibly attractive man who’d set her pulses to pounding and she wouldn’t rest until she saw him again.

Marietta abruptly stopped pacing, snapped her fingers and said aloud, “I will see him again. I will go to the Teller House tomorrow and have lunch.”

Marietta did just that.

But to her disappointment, there was no sign of the dark-haired stranger. She hurried through her meal and left the hotel. She walked up the street toward the barbershop, hoping to find him leaning against the colored barber pole.

But he was not there.

From the front window of his fourth-floor suite in the Teller House, Cole watched Marietta leave the hotel, walk up the street. Her head was bare and her glorious red-gold hair, dressed elegantly atop her head, blazed in the sunlight.

He watched as she approached the barbershop. And he smiled when she stopped, reached out and touched the barber pole.

She was looking for him.

Soon he would let her find him.