Chapter Six
Fitz couldn’t see Gigi yet, but he could hear her heels striking the stone steps that led to a basement door below Esmeralda’s town house. He squinted into the inky night, finally spotting the dark figure moving toward him.
His shoulders shifted, flexed, and then went still again as a shadow elongated, then morphed into a familiar cloaked shape.
“Good evening, Gigi.”
“My name is Sally.” She stepped into the circle of light cast by the streetlamp. “I am Sally Smith now.”
Insulted that she spoke in that ridiculous accent even when they were alone, Fitz said nothing, letting the stony silence stretch between them in the hope of intimidating her.
“So.” A sigh leaked out of her. “You’re determined to extract your pound of flesh.”
It was his due. Her scandalous behavior had complicated his life in ways she couldn’t possibly understand. He was responsible for keeping too many secrets that weren’t his own, including hers.
And there she stood, glaring at him as though he were the villain in this farce.
You certainly aren’t the hero.
He growled at the thought, knowing it was true. He wasn’t without blame in Gigi’s fall from grace. He’d played his role.
Gigi lifted her head, revealing her face from beneath the hood of her cloak. For a moment, Fitz could only stare. Even narrowed to slits of insolence, her eyes were glorious in the glow of the streetlamp. Expressive and filled with irritation and fear.
“Why are you here, Fitz?”
Despite the cold, he was suddenly over-warm and oddly out of breath and feeling as defiant as she looked. It appeared this second meeting was to be filled with antagonism.
“I was invited to dine with Esmeralda and her daughter.” Though still not properly in control of his respiration, he added, “The three of us had a lovely evening.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Her lips quivered, then firmed. “Why have you come to New York?”
“You know why.”
Her sullen gaze dropped to the ground, then whipped back up with lightning speed. She stood in the same pose as she had at the theater—straight spine, square shoulders, and lifted chin. There was a new strength in her that he couldn’t help but admire.
“Let’s walk,” he said.
He expected her to argue, but she agreed without complaint. “All right.”
As they fell into step, matching each other’s rhythm, Fitz was reminded of another time, a lifetime ago, it seemed, when he and Gigi had been friends. They’d been children, really. Life had been easy for them then.
Now, they each carried a heavy weight. Fitz studied her out of the corner of his eye.
He’d never seen that look of hopelessness in Gigi. She’d always been lighthearted and happy, a winsome girl free with her affections, living every day as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“What happened to you? What led to your . . .” He nearly said ruin but caught himself in time. No need to create more hostility between them. “What led to you becoming a lady’s maid?”
“You don’t really want to know.”
No, he didn’t want to hear the details, because then he would have to accept his responsibility for her downfall. He’d nearly convinced himself that he didn’t care that he’d hurt her. But he did. He cared a great deal.
A breath-stealing numbness took hold of him. “Where is Nathanial Dixon now?”
Her head snapped to his. The anger he’d seen earlier had changed to something else. Annoyance. No, something far more powerful. Disgrace? Fitz felt the impact of the emotion as if it were his own.
“I don’t know where Nathanial is.” She said the words on a strangled sob. “He left a long time ago.”
Fitz cursed softly. The sound was lost on the wind. He stopped walking.
She did the same, though with obvious reluctance.
“When did you last see Dixon?”
Her hands went wide, as if to say, Isn’t it obvious?
“When, Gigi?” He knew his voice was too rough. Knew he was pushing her too hard. Any minute she would bolt like a frightened doe.
“I haven’t seen or heard from Nathanial since the week we came here.”
Fitz felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. Dixon had abandoned Gigi almost immediately upon arriving in New York. The scoundrel had left a pampered young woman to fend for herself in an unfamiliar city. If he stood before him now, Fitz would rectify the situation quickly. He would right the wrong and force the man to the altar, one way or another.
A vision flashed, Gigi in a beaded wedding gown, skin like porcelain, flaming red tresses cascading down her back. There was a time when Fitz would have claimed her for his own bride. Their union would have merged their two powerful families.
One problem. Gigi hadn’t wanted him.
She’d been wise not to. Their union could have had a disastrous ending, at least for Gigi. She could have been trapped in a lifetime of servitude, a different kind than the one she lived now but just as suffocating. She couldn’t have known that at the time. Fitz himself hadn’t known, which begged the question . . .
“Why didn’t you return to Boston after Dixon left?”
“I couldn’t go home.” The words were rife with pain and no small amount of regret.
Perhaps Dixon had ruined more than her reputation. Had the rat taken her innocence along with her dignity?
Fitz didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to know. Gigi had run off with the man and shared a hotel room for at least three days. No matter what had actually occurred between them, in the eyes of society, she was a fallen woman.
Even knowing this, Fitz still asked, “Why, Gigi? Why couldn’t you go home?”
Her lips twisted in a dejected smile. Her silky lashes lowered to conceal her thoughts. “My father told me if I continued seeing Nathanial, he would disown me.”
Fitz had no ready reply. He didn’t doubt the veracity of her claim. Harcourt Wentworth was a good man, but a hard one as well.
“You are his daughter. Surely he would have forgiven you, especially once Nathanial was no longer in your life.”
“The situation was not that simple.”
Fitz wondered what he was missing. Gigi wasn’t just sad. She was despairing, as if all was lost. Was the loss of her virtue the only reason for her state, or was there more to her tale? He wasn’t supposed to feel sympathy for Gigi’s plight, yet his gut roiled with the emotion.
In silent agreement, they resumed walking at a companionable pace, falling into an awkward silence as they approached the street corner. The evening air was scented with the promise of snow, thick and wet, the kind that stuck to tree branches and turned the world white. Even now, big, slow-moving flakes floated softly around them, creating a surreal, almost wistful feel to the moment. Another lie to add to all the others swirling between them. There was nothing soft about this moment. Nothing calm or wistful.
They paused at the street corner, where Fitz asked the one question he dreaded most. “Do you still love him?”
Gigi jerked at the words. Tears filled her eyes, along with fury. She’d looked at him like this when he’d confronted her about her growing attachment to the fortune hunter. Fitz had feared the worst that night, that Gigi was falling prey to the well-crafted lies.
“I have to get back.” She spun on her heel. “Before my absence is noticed.”
Fitz matched his gait to hers.
“I can find him for you,” he offered. “I can make him marry you.”
Her steps faltered, then halted altogether. “Please don’t do that.”
Though she’d uttered the words softly, Fitz heard the conviction in them and was surprised at the sense of relief that swept through him. “Will you run again, now that I’ve found you?”
Her answer would determine his next move.
She resumed walking but moved too quickly and stumbled over the hem of her heavy cloak.
Fitz reached out and took her elbow. Once her balance was restored, she yanked free of his touch and set off in the direction of Esmeralda’s town house.
“Will you run?” he repeated, easily matching his strides with hers.
“That is none of your business.”
“Oh, but it is.” Fitz was finished stalling. “I have come for the pearls.”
She pulled to an abrupt stop. “What did you say?”
Words formed in his head, disappeared, and then reformed in a new order. He’d made a promise to himself, one he would fulfill this very night. No more dancing around the matter. “I want the pearls you stole.”
Gigi went utterly still. Fear lived in her eyes. But when she spoke, it was in her real voice. “I didn’t steal them.”
Fitz didn’t know why he was disappointed. Deep down, he’d known she would deny the accusation. “Then you had Dixon steal them for you.”
She muttered something under her breath, presumably not for him to hear, but it sounded suspiciously like “Maybe I should run after all.”
Staring into her panicked expression, he felt the remaining scraps of his patience slip. Fitz let exasperation fill him and turn his heart hard to her situation.
“I don’t care what you do after you hand over the pearls. But I’m not leaving New York without the necklace. That, Gigi, is a promise.”
“My name is Sally.” She pushed out the words through gritted teeth, her silver-blue eyes turning the same dull gray as the clouds covering the moon. “I am Sally Smith.”
Enough. Enough.
Fitz pulled her into a side alley that housed more shadow than light. “You can change your name. You can dye your hair and speak in whatever outlandish accent you choose. But you will always be Gigi Wentworth, daughter of Harcourt and Alma, sister to Annabeth and Mariah.”
He let five humming seconds of silence drop between them.
“You can pretend to be a humble servant. What you cannot do is evade the truth any longer.” He held her gaze for another two full seconds. “You are a thief, and I have come to retrieve the property you stole.”
Her expression shifted, no longer filled with vulnerability or fear, but with rebellion.
To behold her now, no one would believe this was the woman who had once allowed romantic sensibilities to rule her every decision.
“Listen to me, Fitz. No matter how many threats you make, I will never give you the pearls.”
“You will.”
“They don’t belong to you.”
“Perhaps not, but neither do they belong to you.” He leaned over her, using his superior height as a weapon in their verbal battle. “You will give the pearls to me, tonight, or—”
“Or what? What will you do, Fitz?”
“Or . . .” He let his lips curve into a ruthless smile. “I shall involve the police.”
Gigi stared into the eyes of a man she’d known all her life yet hardly recognized now. Fitz had always been intense and, if she was honest with herself, put her on edge whenever they shared the same air. But in all their time as friends, then awkward acquaintances, then opposing forces, he’d never frightened her.
Until now.
How was she supposed to hand over something she didn’t have?
You are a thief.
Fitz would never understand what had possessed her to sell the pearls. She’d made a grave error in her assessment of the man. She’d underestimated his cold-bloodedness. Or perhaps he’d never been the dull, self-righteous prig she’d dismissed so easily only a year ago.
Perhaps, despite the odds, the rumors about him were true.
As she held his gaze, she saw something flash there, something not quite civil.
A shiver traveled through her limbs, one Gigi chalked up to the chill in the air and the snowflakes falling lazily from the sky, mocking her effort to remain calm.
Lying to herself had become a nasty habit, she realized. Nevertheless, as she yanked the edges of her cloak tightly around her, Gigi turned her back on Fitz and said in her calmest voice, with no affectation or false accent, “We’re done here.”
“Not by half.”
He moved in front of her, using his body to bar her from exiting the alleyway.
When had Fitz become so intimidating?
Gigi shut her eyes, tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. She told herself that this was Fitz. He’d once been a friend.
He wasn’t a friend anymore. How dare he involve himself in a family matter.
He’ll be family soon, once his cousin marries Annie.
His inserting himself in the situation suddenly made sense. He was here on an errand for his cousin. But that didn’t mean he had the right to insult her. Who was he to judge?
The man deserved a crushing set-down. When Gigi opened her eyes to deliver it, she discovered he’d moved to stand beside her. He was too close. She could smell the scent of sandalwood and bergamot.
Another shiver worked its way down her back. This one came with something more than fear. Something that didn’t bear considering. Surely, she didn’t find him . . .
No. Not worth considering.
Gigi had a plan. Christopher Nolan Fitzpatrick would not prevent her from atoning for her sins.
Realistically, his very presence made him an obstacle. He knew her name, her background, her secret shame. One word to the wrong person and he could derail her efforts to make matters right.
“You have no cause to interfere in this matter.” She hated the desperation in her voice. “I would have thought you learned your lesson.”
Her verbal jab had the desired effect. His flinch was small but noticeable and very, very gratifying. Gigi was feeling rather smug until he leaned over her and said, “Where are the pearls, Gigi?”
“In a safe place.” For now.
But for how long?
What if Mr. Ryerson sold the pearls before her deadline? Gigi could practically hear time running out for her.
Should she tell Fitz the truth? Would he loan her the fifty dollars she needed to redeem the pearls? Or would he buy them back himself and steal her only chance for penance?
Gigi tried to think past the welter of emotion growing inside her. Did she dare trust Fitz? “Give me the pearls, Gigi.” His face had changed somehow, becoming inflexible.
The stern man staring back at her hadn’t always been there. Oh, Fitz had often been quiet and somewhat distant, but the tough exterior had only revealed itself after he and his cousin had taken over his family’s investment firm. Looking at him now, she could believe him capable of anything. This was not a man she could trust.
“I don’t have them on me.” It was all she was willing to tell him.
“I’ll wait while you go inside and get them.”
Though she’d purposely meant to mislead him, she hadn’t expected him to call her bluff. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
The question came out harsh and unforgiving. She refused to cower. “They aren’t in the town house.”
“Where are they?”
“As I said before, the necklace is in a safe place.”
Eyes narrowed, Fitz stared long and hard at her.
Gigi held his gaze without flinching. They might have been two furious armies, neither willing to give quarter, both wanting possession of the same piece of land.
“Did Dixon take them with him when he left you?”
“No.” She struggled for the right words to convince Fitz she spoke the truth. “I . . . He never even knew about the pearls.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true.” She hated how defensive she sounded and felt her lips curl in a self-deprecating sneer. What she’d thought would be the best day of her life had been her worst. She’d planned to wear the necklace on her wedding day, as all the Wentworth women had for generations. She’d wanted to surprise him. Instead, it was she who got the surprise.
Fitz had asked if she still loved Nathanial. How could she love such a man? She’d sacrificed her entire world for his, only to find herself abandoned in a strange city with no money or skills to speak of. Her only hope of survival had been the pearls.
If Nathanial showed up, contrite and apologetic, would she want him back in her life? In the early weeks after he’d disappeared, to her utter mortification, Gigi had hoped he would come looking for her, that he would find her and beg for her forgiveness.
He was supposed to marry me.
The disgrace came again, scorching and hopeless, and with it, the tears. Gigi furiously blinked them away. She would not cry in front of Fitz. She would not cry for herself. And she definitely wouldn’t cry for Nathanial.
Nathanial.
He was supposed to be my prince.
We were supposed to live happily ever after.
Yes, well, life was no fairy tale. The prince really was a toad, and the princess was never meant to live happily ever after.
If Gigi still believed that God heard her prayers, she would pray now for guidance, for help, for comfort. But her Heavenly Father had turned His back on her in the same way her earthly father had done.
“What now?” she asked Fitz, feeling as beaten as she sounded. She was tired of running, of lying about who she was, of hoping atonement was a mere fifty dollars away.
“It appears we are at a stalemate.”
“Then I’ll bid you good night.”
“Not so fast.” His hand shot out and took hold of her arm. His grip was firm but not painful. “I will give you two days to retrieve the pearls from their ‘safe’ place. Then you will surrender them to me.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He tightened his grip ever so slightly. “You do this, Gigi, you give me the pearls and I’ll keep your identity secret. I will leave you to live out the rest of your life as Sally Smith.”
How she hated his calmness, his control of the situation. “How very fair-minded of you.”
“Gigi.” Sympathy flared in his eyes, and she’d never disliked him more than in that moment. “Though you may find this hard to believe, I have come in the spirit of friendship.”
“You expect me to believe you’re on a mission of goodwill?”
“Choose to believe whatever you like.” His obvious frustration sounded in his voice. “Connor wants Annie to wear your great-grandmother’s pearls on their wedding day. I am here to make that happen.”
“Why send you?” Above the whirling and clicking of the blood rushing in her ears, Gigi managed to say, “Why didn’t Connor come himself?”
Fitz rubbed a hand over his face, a small chip in his calm exterior exposed. “It’s complicated. Suffice it to say, I owe my cousin a great debt, and this is one small step in repaying him.”
“What if I refuse to give up the pearls?”
There was a short, taut silence as he contemplated the question.
“What if . . .” She swallowed. “What if I wish to return the necklace myself?”
Fitz took one—two—three furious breaths. “Nothing must be allowed to jeopardize the wedding.”
“I agree.”
“Then give me the pearls and stay hidden, at least until after the occasion.”
He spoke as if he had all the power. He does have all the power.
No, not all.
Gigi could end this now. She could return to Boston tomorrow. Tonight. This very moment. She could confess her sins and ask for forgiveness.
What of your promise to Esmeralda? What of Sophie?
Gigi was trapped, more now than even this morning. Anger swept through like a violent thunderstorm, fast and fierce and unforgiving. She wasn’t aware of moving, but suddenly she launched herself at Fitz. “How dare you interfere in my life again!”
He easily caught her wrists. “Calm yourself.”
The cold voice of sanity cut through her torment. She breathed in sobbing gasps, desperate and fearful she would never earn her freedom. Afraid that forgiveness would never be hers if she didn’t return the pearls on her own.
Fitz held her steady, staring hard into her eyes. His hold didn’t hurt but was strong enough to keep her hands from making contact with his far-too-handsome face. In the darkened alley, he should look menacing. Instead, he looked as weary as Gigi felt. As if he were fatigued by his own impossible burdens.
Carefully, deliberately, he lowered her hands to her sides. He gentled his hold, then released her completely.
“The marriage between Connor and Annie will happen, Gigi. The wedding must go off without a hitch, not a single whiff of scandal. And . . .” He held her in place with a look. “Your sister will wear your great-grandmother’s pearls.”
Somehow the quiet conviction in Fitz’s voice reached Gigi as nothing else could have, and she found herself nodding in agreement. “Is Annie happy?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“You’re not just saying that?” Annie could have been forced to take Gigi’s place, the sacrificial lamb for her father’s desire to align with Fitz’s family and her mother’s wish to climb several more rungs on the social ladder. “My sister truly wants to marry your cousin? She is not being forced into marriage as I would have been had we . . .”
She left the rest unspoken.
Fitz had no problem stating the obvious. “You mean, if we had become engaged.”
“Yes.”
His chest rose and fell in a soundless sigh. “Your sister is pleased with the way things have turned out.”
“And your cousin? Is he also pleased?”
“He claims theirs is a love match.”
A love match. Gigi’s remaining shreds of resistance faded but then returned full force when Fitz said, “The pearls, Gigi. You have two days to produce them.”
She felt her face drain of color. “I need more time.”
“You have forty-eight hours. Not a moment longer.”
Having made his pronouncement, he stalked off. He didn’t look back, not once. Gigi decided to be relieved. Fitz had given her two days to produce the pearls. She would use the time to figure out a way to get rid of him.
How? She didn’t know. It would require careful planning. But she would free herself of him eventually.
She predicted a long, sleepless night ahead.