Chapter 21 #3
If only it were true that Thomas would do anything for her.
If only he’d listened to her, stayed away from Mason and his grasping, greedy schemes.
She dabbed the napkin to her lips. “If Thomas doesn’t think your business is a good investment, it doesn’t matter how smitten he might be,” she said, “he won’t do it. ”
“Actually, I really don’t care where the money comes from. If you can’t persuade Thomas, then just get it for me yourself.”
Grey leaned back in his chair, stirred his coffee. “Of course, it’s better if Thomas could lend both his money and his name
to my business, but I’ll take just the money. You must have plenty.”
She picked up the cup again and kept her eyes steadily on Grey’s. When Thomas had proposed, she didn’t know that Caroline
was sole heir to the Dominics’ fortune. She only knew what Caroline had told her, that the Vessey inheritance was held in
trust until she turned twenty-five or married. She’d married Thomas and now he could call upon both fortunes.
“But how on earth would I get that kind of money without Thomas noticing—” she began to protest, and stopped when he waggled
a finger at her.
“Now, now. Not my problem. And I want it in two weeks, Caroline. Or whatever your real name is.” He leaned closer across the
top of the small round table. “That gives you enough time to gather the money, doesn’t it? You’ve proven how clever you are;
you’ll come up with some scheme, send cables to your banks and lawyers and such. If not, I’ll tell him about you. And then
I’ll threaten to expose you to the world. That would snarl things up, wouldn’t it? He won’t want scandal, so he’ll pay. But
at what cost to your happy marriage?”
“It won’t come to that,” she said.
“No, it won’t,” he agreed, “since you’ll get me the money. And by the way, I want to see you before then. I want a small deposit
soon. Two weeks is rather a long time to wait.” His lewd grin made it clear what he meant by a small deposit.
“I’ll get the money,” she said, keeping her voice even. “And you don’t need a deposit.”
“Oh, but the deposit is essential. It sweetens the payment. I’ll send for you, Caroline.
” He rolled the name on his tongue as though licking cream from a pastry.
He stood up and pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, dropped some coins on the table.
“Don’t worry, I know how to be discreet. Even though you don’t deserve it.”
She left the café fifteen minutes later, her mind ice-cold. She had prepared herself for the worst and that’s what it had
been. Grey’s intentions would ruin her, take this life away from her. And she didn’t trust him at all. The blackmail would
never stop. She climbed into the car exhausted, her nerves ready to shatter, thankful the long ride back would give her time
to compose herself.
He wanted money. And he wanted her. Not because he truly desired her, but because he enjoyed her fear and revulsion, enjoyed
knowing he could force her into submission. That he could force the wife of a more successful man. She would get the money,
somehow she would find a way. But the problem was, would he stop there? Would he ask for more from her? More money, more . . .
She shuddered.
A blast of music interrupted her thoughts as the door to a nightclub opened. In Shanghai, some nightclubs stayed open long
hours, giving clients all the time in the world to spend money. An unruly group of young men tumbled out and clustered on
the sidewalk. One of them had pulled a hostess out of the club, a Chinese girl who was clearly uncomfortable though trying
to smile and joke. She couldn’t afford to offend clients. Laughing, the young man let her go back inside.
The scene loosened a fragment of memory.
Now she remembered when and how she first met Andrew Grey.
It was at Mrs. Dominic’s annual opera party, always held the weekend just before the start of the new opera season.
Mrs. Dominic had achieved the coup of securing both Arturo Toscanini, the new conductor of the Metropolitan Opera, and its general manager, Giulio Gatti-Casazza, as guests of honor.
All the household staff, from scullery maids to butler, had been pressed into service. Instead of the usual fifty guests,
more than a hundred people had been invited to witness this social triumph. She had been hurrying down the hallway to the
ladies’ salon with a bowl of scented potpourri when a man stopped her, his hand held out to block her passage. She thought
he was a guest who’d gotten lost and needed directions back to the drawing room. Instead, he circled his arm around her waist
and pulled her against him, making her gasp.
“You’re a pretty one,” he said, slurring his words, “prettier than any of those overdressed debutantes.”
“Sir, I have my duties,” she replied, trying to twist away. He refused to relax his grip and his smile grew wider, his strange
light brown eyes glittering. His breath reeked of whiskey. He was enjoying her resistance. She marshaled all her control and
smiled back.
“This is an uneven struggle, sir,” she said, forcing a flirtatious smile. “If I drop this bowl, it will cost me my job.”
At that, he laughed and let her go. “Prettier and spunkier than any of them,” he said, “especially that mousy, morose little
Caroline Vessey. Go on, get back to your duties. I won’t be responsible for putting you on the streets.”
He patted her on the bum and she continued along the corridor, felt the tingle of his light brown eyes on her back, felt rage
at her own helplessness. That was how she’d first met Andrew Grey. And at Lennox Manor, when he’d threatened her in her own
home, she was again a helpless servant.