Turning, he reached behind him for a lady’s garment that had been left draped over a chair. It was a black velvet cloak with two shoulder capes, trimmed with braid the shade of primroses. Rory had never seen anything so dainty or so elegant, but she eyed it dubiously. She couldn’t imagine how a bachelor like Zeke Morrison would have such a thing in his possession unless it had been left here by that friend of his.
When Zeke moved to drape the cloak about Rory’s shoulders, she demurred. “No, thank you. I really don’t think I ought to borrow anything that belonged to her.”
“Her?” Zeke looked puzzled then understanding appeared to dawn on him.
“Mrs. Van Hallsburg?” He laughed. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have the brass to lend you anything of hers either. No, this cloak is merely a trifle I bought my niece for her birthday. She’s a very good-hearted girl and wouldn’t mind in the least your using it.”
His niece? Even she was not naive enough to swallow that one. But she made no further protest as Zeke settled the cloak about her, merely speculating on how many “nieces” a man like Morrison was likely to have.
But he was behaving like a gentleman so far, offering her his arm in a courtly fashion. Only the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. Rory prided herself on her ability to handle any situation, but maybe for once she had strayed out of her depth. Yet no Kavanaugh had ever backed down from a challenge.
She allowed Zeke to link her arm through his, meeting his bold stare with an equally direct look of her own. She had had amost eventful day, but she had a premonition. It wasn’t going to be anything compared with her night.
Five
The soft glow of incandescent lamps illuminated pristine white tablecloths, gleaming silver, sparkling crystal—all the elegance that marked Delmonico’s, New York’s premiere dining establishment. Here the fashionable set gathered nightly to sample the excellent cuisine, millionaires rubbing elbows with actors and politicians. No matter what newer, smarter salons opened their doors, it still was considered a matter of social necessity to be seen dining at “Del’s.”
Or so Cynthia Van Hallsburg had informed Zeke upon many occasions, advice that Zeke for the most part ignored. Delmonico’s was a shade too fancy and sedate for his tastes, the food good but overpriced. So he could scarce say why he had chosen to bring Miss Kavanaugh here tonight.
As they crossed the plush carpeted foyer, she hung back a little, her pert nose crinkling in doubtful fashion. “Are you sure we should— I mean, don’t you have to have reservations to get into this place?”
“No,” he assured her. “Del’s doesn’t take reservations after six. They would keep you waiting even if you were the President of the United States.”
With that, he caught the attention of the headwaiter, Phillipe.
“Ah, Monsieur Morrison.” Phillipe made a smart bow. “So good to see you this evening.”
“Good evening, Phillipe. Table for two, the best in the house.”
“But of course, monsieur.” The man flattered him with an unctuous smile that was at the same time a little insolent.
It was at this instant Zeke realized to his chagrin what he was doing at Delmonico’s. He was showing off. Hell! He hadn’t done that since the time he had nearly impaled himself on the schoolyard fence, doing handstands to impress Mary Lou Grosvenor.
Mary Lou had been suitably awed, but then it was easy to dazzle a girl when you were both only ten. Not so easy now. Had he managed to impress Miss Kavanaugh? He stole a glance down at her as they followed Phillipe to their table.
Those remarkable quicksilver eyes of hers registered curiosity as she made a study of Delmonico’s main dining salon. It was a curiosity that was returned, although the occupants of the other tables were too craven to stare as frankly as she did.
The room was already thronged with black dinner jackets and females sporting more diamonds than could be found in the display case at Tiffany’s. Although the hum of polite chatter and the sedate chink of forks against china never ceased, Zeke could sense his progress across the room being followed by a myriad of eyes.
“It’s that Morrison fellow,” he heard someone mutter. “Who’s he got with him? One of the chorus girls from Casino’s?”
The speculation didn’t bother Zeke. By now he was accustomed to the interest he aroused wherever he went, but as she became aware of the whispers, Miss Kavanaugh appeared disconcerted.
Phillipe showed them to a table at the front, quite close to the large plate glass window. It was an excellent location, giving them not only a view of the square outside, but also most ofthe rest of the room. Yet Miss Kavanaugh looked flushed and distinctly uncomfortable as they took their seats.
As Phillipe bustled off to send a waiter to fill their water glasses and bring menus, Zeke leaned forward. “You know if you don’t like this, Miss Kavanaugh, I could ask to be shown to a private room.”
“Oh, no, this is just fine.” She snatched up the linen napkin and spread it on her lap, as though by laying claim to the spot she would resist any attempts to dislodge her.
Zeke suppressed a smile. So she was still skittish at the notion of being alone with him. She needn’t have worried. At Del’s, they didn’t let you close the doors of the private rooms, not even if you were married. But Zeke let the matter drop.
Settling back in his chair, he appreciated the scene unfolding beyond the window. Outside hansom cabs jostled for position at the curb, trying to deposit their passengers. The trees across the way in Madison Square Park cast rustling shadows, and beyond them, the lights twinkled, reflections of the great hotels, the theaters and the cafés.
He noted that Aurora had begun to relax, enjoying the view with him.
“This is much better than Del’s old location, isn’t it?” he said.
She laughed a little at that. “I wouldn’t know, Mr. Morrison. Where I come from, we don’t mention Delmonico’s for fear we might be charged for just saying the name.”
