Page 20 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
But it was clear now that he hadn’t been.
She couldn’t allow a single moment to pass after her father opened that package without explaining her side of the story.
She took the stairs like a tempest, the carpet blurring underneath her feet. By the time she reached the foyer, their butler, Ulysses, was accepting the envelope from Francis, who stood within the open door, backed by the human icebox. Francis looked up as Fern descended the last few steps.
“’Lo again, kitten,” he said with a wink.
Ulysses skewered her with a shocked glare.
“Please, Francis.” She came down onto the parquet tiles and approached the door, her eyes stuck to the envelope held loosely in the butler’s slim fingers.
“Please?” Francis repeated. “What, you gettin’ fish feet?” He then addressed Ulysses, “Hurry off, Joe. Get that to your master.”
“Leave.Now,” Ulysses ordered the two men.
Fern reached for the envelope, but her fingers grazed off the paper when Ulysses shifted it away from her grasp. “This is for the judge, Miss Fern.”
“I know, but?—”
Francis let out a loud clucking noise. “Hey now, doll, I thought Cal said you was with us.”
He came toward her, and when Ulysses held up an arm to block him, Francis caught hold of it. He spun Ulysses around, wrenching his arm behind his back.
“Stop!” Fern shouted as Ulysses struggled. “Leave him alone!”
“Or was big brother lying about that?” Francis went on, ignoring her command. With a mean laugh, he pushed Ulysses away. The older man hit the parquet floor on his hands and knees. She rushed to help him stand.
“Rod hates it when people lie to him, kitten. It makes him angry.”
Ulysses refused her help, holding up his hand and assuring her he was fine and able to stand by himself. She couldn’t help but notice that he kept the envelope out of her reach.
Francis pointed at him and jerked his finger to the side. “Go on,” he said, as if commanding a dog. “Take that to the judge.”
The beefy man stepped out from behind Francis, and Ulysses turned on his heel to hurry toward the judge’s study at the back of the house. Fern watched him go, her heart sinking.
A sudden hand on her arm jerked her attention back to Francis. He angled her close to him, the odors of menthol and cologne cloying.
“Listen, you got nothing to be ashamed of, kitten. Those pictures turned out real nice. Cal did you right in ‘em.”
She rolled her arm from his grasp. Francis laughed.His breath gusted over her face and made her stomach heave.
“Get out,” she whispered, not caring if it made her sound like she wasn’twiththem.
He pulled on the brim of his hat, then turned and left. The other man followed, leaving the door wide open. Fern slammed it and hurried toward her father’s study, her pulse thudding and vision throbbing. Any last, grasping hope that Ulysses hadn’t delivered the envelope to her father shriveled and expired when the study door opened on soundless hinges. The butler emerged, his expression tight and accusing.
“I don’t know what just happened, Miss Fern, but I’m shocked you would have anything to do with those hoodlums.” His chastising left her breathless. Ulysses had been their butler for years and had never spoken much beyond pleasantries to her. Fern bit her bottom lip and shouldered past him into the study.
Judge Adair stood at his desk, the envelope in one hand, and a large photograph in the other. All she could see was the shiny white backing of the photograph. If she hadn’t known any better, it could have passed for a sheet of paper. But Fern did know better. Her father narrowed his eyes, and revulsion crept in like a red stain across his cheeks.
She moved forward, her ankles transforming into melted wax. “Father, please listen, I?—”
He set the envelope and the first photograph, face down, on the desk. “How long have you known Calvin Rosetti?”
He worked his jaw side to side, his fingers plucking asecond photograph from the mouth of the envelope. Fern saw a leg in sheer black hose, ankle propped against the footboard of a bed frame.Herleg.
“I…I met him last night. At Mother’s dinner. That was the first time, I promise?—”
“And you posed for him like this?” He gestured toward the envelope and photographs. “Like some…someharlot?”
