Aladdin (New Modern Wicked Fairy Tales) Page 4

  And even if he would never admit it to Eddie, it wasn’t the caviar, wine, cigars and feather pillows he’d really miss.

  It was Libby herself.

  The thought of being out on the grift again wasn’t appealing, but the thought of not seeing Libby every day bothered him far more. Eddie kept telling him, when they drove into town together on the pretense of “Bart Burnett” having “business”, that he needed to pop the question. He’d even managed to obtain fake credentials for “Barton Kirwin Burnett.” Eddie reminded him all the time that marrying Libby would make everything right. He’d be able to stay with her, and life could continue as it had for the past several months.

  Bart had to admit, he wanted to marry her. But not under these pretenses.

  He was stuck.

  Bart thought Libby had forgotten about the idea of racing, but on one of their nightly garden walks, she reminded him of that first night they’d taken such a walk and his promise to race.

  “You’ll just trounce me,” he said.

  “That’s the idea,” she replied smartly, and he laughed.

  So they had planned it for the very next day, after breakfast, when Frances was pretending to read but really taking her morning nap in the sitting room and the servants were busy preparing food for that day’s lunch and dinner.

  They walked together down to the garage, Libby teasing him about losing their upcoming race. Bart took it in stride, teasing her right back, although a little more gently. It wasn’t until they approached the big garage that Bart noticed the Duesenberg wasn’t in its usual spot beside the Rolls.

  “Perhaps Vizard put it inside?” Libby wondered aloud, going up on tiptoes to look through the garage window.

  Bart had a sinking feeling. What if Eddie had sold the car? He’d been getting increasingly frustrated with Bart dragging his feet. Had Eddie finally given up and taken off?

  “Do you see it?” Bart peered over Libby’s shoulder into the darkness. No Duesenberg.

  They both turned at the sound of tires on the gravel.

  Eddie pulled the Duesenberg up in front of the garage and stumbled out of the car.

  “Vizard!” Libby cried. “Are you all right?”

  It was clear that he wasn’t—he had a cut on his forehead that was bleeding profusely, and his uniform was dirty and torn.

  “What the devil?” Bart caught Eddie under the arm, keeping him from collapsing.

  “I’ll get someone to help him to his room,” Libby said.

  “No, I’ll do it.” Bart put an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, guiding him toward the servant’s quarters at the back of the estate.

  “I’ll have Mary bring you some hot water and disinfectant!” she called after him.

  “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll handle this and see you at lunch.”

  She nodded, watching the two men stumble toward the house.

  “What in the hell happened?” Bart demanded when they got to Eddie’s room.

  Eddie sat on the bed, putting his head in his hands. “It was Boardwalk Louie and his boys.”

  “What?” Bart sank into the chair opposite his old friend. “Why?”

  “The money we owed them.”

  There was a knock on the door and Bart got up to answer it. Mary stood there with a bowl of water, several washing cloths, a towel, and some disinfectant. He took them, thanked her, and shut the door.

  “That was all squared away,” Bart said, wetting one of the cloths and handing it to Eddie. “I thought you paid them.”

  “Well...” Eddie pressed the cloth to the cut on his forehead. It looked like one of Louie’s boys had caught him with a ring. “I was going to pay Louie... but it was so much money, Bart... so I thought I’d double it...”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Eddie…”

  “The horse was supposed to be a sure thing.”

  “You always say that.”

  Eddie sighed. ”Anyway, I lost it all…”

  “All!” Bart gaped at him “All of it, Eddie? All fifty grand?”

  Eddie nodded.

  Bart swore, grabbing the antiseptic and soaking a cloth with it, pressing it roughly to Eddie’s cut.

  “Ow!”

  “Hold still, or I’m gonna hit you myself.” Bart managed to master his temper as he cleaned Eddie’s cut. “How did he find you?”

  “I don’t know,” Eddie said, looking morose. “I got a message about meeting him.”

  “A message. Here?” Bart’s stomach dropped.

  “So I took the car to go take care of it.”

  “What were you going to do? Talk yourself out of it?”

  “I thought I could buy us some time.”

  “Us,” Bart said bitterly. As if he should have to pay, because Eddie had spent the money on a “sure thing.”

  “He took one look at the car and said he wanted his money today or we’re both dead.”

  “Today?”

  “I know.” Eddie winced, looking up at him pitifully. “But I did manage to buy us some more time anyway.”

  “Yeah? How’d you do that?”

  “He gave me two months—if we give him double.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” Bart said hoarsely. “It might as well be a million.”

  “I’m sorry, Bart. But I got double the time for double the money. Thought it would give you enough time to get us out of this pickle.”

  Bart shook his head “You really take the cake, Eddie.”

  “I know. I let you down.” Eddie began to plead with him. “But listen, there’s only one way out of this now. You’ve gotta marry this dame and get your hands on her dough. Fast.”

  Bart nodded, his stomach in knots.

  He knew Eddie was right.

  At this point, it was the only way he could avoid both of them ending up at the bottom of the Hudson River.

  Chapter 4

  Libby looped her arm through Bart’s as they walked through the gardens in the moonlight. They had developed this habit of taking a nightly walk some time after dinner. Tonight, they had spent the evening talking to her grandmother and one of her friends. The two women had drunk a great deal of wine and had become boisterous and raucous, talking about “the good old days.” It sounded to Bart like Libby had almost certainly gotten her rebellious streak from her grandmother.

  It was one of those nights where, in the city, the heat of the day would radiate off the pavement until morning and people wouldn’t be able to sleep. It was cooler at the edge of the city, on the grounds of the estate—but not much.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you, guess who I saw when I went into town this afternoon?” Libby’s voice jolted Bart from his thoughts.

  “Who?”

  “Count Gironde.” She gave him a sideways look, as if Bart was supposed to know who that was, but he was drawing a blank. “You know... the man I was supposed to picnic with the day I met you?”

  “Oh, the married one.” Bart nodded. “A count, eh? I guess you’ve taken a step down with me.”

  “Hardly.” She laughed. “Although I do admit, all the men who have courted me in the past have come from old money. You’re the first one from new money.”

  Old money. New money. The fact was, Bart was from “no money.” But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  “But I have to say, all those men from old money, they sure had old ideas of who a woman should be.”

  “Did they?”

  “I’ll say. Take Simon. He was French. I thought someone French might be more liberal. But Simon told me if I got behind the wheel of that Bugatti, it would be over between us.”

  “Did he? And what did you do?”

  “I said goodbye to Simon right then and there,” she said. “And I got in the car.”

  “Sounds like you.” Bart chuckled. “Wait a minute—that wasn’t the car you crashed, was it?”

  “Heavens no! That was later. I mean, Simon was a fine fellow in his own way, but not worth wrecking a car over.”

  The
y both laughed.

  Libby stopped at the top of a hill and Bart stopped with her. There was a whole curved valley spread out below them. A creek babbled away in the darkness, and in the distance a rambling brick wall faded off down the valley. Above, the stars spread out like white pepper in the night sky, and the wide belt of the Milky Way Galaxy was clearly visible.

  She turned her face up to him. Pale, lightly powdered, a beautiful face. Now, a familiar face. He had come to adore her round little face, her smiles, the way she tilted her eyes up at him. He’d never seen a girl more lovely than the one in front of him now. That would normally not really affect him one way or another. There had been plenty of pretty women who had come in and out of his life. But this woman—this woman was different. And the way he felt about her was complicating everything.

  Libby gently fondled the lapel of Bart’s jacket. He had long passed the point where he could walk away from all of this. At least, without causing a great deal of pain and heartache. But would it be better for her, if he did just that? How could he use her, the way Eddie wanted him to? How could he just marry this woman—someone he had grown to love—just to get his hands on her money?

  His conscience was troubled. And his conscience had never been troubled much before. The last time it had been troubled, he’d refused to run the grift on Clay Fogler. It hadn’t been fair, to do something like that to a rich, old drunk. Besides, he’d liked Clay too much to make him a mark.

  And he loved Libby.

  Bart tried to stop the wheels turning in his mind by leaning down and kissing her, long and deep. Her little hat fell off, but neither of them really paid it any mind. He held her close to him as her arms went around his neck.

  She sighed when they parted. “Bart?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there something wrong with me?”

  “Something wrong with you?” He laughed. “Hardly, darlin.”

  “Then why won’t you sleep with me?” She tilted her head in that way she had. “I think I’ve made it clear how I feel about you. And what I want. Isn’t it about time?”

  She slid her hand down the buttons on his shirt, trailing south.

  “Ah, that.” Bart cleared his throat, taking a step back. He’d been around plenty of forward women—although not many who were as beautiful, and none who were also this high-class and rich.

  He turned toward a low, stone wall that ran at the edge of the garden, hands in his pockets, looking up into the moonlight.

  “I guess I’m still old-fashioned,” he confessed. “Even if I’m not old money.”

  “Old fashioned? You?” Libby laughed, coming up behind him and putting her cheek against his arm. “You’re the most modern thinking man I know.”

  “About some things,” he admitted. Lightning bugs flashed over the garden wall. “But not others.”

  “So... what are you saying?”

  Bart took a steadying breath. He hadn’t planned to do this now—but there was no time like the present. He had been grifting long enough to know how and when to use a situation to your advantage. Libby had just opened the door. All he had to do was walk through it.

  “I’m saying...” Bart turned and looked into her moonlight-wet eyes. He couldn’t believe she wanted him, even now, after she’d done everything to show him, had even directly told him so.

  He took her hands in his. “I’m saying I love you, Libby. And I don’t want to just make love to you. Although... I want that, too. Make no mistake. I do.”

  “What do you want, Bart?”

  “I want you, Libby,” he said softly. “I want all of you. I want you to be with me, part of me. I want to share everything with you. Everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything. I want you to be my wife, Elizabeth Frances Bancroft. I want you to be my wife and have my children and live with me for the rest of our lives together. I want everything, Libby. I want the damned moon, that’s what I want.”

  He was panting and breathless at the end of this speech, and mad at himself for telling the truth instead of just turning on the charm.

  “That’s quite a proposal, I must say.” She took her hands in his, then turned her face back up to him. “That was a proposal? Wasn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then, yes.”

  “Yes?” He stood, incredulous, his whole body suddenly at attention.

  “Yes.”

  Just like that, she had fallen for it. And he was a total scoundrel. He told himself he had done it for Eddie. For the money. He told himself he was the old Bart, the one who wouldn’t think twice about finding a mark and running a con that would bring a great payday. But none of that was true.

  He had done it because he loved her. Because the thought of living without her made him want to die.

  Libby went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Bart folded his arms around her slight frame and drew her in to him, tasting her, savoring her. Could it really be true? Would she marry him and make him the happiest man in the world?

  She doesn’t know who you really are.

  If she knew...

  He pushed the thought away, losing himself in the press of her body against his.

  “It’s time to make me your wife, Bart,” Libby whispered when they parted. He was dazed and lightheaded, his nose filled with the scent of lilacs, roses, and Libby.

  “I can’t wait,” he confessed.

  She smiled, taking a step back from him. “Neither can I.”

  Bart blinked in surprise as Libby pulled her flowing, loose-fitting dress over her head.

  “We’re not in the house, Bart,” she said, reminding him of the first night she’d propositioned him, and he’d told her, not in your grandmother’s house.

  “Libby...” He breathed her name, looking at her in lingerie for the first time.

  She didn’t blush nor act brazen, but stood, matter of fact, before him, in garments that spoke to the strange and secret vulnerabilities of her gender. She wore a bra and a corset that began just below it, cinching her waist in tightly. The corset ran down over her hips and bottom, ending with garters that held up her stockings.

  “Isn’t it silly the things we women still wear?” She put her arms around his neck and leaned back a little to smile at him. She was sleek and slender, but the corset seemed to contain a bit of a bulge at the tummy. Bart found this little sign of her vulnerability highly erotic.

  “No. Absolutely not.” Bart shook his head. “Not silly in the least.”

  She laughed and kissed him.

  “I don’t suppose it’s likely anyone would wander up here and find us, is it?”

  “No,” he said.

  “But if they did, you’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Bart slid his hands down to her bottom, squeezing gently. The corset or girdle or whatever it was went all the way down. He felt around for any kind of fastening—hooks, laces, something.

  “I’ve never seen one quite like this before. It’s quite modern, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “It is.”

  “It appears to be absolutely seamless. How do I get you out of it?”

  “You peel me, silly.”

  “Like a banana?”

  “Like a banana.” She laughed.

  “How the devil did you get in there?”

  “With great difficulty.”

  Bart felt his erection twinge. “I’d like to watch you do that some time.”

  “You’ll have to get me out of it, first.”

  She began to bend over to unfasten her stockings from the garters.

  “No, wait,” Bart said. “Allow me.”

  “Such a gentleman.” She stood up straight and put her hands on her hips.

  “I assure you, Mademoiselle, my intentions are not exactly gentlemanly.”

  “All the better.”

  Bart bent over and began to unfasten her garters. Her legs shone white in the moonlight. They were stro
ng and firm. He rubbed them lightly with his knuckles. With the stockings unfastened, he let one hand wander slowly up her thigh until he reached the apex.

  The heat was incredible. He cupped her there, watching her head tilt back, eyes closing, lips parting. Her thighs trembled. She seemed strangely innocent yet experienced at the same time. The idea that other men may have been here strangely excited him. He didn’t know why.

  Her thigh was humid and damp. The girdle was perforated in graceful patterns for ventilation, but it was undoubtably hot in there regardless.

  “Oh Bart…” She drew in a sharp breath, hands on her hips, and she shifted them forward toward him as he pushed his hand just a little further toward that feminine temple of flesh.

  The scent of her was intoxicating. It took every ounce of discipline he could muster not to tear her out of the thing like some wild animal. His finger grazed coarse hair and he shivered. Oh, the thickly furred beast below the fine dress and the stockings and the powder! This was what excited him—the raw, animal sexuality beneath the feminine trappings.

  He pushed his finger higher and felt wet lips. He stroked lightly.

  “Unh! Oh!” Libby’s hands fluttered over the corset, nearing her groin, as if she might stop him, but then she drew her elbows in at her waist, balling her hands up into fists, forearms jutting out perpendicular to her body. This was clearly almost too much for her, but she didn’t want to stop him.

  She clamped her thighs together over Bart’s hand, but he pressed his finger up higher, deeper into the wetness, which tightened around him.

  “Unh!” she gasped.

  Bart explored a little. She was very tight.

  “Ch-checking things out, Bart? A little advance guard come to reconnoiter?” she panted, eyes closed, teeth clenched in a smile.

  “Something like that,” he said laconically.

  Bart put his other hand on her belly and gently pressed it as his finger continued to explore her inside. Libby’s breath came with a sort of shhh-ing sound, like a steaming radiator. When he began to pull his finger out, she shuddered and clamped down on him harder. Perhaps he was retreating too quickly? He slowed down, watching her tremble in the moonlight, so helpless to him. She was a modern woman, but here, like this, she was vulnerable. She was his.