The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City (12 page)

Saturday, 2 May 1903

Saturday didn’t present any new information. Rafael’s gift still seemed to think that Miss Jardim was safe for the moment, and the officers who’d stood watch over her boarding house hadn’t seen the threatening man again. No one at the boarding house knew of anyone who’d dislike Miss Jardim, leaving him again without any motive that might tell them who the man was.

He ate dinner at the Ferreira home again that night, doing his best to entertain a growingly-restive Miss Jardim. But since his gift didn’t seem concerned about Sunday, he promised that he would escort her to Mass the next morning. And to dine afterward. She asked if he would be playing football, which was indeed in his plans, and if she might accompany him.

This was definitely, Rafael decided, beginning to look like courtship.

Sunday, 3 May 1903

G
ENOVEVA DIDN
’
T THINK
she understood football any better today than she had the previous Sunday. She’d sat with Mrs. Gaspar again, who’d patiently explained this and that point, but Genoveva hadn’t been all that attentive. She didn’t particularly care about the rules of the game. It was obvious how much the captain enjoyed playing, and that was the important part.

This week they played an English team and managed to finish one point ahead. Afterward the captain sought her out and chatted amiably with Mrs. Gaspar for a few minutes while Inspector Gaspar talked with a member of the opposing team. When Gaspar came running over, he and his wife invited them to join them for dinner later, but the captain glanced over at Genoveva. “I’m afraid we have a previous engagement,” he said. “Perhaps some other time?”

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Gaspar said, taking her husband’s arm.

It was only after the couple had left that Genoveva realized that Captain Pinheiro had answered for both of them. “I was unaware that
I
had supper plans.”

He laughed ruefully. “I apologize. I set a reservation at the Restaurant Comercial for this evening, for us and a guest. Do you mind?”

The Comercial, located in the Stock Exchange Palace itself, had been her favorite restaurant before she left her life in society. She was
not
going to question whether the captain could afford such a venue. “Of course not,” she said. “But I would have preferred you not assume.”

“You don’t like surprises, do you?”

Genoveva looked down at her sensible shoes. In her life, it seemed that everything surprising had turned out to be unpleasant. “No, not very much.”

He glanced about the stands. The players had mostly wandered away from the playing field, and only a handful of spectators still clumped at the other end of the stands. He turned back to her, evidently satisfied that they wouldn’t be overheard. “This is my plan,” he said. “I’m going to return to my apartment and change into formal dinner clothes. Then I’ll escort you—if you wish—back to your rooms so that you can change as well and pick up clothes for a few more days. We’ll return to Lady Ferreira’s home where you can leave the bag, and then we will go to the Comercial where, while we’re waiting, you and I will have a discussion about my finances and expectations and, if you’re amenable, we might make an announcement of some sort to our other dinner companion—who is your mother, by the way.”

Genoveva swallowed. She understood the word
announcement
very well. Every girl in society was trained to anticipate that moment as one of the highlights of her life.

“I’m telling you now so that you won’t be surprised later,” the captain clarified.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He peered up at the overcast sky, and then offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

Genoveva lightly set her hand on his white sleeve, feeling a little breathless. “Yes, of course.”

He smiled at her, and they began the trek along the cobbled streets back to Bom Sucesso Street where he lived. The breeze had picked up and pedestrians hurried past. Her mind was whirling, but the captain seemed content to stroll along with her in silence while she sorted out all the implications of what he’d said.

His finances and expectations? Did he have expectations of some manner of inheritance from his father? It didn’t matter. She’d very quickly learned to live within her means. Even so, it would be nice to have a little money set aside for an occasional splurge. His father didn’t strike her as wealthy, though. Paolo Silva struck her as someone who
appeared
wealthy, which was different. There probably wasn’t a large inheritance coming to Captain Pinheiro on the man’s death. And just to be spiteful, Silva would probably never die.

A raindrop struck her cheek, and Genoveva peered up at the sky. The clouds had thickened to a deep gray. As they crossed Vilar Street, the heavens opened up and rain pelted down. The captain grasped her hand and dragged her down the street toward a shop awning, and she stumbled along with him. Unfortunately, one of awing’s ties caught the edge of her straw hat and ripped it loose from her hair. She dashed back into the rain to get it, and then ran to join the captain in the doorway under the awning’s protection.

Her shirtwaist was thoroughly wet now. Her hair must be mussed from the hat ripping loose.

The captain shook his head, and water droplets from his hair struck her face. Genoveva let out a startled laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He reached over and, with one finger, wiped some of the water from her cheek. And then he cursed under his breath and glared at his finger accusingly.

“What?”

His eyes met hers, and she could tell he was torn between amusement and embarrassment. “I had some dirt on my finger.”

That meant it was now smeared across her cheek. Genoveva didn’t have a handkerchief with her, and since the captain was in his football attire, surely he didn’t either. He checked his fingers, wiping them on one already dirt-splattered sleeve.

“Here, lift your face.” When Genoveva complied, he used the other sleeve to wipe her cheek. He grinned down at her. “There, clean now.”

Then he touched her cheek, and his smiled faded into something altogether different. His damp fingers slid back until they wrapped about the side of her neck. His thumb stroked over her lips, pausing there.

She gazed up at him, transfixed. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. The beating of her heart was almost louder than the drum of the rain on the awning. Was he going to kiss her?

“Do you want me to kiss you?” His voice sounded rough.

A bead of water had fallen from her hair into her eyelashes. She blinked it away. “Yes.”

He did so. His lips were firm against hers. It wasn’t like a kiss of greeting. He seemed to devour her lips, nibbling at them in a way that didn’t seem like it would be half as enticing as it was. He drew her to him, his arms going about her back, settling on her waist and holding her body against his.

This was improper, particularly dressed as he was in only shirtsleeves and shorts.

It was
delicious
.

Her hands were pressed against his chest, only the thin fabric of his shirt between them. This overwhelming desire to touch and be touched was something new to her.

And then the door opened inward, throwing them both off balance and breaking the illusion of privacy they’d shared. An old woman wrapped in a black shawl—probably the shop’s owner—shook her bony finger at them, berating them for misbehavior in front of her door.

Genoveva stepped back, fixing her eyes on the sidewalk to convey contrition as the woman continued to wag her finger at the captain. In truth, she was hard pressed not to break out in laughter. She felt a soaring joy she didn’t think she’d felt in years. Had she ever felt this way?

The captain shot a smoldering glance at her from under a lowered brow. No, he didn’t look like he regretted it, either.

Fortunately, the rain began to let up, settling back to a drizzle more suited to fall than early summer. The captain offered his apologies to the old woman, promising never to besmirch her doorstep again. The old woman slammed the door and they both laughed.

The captain swept down and plucked her forgotten straw hat off the pavement. It was sodden now. He shook it out and handed it to her with a rueful expression. There was no point in putting it back on. He held out one hand. “Shall we go, Miss Jardim?”

“Yes, Captain,” she said, laying her hand in his.

They’d walked a short distance from the awning before he leaned closer and said, “I wouldn’t mind if you called me Rafael.”

Genoveva carefully kept her eyes on the cobbles. They were tricky when wet. She was still having trouble catching her breath, and this street wasn’t even a steep one. “I wouldn’t mind if you called me Genoveva.”

“Not Gena?”

No one had ever called her by a shortened version of her name, not even her sisters. Her father had thought it
common
. But the idea of letting Rafael Pinheiro call her that was enticing. “I suppose you could.”

A smile touched his lips. He was studying the street ahead of them and eyeing the other pedestrians to keep from walking her into someone else. He had kissed her once, and her chest actually ached with her desire to be closer to him.

When they reached his house, Mrs. Crespo apparently wasn’t home, so Genoveva waited in the entry hallway for him to go upstairs and change clothes. A narrow bureau stood under the stairwell, a mirror above it, so she went to check her hair.

She didn’t look any different. No matter how different she felt inside, it didn’t show. This had to be what falling in love felt like, and she’d halfway expected it to be scribbled across her forehead in rose-colored ink.

Instead she was bedraggled. She had to laugh. A strand hung loose from her bun, yanked loose when her hat had come off, and was already trying to curl insanely. Captain Pinheiro—
Rafael
—hadn’t mentioned it, but she must have looked quite comical.

Ideally she would take her hair down and redo the whole thing, but she didn’t have a brush with her anyway, so she tried to tuck the strand back in. That never truly worked, but perhaps . . .

The front door of the house opened, and Genoveva glanced that way, expecting Mrs. Crespo.

A man glanced about the entryway and then walked toward the sitting room as if he owned the place. Genoveva watched him go inside, her breath going short. It was
him.

She had to get away, but to escape out the front door she would have to run past him.

The stairwell was closer. Heart pounding, she gathered up her skirt with one hand and bolted up the stairs, not even trying to be quiet. Her heels clattered on the steps, giving her away immediately. She hadn’t reached the second landing before she heard the man pounding up the stairs after her.

She continued up, praying she could stay out of his reach. She came out of the stairwell onto the third floor and ran for the only door. “Rafael!”

The old man came out of the stairwell and ran toward her, an ugly grimace on his face.

Genoveva didn’t wait. She thrust open the door, dashed inside, and slammed it shut. From outside, the man pounded on the door, yelling the same profanity-laced gibberish he had at her boarding house. She fumbled for the lock and threw it, then set her back against the door, her eyes screwed shut to block out his voice, her breath coming hard.

A second later, Rafael stood next to her, his hand over hers on the door latch. “Let me out. I’ll take care of him.”

Genoveva opened her eyes and her mouth fell open in shock. He was completely nude, with only a towel clutched in one hand, and that wasn’t covering
anything
. He was standing only a foot from her, giving her an excellent view of his physique. He
was
all muscle.

She felt heat blossom on her cheeks. The tips of her ears were probably red now. She’d known he was up here changing clothes, but it had never occurred to her that she might interrupt him while he was. . . . well, changing clothes. “You can’t go out there. You’re not . . . dressed.”

His eyes met hers. A faint flush colored his cheeks, hinting that he’d just realized he was nude. “Out of the way,” he said.

“You can’t go out there,” she insisted. “Not like that.”

His jaw clenched, but he lifted his hand from above hers on the latch. He struggled to wrap the towel about his waist, finally just holding it closed with one hand. Then he yelled through the door, “Miss Jardim asks that I not come out there and rip your arms off. Now get out.”

The yelling abruptly stopped. Genoveva held her breath, waiting to hear
anything
from the other side of the door. She lifted her eyes to meet Rafael’s.

“Let me go out and look,” he ordered.

“No.” She gestured with her free hand, indicating his mostly bared skin. Hadn’t the man taken enough of that already? “If he’s still out there he might hurt you.”

“Are you not going to close your eyes, at the least?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Or turn around?”

To spare his modesty? It was too late for that. She licked her lips, but found nothing to say.

“You seem overset,” he said when she didn’t obey. “Should we cancel our plans this evening?”

It took a moment for his meaning to reach her foggy brain. No, she definitely didn’t want to miss out on that promised discussion, dinner, and announcement. “The other times, once he was gone, he was gone.”

Rafael’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Stay here.” He pointed at the ground. “Right here.”

She looked down again, not moving as his footsteps moved away from her and then a door shut. She pushed away from the door then, laying one hand to her belly. What was she doing? She’d probably embarrassed him within an inch of his life. He must think she was terribly forward. She’d been leering at him. Thank heavens she’d managed to keep herself from touching him.

Because it
had
crossed her mind.

She glanced over at the shut door, which must lead to his bedroom.

In a week she had gone from barely knowing Rafael Pinheiro to thinking terribly impure thoughts about him. That discussion he had planned for later that evening had
better
involve marriage, because she was certain she wanted him, even if she’d only known him a short time.