“Please,” he insisted. “Let me help.”
“Do you know any men we can send after a wayward trustee?” Manuela asked, eliciting a barrage of exasperated-sounding Spanish words from the three other women.
“What?” the artist asked innocently. “We can certainly use the help.”
Luz Alana sent Manuela a withering look that would’ve sent a lesser woman—or man—running for cover. But Manuela was made of stronger mettle. Luz Alana turned to Evan then. Her face, which had been open and relaxed when they’d dined, now tight with worry. He could almost see the long shadow of the albatross hovering over her.
“But maybe he can marry you, and then you don’t have to ask that man to help you!”
Every head in their small group turned in Clarita’s direction with a speed that would’ve been comical if the situation was not what it was.
“Mi amor,” Luz Alana said, her voice tired, “why do you think I need to get married? We don’t need anyone to help us.”
“But you said,” Clarita told her sister, her small face brimming with worry. Evan ached to take both of them in his arms, do away with everything casting this darkness over them.
“Mi niña—” Luz Alana engulfed her sister in a fierce embrace, her eyes filled with unshed tears “—you don’t have to worry about any of that. It will be all right.Wewill be all right. Trust me, esta bien?” Luz Alana whipped her head in Evan’s direction as if only now recalling he’d been a witness to this very private moment.
“Thank you, for everything, Mr. Sinclair.”
He was no longer Evan, and he’d never hated his family’s name more than at that moment. She offered him a resolute stare and a firm handshake. The complicit spark in her eyes was gone now, and what remained was the flinty stare of someone who had the weight of the world pressing down on her. She walked away from him with her head held high, a woman who would do what she must.
No explanations, no cowering, no tears.
Raghav found him some time later, after he’d watched the small pride head in the direction of the Cairo Street exhibit.
“You look grim,” his friend said, and Evan grunted.
“Here, this was left for you at the pavilion,” Raghav said, pulling a blue envelope from his jacket.
Apollo.
Evan opened it, still unsettled from the scene with Luz Alana. The message was, per usual, short and to the point.
It’s done. The duke’s birthday will be the talk of the town this year.
ACSR
Evan folded the note and slid it into his pocket, his eyes fixed on someone’s lost kite, fluttering in the wind.
“Who do we know in the Mexican delegation?” he asked as they started to walk. “I need an invitation to the soirée they’re hosting tonight.”
Ten
“Any luck?” Manuela asked as she glanced around the main room in the Mexican pavilion, which for the evening had been transformed into a tropical garden.
“None,” Luz told her friends, joining them in the corner of the ballroom they’d commandeered. The letter from her solicitor in Edinburgh had gone a long way to suffuse any lingering illusions she had about prolonging whatever it was she’d been doing with Evan that afternoon. She’d had a moment of real panic after reading that Percy Childers had doubled down on his refusal to advance her any funds and instead had requested an audience with Mr. Bruce to “discuss” the solicitor’s involvement. As trustee of the inheritance, Childers could release the lawyer and find someone who was more amenable to his scheming. Which could potentially be catastrophic. Childers had set a date ten days away, and Mr. Bruce strongly advised Luz to make herself available to attend. It had been a timely reminder that she had absolutely no time to waste on distractions of the male variety—no matter how bone-melting their kisses.
The departure to Scotland was now imminent, and tonight was her last chance to secure a shipping partner with a route to the Caribbean. Among the guests were a number of tradesmen, including several who operated between the Caribbean and Europe. She’d attempted to speak with some of the gentlemen she knew either owned steamships or had distributors in England and Scotland, and she’d been rebuffed, ignored and in one instance...laughed at. She’d hoped the fortune from earlier in the day would continue this evening, but it seemed her streak had run out.
“Valencia wouldn’t even talk to me,” she muttered, slumped against the wall. She hated the feeling of tears stinging her eyes. “You’d think I was asking them to drink my blood,” she cried as she scanned the room again, searching for any potential business contacts she had not yet approached.
“If you asked them that, they’d probably take the card,” Aurora scoffed, with herMen are absolute basurascowl.
“I still think you should’ve taken the Great Scot’s offer to help, Leona.” Manu had been harping on that point from the moment they’d left the man at the fairgrounds. And she’d wanted to, when he’d practically pled that she allow him to help her; she’d desperately wanted to say yes. But she’d muddied the waters with the man far too much. With Seynabou Cisse-Kelly and Dairoku, she’d at least been able to trade the favor for some rum casks. But she had no more casks to give—as they were all full of the spirit—and she would not keep accepting favors from Evan. Not if she expected him to take her and her business seriously.
With a sigh, she turned her attention to the dance floor in an effort to at least pretend she was enjoying herself. There was greenery everywhere, large potted fan palms and yucca trees, all brought from Mexico for the exposition. The orchestra, which was currently playing a danza by Juan Morel Campos, was on a raised dais at the far end of the improvised ballroom. Behind them on the wall was an enormous circular arrangement of ferns, red dahlias and white orchids, lushly displaying the colors of the Mexican flag. The candlelight gave the affair a seductive feel, and Luz almost wished she hadn’t chucked her fan behind a potted palm. A dance or two might help improve her mood. Her beautiful saffron gown, with its delicate lace overlay and provocative décolletage was going to utter waste. Thinking about dancing only served to bring Evanston Sinclair to the forefront of her mind. The way he gripped her hips as they kissed, how well they fit together.Stop obsessing about the man, Luz Alana.With effort, she turned her attention to a couple on the dance floor.
Luz recognized one of the women who’d come over on the ship with them. Her family owned half the coast of Costa Rica, apparently, and she was dancing with a tall, imposing man. He would’ve attracted attention merely due to his size, but he was handsome too. He was a graceful dancer, gliding his partner around the room with ease. While the beautifully dressed woman’s focus was fully on her dancing partner, his was elsewhere; the man’s eyes searched the room as though he was looking for someone. Something about his expression was so familiar. Perhaps he’d also been on their ship?
