“You too, sir.”
Darius let out a relieved breath, then gulped down some of his ginger ale. Mr. Walcott would be happy to hear that the mayor hadn’t yet decided to support the home. At the very least, Darius hoped he’d succeeded in planting some seeds of doubt.
The crowds in front of him parted, and a flash of blue caught his eye. An elegantly dressed woman stood with her back to him, talking to Mrs. Bennington. Darius moved through the group toward them. Who was the widow trying to coerce now? Some wealthy businessman’s wife?
As he got closer, Mrs. Bennington stepped away to speak to someone else, and the woman in blue turned.
Darius’s jaw dropped. It couldn’t be . . .
The woman’s eyes met his, and she instantly stiffened, her expression turning hostile. Then she ducked her chin and pushed through the crowd in the opposite direction.
Darius blinked. What happened to the simple young woman he’d met the other day? This woman wore a flowing blue gown and long white gloves. Her hair was styled in an elaborate fashion on top of her head, with some loose curls left to frame her face. But what really disturbed him was the bright red lipstick that made her painted lips stand out a mile away.
His shoulder muscles cinched. It seemed his initial impression of Miss Rosetti had been dead wrong. She was no better than a lot of the conniving women he knew, those who used their looks to lure men for their own purposes. Resentment burned through Darius’s system, spurring his feet to move. He would make sure she didn’t use her charms to take anyone for a sucker.
With renewed energy, he pushed through the crowd until he spied the flash of blue again. He slowed as he approached, realizing she was standing very close to a man in a brown suit.
But it wasn’t just any man. It was Elliott Peterson, one of Walcott Industries’ most influential, albeit obnoxious, clients.
Darius’s lip curled. He should interrupt and save the sorry lout from the woman’s wiles. It couldn’t hurt to have the man in his debt.
Peterson leaned down and whispered something in Miss Rosetti’s ear.
“How dare you!” She jerked away from him, but Peterson grabbed her arm.
“Come now, Miss Rosetti. You don’t think I’d simply give my money away without some type of . . . reward?”
Disgust coursed through Darius’s blood as he imagined what the man must have insinuated. No matter what he’d assumed about her intentions, Miss Rosetti didn’t deserve to be treated in such a manner.
Darius stepped forward and held out his hand. “Mr. Peterson! I never would have pegged you for a philanthropist, especially not for a project of this nature.”
The man’s florid face turned thunderous, but he released his grip on Miss Rosetti to shake Darius’s hand. “My financial dealings outside of Walcott Industries are none of your concern, Mr. Reed.”
Darius ignored the implied threat. “I’m sure you’d like Mrs. Bennington’s input on any discussion involving the home. Shall I call her over?” He gave the man a steely stare, issuing a challenge of his own.
“Stay out of this, Reed. Or I’ll tell Walcott you’re interfering where you don’t belong.” The sour scent of whiskey washed over Darius’s face.
Miss Rosetti used the distraction to back away several paces.
“I’m sure you don’t wish to cause a scene,” Darius said smoothly. “Especially with Mayor Conboy here tonight. It wouldn’t do to make a bad impression.”
Peterson growled his displeasure but immediately scanned the room, then gave a stiff nod. “We’ll continue our discussion at a later date, Miss Rosetti. Right now, I see someone I need to speak to.” With that, the man strutted off.
Darius turned back to the ashen woman. “It’s a shame how some people can’t hold their liquor,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the situation. However, his poor attempt at humor fell flat when she didn’t smile or thank him for his help.
“Excuse me, I need some air,” she said stiffly. Without a backward glance, she headed toward the exit.
He blinked. The woman’s whole body had been shaking. Had Mr. Peterson threatened her?
Darius quickly followed her out of the room into the hallway.
She paused by the staircase railing, pulled a handkerchief from her purse, then swiped it across her mouth, leaving a bright streak of red on the white cloth.
“Miss Rosetti, is there anything I can do for you?”
Her head flew up, and for a brief second, raw vulnerability flashed over her features. Tears trembled on her lower lashes, but she dabbed them away. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Darius took a cautious step forward. “I don’t know what that man said, but he obviously upset you.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, shoving away from the railing to head down the stairs.
He hesitated only a moment before following her again. In her distraught condition, she might be prey for some other unscrupulous type. He would just keep an eye out and make sure no one else bothered her.
Olivia walked straight through the hotel lobby and out the front door, where she gulped in the cool night air.
She’d predicted this evening would turn out badly, and she hadn’t been wrong. Dressing in this outrageous outfit had given everyone at the gala the wrong impression. Maybe other women could pull off this bold appearance, but all Olivia could hear was her father’s voice. “A woman who wears lipstick is nothing but una prostituta.”
The man who’d accosted her certainly thought she had loose morals, and likely he wasn’t the only one making errant assumptions.
She paced the sidewalk in front of the hotel. If she had any idea how to get back to Ruth’s house, she would start walking right now, despite her uncomfortable shoes. But she hadn’t paid much attention to the route the taxi driver had taken. Nor did she have the cab fare to get a ride home.
She’d have to go back inside and tell Ruth she wanted to leave. However, the thought of disappointing the woman grated on Olivia’s
