Scoundrel for Hire (Velvet Lies, Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Adrienne deWolfe
onto her table, she did her best not to worry whether the cloud of rock dust could be brushed out of her prized Persian carpet.
"Let's see what we've got," Papa said, rubbing his hands together.
Benson stood gravely at attention, but she moved closer, her heart quickening. Papa's enthusiasm had always been infectious. Even in the days when she'd preferred rag dolls to nuggets of ore, she would run to sit by his knee and help him paw through bag after bag of quartz for the glimmer of gold he'd sworn he'd found.
She held her breath. But when he unbuckled the fastenings and dumped out the satchels, she could tell in an instant he'd been prospecting a dream lode. She supposed some things never changed.
"Papa," she said gently, "these are nothing but country rocks."
He squinted, holding a particularly plain piece of granite to the window. "'Course they are, daughter. They're spiritkeepers."
"Spiritkeepers?" she repeated dubiously.
He nodded, his blue eyes twinkling above his salt-and-pepper beard. "Yep. Cellie says we need a whole barrel full so we can choose the best ones for the séance."
"Séance!" Silver nearly choked in an effort to bite back her oath. Ooh, that woman and her cockamamie schemes. "Papa, why on earth would you want to hold a séance?"
"'Cause I want to talk to that dead Injun and make him quit spooking our miners." Chucking the first rock back on the table, Papa reached for a second and shook it, hopefully, next to his ear. "Hmm. Nothing," he muttered. "I wonder how you're supposed to tell which ones the spirits live in?"
Silver almost groaned aloud. When she glanced at her butler, his stony, straight-ahead gaze was belied by his dry smile.
"Uh, Benson, would you be kind enough to close the parlor doors when you leave?"
"Of course, madam." Once again the model of imperturbability, Benson bowed and backed into the hall.
The cherrywood panels closed with a snick, and Silver turned to her father. He was fishing inside his coat pockets for something, most likely his ever-present magnifying glass. As she watched his crumpled vest strain across his well-fed belly, a feeling of such profound tenderness washed over her that for an instant, she was moved to tears.
Just five short years ago, when he'd finally made good on a lifetime of promises and sent for her to come live with him beside his "mother lode," he'd been bonier than a half-starved sparrow. Maximillian Nichols had sustained himself on dreams for forty-four years, sacrificing his own needs to send her and Aunt Agatha what little money he could scrape together to help keep them off the streets.
Now, hale and hearty and wealthier than even he had ever imagined, Maximillian Nichols was still living on dreams. She understood that it wasn't the pot of gold but rather the rainbow- chasing that made him happy. And she wanted him to be happy. Her papa was her whole world. If he needed to believe in some silly ghost and the mythical treasure he'd hired Celestia to help him find, then Silver was willing to pretend she believed in them, too.
However, she was not willing to stand by and watch her papa be made a public laughingstock because he was too kindhearted to conceive that Celestia Cooper might prey upon his fantasies by turning the old Indian legend of the Medicine Man, Nahele, to her advantage.
"Papa," Silver said, "I'm sure we can find a way to avert a miner's strike without holding a séance. We don't want to fuel the men's fear of Nahele."
"Not to worry, daughter." He opened the eye he'd squeezed closed to peer at his rocks. "We'll keep it small. You, me, the Union leaders, and maybe Brady from the Times. 'Course, there's no telling how many spirits'll show up around here, if you know what I mean."
She smiled weakly. To her discomfort, she knew exactly what he meant. That's why she'd never told him about her nightmares. The last thing she wanted was for Papa to decide Nahele was haunting her boudoir and then enlist Celestia to perform some
"Let's see what we've got," Papa said, rubbing his hands together.
Benson stood gravely at attention, but she moved closer, her heart quickening. Papa's enthusiasm had always been infectious. Even in the days when she'd preferred rag dolls to nuggets of ore, she would run to sit by his knee and help him paw through bag after bag of quartz for the glimmer of gold he'd sworn he'd found.
She held her breath. But when he unbuckled the fastenings and dumped out the satchels, she could tell in an instant he'd been prospecting a dream lode. She supposed some things never changed.
"Papa," she said gently, "these are nothing but country rocks."
He squinted, holding a particularly plain piece of granite to the window. "'Course they are, daughter. They're spiritkeepers."
"Spiritkeepers?" she repeated dubiously.
He nodded, his blue eyes twinkling above his salt-and-pepper beard. "Yep. Cellie says we need a whole barrel full so we can choose the best ones for the séance."
"Séance!" Silver nearly choked in an effort to bite back her oath. Ooh, that woman and her cockamamie schemes. "Papa, why on earth would you want to hold a séance?"
"'Cause I want to talk to that dead Injun and make him quit spooking our miners." Chucking the first rock back on the table, Papa reached for a second and shook it, hopefully, next to his ear. "Hmm. Nothing," he muttered. "I wonder how you're supposed to tell which ones the spirits live in?"
Silver almost groaned aloud. When she glanced at her butler, his stony, straight-ahead gaze was belied by his dry smile.
"Uh, Benson, would you be kind enough to close the parlor doors when you leave?"
"Of course, madam." Once again the model of imperturbability, Benson bowed and backed into the hall.
The cherrywood panels closed with a snick, and Silver turned to her father. He was fishing inside his coat pockets for something, most likely his ever-present magnifying glass. As she watched his crumpled vest strain across his well-fed belly, a feeling of such profound tenderness washed over her that for an instant, she was moved to tears.
Just five short years ago, when he'd finally made good on a lifetime of promises and sent for her to come live with him beside his "mother lode," he'd been bonier than a half-starved sparrow. Maximillian Nichols had sustained himself on dreams for forty-four years, sacrificing his own needs to send her and Aunt Agatha what little money he could scrape together to help keep them off the streets.
Now, hale and hearty and wealthier than even he had ever imagined, Maximillian Nichols was still living on dreams. She understood that it wasn't the pot of gold but rather the rainbow- chasing that made him happy. And she wanted him to be happy. Her papa was her whole world. If he needed to believe in some silly ghost and the mythical treasure he'd hired Celestia to help him find, then Silver was willing to pretend she believed in them, too.
However, she was not willing to stand by and watch her papa be made a public laughingstock because he was too kindhearted to conceive that Celestia Cooper might prey upon his fantasies by turning the old Indian legend of the Medicine Man, Nahele, to her advantage.
"Papa," Silver said, "I'm sure we can find a way to avert a miner's strike without holding a séance. We don't want to fuel the men's fear of Nahele."
"Not to worry, daughter." He opened the eye he'd squeezed closed to peer at his rocks. "We'll keep it small. You, me, the Union leaders, and maybe Brady from the Times. 'Course, there's no telling how many spirits'll show up around here, if you know what I mean."
She smiled weakly. To her discomfort, she knew exactly what he meant. That's why she'd never told him about her nightmares. The last thing she wanted was for Papa to decide Nahele was haunting her boudoir and then enlist Celestia to perform some
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