“Thank you.” She reached for her frock coat, slipped her arms into it and, opening the door, entered the hotel corridor. She followed the wide hallway with its wainscoting and stylish floral wallpaper to the curving grand staircase, and as she took the steps, she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to walk them in an elegant satin ball gown on the arm of a handsome gentleman.
Of course, there was only one handsome gentleman she could imagine walking down the stairs with, and just the thought of him made her stomach knot. After all this time, she was amazed he could still do that to her. She wondered if he ever thought of her. She doubted it.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sapphire crossed the pink marble floor, trying to remember to strut like a boy rather than take dainty steps, and not to gaze up at the blazing chandeliers overhead because the beauty of crystal wasn’t something Sam Water, a simple stable-boy-turned-jockey, would have appreciated. The Martin-James Hotel was one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture, inside or out, she had ever seen and she longed to explore it. However, she would not be staying the night; Mr. Carrington had already ordered the carriage to take her home at ten. His best jockeys always attended the parties and balls, but never stayed long.
“Mr. Water,” one of Mr. Carrington’s rivals’ wives called to him, fluttering her fan in Sapphire’s direction. “Do come and let me introduce you to a dear friend.”
“Mr. Water,” someone else called.
“Sam!” cried another voice.
Sapphire could feel her life spinning out of control. She didn’t know what she wanted beyond her father’s name, but she knew she could not live this way much longer.
“Very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Sapphire said, taking a middle-aged woman’s hand and kissing the back of it.
The woman giggled.
“Sam rides for Carrington,” the younger woman explained to the older. “But my Jonathan has made Sam an offer I cannot imagine he could refuse.”
Sam smiled absently, much the same way she had seen Blake smile at this kind of affair.
“Would you care for a drink, Sam?” someone behind her offered.
“No, thank you,” she said, turning around. As she faced the next well-wisher, just out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something.
Someone.
He was standing under a monstrous chandelier just outside the double glass French doors with their frosted design, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. He appeared to be debating whether to enter the reception parlor.
Sapphire’s breath caught in her throat and for a second she was paralyzed with fear. She didn’t know which way to escape, and at the moment when she started to turn away, Blake’s gaze met hers.
He was not fooled by the short hair or the men’s clothing.
“Thank you so much,” Sapphire said, blindly shaking hands, taking the glass someone handed her. “Thank you.” She nearly stumbled in her effort to get away.
He was walking straight toward her.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she heard herself say, making a beeline for a door at the rear of the salon. She had no idea where it led, but hoped that it would take her from this nightmare.
29
“You, wait a minute. Sir!” came Blake’s uncertain voice behind Sapphire.
She left the glass someone had pushed into her hand on a table as she hurried through the door. It led into a narrow, dimly lit corridor—used by staff to move about the hotel without disturbing guests, she recalled. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her pulse pounding in her ears.
“Sir?” Blake said again.
Sapphire looked up and down the hall, not knowing which way to go. There had to be a way out of here, perhaps a way onto the street. Then she could just disappear in New York City the same way she had disappeared in Boston.
But Blake was right behind her, no more than three or four steps away when she closed the door. She held her hands to her racing heart, feeling light-headed. He spoke again from the other side of the door.
“Excuse me, but did you see that young man go through here?”
Sapphire heard another voice responding, but she couldn’t make out what the woman was saying.
“Who?” Blake asked.
“The jockey,” the woman said, her voice loud enough for Sapphire to hear this time. “You must meet him. A young boy Carrington found in his own stables. Sam Water is his name. He rides that wild steed of Carrington’s, you know, the black one, Prince Caribbean.”