A Scandalous Melody. Linda Conrad
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“Hello, Katherine.”
That deep, dangerous voice…
The humidity closed in despite the air-conditioning and cut off the words in Kate’s throat. Sweat beaded at her temple and on the back of her neck. He was still the best-looking man she’d ever seen.
“I, uh,” she stammered. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “Hello, Chase. You took me by surprise. It’s been a long time. How’ve you been?”
“Considerably better than last time we saw each other, chère.”
“All right, Chase. What do you want here?”
It took a few seconds for him to answer. She couldn’t breathe.
“Everything, Kate,” he finally told her. “I want it all.”
A Scandalous Melody
Linda Conrad
LINDA CONRAD
Award-winning author Linda Conrad was first inspired by her mother, who gave her a deep love of storytelling. “Actually, Mom told me I was the best liar she ever knew. And that’s saying something for a woman with an Irish-storyteller’s background,” Linda says. In her past life Linda was a stockbroker and certified financial planner, but she has been writing contemporary romances for six years now. Linda’s passions are her husband, her cat, Sam, and finding time to read cozy mysteries and emotional love stories. She says, “Living with passion makes everything worthwhile.” Visit Linda’s Web site at www.LindaConrad.com or write to her at P.O. Box 9269, Tavernier, FL 33070.
This is for my niece, Christine Norris,
a most terrific wife, mom, sister and friend!
Thanks for all your support!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Prologue
Dark, dangerous street corners and after-hours sounds of jazzy blues playing eerily in the distance meant nothing to Passionata Chagari.
She stood quietly in the shadows, awaiting the arrival of the lost heir to the gypsy legacy, Chase Severin. His grandmother, Lucille Steele, was long buried in her grave. Yet just today, Chase had been informed of his status as heir to her fortune.
Now, after a long night of revelry, Chase would receive a bequest that was much more valuable than all of Lucille’s money. Passionata patted the deep pocket in the long, flowing silk of her favorite scarlet dress and smiled.
This young man would be the most difficult one to help, she knew. Yet Passionata had given her father her word. No matter what the circumstances, the lost Steele heir was to receive the gift that was meant for him.
Chase Severin wandered out of the French Quarter bar right at closing, mulling over the events of the last couple of days and feeling staggered by everything he’d learned—and perhaps by that last straight shot of bourbon.
He wasn’t just the wayward son of a small-town drunk as he’d believed for all of his life. Son of a—
He had actual relatives and shared family trees. And on top of the new fortune, Chase had also inherited an exalted social standing.
Stopping at an empty street corner, Chase lit up one of his long thin cigars and blew a fragrant, gray circle of smoke out into the darkness. He’d meant to quit this nasty habit, and had cut way down. But just now he needed all the help he could get.
His whole life…everything he’d ever believed about himself…most of it simply wasn’t true. The secrets and the misunderstandings were still not all clear to him. But he knew things would be different from now on.
Still cloaked by the darkness, Passionata read his mind. She chuckled at the thought of just how truly different this young man’s life was about to become.
“Celebrating, Severin?” she said aloud as she stepped into the yellow lamplight. “You have reason.”
Chase nearly choked on his own smoke when the strange and creaky voice came unexpectedly out of the shadows. He turned to face one of the oddest women he’d ever seen. She was dressed up in wild colors like a fortune-telling gypsy. The hair that hung loose beneath a deep-purple head scarf was a mottled salt-and-pepper color. And her watery eyes gleamed strangely bright under the streetlight.
“Do we know each other?” he asked when he found his voice.
“I am Passionata Chagari, and I have a debt to repay.”
“Not to me, you don’t. I keep careful records of my accounts.” Chase took a long, thoughtful drag and flipped the cigar in the gutter.
She smiled a partially toothless grin. “This debt is to be repaid in the form of a legacy left to you by your grandmother Steele and by my father, the king of the gypsies.”
Most of what she’d said was too weird for Chase to fathom. He’d only been aware of his grandmother Steele’s existence for a few days, and the only reason he knew now was because she’d died and left him part of her fortune.
So he took the old woman’s arm and held her close. “Don’t play with a player, Passionata,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ll only lose. What exactly do you want?”
“Your grandmother Steele was a great lady. She would not care for you to treat your elders with such disdain.” The old woman pulled her arm from his grip. “Lucille Steele saved my life, the life of my family. She was kind to strangers when no other would take the time.”
“I didn’t know her,” Chase muttered. “But I’m glad to hear you thought she was a good person. Lucille’s dead now. Do you expect me to take up your care where she left off?”
The gypsy smiled. “Ever the gambler, Severin? You take the risk now that I may have something of value you need.”
She tilted her head to study him and continued. “You have the chance to change your ways—go back—make right the wrongs. Do you consider the possibilities? Or do you shirk your fate?”
How could she know what he’d been thinking? The moment he’d found out that he’d come from prominent and respectable people, he’d wondered what it would be like to go back.
Passionata reached into a pocket and pulled out something shiny. “This is your part of the gypsy’s legacy. It is one of the gifts from my father to the blood descendants of Lucille Steele, in repayment for a kindness.”
Chase took the object from her hand and turned it over to study. A golden replica of an egg, the beautiful artifact had a jewel-encrusted design reminiscent of the great Russian artisans. Old and obviously expensive, it looked like something that should’ve belonged to a king.
“It is old,” the gypsy began as if to answer his thoughts. “But it belongs to you, and was made for you alone.”
“I’m not that old.” He tried to get her to take it back but she stepped away.
“This orb of jewels is crafted to bring