Rogues in Texas 02 - Never Love a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  “All the couples are dancing. People might doubt our betrothal.”

  She glanced quickly to the corner, where Kit was refilling his wineglass. “That would leave Kit alone.”

  “Believe me, he’s alone anyway.” He cradled his palm against her elbow. “Come along.”

  “Harry—”

  “Trust me. It will be as simple as walking.”

  “Do you have any idea how many times I fell on my butt before I learned to walk?”

  His smile deepened. “I’ll catch you before you fall.”

  With reservations, she gave him a sharp nod, fearing he might be catching her heart. His hand came to rest on the curve of her waist, and he swept her onto the dance floor. Her breath caught at the smoothness of his motions, as though he carried her on air.

  “Not so bad, heh?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “Many a time. It’s required of an English gentleman to know the art of sweeping a lady off her feet.”

  “Gentleman.” She scoffed. “More likely it’s a requirement for scoundrels.”

  “One must be a gentleman before he can be a scoundrel. It’s an unwritten law.”

  “Did you really shoot a man for insulting your mistress?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  “You must have cared for her a lot.”

  He shook his head slightly. “She was fun. I enjoyed her company, and she understood how to play the game.”

  “The game?”

  “Pretending affection so that for a while we could both forget that we were pretending.”

  “Haven’t you ever really loved anyone?”

  “If I did, it was so long ago that I have no memory of it.”

  As much as loving a man had hurt, of late she’d longed for the moments when love seemed to make life worthwhile. She couldn’t imagine never knowing the experience of love, the giving of it, the receiving of it.

  “Telling Gerald that story about the duel seemed to shut him up. Why did it matter that you shot the man in the left thigh?”

  She’d never expected to see a red tinge creep into Harry’s cheeks. “How can I put this delicately? Most men have a tendency to … hang to the left.”

  “Hang?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Their…” His eyes brightened. “Shortcomings.”

  Awareness dawned, and she widened her eyes. “You mean that you shot off his … his… “

  “It was my intent. Fortunately for him, he hung to the right. Now if your former lover continues to insult you, I shall shoot him dead center and relieve him of his family jewels.”

  “Or as my father would say, ‘his cojones’ ?”

  “Exactly.”

  She laughed lightly. “You know, I think you would.”

  His face grew incredibly serious. “Make no mistake. I did not issue an idle threat, and he well knows it. He hurt you once. I assure you that he will never harm you again.”

  She glanced past Harry to watch Gerald dance with Ashton. His steps were awkward, ungainly as he held Ashton at a respectable arm’s length.

  “Do you wish to switch partners?” Harry asked, his fluid movements mirroring poise and confidence.

  She jerked her gaze to his. “No. I sorta prefer to keep my toes from getting hurt.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  She licked her lips. “That’s how I meant it.” She swallowed hard as his hand tightened on her waist and drew her closer until she felt the brush of his thighs against hers. “Isn’t it scandalous to dance this close?” she asked, breathlessly.

  “Incredibly, but it is the way I prefer.”

  The warmth from his body seeped into hers. “I reckon you’ve danced with a lot of women.”

  “Too many to count, but I give you my word on this: I never waltzed with one of them because I wanted to. You are the first with whom I have actually relished dancing.”

  “You danced with them because you wanted to entice them into your bed.”

  She started to jerk free, but he maintained his hold, bringing her closer. “I forget how well you know men, and you forget how little you know me.”

  “Do you deny my words?”

  “No. But since we began dancing, I have given no thought to bedding you.”

  She felt the sharp sting to her pride. “Maybe you ought to dance with Ashton. She seems like a fine lady.”

  “She holds no interest for me. You, on the other hand … I am aware of you in ways that I’ve never been aware of another. You are a seductress simply because you don’t realize you are one.”

  “You’re dealing your words from the bottom of the deck—”

  “I’ve never given you false words, Jessye.” He swept her across the dance floor as though no one else were in attendance. No false words. No false hope. She could have his body, but not his heart.

  Someday, he would find love, she was sure of it, and she could well imagine the woman who would capture his heart. She would be beautiful and refined, her words uttered poetically, her manners impeccable. She wouldn’t have to keep darting her gaze around the table as Jessye had done earlier to make certain she was eating in the same manner as everyone else. She would never wear men’s clothes or serve men whiskey with a saucy smile that might add an extra coin to her pocket.

  But tonight it didn’t matter. She wore a gown that made her feel like a lady, and Harry gazed at her as though she was the only woman in the room. He’d asked her to dance when he’d asked no one else.

  “Why didn’t you like the beard?” he asked quietly as the music continued to fill the room.

  She studied the perfect lines of his face. “Because it hid the strong curve of your jaw and that little dent in your chin.”

  He brought her closer, the curves of her body molding against the hardened planes of his. Desire, deep and burning, illuminated his eyes, and his hands tightened their hold. “Tell me that you never wonder what it would be like to lie within my arms with nothing but shadows between us.”

  Her mouth grew dry, her throat tight. She wondered so often that she considered abandoning her vow, but she feared the disappointment that would reel through her when she had to finally acknowledge that she’d gained his body without his heart. “I’ve thought about it,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Do you realize how long it’ll be before we have another opportunity to sleep in a bed?” he asked in a low, captivating murmur. “And you know how little I enjoy a bed when I’m in it alone.”

  She nodded mutely.

  “We can leave this party at any time … discreetly…”

  “Harry, I can’t. You’re offering me your body without your heart. It would be like dancing without music. I know the cost, and it’s a price I’m not willing to pay—ever again.”

  Disappointment clouded the emerald depths of his eyes. “Attending this party was a mistake. You look ravishing, and I am a starving man. Fortunately for us, the night will soon end—”

  She nodded. “And so will the pretense. We’ll just go back to being who and what we are.”

  The music drifted into silence. Jessye stepped out of his embrace. “Thank you for the dance.”

  He cupped her chin. “I am halfway tempted to kill Milton for what he did to you. Tonight, you think you are pretending to be a lady, while in truth, you spend the greater portion of your life pretending that you are not.” He bowed slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to talk with David for a moment.”

  She watched him walk off, his stride graceful with confidence, his words echoing through her mind. She hated to admit that Harry did a lot less bluffing than she realized. She’d judged him to be a scoundrel, but there were times when she thought he was anything but one. It was much easier to be around him when she didn’t trust him, much harder to guard her heart when she did.

  She spun around and came up short, jerking back to avoid ramming into Gerald.

  “Dance with me, Jessye,” he said as
he grabbed her arm.

  She wrenched free. “I only dance with my fiancé.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted into an ugly sneer. “You don’t think I honest to God believe you’re betrothed to that fella, do you? Didn’t you hear what Robertson said? He’s nobility. During the war, I saw plantation houses that make this one look like an outhouse. And I hear tell that in England , the nobility live in castles. Why would a man who grew up rich settle for the likes of you?”

  She didn’t care that Harry hadn’t actually settled for her. She only wanted to convince Gerald that he’d made a mistake in leaving her. “Maybe he likes my spunk.”

  He laughed. “He doesn’t want anything more from you than what I wanted: a quick roll in the hay.”

  Jessye balled her hands into fists, pressing them against her sides to keep from ramming them into his nose. Tonight—for Harry—she would be a lady. “The war changed you, Gerald. I don’t recall you bein’ so mean spirited.”

  He glanced down briefly as though shamed by her words. But when he lifted his gaze, the hardness she saw in his eyes shook her to the core. “I’m just trying to spare you some hurt. I recognize my own kind when I see him. Bainbridge ain’t the type to settle down. He’ll use you like I did, only this time maybe you won’t be as lucky. Maybe the baby won’t die.”

  The crack of her palm hitting his cheek echoed around the room, and a heavy silence descended. Jes sye wanted to throw out words that would wound him as much as he’d gouged her heart, but her blank mind wouldn’t cooperate. His shocked expression gave way to a cocky grin.

  “If you didn’t want to dance with me, Jessye, all you had to do was say no.”

  He strolled away, leaving her to feel like a fool.

  Madeline approached and gently touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Jessye nodded mutely, her voice trapped behind a wall of shameful memories. Madeline studied her, and she knew she should apologize for disrupting the party, but she couldn’t find the words. Madeline made a slight waving motion with her hand, and music once again filled the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Madeline said quietly. A sadness touched her eyes. “When Gerald stopped by to thank Ashton for the letters she wrote, I thought it might be nice to have a small party. But if I can be quite honest, I’m not very comfortable around him. I don’t know why you slapped him, but I seriously doubt it had anything to do with his request for a dance.”

  “We go a long way back. He seems bound and determined to destroy whatever good memories I had of him.”

  “The war hurt our men in ways we can’t even imagine. I know David grew stronger in some ways, weaker in others. And we women did the same. I admire the fact that you’ve undertaken this venture with Kit and Harry.”

  “It’s an honest venture.”

  “Of course, it is. For reasons beyond my understanding, Kit took great delight in aggravating his father, but deep down he’s not the rake he would have everyone believe.”

  “Harry’s a scoundrel. He cheats at cards.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “Then perhaps he’s just lucky, and he’ll no doubt want another dance once he’s finished his conversation with David. Perhaps you’d like a moment to freshen up,” Madeline suggested kindly. “If you walk out of this room and past the stairs, you’ll see a door to your left. It’s a small room with a vanity. You should find everything you need there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Madeline smiled warmly, her brown eyes glowing. “You know, it’s so odd, but whenever you tilt your head like that I am left with the oddest notion that we’ve met before.”

  “Don’t see how that could be unless you’ve been in my father’s saloon.”

  “No, no, I’ve never been to Fortune. Have you traveled much?”

  Jessye shrugged. “Went to San Antone a few years back, but didn’t stay long.”

  “San Antone,” Madeline murmured. “I doubt that we met there. Still, something about you is incredibly familiar. I’ll probably figure it out long after you’re on the trail.” She waved her hand. “But I’m delaying you. You wanted a few moments alone. I’ll let Harry know where you’ve gone.”

  Jessye headed into the hallway. Although the conversation with Madeline had helped, she was still haunted by the ugliness of Gerald’s remarks. To distract herself, she concentrated on the mundane. How many hands did it take to polish the wood trimming that lined every floor and ceiling? She could almost see her reflection in the floor as she walked out of the main parlor.

  She shook her head. She’d best not think about fancy things. Even if this cattle drive paid off as well as Harry thought it would, all the fancy things in the world wouldn’t give her the one thing she wanted most.

  As she neared the stairs, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of bright crimson. She looked over her shoulder and stumbled to a stop. A little girl with riotous red hair sat on the second step of the sweeping stairway, peering through the rails into the parlor. Hugging a rag doll close to her chest, she wore a white nightgown, her bare toes peeking out and curling around the edge of the first step. She was such a tiny thing.

  Jessye felt as though a fist tightened around her heart. Her own daughter would probably resemble this child—only she would be sitting on the steps in a saloon, steps that led to rooms where gentlemen lived and women sometimes visited.

  “Hello,” Jessye said softly, unable to resist the temptation of speaking to the child.

  The girl snapped her head around, her green eyes wide. She pressed a tiny finger to her lips. “Thhh. I ain’t thupposed to be here.”

  Jessye walked quietly and sat on the third step, the skirt of her gown draping around her. If she were wearing britches, she would have had room to sit next to the girl. “You must be Mary Ellen.”

  Mary Ellen bounced her head up and down. “I like to look at the pretty ladies.” She peered through the railing a moment before turning her attention back to Jessye. “My mama is the prettiest.”

  “And you’ll grow up to be as pretty as she is.”

  The girl shook her head. “No, I’m gonna look like the angel what brung me.”

  Jessye’s heart gave a sudden lurch. “The angel that brought you?”

  Mary Ellen bobbed her head. “Mama said an angel in San Antone brung me to her and Papa.”

  Jessye felt her throat tighten, her eyes sting. Coincidence. It was just coincidence. This child could not be—

  “Your mama told me that you are going to be four.”

  The child bobbed her head. “I’m gonna have a cake with horses on it. Do you like horses?”

  “Young lady, what are you doing?” a deep voice boomed.

  Jessye uncharacteristically jumped. Mary Ellen popped up from the stairs and threw herself into her father’s arms. An aching chasm widening in her chest, Jessye watched as David Robertson’s arms tightened around the mite he held.

  Mary Ellen pressed her cheek to his. “I wanted to dance.”

  “Sounded to me like you might be pestering Miss Kane,” David said.

  Jessye rose, her knees trembling as she gripped the banister of the stairs. “I assure you she wasn’t pestering me. She’s a delight.”

  David glanced at his daughter, and the love shining in his eyes told Jessye that he agreed. “One dance,” he announced.

  Mary Ellen squealed and squirmed out of his arms. She held the doll out to Jessye. Jessye took it, feeling the warmth of the child’s touch within the fabric, a touch she might have had—

  She watched as Mary Ellen placed her tiny feet on her father’s shining boots. She heard the violins playing in the background as David Robertson waltzed his daughter around the foyer. When the music ended, he lifted his daughter into his arms. “Now, it’s time for bed.”

  Mary Ellen snuggled her head against his shoulder and extended her hand. Jessye handed her the doll and watched as she tucked it between herself and her father.
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  “If you see my wife, tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes,” David said.

  Jessye hoped her smile didn’t appear as fake as it felt. Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, pressing them close against her, she tried to hold in the pain, the joy, the grief, all the emotions swirling through her like a tornado trapped within a house.

  “He adores her,” a soft voice whispered behind her.

  Jessye swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back the tears before turning to face Madeline. “She’s a lovely child.”

  Madeline flicked her gaze to the stairs and back to Jessye. “We’re very fortunate to have her. Our son had just died when we stopped by a mission near San Antone. A young woman had given birth, and circumstances were such that she thought it was in the child’s best interest to give her to us.”

  Jessye was surprised to see tears glistening within Madeline’s eyes.

  “I don’t know the woman’s name or what became of her, but there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t thank her for having the courage to give up her child. I hope someday that she will know that we treasure the gift she gave us—and that her daughter is loved and happy.”

  Jessye’s throat tightened. “I’m sure she knows that, Mrs. Robertson.”

  “You really must call me Madeline. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best go rescue my husband. Knowing our daughter, Mary Ellen has no doubt convinced him that he has to sing her to sleep.”

  When Madeline disappeared at the top of the stairs, Jessye sought her escape. She found the door that led outside, shoved it open, and stepped into the warm night air.

  A balcony surrounded the area. She walked to the far side and gripped the wrought iron railing. Tears leaked slowly through her closed eyes, trailing along her cheeks, pooling on either side of her lips.

  “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

  Harry’s voice came through the darkness, stoked the pain flaming through her.

  “No, she’s not my daughter.”

  “After our dance, I wanted to talk with David because I thought I remembered hearing that he had a son, not a daughter. David told me how they came to have Mary Ellen. There’s too much coincidence for her not to be yours.”