Texas Blonde

by Victoria Thompson

  Now Joshua was determined to leave her here. Although her mind clamored for the reason, her instinct warned her away from it. If he still loved her, if he still wanted her, he would never return to Texas without her, especially not if that meant leaving her with Richard. Testing her theory, she said, "I don't want to stay if that makes you unhappy. I'll just explain to Grandfather that we have to leave and-"

  "No!" Josh said, too quickly, but he covered his mistake with a placating smile. "Don't be silly. I know how much you want to spend some time with your grandfather. There's nothing for you to do at the ranch, anyway. It gets pretty lonely for you at roundup time. You might as well stay here and enjoy yourself."

  His words sent a shiver of apprehension over her. There was nothing for her in Texas, he had said. What did he mean? Was he giving her some hidden message? If so, she did not want to understand it. "How soon do you plan to leave?" she asked, fearing his answer.

  Josh thought briefly of the events mentioned in Blanche's letter. Over a week had passed since she had written it. How much more might have happened in that time? "I thought I'd catch a train tomorrow. There's no sense waiting around," he said, feigning unconcern as he moved over to turn down the bedclothes.

  The weight of his words seemed to crush her heart. He was leaving tomorrow. He could not wait to get away. She watched every movement of his powerful body with hungry eyes. Clad only in the underdrawers that hid little of his masculine physique, he made a beautiful picture. A picture she would not see again after tomorrow.

  Not again, never again. She knew it with an awful certainty. He was leaving her. Sometime between their argument this afternoon and now, he had finally decided that she simply wasn't worth the trouble anymore. She couldn't give him the children he wanted, and she couldn't even comfort his bed. He could conveniently leave his useless wife with her family and claim that she had preferred them to him.

  Blinded by pain and fury, she moved mechanically over to the large wardrobe that held her clothes. Opening the door, she used it as a screen to conceal herself from him as she undressed and slipped into her nightdress. Although her eyes burned, no tears came. Grateful for this small mercy, she reached up and shut off the gaslight, being careful to keep her back to him so he could not see her misery.

  In the darkness, she groped her way to the bed and lay down stiffly beside him, horribly aware that this might very well be the last time they shared a bed, the last time they were ever alone together. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating toward her, and although she realized the irony of the desire, she longed for the comfort she knew his arms could give.

  Josh sensed her confusion and thought he understood it. She was wondering why he had changed his mind about taking her with him. Probably she had even perceived his eagerness to leave her behind and been hurt by it. He tried telling himself that he should have been glad she wanted to stay with him, but somehow the thought only made lying here beside her without touching her all the more difficult.

  Although he had tried not to watch her undress and although she had been careful to shield herself, he had caught an occasional glimpse of the white skin he knew would feel like warm satin under his hands. Her sweet, feminine fragrance teased at him as he tried drawing a steadying breath. The bedclothes whispered tantalizing secrets as she shifted to a more comfortable position.

  This was the last time he would be with her for weeks, perhaps months. How long until he would see her lovely face again, hear the music of her voice, or taste the honey of her kiss? How long until she would belong completely to him again? And what if Ortega and Jeremiah made good their threats? What if Josh was careless just once and a lucky bullet found its mark? He might never be able to summon her home.

  Felicity shifted restlessly, aching for his touch but too proud to seek it. If he was determined to rid himself of her, if he was too much of a hypocrite to even tell her to her face that their marriage was over, she would die before she would display any weakness before him.

  But what if she was wrong? What if he really was only thinking of her happiness? What if he was being noble and unselfish?

  Felicity considered this for a moment and rejected it. If Joshua did want her, he would drag her back to Texas by the hair if she refused to go any other way. She was certain of that, but still something compelled her to ask, "Will you miss me?"

  Josh heard the anguish in her voice, an anguish he shared. "God, yes," he answered, his voice ragged as he considered another possibility, a possibility even more horrible to contemplate than his own death. Suppose while she was here, alone and unprotected, Winthrop and Maxwell turned her against him?

  Felicity's nerves quivered at the throbbing intensity of his reply. He would miss her! Perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps he was more noble than she thought. But even the most unselfish man alive could easily forget a wife who was little more than a companion to him. He had loved her once.

  Could she awaken that love again?

  Fury stirred in Josh as he pictured Winthrop with Felicity, charming her, seducing her. Josh wouldn't allow that. Couldn't allow that. She was his wife. She belonged to him.

  "Joshua?"

  "Ussy?"

  They spoke in unison, their voices raw with suppressed need. In the next instant they came together, lips and hands frantically searching out remembered delights. Softness pressed sinew, satin stroked velvet, and needs became compulsion.

  Josh knew he should not take her. He told himself that he would stop in just another moment, just another moment of the luxury of his flesh pressed to hers, of her mouth opened beneath his, of her arms clinging to his strength. But there was no way to stop, not when her hands found those secret places and stroked him into madness.

  Felicity urged him on, taking his weight eagerly. How could this be wrong when it was so wonderful? Her blood sang in her veins, siren songs that promised a sweet destruction she was powerless to resist. "Love me, Joshua," she begged, desiring far more than just the physical act, but willing to settle for the blessed contentment that surged in her as he filled her.

  But no sooner did she feel that surge than she heard his broken cry and felt the gentle pulsing of his release. His body went limp on hers for just a moment before he slid away, freeing her from his weight.

  Still quivering from her unfulfilled desire, she did not at first realize what he was doing as he kicked free of the constraint of the underwear tangled around his legs. And then his hands were on her again, struggling with the nightdress that was bunched around her shoulders.

  "Take this off," he commanded. His voice was almost grim, his hands rough.

  "Why?" she asked stupidly.

  And then she sensed a change in him. At her question, his touch gentled, and she could hear a teasing smile in his voice when he said, "You didn't think it was over, did you? You haven't finished… and neither have I."

  With hands that fumbled, she helped him strip the nightdress from her body. This time they came together with no restraints, either physical or emotional.

  Felicity strained against him feverishly as his desperation fed hers. Giving became receiving, and pleasure blossomed into a tangible force that pushed her over the brink into the deep, dark pool of ecstasy.

  Josh cradled her through the aftershocks, holding himself back because they still weren't finished. Now that it was already too late, now that he had nothing more to fear from loving her, he was going to give her a memory to hold her through the lonely weeks and months ahead. A memory to seal her heart against the threat of any other man.

  "Joshua, what are you…" she asked faintly when she felt his hands teasing her again.

  "Shhhh," he whispered into her hair. "Don't ask stupid questions."

  "But I don't think I can," she protested weakly.

  But she could. And she did.

  "Logan's gone," Henry Maxwell reported with satisfaction.

  "Gone?" Richard repeated incredulously as he approached his uncle's bed. "What do you mean, gone
?"

  "I mean, he went back to Texas, just like that. He left this morning. He's probably in Baltimore by now," Henry explained.

  "But why? Why would he simply leave without Felicity?" Richard asked. "He did leave without her, didn't he?" he added in sudden alarm.

  Henry nodded triumphantly. "I'm not exactly sure why, though. He came to see me this morning before he left. He said there was some trouble at his ranch. He didn't say what it was, and I don't know why he told me unless he wanted me to know he wouldn't leave Felicity except for something very important, but in any case, he doesn't want her to know anything about it," Henry explained, frowning over the memory of Josh's adamance on the matter. "That suits my purpose, though."

  Richard gave his uncle a considering look. "And what, exactly, is your purpose?"

  Henry chuckled conspiratorially. "The same as yours, boy," he said. "I want Felicity to stay here… with us." He chuckled again at Richard's flabbergasted expression.

  "I've told you before, I'm not senile yet, boy," Henry said, crossing his arms over his thin chest. "I've seen the way you look at her. I'd have to be pretty stupid not to figure out what's on your mind. And you can rest assured that I plan to leave her everything… after I've provided for Isabel, of course. The man she's married to will be quite wealthy."

  "The man she's married to is Logan," Richard reminded him crossly.

  "That could change, if you play your cards right," Henry said, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "Logan has already brought her here and left her. That might easily be seen as desertion in a court of law. A good lawyer would point out that as soon as she lost his child, he sent her away."

  "Something like that could be very ugly," Richard warned, but he was only testing his uncle to see just how far the old man was willing to go to keep his granddaughter.

  "Not if we grease the right palms, boy. We could keep it quiet. Of course, she'd need a good reason to get a divorce. She'd have to be in love with someone else," Henry added meaningfully.

  Richard smiled slowly. "She will be."

  * * *

  Felicity was sitting in the front parlor staring out the window at the park that was Rittenhouse Square when Richard found her. He winced slightly when he saw that she had been crying, but he forced himself to smile. "I'm sorry I missed saying goodby to Joshua," he lied.

  "I'm sure he was sorry he didn't get to see you before he left, too," Felicity lied back, listlessly returning her gaze to the park, where the nannies were sunning their tiny charges in elaborate baby buggies. She usually avoided this view because of the heartache the sight of the happy, living infants caused her. But today she felt some masochistic urge to plumb the depths of her pain, as if to test her capacity for suffering. With Joshua gone, how could she possibly feel any worse?

  "You are still planning to go to the concert with me tonight, aren't you?" Richard inquired cheerfully.

  "What concert?" Felicity asked with little interest, still watching the prams with their precious burdens.

  "You remember," he prodded. "The Women's Centennial Committee is putting on one of their concerts at the Edwin Forrest mansion. I believe it's to be a choral concert tonight. You enjoy those so much," he reminded her.

  "I don't know…" she said vaguely.

  "But you can't just sit here by the window moping," Richard protested. "He's not coming back."

  Stung, Felicity whirled to face Richard. She searched his beautiful face for some hint of a deeper meaning to his words, but she found none. He was simply warning her that Joshua was on his way to Texas and would not be returning before the concert tonight. And he was right. She was foolish to stand here by the window as if she expected to see her husband coming down the street at any moment.

  "There will be lots of people at the concert whom you know. Some of the ladies are involved with the plans for the Exposition. I told you there's going to be a Women's Pavilion, didn't I? I'm sure they could use your help on a committee," Richard assured her.

  "They could?" Felicity asked, unconvinced.

  "Certainly," Richard said enthusiastically. "Of course, you don't have to get involved if you don't want to, but just think, you'd be a part of history. You don't want to pass up an opportunity to help with such an important international event, do you?"

  "Well, I…" Felicity began, not entirely certain whether she would or not, but Richard interrupted her.

  "At least say you'll go to the concert tonight. I can't stand the thought of you sitting here all alone."

  "All right," she agreed, realizing how little the idea of being alone appealed to her.

  She enjoyed the concert every bit as much as Richard had predicted,.and afterward Richard introduced her to the conductor, Theodore Thomas. She also saw many people to whom she had been introduced previously and who made a point of seeking her out. Also as Richard had predicted, she received several invitations to help with the Exposition, to which she gave vague replies. She was struggling with the uneasy impression that all these people expected her to remain in Philadelphia indefinitely. Not one of them inquired about Joshua's whereabouts.

  After the concert, Richard escorted her home. As was his custom, he came inside with her. He was behaving just the way he always did when he had taken her and Joshua out somewhere, except that Joshua was no longer with them. Suddenly she felt uneasy as Bellwood conducted them to the front parlor and closed the door behind them, creating an air of intimacy that disturbed her. Something was wrong, something more than just the fact that Joshua was no longer here.

  "Would you like some sherry?" Richard asked. Was his smile more friendly than usual, or was it just her imagination?

  "Yes, please," she said, hoping that by following what had become a familiar ritual, she could overcome her unease.

  Felicity moved self-consciously over to the fire and held out her hands to warm them while Richard searched in an ornate cabinet until he located the bottle of sherry and poured two glasses.

  She accepted the one he offered, but when she would have taken a sip, he said, "First, a toast: To my beautiful cousin." As he clinked his delicate cordial glass to hers, she reflected that this was a toast she, too, could have given to her cousin. Richard's elegant face seemed almost to glow with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire, and his dark eyes glittered down into hers with some secret message she was afraid to decode.

  What was happening, she wondered frantically, too disturbed to even taste the sweet liqueur. There was something far too intimate about this scene.

  "You haven't drunk to my toast," he chided gently, his voice pouring over her like warm honey.

  "I think that would be immodest of me," she replied, moving quickly away from him toward the relative safety of a nearby sofa. "You can't expect a woman to drink to her own beauty," she added with a smile to lighten the mood as she sank down on the sofa in a billow of skirts.

  She was wearing one of Mademoiselle Fabian's creations, a confection of violet silk. Richard paused one moment to admire the picture she made sitting there before joining her. Sensing her skittishness, he did not sit as close as he desired, but left a discreet space between them. "Joshua left rather suddenly, didn't he?" he said as if the thought had just occurred to him, although he had been planning this conversation all evening. "I hope there's nothing wrong."

  "Oh, no," Felicity hastily assured him, trying not to think how painful such an admission was. "He… he had to start the spring roundup. That's when they gather up all the calves that have been born over the winter and brand them. Then they separate out the cattle they want to sell this year."

  "That doesn't sound very complicated," Richard remarked. "I would think his men could get along without him for a while. But then, he didn't seem to be enjoying his visit here. Perhaps he was glad for an excuse to get back home," he mused.

  Alarmed at hearing her own thoughts spoken aloud, Felicity jumped up, responding to some primitive urge to flee. But of course she couldn't actually run away. She settled for walkin
g around the room and changing the subject. "Are you really going to take me to a wild West show tomorrow?" she asked with false enthusiasm.

  Richard watched her drain her glass in one gulp and stifled a satisfied grin. She already had doubts about her husband's departure. Logan was a fool for not telling her his real reason for leaving. She was hurt now, but Richard was only too willing to comfort her.

  "Yes, Buffalo Bill is putting on a show at the American Theater. It's called 'Scouts of the Plains.' He even has Kit Carson, Jr., in the cast. I hear it's quite exciting. I believe they even have an authentic Indian attack. Do you think it will make you too homesick?" he asked solicitously.

  "Homesick?" she scoffed playfully. "My home has never been attacked by Indians." For one instant she remembered the day Joshua had shown her the chinks in the adobe of that home where Comanche arrows had struck during an attack long ago. She could almost feel his strong fingers guiding her hand over the jagged marks. Then, with equal clarity, she recalled the way those strong fingers had moved over her flesh last night, awakening long-dormant passions. The fulfillment he had given her had barely touched the craving he had aroused. And now he was gone. She trembled slightly.

  "Felicity? Is something wrong?" Richard asked, genuinely concerned. Her face had gone pale.

  "No, of course not," she said, dragging herself back to the present and managing to smile again. "I think the show should be great fun. I can hardly wait."

  But Richard knew that her smile was forced. Had he pushed her too hard? He only wanted her to doubt, not to grow morose. "Are you tired? Perhaps I should go now," he offered.

  Tired? Yes, she was tired, but the thought of going upstairs to the bed where Joshua had made love to her until almost dawn this morning was appalling. "No, I'm fine. Stay awhile. Would you like some more sherry?"

  "Yes, please," he said, rising and following her to the cabinet, where the decanter still sat.