Pure Sin

by Susan Johnson

  At his daughter’s premature announcement, Adam abruptly interrupted his conversation with James and, turning to the earl, said, “I’m sorry, sir, I’d planned on asking you with more formality … once the situation is … well—”

  “No need, my boy,” the earl interposed. “I’m an accomplice too, like Lucie, for I was the one who sent Flora east. I hope everything is eventually reconciled.” He didn’t mention Isolde, nor did James until they were well on their way and James found the opportunity to speak to Adam without Flora hearing.

  “Isolde arrived in Cheyenne on Saturday,” he quietly said, his gaze monitoring Lucie as she conversed with the earl riding on Adam’s opposite side.

  Adam’s eyes grew hot with temper. “You’re sure.”

  “Curly saw her.”

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Adam said, low and clipped. “She’s pregnant and looking for a father for her child.”

  “You again.”

  “I thought I’d dissuaded her, but more fool me. Damn bitch. Once is enough and I told her that.”

  “She left the station with Ned Storham.”

  “That might slow him down,” Adam said with the faintest of smiles. “She travels with a dozen trunks.”

  “Does he need her?”

  Adam shrugged minutely. “I wouldn’t want to second-guess Ned’s intelligence. In the past he’s relied on murder more than cleverness, but those two together could be a disconcerting combination. It depends what Isolde offers him or pretends to offer him.”

  James slowly shook his head. “I don’t think he’s likely to bite at her bait, whatever it is. Ned’s style is generally straightforward ambush.”

  “Maybe Isolde will change his mind.”

  That was exactly what Isolde had been trying to do since Saturday, but Ned Storham didn’t trust women. Not that he was necessarily prescient in terms of Isolde’s honesty; his resistance had more to do with a deep-seated suspicion toward the opposite sex.

  And her proposal was mighty strange, even for the raw, untamed frontier.

  “I ain’t never bin interested in marriage, Countess,” he reiterated, maintaining his resistance as their conversation went over familiar ground. “Don’t want to be leg-shackled.”

  “It’s only a formality, Ned. How many times do I have to tell you?” Isolde asserted, her exasperation forcibly concealed. The man’s intelligence was as stolid as his compact, sturdy body. Neither seemed easily moved. “If Adam dies, my daughter inherits Adam’s estate,” she explained again, sitting ramrod straight, her be-ringed fingers grasping her parasol handle so she wouldn’t slap his ruddy face in her impatience. How many times had she gone over this with him? “Naturally, any court would consider me her proper guardian. I’m her mother, after all. Despite what arrangements Adam’s made for a trustee, I’m sure a judge in Montana would be prompted to concur with my guardianship. And a suitably large bribe would no doubt assure that judgment. I don’t want Adam’s land. But you do. I do want his money, however. So if we were to marry after Adam meets with an accident of some kind and dies, no one would take issue if I, as your wife, were to cede you the land. With the court’s blessing I can manage my minor child’s fortune, and we’ll both be happy. After a decent interval we could be divorced; Montana’s divorce laws are so lenient. Now, consider, Ned, isn’t that easier than attacking Adam and his tribesmen in an encounter where you might run the risk of being injured or killed? He murdered your brother, you can be sure, even if proof is lacking. You could be next.”

  “Frank was stupid.”

  Although she agreed, surely this wasn’t the time to voice such an opinion. Any lone man who attempted to kill Adam was going to die. “Perhaps he misjudged his opponent,” she politely said.

  “Damn right. He was stupid. Drank too much, too.”

  This was the closest she’d ever come to gaining Adam’s fortune for her own, and she intended to take full advantage of the bizarre set of circumstances that had placed Ned Storham in a position to listen to her. How could she have known Adam would kill Frank? How could she have arrived so opportunely in Cheyenne? How could she have possibly arranged for the man who coveted Adam’s valley to be so terribly naive about women? Surely she was blessed that stupidity ran undiluted in the Storham blood.

  Now, Ned may have been naive about aristocratic women who wore diamonds, but he was skilled at taking what he wanted. And one of the reasons he was willing to listen to the countess was that she was offering a bold way of acquiring Aspen Valley. He wasn’t quite sure it would work; he wasn’t sure at all she wouldn’t outmaneuver him in the end. Man or woman, he knew shifty eyes when he saw them. The countess never looked at you directly. He noticed that first off.

  But, then, he had a rogue posse at his command, and if her proposal didn’t work, he could always shoot his way in, the way he’d planned in the first place. There might be a blowup when the count was killed, but no one wanted the Indians to have that country anyway. Everyone in the territory coveted that splendid grazing land. The government had tried to treat for all the country north of the Yellowstone last year, but the negotiations broke down. It was just a matter of time before whites owned that Indian country.

  That would most likely make an inquiry into the count’s death little more than a formality. He was part Indian, after all.

  “Tell you what,” Ned said, trying to smile but not quite managing a sincere performance. “Why don’t you ride north with us, and we’ll figger this out on the way?”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Storham. I’d be delighted.” It was a strain for her to smile too, but Isolde was more artful after years of practice. “I look forward to our little … discussions.”

  Murder was on both their minds, their primary target identical, but as with all scoundrels, their secondary targets were more equivocal.

  With a cold-blooded pragmatism, they viewed each other as only temporary allies.

  Isolde’s new alliance with Ned Storham assured a peaceful ride north for Adam, Flora, and their sizable party, once they reached the Absarokee camp in the hills. With twenty warriors added to their ranks, they passed unmolested through the troubled Powder River country and reached Four Chiefs’s village on the evening of the fourth day.

  Many of the clans had gathered together for the last summer visiting before the cool weather set in and the buffalo hunts began. The camp was large, spreading east and west along the wooded banks of the river, smoke from cooking fires rising from hundreds of lodges into the purple sky of twilight.

  James and Adam, together with Flora and her father, had agreed the large camp offered not only temporary protection from Ned Storham’s designs, but a refuge for Lucie to recoup from her illness. Although over the worst of the disease, she still tired easily and hadn’t yet completely regained her appetite. A week or so in the fresh air and sunshine would be beneficial.

  An advantage not to be discounted for Adam, as well. Although no one dared suggest he needed the rest, his weight loss was still evident. And with Ned Storham and Isolde as possible partners in crime, everyone would require full stamina.

  As they rode into camp, they were greeted from all sides with cries of welcome, the mood festive in the gathering of the clans, everyone in good spirits during the fellowship of the summer visits. Alan and Douglas were standing before the earl’s lodge, smiling, pleased to see them safely returned.

  Their Absarokee escort had ridden off to their own families, but Adam and James dismounted with the earl and Flora, while Lucie ran off to see Alan’s drawings.

  A slight awkwardness ensued when Henry began un-strapping the saddlebags from Flora’s mount and then hesitated, not knowing where she would be staying.

  “Why don’t we all meet for dinner?” Flora suggested. “In the meantime, I’m going to spend some time with Papa and see what’s transpired since I was gone. We’ll bring Lucie with us when we come.”

  No one disagreed with her diplomatic solution. Henry carried in the Bonhams�
�� luggage, and Adam and James took their leave.

  “So tell me, now,” George Bonham said, taking Flora by the hand and leading her to a comfortable spot near a chokecherry bush, “are you pleased you traveled to Saratoga?”

  “You’re ever so smart, Papa,” she said, dropping onto the cool grass. “I couldn’t be happier.”

  “And you don’t mind that I interfered? I worried the whole time that I’d bludgeoned you into something you detested.”

  “Next to Sarah, you’re a rank amateur when it comes to pressure. She was absolutely determined to see Adam in my net.”

  “She succeeded, apparently.”

  “Oh, yes. I think she quite enjoyed herself.”

  “I thought she might.” His concern showed then behind his pleasant smile; his eyes were suddenly solemn. “How will you manage Adam’s wife? I hesitate to ask, but she exists.”

  “James is arranging an annulment.”

  His grave look disappeared. “Really. In that case your future isn’t so ambiguous.” Long-term love matches outside of marriage were common enough where divorce was still rare, but if Flora wasn’t obliged to exist in that amorphous social half world, he would be better pleased.

  “We’re planning on marrying as soon as the annulment is granted.”

  “I’ll see that Prendergast is put on the case too. He has enormous influence at every level of the Vatican. So all is well,” he said with obvious satisfaction. Flora’s happiness was of first importance to him.

  “All is extremely well, Papa. We’ll be going back to the ranch after a short stay here.”

  “Tikal is postponed?”

  “Temporarily.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “It’s not permanent, and Adam has promised to travel with me on occasion. I’m content.”

  “Lucie likes you. An important consideration.”

  “And you,” Flora said. “So you’ll have a grandchild after all, Papa,” she softly added.

  “That never bothered me, darling. It was more than enough to have you.”

  “Will you stay with us in Montana for a time?”

  He smiled. “I can be persuaded very easily. Four Chiefs has opened up a vast new culture for research. So I’ve two reasons for staying.”

  “How perfect. Then we’ll all live together in sweet felicity at Aspen Valley,” Flora said, “like the agreeable endings in one of Mrs. Burnett’s romances.”

  Apparently Adam hadn’t mentioned the death of Frank Storham and the expected repercussions, the earl thought. Or Isolde’s presence in the territory. Time enough, though, to face those stark realities. Their journey back had been eventful enough. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said with a smile.

  James and Adam had been arranging strategy against Ned Storham while Flora and her father were reviewing the past few weeks. Both men agreed that Lucie and Flora would be more secure in camp than at the ranch until the conflict was resolved.

  They also agreed they’d have to go out and find Ned before he could amass too large an assault force.

  “He’s in Virginia City or Helena looking for men,” Adam noted. “After the breakup of Meagher’s militia—” He shrugged.

  “—there’s a good supply of underemployed Indian fighters,” James sarcastically finished.

  “We’ll leave in three days,” Adam declared. “I want to see that Lucie’s definitely on the mend before I go. Dr. Potts kept warning us of relapse. And,” he added, “it will probably take that long to convince Flora to stay behind.”

  At the same time Adam and James were selecting their departure date, Isolde was on the trail to Helena, the heat like a blast furnace for the third consecutive day. Although they stopped often to rest their mounts, the ride was taking its toll on Isolde’s delicate constitution. She rode sidesaddle, as was expected of a lady, her serge riding habits a solid barrier against any breeze, the adverse conditions debilitating to a countess who had always considered physical activity an obligation of the laboring class.

  Her cramps began that night, and the following morning she noticed spotting when she changed her underclothes. Even Ned Storham hadn’t withstood her demands to bring along one small portmanteau, and she changed daily. The remainder of her trunks were being freighted up at a more leisurely pace.

  Those first small signs of blood weren’t a displeasing observation. They were, in fact, an enormously convenient relief. If she could rid herself of her driver’s child, it would save her the hideous bother of being pregnant for seven more months and further save her the nuisance of having to farm out the brat to some wet nurse. She had no intention of raising a servant’s by-blow.

  Isolde allowed herself a smile of satisfaction in the shade of the alder bushes where she was dressing that morning. It looked as though her affairs were falling nicely into place. Her young manservant had begun putting on airs when she’d taken him into her bed, and she would have had to buy him off very soon anyway. How convenient that Adam had saved her the expense.

  Now, if this miscarriage would proceed to its inevitable conclusion, by the time she reached Helena, she would be in an excellent position to reclaim her place at Adam’s side.

  Temporarily, of course.

  And then, after a conveniently arranged “accident” to her husband, she would be busy spending his fortune in Europe. Lucie could be sent off to a boarding school somewhere. England, perhaps. That would be suitably distant.

  Dinner in Adam’s lodge that night was festive, the food prepared by several of his numerous relatives. Talk was predominantly of the coming buffalo hunts, and Flora managed to understand most of the conversation, with Adam interpreting on occasion when a new phrase escaped her. Her father had become quite fluent over the summer, as had Alan and Douglas, so she had a full complement of helpers when she struggled for an appropriate word.

  Several women were included in the party—cousins, aunts, wives of the male guests, and with the covetous eye of a woman in love, Flora noticed a glance or smile pass between Adam and a beautiful young woman on more than one occasion. They seemed to share a past, a casual intimacy; they referred to a common adolescence in anecdotes and joking repartee.

  Her name was Spring Lily. She was currently unmarried, and her children seemed of special importance to Adam.

  With determined restraint Flora concealed her jealousy during the long evening. Larger issues than petty jealousy faced Adam. She needn’t add to his difficulties by acting like a petulant child. Ned Storham was an imminent problem, and finding his way clear of Isolde would test Adam’s patience and fortune. She should maturely deal with her jealousy. Adam loved her. How could it matter that Spring Lily seemed to know Adam so well? He was allowed a past. There. A reasonable approach. An adult fairness. Evenhanded. Nonjudgmental.

  But Flora’s smile occasionally took on a marginal tightness in the course of the evening. Despite her attempt at an impartial self-control, her resentment would flare when Spring Lily leaned too close or smiled too intimately or shared a fond reminiscence. Then Adam gave Spring Lily a brushing kiss on the cheek when she left, and the smile directed back at him was noticeably alluring.

  And she was the last to leave, of course; she probably would have preferred staying with Adam, Flora heatedly thought. Which was what Flora said a shade explosively the minute Spring Lily exited.

  Glancing quickly at Lucie asleep on fur robes in a corner of the lodge, Adam took Flora’s hand in a firm grasp and pulled her outside. Since the door flap was open against the summer heat and the lodge skins raised to allow the cool night air in, he began moving away from the encampment toward the river, preferring not to entertain the neighbors with their argument.

  “Spring Lily’s in love with you, isn’t she?” Flora hissed, trying to wrench her hand free, her braced weight solidly resistant to the pressure of Adam’s hand, mature logic in full retreat.

  “We’re friends,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his gaze sweeping the surrounding lodges. It was still early;
no one was sleeping yet except the children.

  She noticed he didn’t need clarification in terms of the woman, damn him. He knew exactly who she meant. “I imagine you have lots of friends here,” she heatedly said. “And all of them were just waiting for you to come to the summer camp so they could seduce you. Is Spring Lily a special favorite of yours?”

  “She is,” he said, giving up on winning the tug of war with Flora, sweeping her into his arms instead. “Because she was my brother’s wife,” he added, striding away into the darkness, his hold on Flora’s struggling form vise-tight.

  “She’d like to be a lot more than that, believe me,” Flora hotly remonstrated, trying to wriggle free. “I saw that enticing smile when she left.”

  “I’m capable of saying no.” They were beyond the last lodges now, and Adam spoke in a normal tone of voice.

  “So she asked you!” Flora exclaimed. “Put me down, dammit, put me down this instant.”

  “Sorry.” His voice was somewhere between a growl and a grumble as he purposefully moved down the path to the river. “We’re going to clear up a few misunderstandings right now,” he emphatically declared. “Beginning with your needless jealousy. I haven’t looked at another woman since I met you.”

  “Like hell. What do you call that kiss when Spring Lily left?”

  “A courtesy.”

  “I’m sure she appreciated your politeness,” Flora snidely said. “How polite are you going to be to all the other women vying for your favors? You can take me to the ranch tomorrow. At least there I don’t have to see the longing in their eyes.”

  The river gleamed in the moonlight as they approached, the cottonwoods lining the shore whispered in the night breeze, and without answering, Adam walked to a small rise on the bank and stood for a moment gazing down the ribbon of sparkling current flowing away to the west. “We shouldn’t fight about this,” he softly said. “Look, the moon’s covered with a haze. A storm’s coming.” And then, lowering himself to the ground, Flora’s weight in his arms seemingly incidental, he settled onto the sweet-smelling grass. “I love you,” he quietly said, not relinquishing his firm hold on her, his eyes shadowed in the moonlight. “I’ve never loved anyone else, except Lucie. I’ve told everyone in camp I’m marrying you, and if women look, I can’t help it, but I’m not looking back—not that way.” His voice turned to a whisper. “I don’t know how to say it any plainer.”