Golden Flames

by Kay Hooper

  Max was just as grave, waiting until she straightened to say, “The back way’d be better. You’ll have to walk to the corner to find a cab.”

  “I know the way,” Falcon murmured.

  “I’ll fetch the lady’s wrap,” Max said, and vanished.

  Falcon led her out into the upper hallway, and then through a narrow door and into a secondary hallway, where a steep flight of stairs led downward.

  Max reappeared. “Here you are, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Max.” She allowed him to place the cloak around her shoulders, fastened it herself, then smiled at him. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  He blushed. “Thank you, ma’am. The same, I’m sure.”

  Chuckling, Falcon led her down the stairs and out into a narrow alley through an unobtrusive door. The night air held a faint chill, but wasn’t really cold, and there was little damp. The alley was deserted, save for themselves.

  “Handy thing, a lady’s shoe,” Falcon murmured, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

  Looking up at him, she said, “I’d like to know how you managed to escape without so much as a bruise! I was pinched and pummeled and squeezed—“

  Interested, he asked, “By the lad you clouted with that vase? Or one of the three you got with the shoe?”

  “All of them.” She sighed.

  He laughed again, a low sound of real amusement. “You surprised me a bit back there, sweet. First, your expertise with cards, and then, your—shall we say, spirited?—self-defense.”

  “But you still think of me as a lady,” she said, realizing that the lightness she had intended was missing; even to herself, her voice sounded dismal.

  He turned them left, then, as they came out of the alley, giving her no more than a glimpse of the strident activity going on in front of the house they had left. After a moment, he said, “You are a lady; why should I think anything else?”

  Victoria hesitated, then said recklessly, “Wasn’t that why you took me to that house? So that you could make a point about the shallow veneer of a lady? I wasn’t the only lady in that house, Falcon—“

  “Yes, you were,” he interrupted quietly. “Even Max could tell that. You didn’t see him warn anyone else, did you?”

  “I thought it was because he was your friend.”

  “Max? He is. But I’ve spent a night in jail before, and he knew it,” Falcon said in a dry tone. “Despite his blushing back there, he’s tough as nails, and doesn’t care about anybody. Except you, obviously. Blushing.” He shook his head. “Max wasn’t worried about me. If you hadn’t refused to leave without me, he would have left me to be rounded up with the rest. It was you he was concerned for. He knew you didn’t belong in that place.”

  “Why?” Her voice was soft, bewildered. “Why? What makes me different from those others? And why does it disturb you, whatever it is?”

  Falcon walked beside her in silence for a few moments. The street was deserted, no cabs or carriages or pedestrians moving in the darkness. His voice was rough when he finally answered. “Why? I’m damned if I know, sweet. It isn’t your fine clothing or gentle voice. It isn’t even the way you move or hold your head. It’s…something else. In your eyes. Something you were born with.” He laughed curtly. “Something not even a missing hat or a lethal shoe can alter.”

  “You say it as if it’s a curse,” she murmured.

  They were about to turn a corner onto a more traveled street, where the sounds of hoofbeats and the creak of cabs and carriages could be heard, but Falcon stopped and drew her into the shadow of a building. She could feel the hardness of brick against her back and the strength of his hands on her shoulders, and in the shadows, his face was curiously both implacable and indefinite.

  “A curse…Yes, sweet, it’s a curse.” His voice was harsh, angry. “I’ve never yet taken an innocent to my bed, much less a virtuous lady with a sweet drawl and a tragic past and a trick of making me feel things I’m better off without. There’s no place for a woman in my life, Victoria, no room. I haven’t spent more than two weeks at a time under the same roof since I was sixteen years old. My bedmates are bought for the night. Whores. Do you understand? I pay for my pleasures, or else find them in some secluded bedroom or garden with a willing and knowledgeable woman who might call herself a lady even if no one else does!”

  Chapter 5

  Victoria stood silently, listening unflinchingly to words that were delivered like blows.

  “I’ve spent half my life on the move, and I’m not going to change now. And I’ve seen what that kind of life does to a wife, Victoria. If she goes with her man, she finds a brutal life, facing the dangers, perhaps left alone in the middle of nowhere; and after a while, she isn’t pretty anymore. If she stays behind, every visit produces a child, and she has to bear them alone, raise them alone. It’s hell, do you understand that?”

  With her unique upbringing, Victoria understood more than he could possibly know, but this was hardly the time to explain that to him. “I understand what you want of me.” She kept her voice even. “So why does the rest matter? I knew you didn’t want a wife. You’ve made that very clear.”

  Harshly, he said, “It matters because you’re a lady, dammit! I may well be a bastard, but not enough of one to give you any false promises, Victoria. I want you. I’m half out of my mind with wanting you, but I can’t offer you a future.”

  In the back of her mind, something stirred, and she realized then, with a surge of hope, that it was possible Falcon cared more than he knew. Morgan had taught her to pay attention to what a man said and did, to read character in behavior as well as words, and Falcon’s past behavior with her was in contrast to his words now.

  He had acted entirely too possessively and jealously to have felt only desire for her, and too tenderly on occasion. And then there had been his vow to “brand” her as his—again, hardly the words of a man bent on casual seduction. And the very fact that he seemed so conscious that she was a woman a man should marry rather than just bed was a telling one.

  And if she was wrong? There was always that possibility, and it was a strong one. No matter how he felt about her now, Falcon could well decide his wanderer’s life suited him far more than anything she could offer.

  With a leaden feeling in her heart, Victoria couldn’t convince even herself that there was a future for them.

  “Victoria? Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, realizing that it made no difference. Whatever she was, whatever he thought her, she was a woman. “And I understand.”

  “Do you?” His voice was restless now. “I wonder.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Falcon. I told you. I knew from the first what you wanted of me.”

  “Then I’m surprised you’ve been willing to go out with me.”

  “No, you aren’t.” She half-laughed, rueful. “You made certain I would.”

  He laughed a little as well. “Yes, I was that much of a bastard, wasn’t I? You—you weren’t quite what I bargained for, sweet. But that doesn’t change anything.”

  “I didn’t expect it to.” Her voice was soft, calm. “I don’t expect marriage, or even a future of any kind. But—lady or not—I won’t pretend you don’t make me feel things I’ve never felt before.” Hesitantly, she reached up to touch his lean cheek, her fingers unsteady. And she had a sensation of burning all her bridges behind her; there was no going back, no retrieving the words.

  Falcon was very still, his head bent toward her, his fingers moving gently on her shoulders. She had thrown him off-balance yet again, and he didn’t know how to react. “And what about later?” His voice was husky, but the words were measured. “What will you say when your groom asks why you gave yourself to a man who hadn’t married you?”

  She thought of Morgan, and her voice was steady. “I’ll say it was because I wanted to.”

  After a moment, Falcon bent his head, kissing her so deeply that she was shaking when
it ended. But when he lifted his head again, his voice was rough. “Why doesn’t that make it easier?” he murmured, wondering why the thought of her facing a husband on some distant day made his chest ache and his temples pound with emotion he couldn’t identify.

  She looked up at him helplessly. “You’ve told me what you want of me, and I’ve told you I want it too. What else can I say, Falcon? I don’t really know how…that is, should we go to my hotel? Or yours? Or is there someplace—“

  He stopped her by touching her lips gently with his fingers. “Don’t.” The single word was a raw sound. He was silent for a moment, and then pulled her against him, just holding her, stroking her back with hands that were a little unsteady. He felt wounded inside, torn and uncertain for one of the few times in his life. He was fascinated by her, bewildered by her. “Not what I bargained for at all,” he murmured.

  Victoria felt like crying, even though some part of her knew it wasn’t a rejection. Unsteadily, she said, “Is this what being a lady means, Falcon? Marriage or—or nothing?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know, sweet. Why don’t we give ourselves a little time to think about it?”

  She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but the words remained trapped, unsaid. He wouldn’t want to hear them, she knew, and she was very afraid that any further complication would send him away from her instantly. And she also knew, instinctively, that there were no words to help them now. Either they would become lovers or they would not. And if they did, she thought it would result from an interlude of heated passion rather than calm decision, with no time for questions. And perhaps it was better that way, because talking would never make it seem right—even though it was.

  Her arms slipped around his waist and she pressed herself closer to him, her face hidden in the warmth of his throat. I love you! He smelled of tobacco and horses and a clean wind, like the wild Southwest she loved. He had the strength of a frontier carved from wilderness, the certainty of himself gained by half a lifetime of wandering.

  And her own certainty of love was a bedrock thing—as if it had always been in her to love this man, and that love had awaited only a meeting to show itself. She needed no marriage vows, no approval from others, no golden ring. None of that mattered. Seeing no future for them, she was willing to take what she could get. She needed only him.

  “I want you,” she whispered against his throat, and felt him swallow, felt the tremor her words inspired.

  “You aren’t making this easier,” he said huskily.

  She lifted her head, looking up at his shadowed face. “I don’t know how to do that,” she said simply.

  “Don’t say you want me.” There was a thread of humor in his deep voice.

  “But I do.”

  He groaned softly, but stepped back, firmly taking her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. “I’m taking you back to your hotel.”

  “And then?”

  “Leaving you there. Dammit.”

  “Falcon—“

  “Oh, I’ll be back, sweet.” He sighed roughly. “Tomorrow, God help me.”

  Victoria walked at his side, outwardly demure as they joined the people moving along New York’s sidewalks. Her thoughts were hardly demure, however.

  She was wondering how to go about seducing a man.

  NEW MEXICO

  Read tightened his horse’s girth, ignoring the sounds of retching a few feet away. To Gus, he said, “It won’t be easy. The bastard died too goddamned quickly.”

  “There’s still the woman,” Gus observed.

  Read shook his head. “What could she know? She was a kid, and half-wild with terror; you heard him rambling about the state she was in during the trip.”

  “She could have noticed something.”

  “No.” Read knew his voice had hardened, and he felt as well as saw Gus prudently abandon the idea. “We’ll search every mission in Texas if we have to. We’ve got time before the ship sails. We’ll find it.”

  Gus nodded. “What about Sonny?” he asked, gesturing toward the harsh sounds issuing from behind a boulder.

  Sonny staggered from behind the boulder just then, his face pasty-white. “Jesus, Read,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of a shaking hand. “I ain’t never seen that done to a man. There ain’t enough left of ’im to bury!”

  Read sent him an indifferent look. “Let the buzzards have him.”

  “They’ll be comin’ after us now,” Sonny whined. “Those men of Fontaine’s. They’ll come after us, an—“

  “They won’t come after us. We’ll be out of the country soon, and they won’t even find him for days, if at all. But, just in case they do, you’re going to ride a few miles east and settle down to wait, Sonny. Gus and I will ride west a few miles before we circle and go on into Texas. If no one tries to follow us within two weeks, you ride on to El Paso. We’ll meet you there. That’ll give us time to get to the ship.”

  “But the gold!”

  “You’ll get your share,” Read told him flatly. “But if I find you anywhere but here or in El Paso, I’ll kill you.”

  After a moment, Sonny went over to his horse, muttering. He rummaged in his saddlebags for his spare shirt, tossing aside a crumpled piece of stiff paper without looking at it. Pulling out a shirt that wasn’t much cleaner than the one he had on, he changed and then stuffed the stained shirt back into the saddlebag.

  “You think he’ll do it?” Gus murmured to Read.

  “Think I give a damn? He didn’t hear much of what Morgan said, so he doesn’t know what we’re looking for. He’s half-crazy by now, and worthless to us.”

  Gus swung up on his horse without another word, and the three riders moved on, riding out of the ravine where a broken body lay concealed among blood-spattered rocks. A crumpled piece of paper was stirred by the breeze, rattling dryly across the rocks until it was caught in a crevice. The wind tugged at it a bit longer, then gave up the struggle.

  NEW YORK

  Whatever seductive plans Victoria might have created, they could hardly have been put into effect during the next two days, for Falcon gave her no chance. They spent hours together, shared meals and rides in carriages—open carriages. They walked in the park and talked of casual, uncomplicated things. They went to the theater on the second night.

  They were never alone.

  He collected her in the lobby of her hotel and left her there at evening’s end, courteous but formal. He offered his arm whenever they walked together, his hand when she entered or left a carriage, but never once kissed or held her.

  Victoria would have been appalled at this state of affairs if she hadn’t realized that he was finding it as difficult and wearing as she was herself; it was in his vivid eyes, dark and hungry when they rested on her, and often his voice deepened and thickened before he was able to control it. Seeing that, she cloaked herself in serenity, responded to his politeness with bland acceptance, and awaited developments. Inexperienced in love and desire though she was, she was too wise about men in general to attempt to force anything from Falcon.

  He couldn’t hide the hunger in his eyes when he looked at her, but she was only too aware that he was fighting himself, that he was struggling to come to terms with the elusive but seemingly undeniable part of her that was a “lady.” Having all but thrown herself at his feet without apparently losing that stubborn quality, she knew that it was he who would have to somehow deal with it.

  But by the third afternoon, as they strolled in the park, she was restless and uneasily aware that he had been in the city for some time now; when would he leave? The thought of his leaving was a cold knot somewhere inside her, and she realized for the first time just how badly she would hurt when he did leave her.

  “Falcon?”

  “What is it, sweet?”

  “They’re holding a benefit at the hotel tonight. Dinner, dancing. I thought, if you wanted to—“

  “I’d love to,” he said promptly.

  She nodded. One more
night, at least. One more chance. And they’d be so close to her room….Her own thoughts had lost the power to shock her.

  “Victoria?” He was frowning a little.

  “Yes?”

  “Remember the night we met? The men in the bookshop?”

  “Of course.”

  They had reached a bench, and he waited until she sat down before sitting beside her. “I meant to ask you something about them, but it slipped my mind.” He sent her a brooding glance. “Happens often around you.”

  “What did you want to ask?”

  “Could you tell if they were Southerners?”

  “Why, yes, they were.” She looked at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

  After a moment, he said, “I didn’t. I just wondered if they spoke with accents, that’s all.”

  “You’re still looking for that man,” she realized. “The one you followed to the bookshop.”

  He gazed at her beautiful, delicate face, and wondered if the niggling sense of unease he felt professionally would have been stronger or clearer had he not become involved with her. He felt edgy, restless, and these last platonic days had caused the feelings to grow like steam trapped beneath a tightly fitted lid; he was no longer sure what he felt when he looked at her, and thoughts of business had been fleeting, vague, and disturbing. When he did manage to think of business, he was aware that some instinct prodded him, some foreboding that was elusive.

  He still felt instinctively that something had been set in motion, and that he had somehow, without understanding, been a part of it. After years of false trails and fruitless searching, he felt closer to the gold than he ever had before. But he didn’t know why. If he had been able to concentrate on that, methodically consider everything that had happened since he had come to the city, he might have been able to figure it out—but that option was beyond him.

  “Falcon?”

  He stirred, and managed a faint smile. “Am I looking for him? Not actively. I was just curious.”

  “I’m curious.”

  “About what?” he asked lightly.

  “You. You don’t talk much about yourself.”