by Caroline Lee
Oh dear.
Yet it seemed Mr. Stiles was too much of a gentleman to comment on what he probably thought was misplaced praise. Instead he cocked his head to one side and stared at Pearl for a touch longer than was comfortable.
Finally he harrumphed and said,“You don't look anything like your parents.”
Pearl's stomach flipped over. This man knew Maybelle's family? Well, the socialite had said her father was wealthy and well-known. It wasn't unbelievable someone connected to the railroad would know who he was. He hadn’t said he knew she was a fake though, so Pearl knew she had to tread lightly with her answers.
She exchanged a glance with Draven, and from his discreet nod, saw he agreed with her conclusion.
“Yes,” she said, smoothing her palms over the fine material of her skirt—oh dear, would that ruin the silk?—as her mind whirled in a dozen directions. What to say that would sound reasonable, but not out of character? “I get that a lot. It was one of the reasons I decided to leave, you know. I just didn't feel like I fit in there.”
There. That sounded reasonable.
Stiles’ eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down. Did he believe her? Had she added just the right amount of haughtiness to sound like Maybelle, while still maintaining her air of vulnerability?
When the man's attention turned to Draven, Pearl let out the tiniest little sigh of relief. She’d fooled him!
“You, Horatio.” A muscle in Stiles jaw tightened, like he found speaking to Draven distasteful. “You're the newspaperman?”
“And sheriff.” Draven kept his face impassive, his stance intimidating.
Pearl fought to keep her expression blank as well. What was Draven doing, claiming a job besides Horatio's?
“You're the sheriff as well?” Stiles eyebrows went up.
“Yeah,” drawled Draven. “Neither job is too taxing.”
He jerked his thumb towards the corner of his office, where a metal contraption sat on the table. Pearl had noticed it before, but hadn’t known what it was. Actually, what had really caught her attention was the pile of paper in the crate underneath. At the time, she wondered if it had to do with printing, but the metal thing was too small to be a press.
Stiles eyes narrowed. “What's that?”
“A hectograph,” Draven answered blandly. “ ‘S how I print our newspaper.”
The air crackled between the two men as they tried to stare one another down. Stiles seemed used to getting his way, but Pearl knew her Draven would win. How could he not? He was wonderfully intimidating.
Sure enough, Stiles blinked and looked away first. “You're quite the liar, aren't you, Mr. Smythe?”
Draven's hand dropped to his weapon. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You lied in your letters, sir. You lied to this fine lady, and her even finer family.”
Pearl could tell Draven wanted to ask for details, but also didn't want to prolong their interview with the man. But Stiles’ accusation bothered her more than she would have imagined. She hated someone calling Draven a liar, even if he was currently hiding his identity and…
Alright, even if he was lying.
“In what way is my husband a liar, Mr. Stiles?”
The man turned his attention to her, which wasn't exactly comforting. “He never said anything about being a sheriff. And he referred to himself as handsome. In fact, he claimed to be the most handsome man in all of Noelle.”
Pearls stomach flipped over again. Mr. Stiles had read Maybelle's letters? All of them? Had her family shared them with him? Why would they do that?
Mr. Stiles must be very well-connected in Denver society.
She forced a smile. “My husband didn't lie to me, Mr. Stiles.” When she turned slightly to meet Draven's eyes, she remembered the way he’d held her last night, the way he’d looked at her when he'd surrendered to the inevitable and lowered his skin to hers, and her smile turned genuine. “He is the most handsome man in Noelle.”
But instead of teasing a rare smile out of Draven, her comment seemed to have the opposite effect. His scowl dropped completely, until his expression turned carefully blank. He turned his head slightly, so she could no longer see his eye, but wasn’t sure if he was looking away from her for some horrible reason, or if he was just trying to focus on Stiles.
When he spoke though, it was to the railroad representative. “Who else have you interviewed?”
Stiles blinked. “What?”
“Which of the other couples have you met with and bombarded with questions? And were you as well-informed of all of their personal lives as you are my wife’s?”
The tall man’s mustache twitched as if he was opening and closing his mouth. Finally, he said, “You are my first interview, and my level of knowledge is not your concern. You should know that I take my job very seriously.”
Draven’s voice hardened even more, if that was possible. “As do I.”
“Felicity!” Pearl had to do something to break the tension, and grasped the first thing that came to mind. “Felicity Partridge married Reverend Hammond, and she’s from a nice family in Denver. Do you know them?”
For the first time, Mr. Stiles looked uncomfortable. “Ah, yes. The Partridges. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Excellent suggestion, Mrs. Smythe. I’ll meet with her and Reverend Hammond next.”
“You do that.” Draven unfolded his arms and stepped beside the door, as if ushering Mr. Stiles out. “And then get the hell out of my town.”
“Dr—Horatio!” Pearl thrust herself out of her seat, worried Draven was going to ruin the town’s chances by being rude to the Denver and Pacific’s representative. “There’s no need to be inhospitable.” She softened her rebuke with a smile. “Not when Mr. Stiles is a guest in Noelle.”
Draven didn’t look away from Stiles. “Where are you staying in town?”
The man’s mustache twitched on a huff. “I hardly think that’s any of your business, sir.”
“Everything’s my business in this town.”
When Draven leaned toward him slightly, Mr. Stiles was obviously intimidated. He wrenched open the door and hurried out, without even putting his gloves back on.
Draven slammed the door behind him and turned his thunderous glare on Pearl.
“What the hell were you doing?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Draven slammed the door behind that cagey sonuvabitch and whirled on Pearl. “What the hell were you doing?”
Her jaw dropped open, and her obvious confusion just pissed him off more.
“You thought it would be alright to just flounce around in front of him?”
“What are you talking about?”
He actually wasn’t sure, but couldn’t admit that. Instead, he thrust a hand out, angrily gesturing at her gown, her hair, her beauty. “You can’t expect a man to think clearly when you’re standing there looking like that.”
She looked down and ran her palms along her sides and waist in a way that almost made him groan with longing, remembering touching her the same way last night.
“What’s wrong with the way I look?” There was a hesitation he hadn’t heard in her voice before.
“Nothing. That’s the problem.”
She met his eye again and cocked her head to one side while she studied him. Finally, she raised a brow. “I still don’t understand. I like this dress. Birdie gave it to me.”
The knowledge didn’t ease Draven’s frustration. He’d run into Birdie and Jack just an hour ago, while looking for Stiles. They’d been riding back into town looking so damn in love, it had made his chest ache. It’d taken everything he had to sit and talk to them about bounties and Birdie’s past, when all he’d wanted to do was hit something.
He stomped past Pearl on his way towards his room through the backdoor. If he took the time to let his anger calm, there’s no telling what he’d do—picking her up and tearing that purple dress off her was a very real possibility.
She followed, obviously not knowing wh
en to let a man be.
“Draven?” she asked softly, closing the door behind her. “I can’t believe you’re angry about my dress. Please tell me what I did wrong.”
Hell.
The uncertainty in her voice was his undoing. He groaned, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, not looking at her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Pearl.”
You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I fell in love with you.
It had been absolute hell, to watch her sit there and lie. Not that he didn’t approve of the reason behind it, but he hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling of… danger. He’d been trapping animals and men for well over twenty years, and he knew when to trust his instincts.
And his instincts had spent that entire interview on high alert. It was why he’d insisted Stiles meet them in the sheriff’s office, why Draven had claimed to be the sheriff. He hadn’t wanted Pearl anywhere other than under his complete protection, and he wanted Stiles to know that.
Something had been off about Anthony Stiles, but Draven wasn’t sure what. Penworthy had sworn he’d telegraphed the Denver and Pacific Railroad, who’d vouched that Stiles was one of their representatives.
So why did the man’s face raise Draven’s hackles so much? And why had he been so damn worried about Pearl?
She’d handled herself well, but he hadn’t been able to shake the near-overwhelming worry, seeing her sitting there with Stiles, acting like everything was right in the world.
Stiles seemed innocuous, but Draven’s instincts had never been wrong. Was today the first time? Had his feelings for Pearl overcome whatever common sense he’d had?
That must be the explanation; there was no other reason for the way he was acting now. No other reason for this frustration and anger—half at her, half at himself.
Hellfire, he was in trouble.
That’s when he felt her small hand on his arm. “Draven? Please talk to me.”
He whirled, but when he realized how close she was standing, he took a step back and tried to concentrate on her expression, rather than how desirable she was. There was hurt there in her eyes.
He’d hurt her.
Draven cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry. You look real nice today. That’s a pretty dress, and I’ll tell Miss Birdie so next time I see her.”
Pearl didn’t seem fooled by his attempt to change the subject. “Do you not think I was convincing enough? I know it would have helped if I looked more like Maybelle.”
“Hell, no.” The denial burst out. “You’re far prettier than she could ever hope to be.”
Her pale blue eyes widened, and he watched a blush creep up her cheeks.
“You really think so?” she asked shyly.
He had to clear his throat before he could answer. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don’t know if you were convincing enough to fool him, but you sure looked the part.”
“But you don’t think he believed me? Us?”
“At this point, I don’t think I care what he believed.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? How can you say that?” She stepped closer to him, as if she was about to touch him. “We need Mr. Stiles to believe us, so he’ll give the town until the deadline.”
Draven should’ve stepped back. He shouldn’t have let her reach out and lay her hand on his arm. Shouldn’t have let himself give into her allure.
But he did.
So maybe his voice was even gruffer than usual when he said, “The whole thing was damn suspicious, is all I’m saying.”
“You think so?” She frowned slightly, but didn’t pull her hand off his arm. “Is that why you’re acting so edgy?”
Edgy? “It’s my job to keep the peace.”
“So you sometimes see threats when there aren’t any?”
He snorted and stepped towards the bed, which was a mistake. “When it comes to keeping you safe, Pearl, I’ll be permanently on edge.”
Her brows wrinkled and her frown deepened. “Why?”
“Why?” he repeated. Because I love you!
“Yes, Draven.”
She stepped forward yet again, and imagined he felt like one of those animals in his father’s sights must’ve felt. She was stalking him across his own home, and she wasn’t done.
“Do you know, in all of the time I’ve known you, I don’t know your first name? But it didn’t really matter.” Another step. “I just thought it interesting that we all call you by your last name, and I realized that I’ve never even heard your first name.”
She took two more steps.
He stumbled back, wondering how long his good intentions could last. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just hoping I can distract you enough you’ll tell me why you were so angry at me.”
Lord almighty, he felt lower than a worm.
“I wasn’t angry at you, Pearl. I was angry at—” I was angry at myself. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“But why?” She wasn’t going to drop the subject. “Did I do something wrong? Why would you—?”
“Because, woman!” He ran both hands through his hair, the ring on his small finger catching the light from the lamp. “Because I can’t look at you without remembering what we did last night, and that just makes me want you more.” He tugged at his hair in frustration. “Don’t you understand?”
Her eyes widened at his crass admission, and she placed her hand against her chest as if she had to hold onto her heart. The expression on her face made her look like an innocent debutante, which just made the whole situation that much worse.
She obviously didn’t understand.
“Look, Pearl.” His breath hissed out from between his teeth. “I’m trying my damnedest to keep myself in check. You don’t need some slavering, one-eyed monster of a fool after you. There wasn’t a need for you to lie to Stiles.”
“Lie about what?”
Dammit, she was going to make him say it, wasn’t she?
“About me being handsome.” When she’d uttered that lie, he’d felt his heart clench. He thought he’d known her well enough to be certain she’d never stoop to making fun of his face. “Maybelle would never say a thing like that, because she wasn’t blind. I know I’m ugly as sin and twice as mean.”
He’d heard it said too many times to count.
Slowly, her hand crept up to her throat, then to her mouth. Her fingertips pressed against her lips, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself praying. Praying she’d say something. Praying he hadn’t read her wrong.
It wasn’t until her eyes—those beautiful, perfect eyes—filled with tears that he felt a stab of remorse. He shouldn’t have accused her like that.
“Pearl, I—”
“You’re not ugly to me!”
They both froze, her words hanging between them.
“What?” he whispered.
She winced and dropped her hands to knead the fancy material of her skirts. Her eyes were locked on his chest, and he wondered why it was too hard for her to meet his eye now.
“Draven, I…” She had to take a deep breath before she could continue. “When I came to work at La Maison, I heard what the girls said about you. I heard them call you ugly and mean. But you…”
That’s when she met his eye, and a bolt of desire coursed through him. His trousers were suddenly much too tight.
“You were different, Draven. I’ve always known I’m just a whore, I’m nothing special. But you… You made me feel special. You made me feel beautiful.”
“That’s because you are beautiful.” He was the one to close the distance between them this time.
Her hand came up to rest on his chest. Could she feel his heart pounding so hard?
“And you are beautiful, to me. Inside.” Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t lie to Mr. Stiles, because I think you are the most handsome man in Noelle. You make me feel cherished, Draven, and I would do anything in my p
ower to prove that you are a good, honorable man, worthy of—of love.”
Love.
Unable to stop himself, Draven grabbed her beautiful cheeks with each of his callused palms and crushed his mouth to hers. And when she stretched up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his waist, his heart sang.
He wanted to yell at her, You’re more than a whore! He wanted to tell her, I’d spend the rest of my life making you feel special!
But all he could focus on was her taste, and the way she was wrapped around him.
It was later, when they were lying together in bed, that he realized how he could prove her worth to her. The tools were out in his office right now, thanks to Horatio. That ass had left town so quickly—probably never intending to actually have to work again—that he’d left his hectograph and supplies right where he’d always published his paper.
Because Draven had seen the man’s process every week for a year, he knew how to use the hectograph to print, and he knew exactly how to make copies of an existing sketch. Tonight, after Pearl fell asleep, he’d get out her beautiful sketch of Noelle at Christmastime, and make enough copies to share with the new brides. They were the ones who’d prove her worth to her. Prove she was more than just a whore.
“What are you thinking about?”
Pearl's question startled him, and he had to grin ruefully. There was a time when nothing startled him, but he supposed lying in bed, half asleep, with an armful of beautiful nude woman, could make any man less vigilant.
“Just wondering if there's any of that apple pie left from yesterday.” He ran a hand over her bare bottom. “I really don't want to get out of this bed until tomorrow.”
When she giggled, he felt it in his chest. “I think pie for supper sounds like a wonderful idea. Truthfully, I'm not in any rush to leave you either.”
He grinned at the double meaning to her words.
“Good,” he said, feeling more than a little smug.
“You know, with Mr. Stiles still in town interviewing the other couples, we’ll have to keep up this pretext of being married.”
Pretext. He was beginning to wonder why he didn't just make it official. After what she said to him this afternoon about her feelings…
