His warm breath skimmed across her knuckles, sending shivers along her spine. For an insane moment, she almost believed he meant the words, forgot that they really weren’t betrothed.
Kit cleared his throat. “Madeline, you seem to have gotten your wish, and Harry with his usual aplomb has steered the conversation away from business.”
Madeline chuckled. “I suppose next time I should allow Mary Ellen to stay up and join us, only I fear we’d have no conversation at all then.”
Harry loosened his tight hold on Jessye’s hand and gave her a small smile. She clutched her hand in her lap, trying to avoid Gerald’s gaze. “Who is Mary Ellen?”
Madeline smiled warmly. “Our daughter. She’ll be four next week.”
Jessye’s stomach tightened. Her own daughter would have been four. “I would have liked to have met her.”
“She’s precocious,” Kit told her.
“She’s an angel,” David countered.
Kit grinned. “She’s an expert at wrapping people around her finger.”
“Speaking of children,” David began, “has your brother given your father the heir to Ravenleigh he was craving when last I saw him?”
Jessye watched in somber fascination as Kit’s grin abruptly faded, and he turned pale.
“No.” He quietly cleared his throat. “No…Christopher’s wife took ill and died shortly before I left England.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not often among the nobility that one sees a love match. They looked to be in love.”
Kit nodded slightly. “Yes, Christopher and Clarisse were fortunate in that regard. They did love each other.” He stiffly picked up his glass and downed the remaining crimson wine in one long swallow before holding the glass out to the butler who was keeping the glasses filled.
Madeline folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “Why don’t we adjourn to the parlor so we can enjoy the music?”
“Dance with me.”
The seductiveness in Harry’s voice shimmered along every nerve in Jessye’s body as she watched the other couples waltzing in the parlor. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, then uncrossed them. “I meant what I said earlier. I don’t know how to dance.”
“A woman doesn’t need to know how to waltz. She only needs to follow her partner’s movements. Think of a cow following the herd—”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you comparing me to a cow?”
“God, I find you incredibly appealing when you get angry.”
“Is that why you work so hard to keep me mad?”
He smiled, and she thought the warmth in his eyes would eliminate the need for a fire on a cold winter’s night.
“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. Jessye 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 resemb
le 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.
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