by Tess LeSue
“Can I help you?” His voice was flat, with an oddly formal accent.
“I’m looking for Matt Slater,” she said, breathless, stepping away from him and trying to regain her balance.
“He’s not here.”
That made her blood boil, and in her anger, she totally forgot that the man in front of her was terrifying. “He is! I heard him!” she insisted.
“No.” The man was like a granite cliff. He had absolutely no expression.
Georgiana couldn’t keep her mouth from dropping open at the sheer gall of it. Out of habit, she started to count to ten to control her temper. Then stopped herself. She had every right to be angry after waiting around all day for a man who hadn’t come when he said he would, and who was now hiding from her. Like a coward. “I know he’s here,” she said darkly. “I heard him.”
“You are mistaken.”
“I’m not,” she said through gritted teeth. She pushed past him, barely noticing that he didn’t really try to stop her. “I know he’s in there!” She headed straight for the door on the wall opposite. The room was a mirror image of her own, so she assumed it led to a second bedroom.
She was right.
“Aha! I knew you were here!” she cried when she saw Matt Slater standing by one of the twin brass beds. She threw a triumphant look over her shoulder at the man who’d lied to her.
“You didn’t try very hard to get rid of her,” Matt complained to his friend.
The man shrugged. “I’m not even supposed to be out of bed,” he said. Now that Georgiana was on this side of the door, she could see that he wasn’t too steady on his feet. He closed the door and staggered back to his bed. “Close that door if you’re going to talk. And keep your voices down. It’s the middle of the night.” He pulled the covers up over his head.
Matt sighed. “Listen, Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Blunt or whatever your name is, my brother ain’t well. Off you go.”
“Oh no. No, no, no, no.” Georgiana stepped into his room with him and closed the door behind her. Her temper was still up, enough that she didn’t stop to think about the wisdom of being alone with him in his bedroom. Or perhaps, she thought later, she’d known deep down what would happen and had secretly wanted it to happen . . .
“Listen, lady, it’s been a long day.”
“Indeed it has. And I have spent that long day sitting downstairs, waiting for you to come, like you said you would.”
He blanched. “Would you believe me if I said that something came up?”
“No,” she said bluntly.
“Look. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but this ain’t right, you being in here with me like this.”
“Oh no?” Georgiana could see she was making him uncomfortable. He’d backed up until he was hard against the other bed. “Even though I’m your fiancée?” She sat down on the bed closest to her.
“People will gossip,” he said tightly.
She crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap and fixed him with a patient look. She was quite enjoying how nervous he looked and had no plans to move without getting what she came for.
He sighed. “What do you want?”
“I merely want to have the conversation we were supposed to have this afternoon.” She didn’t care if he hadn’t specified the afternoon. She’d been waiting.
“We can have it first thing in the morning,” he promised. “I’ll have breakfast with you.”
“Oh no,” she said. “I want it now.”
“Well, I don’t.” There was a flash of temper on that darkly stubbled face. Somehow, it only made him more attractive.
She brushed the thought away. She wasn’t here for that nonsense. She was here to do business. “I waited in this hotel for over eleven hours,” she said coldly, “and I don’t plan to wait a minute longer. Now, you can stand there arguing with me and wasting more of my time and yours, or you can answer my questions and get the conversation over and done with.”
Matt rubbed at his eyes. He looked very, very tired.
“Answer her damn questions!” a voice called from the other room. “Some of us want to sleep tonight!”
Matt scowled at the closed door and muttered something under his breath. “Fine,” he snapped. “What do you want?”
Georgiana pulled the annotated list from her pocket. She’d made notes this afternoon, in preparation for their meeting.
Matt saw the scribbles and groaned.
She gave him a prim look. “Don’t worry,” she said, “we don’t have to get through all of it tonight. Although,” she warned, “I won’t leave unless you promise to help me with the rest of it tomorrow. At breakfast.”
“Lady, you’re bossier than you look.”
There was a pounding against the wall.
Matt scowled. “Sick, my ass,” she heard him mutter. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll answer one question now, and we can do the rest over breakfast.”
Georgiana knew exactly which question she wanted to ask. It was the reason she’d waited all day. “Show me the map,” she said. “I want to see the California Trail.” She was desperate to know every step of the trail that lay between her and her son.
* * *
• • •
THE MAP WAS so big it took up most of the single bed. Georgiana bent over it as Matt showed her the trail, starting with where it branched off from Fort Hall.
“Do they sell maps like this in town?” she asked, when he was spreading it out.
He gave her an odd look. “What do you need with a map? Joe Sampson knows the way like the back of his hand. He’ll get you there right enough.”
“I just want one,” she said stubbornly. For insurance.
But she also wanted one just to look at when she was sleepless in the long, anxious nights, to reassure her that the trail led inevitably to Leo. Just the idea of owning a map made her feel calmer; it was a solid connection to her son.
Matt was still giving her an odd look. “They sell them at the store. Not as detailed as this. But there’s plenty of demand for them these days.”
Of course there was.
“Tell me about the trail,” she asked, bending low to peer at the landmarks on the map. “Just from here.” She pressed the pad of her finger into the black dot of Fort Hall.
“I don’t know the California Trail as well as mine,” he admitted, “but I’ve been in some rescue parties along it.”
She shivered. Rescue parties? That didn’t sound good.
He leaned over the map beside her. “It’s longer than the Oregon Trail. Almost three thousand miles.”
“Three thousand?” Georgiana couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.
She should have known that, shouldn’t she? She realized how woefully ignorant and underprepared she was as Matt talked her through the trail that ran south from Fort Hall. “After we split here by the Snake River, Joe’ll take you down along the Raft River here, to the City of Rocks.” The names coming out of his mouth sounded mythical. It was difficult to believe she’d be walking through all of these places in a few months’ time. She watched as his finger traced a network of small rivers until it reached a larger one called the Humboldt. He tapped this longer line. “You follow this through the Great Basin until it peters out.” And it did peter out, she saw; a river that ended in the middle of nowhere. “This,” he said seriously, when his finger ran off the end of the river, “is where it dies in the flats. And where you hit the Forty Mile Desert.”
Oh, she really didn’t like the sound of that. And she liked even less the look of the crinkles representing the Sierra Nevada mountain range.
“That’s where the Donner party was stranded, wasn’t it?” she asked anxiously.
He shot her a look. “It’s a busier trail now,” he said. “Since the gold rush, the trail bustles all season. It’s hard to get stranded with that ma
ny people going to and fro.”
“But if the weather turns, like it did for them . . .”
“They were stupid,” Matt said firmly. “They went off trail, and they didn’t have a proper guide. Joe’s one of the best. I’d trust him with my life.”
She nodded but still felt uneasy as she took in the vast distances represented by the lines and crinkles and dots. She had such a long way to go . . .
“I was at Mrs. Tilly’s again late this afternoon,” Matt said quietly. She was abruptly aware of how close they were standing. “She found out about us.”
She looked up at him, but his gaze was firmly fixed on the map. Us. The word made her break out in goosebumps. Us.
He traced his finger along the area of the goldfields. “She told me why you’re going to California.”
Georgiana froze. “What do you mean?”
He looked up. His face was grave. “She told me about your son.”
Georgiana’s heart squeezed. “Oh.” All Mrs. Tilly knew was that Georgiana had a son and that he was waiting for her, alone, in California. She didn’t know anything about Wendell and Kipp and their horrid puppet master, Hec Boehm. The monster who had her son.
“It’s a powerful long distance between a mother and her child.” The tenderness in his voice was her undoing. The wretched tears were back, pricking at her. And here she’d almost managed a whole day without crying . . .
She kept her face averted. The map swam before her. It was a powerful long distance, made all the worse by not knowing how Leo was being treated. Was he locked up or free? Were they caring for him or abusing him?
He must be so scared . . .
The tears fell in earnest, splattering against the map.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, rubbing at them with her thumb. “I don’t want to ruin your map.” Matt caught her hand and stopped her.
“Don’t worry about the damn map.”
She tried to get hold of herself, but it was hard once the tears had started. It was like working a water pump: once the water was gushing, it was gushing. She used her free hand to swipe at her cheeks. She felt terribly exposed.
“How old is he?” Matt asked her. He hadn’t let go of her hand. His fingers were warm where they curled around hers.
“Twelve.”
“You must have had him when you were still in the schoolroom,” he said, sounding shocked.
“Almost.” She sniffed and tried to gain control. This man had seen her cry far too often. And she’d only met him a few times; at this rate he’d think she did nothing but cry. “I was seventeen.”
“What’s his name, your son?” His thumb was stroking the back of her hand. She didn’t think he was aware he was doing it.
Their voices were hushed, and they were standing so close over the map that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek when he spoke. The air was charged again, like last night in the laundry. Georgiana was finding it hard to breathe.
“Leo,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“Mrs. Tilly said he’s with your people?”
Georgiana pressed her lips together and nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to say the lie aloud. They weren’t her people. She’d never met them.
“I ain’t going to lie to you, lady,” he said, his voice painfully gentle. “It ain’t an easy trail. But, you do as Joe and I tell you, and we’ll get you there safe. You and all your little ones.” He pulled a face. “I’ll even get those cousins of yours there safe.”
She was startled into a laugh. It must have sounded a little hysterical, because he gave her hand a squeeze to reassure her.
“Here,” he said, releasing her hand and reaching for his map. He rolled it up and held it out to her. “Take it.”
“I can’t take your map.” She brushed away the last of her tears. “You need it.”
“I have another one. The one I had at Mrs. Tilly’s today. I keep it there for my Thursday speeches.” He pressed the map into her hand. “Take it. Really. I don’t need it.”
“Thank you,” she said shakily, taking the map.
He really was the most bewildering man: rough and irritable one minute, gentle and kind the next. He seemed boyish again, like he had last night, his hair tumbling over his forehead as he looked up at her through those thick black eyelashes. When she was with him, she didn’t feel so scared. She felt something else, something like safety but more exciting. Her stomach was buzzing, her heart tripped over itself, and she was aware of every inch of her own skin.
In that moment, as she took the map from him, Georgiana knew precisely why she’d come to find him tonight. She knew why she’d forced herself into his room, rather than waiting to see him in the morning. It was because she’d thought of nothing but kissing him all day. She felt like a giddy girl. She wanted nothing so much as to find a quiet corner where she could hide away with him and kiss him for hours. As though she wasn’t a responsible single mother of five, but a blushing young debutante, stealing off with a daring young man at a party.
She’d never thought of herself as brave or bold. Foolhardy, perhaps. And so it was probably foolhardiness that made her kiss him.
She stretched up on tiptoe and pressed a light-as-a-feather thank-you kiss on his lips. She felt him jump slightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, against his lips.
She kept the kiss light, instinctively knowing anything more might scare him off. She saw his eyelashes flutter. He looked the way she felt. Mesmerized, stupid with this slowly uncoiling desire that seemed to unleash itself whenever they were together. The feeling was so much nicer than the swollen, incompetent grief she lived with; it was a beautiful, magical distraction from the horrifying facts of her life.
The shimmery, shivery feeling transformed the world; it brought it into sharp relief. In the laundry . . . outside the breakfast room . . . as she watched him give that talk at Mrs. Tilly’s . . . as she’d waited for him at the hotel, pacing, anxious, wound up . . . from that very first time she saw him through the window as he hitched his animals, she’d felt different. The sodden helpless sense of her life being over, of just going through the motions, was gone, and in its place, she was vibrant again. She was Georgiana again. Not Mrs. Leonard Blunt. Not Mrs. Smith. Not Mother. She was just Georgiana, and there was a world of possibility at her feet. When this feeling shimmered to life, she felt as though her life was just beginning.
This was what she’d wanted when she’d burst into his room. She wanted to come to life.
Georgiana kissed him slowly, as she’d imagined doing all day long, her mouth slanting across his as she stretched against him. Her free hand slid up his chest. She felt him tremble. His eyelids fluttered closed, and she felt an intoxicating sense of power. She’d half expected him to shove her away, especially after his appalled reaction last night. And he wasn’t drunk this time.
But he didn’t push her aside. He stood, silent, frozen, and let her kiss him. His lips were soft under hers, accepting her movements. There was none of the hunger of the night before. Just gentleness. Sweetness.
Her fingertips ran over his open collar, across the hot skin of his neck, lingering at the feel of his surging pulse; her touch trailed up his nape, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down harder against her mouth. Bolder, she touched the tip of her tongue to his lips. She felt him jerk slightly, and then his mouth opened for her. She traced his lower lip with her tongue. The feel of him trembling against her was one of the most erotic things she’d ever experienced. The sense of him being leashed, pulsing, aroused but utterly restrained.
She had a feeling that any moment the dam might break, and all that desire would come crashing down on her as he lost control.
But he didn’t lose control, not yet.
Georgiana was hot, melting, as she slid her tongue into his mouth. As her tongue touched his, he t
ook hold of her shoulders and pulled her harder against him. She felt the rolled-up map crush between their bodies. She couldn’t get close enough. He was kissing her back now, his tongue entering her. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a slow suck. She could barely keep on her feet, the force of her desire was so strong.
“Goddamn it!”
She didn’t know what happened. One minute she was blissfully drugged, being kissed to within an inch of her sanity, and the next she was being marched out. He had her by the arm as he dragged her out of his bedroom, through his friend’s room, and all but flung her into the hallway.
“Stop that!” he ordered, jabbing his finger in her face.
Georgiana couldn’t think to reply. She was still lost in the warm haze of their kiss. She wasn’t quite sure how they’d gone from there, to here.
“No kissing,” he growled at her. Then he slammed the door in her face.
She frowned. I beg your pardon?
She rapped sharply at the door. She heard his friend curse.
The door flung open again. “What?” Matt snapped at her. He looked utterly delicious, with his hair ruffled from her fingers, his face flushed, his eyes still foggy with desire.
“Are we still having breakfast?” she asked primly.
He scowled. “I said we were, didn’t I?” The door slammed again.
Georgiana smiled.
She should feel insulted, but she didn’t.
Because what she’d seen in his eyes wasn’t disgust or dislike. It was pure, unadulterated fear. He was scared of her. Of their kiss. Of that throbbing energy that began to beat whenever they were alone together. That shivery, delicious feeling.
Georgiana drifted off to her bed in a haze of desire. Somehow, his fear made her feel less afraid. She didn’t know why. Tonight, she didn’t care why. Tonight, she was just happy to feel something other than fear and worry. She sat in bed with the map, staring at the crumpled waxy paper, but seeing only a pair of golden eyes and a swollen, well-kissed Cupid’s bow mouth.
