by Laurie Grant
None of them seemed to have eyes for anyone but Sarah Challoner, though. It was almost as if Morgan were invisible. If those soldiers only knew that the very man the army wanted for robbing the stage that had carried the troops’ payroll was right here in the room with them, they wouldn’t be so concerned with bowing over the duchess’s hand, he thought grimly. What a difference his shaving and wearing some fancy duds made! They didn’t recognize him as the desperado whose face was on all the Wanted posters.
The women at the sides of the men coming through the line were each more gorgeously dressed than the last, in silks and satins, feathers, flowers, ribbons and lace, in a rainbow of colors and accented by a blinding array of jewels.
He smiled at the irony of being in the same room with all those jewels. The ladies wearing them would have been jumpy as cats on ice if they had known how many lovely baubles he’d taken at gunpoint off the necks of wealthy women like themselves.
He wasn’t here to rob anyone, though, so he studied the ladies’ faces. Some of them were attractive, some merely well-dressed and groomed, but none was as lovely as the duchess. She shone like a gleaming diamond among fool’s gold.
He felt a pang of regret as he took in the entire scene. Once, as a Calhoun, descended from one of the original settlers of Texas and owner of the finest ranch for a hundred miles, Morgan had belonged in such a world. He had been dressed as well as any of them, not wearing rented clothes. He’d had a beautiful belle on his arm.
But that was a long time ago, before the war, and now he was a breed apart from those chattering, fancily dressed people. He was an outlaw, no matter what his temporary role was with the Duchess of Malvern.
“Hello,” he heard a husky voice say as the last few guests were going through the line, and then he was startled to feel a hand on his wrist.
Morgan looked down to see one of the ladies who had gone through the receiving line, a short brunette whose garnet brooch drew attention to the scandalously low neckline of the dark red gown she was wearing.
“I know it isn’t conventional for a lady to introduce herself to a gentleman,” she said, “but I kept waiting for you to leave the wall you seemed to be holding up and come through the line, and you haven’t moved. So I decided I’d have to be unconventional and introduce myself. I’m Helen Wharton. My brother William over there—” she jerked her head in the direction of a ginger-headed young man talking to a group of businessmen underneath the chandelier “—owns the Double W Mining Company. You’ve heard of it? I haven’t met you at any of these gatherings before, and I thought I knew everyone in our social circle.”
Morgan breathed in her perfume, and was aware of a quick flaring of lust as his brain appreciated the musky scent that surrounded the woman like a cloud. At another time or place he’d have enjoyed a dance of seduction with this woman, for her bold eyes told him she’d be more than willing to partner him in that particular waltz.
“Morgan Calhoun, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head politely, “and I reckon we haven’t met because I’m not exactly in your social circle. I’m just here to guard the duchess.” Deliberately he cut his eyes back to the receiving line, expecting the woman to stalk off in search of more prominent prey.
He was wrong, it seemed. She was still there when he looked back down. Excitement flashed in her brown eyes, and she removed her long-nailed hand from his wrist to stroke down his biceps.
“Ooh, you’re a bodyguard?” she breathed. “How very exciting. Why don’t we get some punch and step out on the balcony? You can tell me all about your experiences....”
He narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a discouraging manner, and shook his head. He couldn’t afford to let her distract him. “I’m here to keep my eye on the duchess,” he said, returning his gaze to Sarah Challoner. “I’ve got to stay by her.”
Helen Wharton pouted for just a moment. “Ah, I can see you’re devoted to duty...very commendable, I’m sure. But you’re entitled to a little refreshment, aren’t you? Why don’t I go get us both some punch and bring it back here? You can keep your eye on your duchess, and I’ll keep you company.”
Morgan gave a wary okay to her offer, then went back to watching the duchess.
The dark-haired Helen was back within moments, somehow managing to bring two cups of punch and a plate full of finger sandwiches through the crowd without mishap.
“Much obliged,” Morgan said, taking a grateful sip, and blinking in surprise as he tasted liquor mingled with the fruity liquid. Rum, he guessed.
“This is rather...potent,” he said, his eyes leaving the duchess for a moment to rest on Helen Wharton and the cup she was raising to her lips. “I hope there was something a little less...strong for you, ma’am?” He’d better limit himself to one cup, and sip that sparingly, or soon he’d be too blind drunk even to see the duchess, much less protect her.
Helen laughed merrily. “There is a punch for the ladies, but I’m drinking the same thing as you are. I’m afraid I find the other stuff rather insipid. Here, have a sandwich.”
He accepted the morsel from her, then searched and found Sarah Challoner in the crowd. The receiving line finished, she had joined the same group of businessmen that Helen Wharton’s brother had been standing among. Just then William Wharton returned, bearing punch and sandwiches, which he offered to the duchess.
“Hospitality seems to run in your family,” Morgan observed.
“Yes...I ran into my brother at the refreshment table. He’s quite taken with your duchess. Says she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”
Morgan sure couldn’t disagree with that, so he said nothing, just kept his eye on the duchess as the mining magnate went on chatting with her. His conversation was evidently very stimulating, for Sarah Challoner was animated, her color high, her blue eyes sparkling. Then he saw that something Wharton said had amused her, for she tipped back her head and laughed. The sound was lost in the noisy room, but Morgan fancied he could hear its silvery music.
Lord, he wished he were a rich man so he could stand talking with Sarah Challoner like this, and have her laughing at some clever thing he said.
Then he saw Wharton gesture toward the balcony, and Sarah’s narrow-eyed stare in its direction before she nodded.
From here he could see that the balcony was empty of other guests, and someone had blown out the torches that had illuminated it at their arrival. So the rich fellow imagined he was going to lure Sarah Challoner out into the darkness?
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he growled to the woman beside him, handing her his cup without even looking at her and striding forward to intercept the couple heading for the balcony.
“Pardon me, Du—your grace,” he amended, planting himself in front of the couple. The duchess had her hand on Wharton’s arm, a fact that fueled his ire.
The two halted, Wharton blinking at him as if Morgan had two heads. “Mr. Calhoun, is something wrong?” Sarah Challoner asked.
“No, ma’am, but I can’t have you...I don’t think...that is, you shouldn’t go out on the balcony.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s dark out there. No one who’d want to harm me could even see me.”
“Harm you? What do you mean?” Wharton asked. Then, when he received no answer, he glared at Morgan, his face reddening, a pulse beating in his temples. “Now, see here, fellow, just who do you think you are to be ordering her grace around?”
Morgan ignored him. “Ma’am, there’s a full moon, and your dress is a pale color. A sniper wouldn’t need much more.”
Sarah Challoner lifted her chin—always a sign of imminent rebellion, he’d discovered—and her lips thinned. “Oh, don’t be tiresome, Mr. Calhoun. I’ll be fine. Mr. Wharton merely thought I might like some air.”
I’ll just bet he did, Morgan thought, fixing his piercing gaze on the mining magnate until the other man’s eyes fell.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to agree with Mr. Calhoun, your grace,” said Lord Halston, who had sudd
enly appeared at Morgan’s side in time to hear the last exchange. “It would be most unwise.”
“My dear duchess, what on earth are they talking about? Have you been threatened?” Wharton demanded.
Her face smoothed out as she looked at Wharton. “It’s nothing, Mr. Wharton. Truly. They’re just being cautious. Isn’t there some quieter room to which we can go and chat some more? I vow, all this noise is giving me a headache!”
“Certainly, your grace,” Wharton said with a genial smile—a smug smile that Morgan wanted to wipe off the man’s ginger-cat face with his knuckles. “The governor has a small library downstairs where we may be private, I’m sure. If that’s all right with your...guardians,” he said with deliberate provocation.
Morgan’s fists clenched at his side as he struggled to be polite. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Halston bristling and white-faced. Good for you, Halston.
“I reckon that’s all right, if I can go with you and check out the room first, and then I’ll stand outside the door and make sure no one else comes in,” he said.
“Well, it’s not all right with me,” Sarah Challoner snapped, her eyes blazing with blue fire at Morgan and Lord Halston alike. “You two are smothering me, and I won’t have it. There is absolutely nothing amiss in my speaking to Mr. Wharton privately, and if you wish to continue in my employ, Mr. Calhoun, you’ll stay upstairs, is that clear? Come, Mr. Wharton, show me this library.”
Morgan stared at her retreating figure as she left the reception room. Life was too short to put up with a woman so obstinate she wouldn’t even accept guidance when she’d asked for it. He could be back at the boardinghouse within the hour and heading for the mountains day after tomorrow, a free man. And the duchess could go to blazes.
Then he felt Lord Halston’s hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to apologize for my niece’s behavior, Calhoun. I’ll speak with her later, get her to see reason. I—I’d take it as a personal favor if you wouldn’t quit without giving her another chance.”
Morgan couldn’t have been more surprised if Lord Halston had suddenly sprouted a halo and wings, and it was the surprise that cooled his anger. “All right,” he conceded, “if you’ll talk to her, I’ll stay. I’m not going to go through this every time she disagrees with me.”
“She’s very headstrong,” the marquess admitted. “A result of her being raised as heiress to a duchy. The late Duke of Malvern treated her as if she were the son he’d never had. Once it was apparent she would be duchess one day, he encouraged her to make decisions on her own just as if she were a man. As her oldest male relative, I’ve tried to guide her as best I could, but...” He shrugged. “Sometimes that strong will leads her into error.”
“I just hope that stubbornness doesn’t get her killed,” Morgan muttered, and stalked away to find a drink—a real one, not just that damn punch.
Crouched in the darkness outside the territorial governor’s residence, the assassin waited on the roof of the mansion next door to the governor’s. The owners of the mansion, who were present at the reception, didn’t know he was there, and since their servants had been lent to McCook for the evening, too, he’d had no difficulty stealing inside and making his way to the roof. He was dressed in black from head to foot. Even the barrel of his Winchester rifle had been rubbed with grease and then coated with soot so as not to give off a betraying gleam.
He’d taken up his position on the roof long before the duchess had arrived. He could have shot her as she strolled into the house with her uncle and that watchdog she’d hired, but he’d decided it was too risky. There were a lot of people outside, and someone might have seen the flash from the muzzle of his rifle when he fired. He’d decided to wait until the duchess took the air out on the balcony or on the porch, but that hadn’t taken place yet, either. Maybe her watchdog had warned her against it. But it wouldn’t save her. He had a contingency plan already in place.
He pulled a pocket watch out and studied its face by the light of the full moon. Any moment now the duchess would come rushing out the door with her entourage, and their faces would reflect the panic they felt inside. Panicked people were easy targets.
“Mr. Calhoun, we’ve got to leave. Immediately!”
The duchess was suddenly standing in front of him, white-faced and trembling. Wharton was standing by her side, looking as if his genial composure had permanently deserted him.
Morgan had been sipping whiskey by a potted aspidistra with Helen Wharton, who had rejoined him, apparently not minding that he had challenged her brother He had felt his knotted-up gut relax under the influence of her pleasant chatter and the mellow amber liquid.
It took him a few seconds to refocus. “What’s wrong, Duchess?”
She was trembling like an aspen in the wind. “Show him, Mr. Wharton ”
The other man reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. “This was just delivered by a servant who claims to have been paid by a stranger to deliver it at half after ten.”
Morgan unfolded the note, feeling the knot reforming in his gut. It said “HAVIN A GOOD TIME DUCHISS? SOON YOUL BE IN YER GRAVE A PATRIOTT.”
Chapter Seven
“Yeah, we’ve got to leave, but careful-like,” Morgan said, suddenly all business. “Where’s Lord Halston?”
Suddenly it seemed as if there was little air in the room. None of the blurry figures standing around the room looked like the familiar figure of her uncle. “I don’t know! But we’ve got to find him, and I must say my farewell to the governor! It would be rude not to thank Mr. McCook—”
“There’s no time for those things. We’ll send the carnage back for your uncle. I don’t want anyone else knowin’ we’re leavin’, Duchess,” he said in a low voice. “Wharton, go out and find the duchess’s driver. He should be standing by a landau with a matched pair of grays. Talk loud—say that the duchess and her party are gonna stay the night, and she wants him to go on back to the hotel. Then whisper that he’s to wait about midway down the street behind this one. We’ll find our way to him. And don’t tell anyone else what we’re doing.”
Wharton blinked, and Sarah was reminded of an owl. “I will, but wait for me here. I’m coming with you to make sure the duchess is safe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wharton,” Sarah breathed. “It’s very good of you—”
Morgan interrupted, saying, “Just go do what I told you, Wharton.”
As soon as Wharton had disappeared, Morgan’s hand was on her elbow, propelling her toward the staircase. “Come on, Duchess, this way,” he said
“But we were going to wait for Mr Wharton!” she protested as Calhoun pulled her down the carpeted staircase.
“No.” They reached the bottom, and he steered her down a darkened hallway that apparently led to the rear of the house. Coming to a door, he opened it and pulled her inside.
It appeared to be a parlor. Letting go of her arm, Morgan crossed the room in three rapid strides, took hold of one of the dark, heavy curtains hanging over the window and gave a yank, pulling it down.
“Here, put this around you like a cloak—over your head, too,” he said
“But...” she began as she pulled the curtain around her.
The dust rising from it made her sneeze.
“We’re goin’ out the back way. The dark curtain will make you a little harder to spot in the darkness,” he explained. “Come on.” And then he seemed to notice that she was shaking. “You gotta take hold of yourself, Duchess,” he commanded. “Panic is just what this fella is countin’ on. Just do what I tell you, and we’ll come outa this okay.”
She nodded, braced by his certainty, and determined not to appear a frightened mouse in Morgan Calhoun’s eyes.
Moments later she was running with him across the darkened back lawn, clutching her makeshift cloak at her neck and holding Calhoun’s hand with her other one to keep herself from falling. His hand felt warm and strong. He clutched a pistol in his other hand.
He
found the gate into the alley, and pulled her after him into the dark passageway.
“We’ll take it slow from here, Duchess,” he whispered. “Try and walk quiet”
No matter how quietly she walked, though, Sarah was sure any pursuer could hear her panting like a winded fox. She knew how that fox would feel, hearing the dogs come closer and closer She’d never ride to hounds again.
He paused when he came to the gate to another yard down the alley. “We’ll cut through here.”
This yard was more uneven than the governor’s, and she stumbled, going down heavily on one knee. She heard the fabric rip, and a stinging pain shot through her knee.
Calhoun pulled her to her feet without comment, and they continued on around the side of a darkened house. There was a tall tree with low-hanging boughs on the front lawn, and he pulled her into the deeper darkness against its broad trunk.
“We’ll wait here for your driver,” he whispered.
“What if he doesn’t come?” she whispered back, straining to see his face in the darkness. Ben might not believe that Wharton had really come from her, and might insist on speaking to her or her uncle personally.
“Then eventually we’ll have to walk back to the hotel,” he told her. “But I reckon the wild eyes on that jackass Wharton will convince him.”
His contemptuous tone ignited her anger, burning away her traces of fear. “How dare you speak of a gentleman like that? And what about you? I saw you standing there all cozy with his bold-eyed tart of a sister when you should have been—”
“Should have been what, Duchess?” he demanded. She could barely make out his eyes glittering in the darkness. “You wanted me to leave you alone, remember?”
