Maverick Heart

by Joan Johnston

  She would demand that he tell her his intentions. But she was afraid, so very afraid, to hear what they were.

  4

  “Is it true you’re living on the Muleshoe Ranch?” Verity asked the instant she opened the door.

  Miles hadn’t planned to keep his possession of the ranch a secret. He just hadn’t expected Verity to find out about it so soon. Perhaps it was better this way. She might as well know going in that she had no choices, that they had all been taken away from her.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m living at the ranch.”

  She made an agonized sound in her throat. Her eyes slid closed, and she clasped her lower lip with her teeth. He was afraid she was going to faint.

  “You never were very good at handling the little misfortunes in life,” he taunted. “That hasn’t changed.” He had kept the good side of his face turned toward her more because of habit than anything else. But he realized he didn’t want to make it easier for her. He wanted to remind her of what she had done.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she glared at him—until he turned fully to face her. Then her glance skipped away. But she didn’t bother refuting the accusation. It was true, and she knew it.

  “Are you going to let me in?” he asked.

  She stepped back and clutched the doorknob as he walked by her. She gestured—what an elegantly polished move it was—toward the parlor. “Mrs. Peters said to make yourself comfortable.”

  He stepped into the meagerly furnished room, which had a couple of maple tables covered with doilies, a horsehair sofa, and a wing chair arranged around a Turkish rug in front of the fireplace. He stood by the mantel and gestured to the pale rose sofa. “Come join me.”

  It was an order, but he was surprised when she obeyed it. He watched her walk toward him, a vision of dignity even in her disheveled state. She settled herself on the sofa and played with her velvet skirt, straightening it around her, avoiding his eyes, avoiding him. Only he wasn’t going anywhere. Sooner or later she would have to look at him. She would have to confront the mutilated features that had so revolted her that she had repudiated her engagement to him and married another man.

  He hadn’t looked at a mirror in over twenty years. He shaved by feel, so he knew the course of the jagged line by heart. But he had never forgotten what he looked like when the doctor had removed the bandages at Linden’s Folly and held up a mirror so he could see himself. The ragged red streak had run past his right eye and across the edge of his mouth, sending his attempts at a careless smile askew. He hadn’t considered himself a vain man, but the image looking back at him had been terrible to see.

  “The scar will fade,” the doctor assured him.

  “How long will that take?” he had asked.

  “A few months, a year at the most.”

  He had faltered. A full year before he could face Verity and know that she would not shrink from him? It had seemed a lifetime. It was certainly too long to wait to see the woman he loved.

  He had convinced himself Verity wouldn’t care. She loved him too much to be put off by external appearances. He had been confident of her support because she had spoken to him once of the plight of an English soldier who had returned missing a limb after fighting the natives in India. She had told him how any woman must be saddened by such a loss but would cherish the return of her beloved above all else.

  It had been a staggering blow when she rejected him.

  Twenty-two years had passed since that day, and the pain was as fresh as if her betrayal had happened only hours ago. He stood, staring down at her, waiting for her to look at him again, preparing himself for her revulsion, feeling angry all over again at the devastation she had wrought on his heart and mind and soul with a few callous words.

  At last she raised her eyes to his. She was troubled. Frightened. Annoyed. He recognized all those emotions as easily as if she had spoken her feelings aloud. But there was no disgust. Or loathing. Not even distaste.

  He supposed it was true then, what the whores had told him. His face must not look as frightening as it once had. He had believed they told him only what they thought he wanted to hear, because he paid them so well for the use of their bodies. Verity’s unwavering gaze convinced him they had not lied.

  He knew his stare made her uncomfortable, but he was fascinated by her eyes. They were a marvelous blue that he had, at various moments in his foolish youth, compared to a summer sky, the sea on white sand, and the sparkle of a sapphire. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but he saw now they were edged by tiny webbed lines. She was no longer the fresh, innocent girl of seventeen he had fallen in love with at first sight. She was a woman of thirty-nine.

  And he still wanted her as much as he ever had.

  The thought shocked him. He had told himself for years that he hated her. Confronted by her presence, he was startled to discover that what he felt foremost was not dislike but desire.

  He focused his gaze on her mouth and remembered how it had once been ripe and red beneath his, her lips plump and full from his kisses. As he stared, she slicked her tongue across her lips. He wanted to taste her, to feel the dampness on her lips. He reminded himself that this woman had betrayed him. She had cruelly rejected him and married his enemy. He wondered if she knew he intended to have her. He realized she still had no idea of the utter hopelessness of her situation.

  “I’m quite sure I’m in possession of a deed to the Muleshoe Ranch,” she said.

  He smiled pleasantly. “I have a deed to the same property.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “If we both have a deed, who owns the ranch?”

  “I do.” When she arched a demanding brow he explained, “My deed is dated, was recorded, a full six months before yours.”

  She made a soft, mourning sound in her throat. “You planned this.”

  He nodded.

  “What do you want from me, Miles?” Her voice was quiet, outwardly calm. Her nervousness showed in the way she picked at a piece of nonexistent lint on her skirt, the way she threaded her fingers, then spread her hands flat on the brocade sofa on either side of her, then knotted them again. Oh, she was worried, all right. And she ought to be.

  “I told you, Verity. I want revenge.”

  He watched her swallow hard.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I found out the truth, Verity.”

  She blanched. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Chester murdered my brother.”

  She exhaled explosively. What flashed in her eyes was not the shock he had expected but relief. Which made no sense. He must have mistaken her expression.

  “I found the man who cut the traces on my carriage,” he said. “With the proper incentive, he admitted who had paid him. I followed that man to another, who led me to another.”

  “The trail led back to Chester.” She stated it as a fact.

  Had Chester confessed his guilt to her? If so, how could she have taken such a blackguard to her bed? Shaken at such a possibility, he continued, “Unfortunately, the trail didn’t lead all the way back to Chester. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict him of the crime in court. But I know he was responsible for my brother’s death.”

  She lifted her chin. “You’ve waited too long if you want revenge against Chester for killing Gregory. Chester is beyond any judgment but God’s.”

  “I’ve had my revenge on Chester.”

  Her smooth brow furrowed. “You have?”

  “It took a very long time to ruin him financially, but persistence—and his own inability to resist a gamble—finally did him in.”

  She gaped at him, disbelieving. “You ruined Chester?”

  His lips twisted. “Who do you think suggested all those risky business ventures?”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t possible. You haven’t been in England for over twenty years!”

  He took great relish in revealing to her the depth of his involvement i
n her husband’s ruin. “I hired an adept English solicitor who fed information to Chester. Talbot’s destruction was accomplished very methodically over a period of years. Rather like a very slow, very deadly poison.”

  “Was having the Muleshoe come to me some part of the plan?”

  “I bought the Muleshoe Ranch, then suggested to Ben Loomis that he might find an easy mark in Chester Talbot. Then I simply made sure Chester had no other assets remaining except the ranch and that it couldn’t be disposed of easily.”

  “So, you maneuvered me into coming here.”

  “I made sure you had no other choice except to come,” he conceded. “But the circumstances of our actual meeting were accidental. Even I couldn’t arrange for such a timely buffalo stampede.”

  He watched her eyes narrow, the blue turning dark as a sea at midnight when she realized the enormity of the control he had exercised over her life. She had been the queen in a very nasty game of chess. And he had captured her at last.

  “It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

  “I like to be thorough. Now it’s your turn.”

  He watched the pulse beat frantically beneath her ear.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Don’t you, Verity?” He reached up and let his fingers trail down his right cheek, following the path of the scar that ran from his temple to his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Miles,” she said in a whisper. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I’ve waited a great many years to hear you say that. At one time I thought it would help. It doesn’t matter to me now how sorry you are. I have no use for your apology, since I have no intention of granting you forgiveness.”

  “If you would let me explain—”

  “It’s a little late for explanations. You married my enemy. What excuse is there for that? You married the man who murdered my brother, a fiend who—”

  “Miles, if you would only let me explain—”

  “Don’t say anything, Verity. I haven’t finished telling you the extent of your husband’s iniquity.”

  “I know what he was, Miles.”

  “Then how could you have married him? How could you have stayed with him all those years?” Miles was appalled at his vehement outburst. He turned his back on her and stared out the front window of the colonel’s house onto the parade ground, where soldiers marched in rigid formation. His stance was equally rigid. “Did you know Chester had me shanghaied?”

  “What?”

  “You must have wondered why I left England.”

  “Of course I wondered when you disappeared. No one knew where you had gone. I asked Chester—” She cut herself off.

  He turned and saw the flush on her face. “Asked him what?”

  “If he had killed you,” she said. “I knew there was no love lost between you.”

  Miles snorted.

  “He swore he didn’t know where you were.”

  “Chester stood by on the docks while I was beaten to within an inch of my life by a couple of thugs. He watched as they threw what was left of me on board a smuggler’s vessel. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t have me killed.

  “Over the next two years, I had reason to wish otherwise. I didn’t think there was a more sadistic man than Chester Talbot, until I met the captain of that ship.”

  “I’m so sorry, Miles.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for him,” he said in a harsh voice.

  She winced before she lowered her eyes. “He was my husband.”

  “I know that. Thinking of you—imagining you—with him has been a painful thorn in my side for a very long time.”

  “I didn’t think you would care what happened to me after …”

  He shoved a hand through his hair in agitation. “God knows I tried not to.”

  “I thought you hated me.”

  He had wanted to hate her. But his feelings for this woman weren’t nearly as simple as he would have liked them to be. And he didn’t choose to examine them right now. “I’ve waited a great many years for you to become a widow, so I could have you for myself.”

  Her gaze shot to his, and her lip curled cynically. “You could have rid the world of Chester Talbot long ago if that had truly been your wish.”

  “I’m no murderer. As you’ll no doubt recall, Chester killed himself.”

  “It’s a fine line you’ve drawn, Miles,” she said. “He killed himself because you ruined him.”

  He shrugged. “He held the gun.”

  “You cocked the trigger.”

  “He pulled it.”

  She held out her hands to him, palms up, her expression sober. “I’m yours, Miles. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to marry me. In fact, I insist upon it.”

  She looked stunned, appalled. He hadn’t expected her to be happy about it. That was why he had planned everything so carefully, so she would have no way out.

  The second half of what he had said must have registered, because her chin came up, and she arched one fine, aristocratic brow. “You insist upon it?”

  “Think a moment before you refuse my generous offer. You’re welcome to consult a lawyer, of course, but that deed of yours isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. If you refuse my offer, you and your son won’t have a farthing to your names. What will you do to survive? Assuming, of course, that Rand isn’t already dead and that we can find him.”

  She surged to her feet. “Rand is alive!”

  “I won’t argue the point,” he said.

  “I concede such a marriage might help me, Miles. What do you hope to gain from it?”

  “You,” he said in a silky voice. “In my bed.”

  She caught her lower lip with her teeth. Her chin quivered, and he watched her struggle not to cry.

  It was a cruel way of reminding her what they had been to each other all those years ago. Lovers. It was hard to remember how much in love with her he had been. She had only used him and thrown him away when a wealthier—and better-looking—catch came along. “I want back what Chester Talbot stole from me,” he said.

  At last, she raised her eyes to his. “Chester won’t know you have me back. He’s dead, Miles.”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. “I’ll know.”

  “Do you love me? Do you have any feelings at all for me?”

  “I despise you for your faithlessness,” he said.

  “I was forced to marry him.”

  He barked a laugh. “Forced to marry a rich and handsome earl? How gullible do you think I am?”

  “He threatened to kill you if I didn’t marry him.”

  He felt an explosive shock of joy at her revelation before a clamp tightened around his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He didn’t dare believe her. She was making it up to save herself from his vengeance. Because it was the one excuse that could possibly make him forgive her for what she had done. It had to be a lie.

  “If I thought that were true—” He shook his head. “I saw how you looked at me that day at Linden’s Folly. At my face …”

  “I swear—”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t bother swearing anything to me. I don’t trust you to speak the truth.”

  Her eyes pooled with tears. “Oh, Miles, if only you would listen to me. If only you would believe me. I had to marry him. He told me he had caused the carriage accident that killed Gregory. He threatened to kill you, too, if I didn’t marry him.”

  “If you married him to keep me safe, you made a bad bargain.”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?” she snapped back. “He only promised he wouldn’t kill you. And he didn’t. I didn’t know he had arranged for you to be shanghaied. I should have realized … He knew how much I loved you.”

  He snorted in disgust. “There’s no need to lie. Lies won’t help you now.”

  “I’m not lying, Miles. I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “You have a damned strange way of showing it. You married a
man I hated, a man who tried to destroy me.”

  “I married him to save you!” she cried.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  They stood across from each other, breathless, angry, hurting. It was Verity who retreated.

  She took a step back from him and said, “A marriage between us wouldn’t work, Miles. We can never get back what we lost.”

  “I don’t need you to love me. I sure as hell don’t love you. I want you in my bed. And that’s all I want.”

  “What about what I want, Miles?”

  “You’ll have food and clothing and a roof over your head.” He paused and added the inducement he was sure would make the difference. “And your son will inherit my land and my fortune.”

  She sank onto the sofa. And laughed. It was a husky sound that sent a shiver up his spine. “Oh, Miles. Oh.” She circled her aching ribs as her laughter grew. “If you only knew! My son will inherit your land. Oh, please don’t make me laugh. It hurts!”

  He was confused by her reaction. She should have leapt at his offer of marriage. He had reasoned it all out. It was the only rational choice she had. She was caught in the iron jaws of a trap from which there was no escape.

  But he had heard of animals so desperate to be free that they chewed off their own limbs. Was Verity like that? Would she destroy herself and her son rather than surrender to him? Could he let her go if it came to that?

  He had tried to stop loving her. Tried desperately. But he would have had to destroy a part of himself to completely eradicate her. So he had built a protective wall around the heart she had broken and kept it safe from assault for over twenty years.

  But the mere sight of her took his breath away. The feel of her skin beneath his fingertips had made his heart pound erratically. His loins ached with wanting her.

  He should have left well enough alone. He should have been satisfied with destroying Chester. That should have been vengeance enough for the death of his brother and the theft of the woman he loved. He had gone a step farther and manipulated things in an attempt to recapture a fleeting instant in time when he had been happy as he never had been before or since.