Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Robin Gideon

  The people of Whitetail Creek would understand that Garrett Randolph was not and never would be a politician like Andy Fields, for sale to the highest bidder, a man with no real views or opinions of his own.

  Inside the mansion, once they were through the foyer, a low murmur went through the assembled crowd. Though Pamela had not heard a single distinct word, she knew she was the topic of conversation.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as they slipped past another squadron of servants and stepped immediately into the ornate ballroom.

  Some of the guests standing about looked sympathetically at her, as if she were a displaced person who had gotten lost and stumbled into the dance. Others looked on in shock. If Garrett had walked into the ballroom with a naked young woman of their class on his arm, he would have caused less of a commotion than he had by arriving with Pamela.

  “Don’t be silly,” Garrett said, exerting the full force of his charm.

  He understood his environment and how savage it could be. What those in the ballroom did not yet know was exactly how savage he could be in return if his protective instincts were put to the test.

  “This is exactly where you should be,” Garrett added reassuringly. “It’s high time you made your entrance into society.”

  Though he gazed upon her as though she were the only woman in the world, as though he were completely oblivious to everyone but her, Pamela could barely meet his gaze. Still, she felt warmed, albeit uncomfortably so, by his scrutiny. Was he really informing his friends and all his enemies from the very beginning that he was going to flout convention and propriety and that anyone who thought he should do otherwise could be damned?

  Looking around at the other ladies in the room, Pamela discovered that her décolletage wasn’t nearly as revealing as most others. Silently, she thanked Gretchen for having the sense to pick out an elegant gown showing a modest amount of her ample bosom, rather than a daring or dramatic one. Pamela had made more than enough of a splash by being at Garrett’s side. She didn’t need to create a tidal wave by putting her breasts on display.

  Momentarily easing away from Pamela, Garrett deftly plucked two champagne glasses off the tray of a passing servant, spinning about as he accomplished his task. Smiling, he handed Pamela a glass.

  “Didn’t even spill a drop,” he said, clinking his glass lightly against hers.

  She sipped the champagne. It started out being deliciously cold but was soon heating her veins, giving her a glowing warmth and heightening the intimidating sensation of being surrounded by so much wealth.

  When a young man stepped up to Garrett to make some innocuous comment, Pamela stepped away to give them privacy. But Garrett immediately reached for her, taking her hand in his and returning her to his side.

  When the young fellow had left, Pamela whispered, “Please, Garrett, everyone is watching,” as she slipped her hand from his.

  “I know,” he replied, slipping his arm lightly around her waist.

  Another gentleman approached Garrett, and this time Pamela was close enough to hear what was said.

  “I know you can help me,” the man said sincerely, his palms facing toward the ceiling as though ready to catch whatever words of wisdom might come from Garrett’s lips. “I sent the governor three letters explaining that the land has been in my family for three generations, and still he doesn’t respond. All he says is I’ve got to vacate the land immediately or I’ll be arrested and remain in jail until I can prove my innocence.”

  “Listen, in this country, nobody has to prove his innocence,” Garrett said, an annoyed look on his face. “Tomorrow, stop by around noon with the letters. I’ll read them over, and we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  The gentleman sighed heavily, as though a great burden had just been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said as they shook hands, a bit too vigorously for this blasé crowd. “Thank you so very much. I just knew I could count on you.” Then the gentleman turned to Pamela and offered a short, very formal bow. “You have a good evening, miss. Sorry to take up so much of your time with Garrett.”

  “No need to apologize,” Pamela replied, flattered suddenly that the gentleman should have felt obligated to apologize to her.

  Moments later, several more men, ranging in age from the early twenties to the late fifties, began coming forward. Pamela was always aware of the heat of Garrett’s hand at the small of her back and of the eyes that stared at her from all corners of the ballroom.

  “Garrett, it is important that I speak privately with you,” a youthful-looking man with prematurely graying hair said. He glanced sideways at Pamela. It was not a disrespectful look, merely that of a man who has gotten himself into some sort of trouble and needed rather urgently to speak to an attorney.

  “I need to walk about anyway,” Pamela said, easing out of Garrett’s grasp.

  As she stepped away, Garrett murmured warmly, “Please, don’t be gone long.”

  Since they’d stepped into the ballroom, there hadn’t been a moment when he hadn’t been touching her somewhere, on the forearm or at the small of the back or lightly holding her hand in his much larger one. Pamela had not been consciously aware of his reassuring touch until she stepped away from it. Now she felt she’d just let go of a lifeline and was drifting in a sea that could turn dangerously stormy without any forewarning.

  She walked through cliques of guests without really having any goal in mind. Expensive scents, a highfalutin tidbit of conversation here and there, flashing diamonds—all brought her insecurity about being socially inferior to the fore. Pamela tried hard not to make direct eye contact with anyone, but to do this she had to gaze sightlessly ahead and not look down since she didn’t want to appear subservient.

  For one second she found herself trapped in a dead-end hallway, with several quietly talking couples. Almost everyone turned at precisely the same moment to look at her. Though no words were spoken, Pamela could imagine each person asking her why she was at the dance.

  Didn’t she realize that she didn’t belong?

  Her nerves getting increasingly edgy, Pamela spun about in her new slippers—those, too, were courtesy of Gretchen’s foresight and Garrett’s generosity—and headed in the opposite direction. From behind, a woman’s soft titter of laughter followed her. Frustrated and embarrassed, Pamela picked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, just as she had seen Garrett do, though some of the contents sloshed over the rim and down her hand.

  “Damn!” she muttered, drawing the critical attention of an elderly woman with diamond earrings that glittered in the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.

  Pamela walked on, sipping the champagne more quickly than was wise, wanting to rush back to Garrett’s side, but refusing to give in to her fears. Deciding that fresh air was just what she needed most, Pamela stepped out of the ballroom into the mansion’s courtyard.

  She finished her champagne and set the glass down on a marble bird feeder. One of the army of passing servants could pick it up later, she decided.

  Breathing in deeply, she inhaled the fragrance of the familiar country night, and her confidence began returning. Inside the ballroom, where the smells of cigar smoke mingled with those of perfume, she had been constantly reminded that she was someplace she shouldn’t be. Here in the courtyard, though she was surrounded on all sides by high walls, she was more at ease.

  From the shadows to her right, she heard a soft, vaguely feminine sound. Pamela squinted to see better. Her eyes still adjusting to the darkness, she recognized Angie Darwell’s pale white flesh and stark black hair. Angie was in the arms of a well-dressed man not much taller than she was, though old enough to be her father. They were kissing, and the man’s hand was on her breast, touching her through her gown.

  Pamela’s startled gasp drew their attention. The man glowered at Pamela, but Angie merely smiled her peculiar, cryptic smile.

  “Go inside, and I
’ll speak with you later,” she instructed the man, slipping out of his embrace. Her companion started to protest, but Angie silenced him with a glaring look from her piercing blue eyes. Then, just before he walked away—and clearly as much for Pamela’s benefit as for the man’s—Angie kissed him hard on the lips with an open mouth.

  The man stumbled off, clearly shocked by Angie’s behavior yet wanting more of her passionate attentions. Angie smiled at Pamela.

  “He’s a sweet man, really. Quite harmless. He’s been so lonely since his wife died last winter,” Angie explained, moving closer to Pamela. “And he’s positively loaded with gold.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you or chase him away.”

  Pamela’s ears and cheeks were getting warm. She was embarrassed by what she’d seen, especially since Angie seemed so at ease with her own sexuality and Pamela had yet to put hers into perspective. Also, she was becoming aware that she’d drank more than she should have.

  “No need to apologize. It was nothing important.” Angie’s blue gaze appraised Pamela. She’d already heard that Garrett Randolph had arrived with the bounty hunter’s sister, whatever her name was.

  “Not important?”

  Pamela imagined being in Garrett’s arms, kissing him deeply while he touched her breast. She’d always believed it important. She valued Garrett, herself, and the passion they shared much too much to think little of it.

  Angie shrugged her slender shoulders. “I was only trying to cheer him up. He’s been so sad lately.” She made a pushing gesture with her hand, as though to push aside the invisible presence of the wealthy old widower. The man meant absolutely nothing to Angie, and the things she’d just been doing with him had already been forgotten. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Pamela blushed a little but held Angie’s eyes. “Garrett brought me. Garrett Randolph.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of who he is,” Angie said. The faintest hint of contempt came into her voice as she sized up Pamela, whom she’d looked upon as an enemy from the very beginning. She wondered exactly how great a threat Pamela represented. “I’m just surprised he brought you here. He is going to be governor, you know.”

  She heard the challenge, and she would not back down from it. “I’m aware of that. He’s a good man. The people will vote for him.”

  Angie smirked as though Pamela’s words were either terribly funny or terribly naive. “The people will vote for whomever they’re told to vote for. Money and power win elections, not the votes of every little jackass who takes the time to ride into Whitetail Creek to scrawl his pathetic X by some damned fool’s name.”

  Angie’s bitterness, her hatred of ordinary people, caused Pamela to take a step backward. Was that really the way elections were won or lost? She didn’t want to believe the political process was so devious, or that Garrett could be a part of that, but if he was so honest and aboveboard about everything, why had he become the Midnight Phantom…and why hadn’t he confessed his identity to her?

  “Do I shock you?” Angie continued, enjoying the horrified look on Pamela’s face. “I really don’t mean to. I just think it’s important to shed some silly notions of the way things get done in this world.” Angie grinned, studying Pamela’s face. “Consider me your teacher and this dance your first day at school.”

  “Maybe I’d better just step back inside.” Pamela was trying not to sound annoyed.

  But her tone of voice revealed a lack of confidence, and for Angie Darwell, that was like a signal to attack.

  “Let me come with you,” she said quickly, getting into step with the much taller blonde. “I’ll continue your education.”

  “Really, that’s not necessary.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.” Angie scooped two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, handing one to Pamela without spilling a drop.

  “How long does it take you people to learn to do that?” Pamela asked, shocked to see the same inane feat performed again.

  Why did it bother her? It was just one of a thousand different indicators that let Pamela know Garrett and Angie came from the same social circle, a circle that wouldn’t willingly let her in. She was at the dance only because Garrett had brought her, and everyone knew that.

  “You don’t learn it,” Angie said, sipping her champagne and weaving her way effortlessly through the crowd. “You’re born with it, or you’re not.”

  Pamela’s head was spinning. She finished her champagne, hoping it would soothe her fevered brain and help her organize her thoughts.

  Angie stayed at Pamela’s side, and introductions were finally made. Angie refused to be shrugged off. As Pamela walked, stopping and starting as one does when not accustomed to moving in crowds, she wondered whether Angie and Garrett were sleeping together. If not, why was Angie, looking like she’d been slapped in the face, still by her side?

  Of course they are sleeping together, a voice whispered in Pamela’s head. Garrett sleeps with all the women he escorts around town. That, it appeared, was an established fact.

  Angie studied Pamela’s unstable walk and glassy eyes. The mountain lioness had spotted a limping whitetail doe, and she was stalking it, waiting to go in for the kill at the moment she had the largest audience possible.

  Angie intended to crush Pamela, to destroy her in front of all these people. When it was over, this upstart would know she could fuck Garrett, if that was what she really wanted to do, but she couldn’t have the hubris to attend dances of this caliber with him without suffering greatly for her error.

  Angie Darwell wanted to live in the governor’s mansion, and if she was to do that, she had to be at Garrett’s side when he got there. Consequently, any other woman accompanying him was an enemy whose destruction would be an example to all who might think about crossing Angie Darwell.

  “Wait a minute, Pamela,” Angie said, taking her prey’s wrist to stop her. “Let’s talk. There’s no reason for you to run from me.”

  Pamela, knowing the Darwell mentality, sensed a trap was being set. But what was it? In a blinding flash of understanding, she realized she and Garrett had been behaving as though they were lovers, though she hadn’t yet confessed to him that she knew he was the Midnight Phantom. And because Angie had made no secret of it, everyone knew she intended to be Garrett’s wife when he accepted the responsibility of life as a prominent politician.

  Pamela also realized with horror that, because of the wine she’d had in the carriage and the champagne she’d drunk at the dance, she no longer had complete control of her thoughts and feelings.

  She looked into Angie’s eyes and saw the anger bubbling in the wealthy young heiress’s soul. All around her the guests gathered to watch the lioness devour her prey. Blood sport, Pamela now understood, was a major source of amusement among the highborn.

  “Stay away from me, Angie. I’m warning you,” Pamela whispered, sensing the impending attack and deciding to go on the offensive rather than wait for it.

  “You’re warning me?” Angie stepped back. In all her life, she’d only been threatened twice, both times privately, and she had made both men suffer greatly for their threats. “You silly tramp, do you really think I’m going to bother with you? I don’t care if you’re sleeping with Garrett.” She spoke loud enough for the first row of onlookers to hear. “That doesn’t matter. He’s slept with a dozen women at this party, and I’m not in the least bit jealous of them. It’s not who he fucks now that matters. It’s who he’s going to be sleeping with when he goes on the campaign for territorial governor that counts. And that’s going to be me.” Angie glanced around then blushed a little, as though she were just now aware of how loudly she’d been speaking. “I’m not angry with you, Pamela. I know he’s got to get this wenching out of his system before he can settle down with me. Go ahead, fuck him if you want. God knows, he’s handsome as the devil and absolutely heaven in bed.” Her tone became hushed and ludicrously territorial. “But frankly, it wasn’t necessary for you to come to t
his dance. Garrett told me he’d been most generous with you.”

  Pamela heard the sounds men make when they’re struggling to hold back laughter, and she knew that everyone within hearing distance thought she’d been sleeping with Garrett to get into Whitetail Creek society.

  “You bitch,” Pamela said, about to reach for the revolver at her hip—only it wasn’t there. She wasn’t wearing her Levi’s. She was wearing the beautiful gown Garrett had bought for her.

  At that moment she was so embarrassed and so enraged she would have gladly walked all the way back to her cabin so as not to spend another moment in the company of these treacherous, self-righteous animals.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Someone muttered, “My God, I think she’s going to pass out standing up!” But she wasn’t even close to doing that. The wine had taken the critical edge off her intellect, but it had also rounded the sharp edges off her inhibitions and had lessened her sense of intimidation. If Angie could be so open about her sexuality and still be accepted by this elite group, then surely Pamela, who would never be or want to be a part of it, had a free hand in what she could and couldn’t do on this evening.

  When Pamela at last opened her eyes, there were still a dozen people surrounding her, but now she looked upon them with the contempt they had previously shown her.

  Fine, she thought, if Garrett can’t take me with him to the governor’s mansion, if all I can have is this night with him, then I’m going to make the most of it—starting right now!

  She turned and began walking back to the ballroom where she’d left him. The forcefulness of her stride encouraged people to step out of the way as she approached them. When a group of four men saw her coming, they snickered and turned collectively to face her so that she would need to walk around them. Pamela would have none of it, and she shoved her way through their ranks.

  “Pushy wench, isn’t she?” one of them muttered.

  Pamela wheeled on the man and pointed a finger in his face. “Damn right, little man! Don’t ever get in my way!”