Ruby's Song (Love in the Sierras Book 3)

by Unknown

  Chapter 5

  Dalton studied the flushed cheeks of Marlena Beauregard. The girl was not a drinker. Two glasses of wine had her practically falling from the table. He’d had to reach out and set her upright more than once. The horror and embarrassment was etched across her features and reinforced by her constant apologies. It gave him a little chuckle.

  He’d been shocked by her beauty. She was more radiant than her older sister, which was a feat itself, and it had struck him speechless in the first instance. He didn’t remember her having wavy hair as a child but it was the first thing he’d noticed when he’d come upon her from behind. Wavy blond hair. Then, he marked her clear white skin and full pink lips when she’d turned to greet him. His eyes roved over all of these features again, wondering if his affinity for a certain actress had predisposed him to notice these details on Marlena.

  His mind drifted to the masked woman at The Museum and the range of emotions and passion she displayed on stage. His hand slipped into his pocket where he held the note he’d received from her.

  It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.

  He smirked. Was that an invitation of pursuit, or of something more carnal? If the latter, he would happily oblige. He must be certain, though. Her next performance was in two nights and he had just the quote. There would be no doubt what he wanted, and the next course of action would be as she determined.

  His thoughts turned to Rosa, inviting a tinge of guilt. Though he’d told her not to hope, he knew she still loved him, and hope always rode on the back of love, no matter the circumstances. In truth, he was still unsure about his future with Rosa. He didn’t hold romantic views on marriage. He knew he could be happily married to Rosa and still not love her. But the blond actress had bewitched him, and he could hardly wait to see her again.

  Marlena’s body began to droop beside him, her staunch upper class posture wilting into the chair and he knew it was time to see her home. He stood and addressed the women.

  “I’m going to hail a carriage, and I’ll escort you home, Marlena.”

  “Oh, no,” she stood abruptly and swayed so far forward that she had to grip the table. “Well, perhaps you’d better.”

  He dismissed himself and spoke with the host, taking a glass of whisky and a cigar while he waited. Once the transport arrived, he went back to the table. Marlena wrapped her arms around the one he offered and he felt the entire weight of her body sag onto it. He chuckled at how weightless she seemed. He’d expected to feel bogged down by her large skirts alone.

  They said their goodbyes to his mother and left. Once inside the carriage, her eyes began to close and her head lolled forward before she snapped upright and looked around, her violet eyes brightening in panic.

  “Mr. Cunningham?” she asked.

  “Dalton is my name.”

  “Dalton...I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “And what is that?”

  “May we drive around for a while longer? Give me a chance to get my legs back?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  She took a deep breath, interrupted by a hiccup. “Because I must be able to sneak back up to me room. I mean my room. Forgive me. Oh, dear. I shouldn’t have accepted the wine.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. “Sneak?”

  She sighed. “The Winthrops are very prominent political and community figures.” Drunken laughter bubbled out of her chest. “Can you imagine the scandal? A member of the Winthrop household caught out…”

  Dalton tensed and held his breath for the dreaded reference to his mother.

  “Inebriated.” She laughed again and he relaxed. “Elijah Winthrop would go positively apoplectic.”

  He recalled the play at The Museum, and his jaw dropped. “Wait. You live in the home of Elijah Winthrop?”

  She nodded. “Did I forget to mention that earlier? Oh, yes. His sister is Sarah Jeanne.”

  “Is he really as bigoted as they say?”

  “Well, I don’t know what they say, but I have it on good authority the man is intolerably small-minded and long-winded. Believe me, that is a very tiring combination.”

  They chuckled, and he felt a little surprised. Based off of the evening, he would have expected her to sing the man’s praises. “So, you don’t align with his politics?”

  She grimaced and chortled in disgust, the most unladylike sound she’d made all day. “Not. At. All. But that shouldn’t surprise you, given my childhood and how abusive and controlling Jess’s first husband was. I’m not about to support a similar vessel of control and censure.”

  Dalton felt a twist in his gut and the narrowing of his eyes. “Does he abuse you?”

  “Oh, no, no,” she said, batting the air. “He’s impotent where that’s concerned.”

  “Does he frighten you?”

  She snorted. “I’m not afraid of Elijah, but the Winthrops have fed, clothed, and educated me for the past five years. I must tread carefully and respectfully.”

  “Which means sneaking out? Needlessly endangering yourself? Exposing your body to the harm of any wayward robber?” Her eyes narrowed and she reached down and lifted her skirts to her knees. Dalton’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  A triumphant smile lit her face as she pulled her pistol and drunkenly waved it around. “I’ve got this to protect me.”

  “Whoa!” Dalton called as he reached out and took hold of it. “Don’t wave around a loaded gun, girl. What’re you crazy?” He stuffed the pistol into his jacket pocket. “Why are you carrying this?”

  “I take it with me whenever I go out on my own,” she retorted. “I’m not stupid enough to go out unarmed. Jess taught me well. ‘Always keep a pistol strapped to your person and an eye on your back.’”

  “Whenever you go out?” Dalton echoed. “Do you sneak out often, Little Miss?”

  She pursed her lips at his derisive tone. After a long pause, she held her hand out. “Don’t call me that. I’m a grown woman, not a child, and I want my gun back, please.”

  “Not ‘til you’re sober. I don’t want you to accidentally hurt someone.”

  “I know how to shoot,” she said with a slur.

  “I know you do.”

  “Done it before.” She hiccupped. “Even shot my sister once.”

  Dalton slanted his head and eyed her. “You shot your sister?”

  Marlena giggled. “Not on purpose, but yes. Shot her right in the rear!” She roared with a full gut laugh. “Didn’t seem to bother her much. Father always did say she was a hard ass.”

  Her body doubled over and she clutched her middle as she laughed. Soon, the sound faded until she suddenly buried her face in her hands. Her body shook as if she continued to laugh in silence, but then Dalton heard the unmistakable sniffling that told him she was crying.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and sat up, knocking on the roof of the carriage to signal the driver to stop. She pushed open the door and jumped out, holding onto the door to steady the sway of her body.

  “I’m fit enough for the task now.” She stared at him with bright glistening eyes for a long, suspended moment. “It really was wonderful to see you again, Dalton.”

  “You, too.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Marlena, you’re not sober yet. If you walk in that house like you are, you’ll be caught out for sure.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about that. When people wish you weren’t there, they make it a point not to notice you. No one will be looking for me, rest assured.”

  She turned and stumbled away. He left the carriage and followed her on foot, watching until she disappeared behind a hedge surrounding a large home as lavish as she’d described. The white clapboard shimmered in the rising early evening moon, its elaborate front entrance beaming in a pair of long, white columns flanking the door. An elliptical façade broke over the small front porch, boasting a glass window in t
he shape of a fan. A decorative balustrade ran the length of the roof, making the second story as ornate as the first. He whistled in awe.

  A snapping twig drew his attention to the side yard and he watched as Marlena scrambled up a giant oak, rustling leaves and branches so loudly he was sure she’d wake the house. Her skirts snagged on tiny boughs and she yanked as she went along unsteadily.

  “She’s going to kill herself,” Dalton mumbled before jogging over to assist. He scrambled up the trunk and reached her not a moment too soon as her foot slipped and she nearly tumbled to the ground. He clutched a sturdy overhead branch with one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other, drawing her against the length of his body. She wrapped her arm around his waist, steadying herself, and gaped at him with a silent look of shock.

  “I’ve got you,” he said quietly, keeping his grip firm.

  She was so close he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. Lavender, warm and heady, washed over him and he took a deep breath of it. The moonlight reflected in her eyes, deepening the flecks of violet and blue as they widened and roved steadily over his face.

  Suddenly, she leaned harder against him, pressing her lips to his. Her mouth was warm and wet, and he responded without thinking, slanting his lips across hers, sending his tongue out to run over the pink creases along her pout. She opened her mouth, inviting him, and he accepted greedily, deepening the kiss. He tasted wine on her tongue. It was a sobering reminder of how relaxed her faculties were and he pulled away, steadying her, wishing he could steady his heartbeat as easily.

  She bit down on her bottom lip and smiled until she straddled the window sill. She waved once more before falling gracelessly into the room. He chuckled and rolled his eyes before clambering back down to the ground. Once he knew she was safely tucked inside, he headed back to the inn on foot, sorting his thoughts along the way. What a whirlwind of a day. Marlena proved to be an intriguing puzzle. Why was she frequently sneaking out? And why the tears? Not the behavior of a woman blissfully in love with her life, as she pronounced.

  A slight flush of guilt moved through him at the smugness he felt knowing she might not enjoy her high-brow existence. She deserved a life of ease after spending her life surviving injustice. Both of her parents had died when she was young, leaving her and her sister at the mercy of a controlling murderer. They’d escaped and worked their way from town to town, using only their wits and sewing skills to live. If she’d finally found some peace and amusement living in Boston, who was he to begrudge her that?

  Still, he couldn’t help the disenchantment he felt, the deflated hopes he’d once had for her. She had been sweet and shy, but also strong and brave, even as a child. She hadn’t hesitated to shoot the man threatening her sister, and she would have run into a burning building to rescue Jess without batting an eye if he hadn’t been there to stop her. How could such a brave creature reduce herself to subterfuge and sneaking about?

  The folded note fell into the palm of his hand, and it suddenly occurred to him that his disappointment lie in that Marlena failed to measure up to the woman occupying his thoughts for the past two months. He knew from the life he’d lived with his mother how oppressed and powerless women were, so whenever he saw one stand up for herself or any other injustice, he couldn’t help but admire. The idea of Marlena sneaking around to avoid the loss of her comfortable life was an idea he could understand, but he still looked down his nose at it.

  When he reached the inn, he removed his jacket and tossed it over a chair. There was a loud thud when the garment hit the arm. He searched its pockets, releasing a sigh when he pulled out Marlena’s gun. He’d have to get it back to her.

  The early-afternoon sun glared off the front windows of the Winthrop home, nearly blinding Dalton. He adjusted the brim of his hat to protect his eyes and stretched his shoulder muscles in the tight day coat he’d borrowed. He knew he couldn’t visit the Winthrop home looking like a plainsman, so he’d dressed appropriately, lest he earn a slammed door in the face.

  A withered butler opened the door and Dalton flashed a wide grin. “Good day. I wondered if I might have a word with Miss Marlena Beauregard.”

  “Do you have a card, Sir?” the butler asked without a smile.

  “I…” he hadn’t thought that part through. He patted the pockets of his coat. “I seem to be out, I’m afraid. I’ve just arrived in town and was anxious to visit….my cousin…as a surprise, you see. My name is Dalton. Marlena’s cousin, Dalton Cunningham.”

  “Very good, Sir,” the butler crooned before allowing Dalton into the entryway. He doffed his hat and followed the old man’s lead into the parlor. “Wait here, please.”

  Dalton nodded and surveyed the empty room. The furnishings were impeccable, with chairs and sofas that looked like they’d never been sat on. The hearth was carved with such exquisite detail he couldn’t believe they’d ever risk it with a fire. A white pine cornice jutted above delicately etched frieze work and he ran his fingertip over the carvings, admiring the craftsmanship in each curve and groove. The same care and attention was given to every detail of the room, from its blue-gray marble baseboards, up the plaster walls to its high ceilings, given an extra dimension by the raised floral rinceau. He shook his head. This was a long way from Virginia City.

  “Hello, Dalton,” he heard from behind in a smooth voice. He turned a wide smile onto Marlena as she emerged into the room, a vision in all white.

  Sun streaming through the windows covered her in warm light and mingled with the layers of lace draping down the sleeves and bodice of her morning dress until they shimmered. Her skin seemed to shine, and he couldn’t tell which part of her appeared more brilliant, her face or her hair as it hung down in large soft waves to the base of her spine. The top half was swept up and pinned in the back. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, her beauty arrested him.

  His gaze fell on her lips as he remembered the taste of her tongue, the bold, hot exploratory probing she enacted. A hot flush covered his skin and he took a deep breath, clearing his throat. He could tell his wandering gaze made her uncomfortable as her eyes began to dance around the room and she reached up to pat her hair.

  “Forgive my state,” she said. “You caught me in the middle of readying for the day.”

  He glanced at the mantel clock and felt his mouth curve in a sideways grin. “It’s afternoon.”

  Her cheeks bloomed like cherry blossoms and she looked at the floor to hide her smile. “Yes, well, I’m afraid leaving my bed any earlier was…impossible.”

  A soft chuckle shook through his chest. “Aah, so you have a tumbleweed rolling around the inside of your head?”

  She laughed as her palms covered her cheeks and she sank onto the sofa. “That is exactly how it feels. Please sit.”

  He joined her on the other side of the sofa, leaning back to cross his ankle over a knee, and she studied him for a long moment before giggling into her palm.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she returned hastily. “It’s just…propriety dictates that you not sit with me on the sofa…or cross your legs like that.”

  “Oh,” he said, letting his leg drop. “Should I move to the chair?”

  She giggled again. “I don’t mind how or where you sit. It just reminds me of me when I first came here. Not knowing any of the rules and breaking them.”

  He leaned forward to raise a conspiratorial eyebrow. “And then learning all of the rules and still breaking them? Like yesterday?”

  The red in her cheeks deepened and he couldn’t hide his amusement. But she didn’t speak, so he broke the silence. “I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have pricked your temper last night, nor presumed to tell you how to live. Five years of separation and I wasted no time criticizing you. It was rude and very ungentlemanly.” He studied her face, remembering the sadness and tears in her eyes as they’d said goodbye last night and he asked the question as it came to him. “Are you truly happy here, Little Miss?”
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  She went blank for a brief moment before rolling her eyes with an impatient huff. “Not when you call me that. I’m a bit old for childhood endearments.” She stood abruptly, so he stood. “And I’m afraid I must finish my toilette before my music lessons begin. Thank you for coming here and I accept your apology.”

  “One more thing,” he said, almost forgetting the reason for his visit. “You look sober enough to handle this now.”

  He handed over her gun and her eyes darted fearfully to the doorway before she snatched it and looked for a place to hide it. Without any pockets she gathered a handful of her skirt and bunched it around the gun, holding it as if she were preparing to lift her hem.

  “Thank you for that,” she said. “Now, I really must go before someone sees this.”

  Turning the brim of his hat in his hands, he offered another smile. “You take care of yourself. Maybe one day I’ll get to hear this talent everyone goes on about.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, her lips curving in a grin that never reached her eyes. “Goodbye, Dalton.”

  He opened the door. “Goodbye…” he couldn’t resist, “Little Miss.”

  His smile widened when she rolled her eyes, and he chuckled all the way back out to the street. Feeling light and unburdened, he walked down Beacon Street and returned to the inn.

  Chapter 6

  Marlena felt it in her bones, the lackluster applause of the audience, and she knew it was the direct result of her lackluster performance. It was a denouncement she deserved and would have to endure, for she knew her heart had not been in the act that night. The melancholy that had settled over her with Dalton’s departure still lingered.

  Her visit with the Cunninghams had been disastrous. She’d overindulged on wine and had become an even more obnoxious pretender. His disinterestedness had been clearly etched on his beautiful face, and all she could do was drink more and lie more. And then she’d gone and done the most horrifying thing and cried in front of him, not to mention kissing him! Even thinking of it made her cringe, and there was no excuse to offer. Looking back and laughing over fond memories of her hometown had filled her with so much grief that it had simply overwhelmed her. And as for kissing him? Well, she’d simply given in to the impulses of her body.