The Savage Heart

by Diana Palmer

  "Then what will you do?"

  "Take a companion with me."

  She averted her jealous eyes. "I see."

  "No, you don't," he muttered irritably. "For God's sake, I've told you and told you, I don't have anything to do with white women."

  That last phrase was telling, but she knew better than to ask him personal questions. She might as well question a telegraph pole.

  "You plan to let a man dress up and accompany you, then?" she asked with biting irony.

  He smiled at her. "I thought of taking you with me."

  She flushed and her heart leapt into her throat. "I don't have an evening gown."

  "I'll buy you one."

  Her eyes blazed at him. "No, you will not! I don't take expensive presents from men, not even from you, and certainly not an article of clothing!"

  "Oh, grow up," he fumed. "Here I'm your cousin. There's nothing untoward about buying clothes for family."

  Family. She lowered her eyes to the sidewalk and glowered at it. Family. What else did she expect to be to him?

  "Besides," Matt said, noting her expression and forcing himself not to react to it, "this is business. The matter of Collier's murderer, remember?" He stared straight ahead. "There's a shop nearby. I did some work for the owner. You'll like her. I expect she'll have something you'll find quite nice."

  She clutched her purse. She had very little money of her own, but she had plenty of pride. "I'll buy some fabric and a pattern and sew myown."

  "Not to wear to this do, you won't," he replied. "InChicagopeople are too aware of what one wears in general. At charity functions they go far beyond that, Tess, to sheer snobbery about apparel."

  She glanced at his expensive suit and overcoat and hat. "So I see."

  He met her gaze. "You wanted to fit in. This is how you do it."

  "I'll try not to embarrass you."

  "Thank you," he said dryly. "I'll try to return the favor."

  As if he could embarrass anyone, with his innate dignity and clothes sense and elegance, shethought. But she didn't say it. He was volatile enough already.

  Her thoughts returned toNanand at last she voiced her worst fear. "What if she did it?"

  "Then she'll be convicted. But we'll do what we can for her, just the same."

  "Thank you, Matt," she said after a long pause. He stopped at a streetlight and turned her toward the storefront of a very elegant women's clothier.

  "You're not serious!" she exclaimed when she looked at the mannequins in the display window. "Heavens, Matt, those gowns would cost a month's salary…maybe half a year's!"

  "You get what you pay for," he said without blinking an eye. "Come on."

  He propelled her into the exclusive shop. An elegant woman in a becoming day dress with her hair elaborately coiffured turned from the counter to greet them.

  "May I be of service, Monsieur Davis?" she asked, glancing critically at Tess's figure.

  "This is my cousin," Matt told her without preamble. "She needs a ball gown."

  "I am Madame Dubois," she introduced herself with a smile. "I think I have just the thing.Un moment," she said, and darted to the back of the shop.

  She returned, to Tess's surprise, with the most delicious white taffeta gown she'd ever seen, its sleeves and skirt tied with ribbons in softest blue and pink, edged in lace.

  "It takes the breath away,n'est-ce pas?Itwas made up for a customer who gained too much weight and could not wear it when it was finished." She smiled wickedly. "But she will enjoy theb?b? more than the gown, I daresay. Here. Please to try it on, mademoiselle. There, in the back."

  She led Tess to a changing room, closed the door, and left her.

  It took several minutes to remove her outer garments so that she could slip into the elegant dress. She fastened it with trembling hands, astonished at the beautiful fit.

  Madame Dubois appeared just in time to fasten the last hooks in back. "You will require some assistance to close the fastenings, but surely there are other women handy, yes?"

  "Yes. I live in a boardinghouse," Tess replied. "It fits so nicely! Does it look all right?" she added, tugging at the bodice. "I mean, is it not a little too low in front?"

  "With a bust like yours, mademoiselle, it is perfect," she replied, smiling at the picture Tess, with her blond fairness, made in the delicious confection. She shook her head. "You will not knowyourself. Come. Let us show monsieur…"

  "Oh no, please." Tess put her hands over her bodice.

  "Ah, I see, it embarrasses you to have your cousin see you thus. The gown will be for an admirer. I will not tell him," she whispered. "It will be our secret. I will leave you to dress, mademoiselle,but first let us remove the gown so that I may pack it for you in a box. But at once, when you arrive home, it must hang, so, for the wrinkles to fall out. You understand?"

  "Yes," Tess said. She was excited not only by the feel of the gown but by its exquisite lines. She had to have it, even if it cost her a year's wages. She felt beautiful in it.

  Matt was waiting patiently when she left the dressing room. Her hair was faintly disheveled, but her wide hat covered most of the damage.

  "Here," he said, handing her the dress box. "Can you carry it?"

  "Oh yes." Her gloved hand tightened on the handle possessively. "It's the most gorgeous thing!"

  "I have also included a pair of opera gloves, my dear," Madame Dubois told her. "But you must have shoes to match…"

  "I'm sure I have some at home," Tess said with her scant remaining pride.

  "Very well, then. I wish you a lovely evening!"

  "Thank you." Tess smiled at her and went through the door Matt was holding for her.

  Once outside, he took her arm again and marched her down to a shoe store. He wasn't satisfied until she had dainty satin pumps to match the gown, and afterward they stopped at a millinery shop, where he bought her a small satin bag as well and one of the popular egret combs to complement her hairstyle.

  "You've spent far too much money on me," she complained when they reached the boardinghouse in a hired carriage with her purchases.

  "You could hardly go to the ball in rags, Cinderella," he told her.

  She didn't look at him. "My slippers aren't made of glass, and I won't turn into a mouse atmidnight."

  "The carriage horses turn into mice," he pointed out.

  He carried her parcels into the boardinghouse and up to her room, past a curious Mrs. Mulhaney.

  "It's a ball gown," Tess told her excitedly. "My cousin Matt is taking me to a charity ball!"

  "Well, it's about time you had a real social life," Mrs. Mulhaney replied curtly. "Nothing but work and that women's group!"

  "I agree entirely," Matt said.

  He dumped the parcels on Tess's bed, tipped his hat, and went back downstairs. He wasn't through for the day, even if Tess was.

  * * *

  For the next few days, she dreamed about accompanying Matt.It mightbe a necessary step in their plan to saveNan, but Tess couldn't help but be enthusiastic about her first ball. She hung the gown in her closet, and every so often she opened the door just to touch it and wonder at its beauty. She'd never dared hope she might get to go to a real ball—with Matt.

  Back inMontanasuch things had seemed vaguely like fiction to her. Indeed, she'd read the fairy tale "Cinderella" and often had wondered what it would be like to have a ball gown and a handsome escort for the evening, and to go to a really fancy ball. There were barn dances inMontana, but that was a far cry from a real ball.

  She counted the days until the event, working hard at the hospital and trying not to remember that it was only part of a job for Matt to escort her.

  Inevitably the Saturday of the great event arrived. Tess had Mrs. Mulhaney help with fastening the gown. The older woman was fascinated by its beauty and shocked by its low-cut bodice.

  "You must have a wrap, my dear," she said. "I have one that I insist you borrow. It's mink. It will be just the thing to complement that gown!
"

  "Mink! But I couldn't!" Tess protested.

  Mrs. Mulhaney patted her arm gently. "Men never think of these things. It's quite cold, and the gown has only a hint of sleeves. I'll fetch it for you."

  She went out, closing the door behind her. Tess patted her hair into place and pushed the egret comb that Matt had bought her into a particularly deep wave. She hardly recognized the pretty and very exclusive-looking woman in her mirror. Her fairness would enhance Matt's dark skin. She hoped he wouldn't find fault with her.

  Mrs. Mulhaney placed the wrap around her shoulders and looked at her critically. "You look lovely. The pearls are perfect," she added, noting their faint pink hue as they lay above her collarbone.

  "They were my grandmother's," Tess said, touching them with her white-gloved hand. "I'm very proud of them."

  "I don't doubt it. You have fun."

  "Ihope to," she said. "Thank you very much for loaning me the wrap. I'll take great care of it."

  "I know you will."

  Mrs. Mulhaney waved Tess down the staircase, where Matt was pacing impatiently.

  "I'm not late," she told him in a faintly haughty tone.

  He turned and looked up at her on the staircase. Every comment he'd thought to make stuck in the back of his throat. He stared at her with black, turbulent eyes and said nothing while she slowly came down the rest of the way. Matt thought that he'd never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life. He wanted to pick her up and carry her away, far away, so that no other man would see her. He took a deep breath, amazed to discover that he was capable of feeling such devastating jealousy.

  «^»

  The look in Matt's eyes made Tess so nervous that she almost tripped on the last step. She caught herself on the banister and eased her foot down onto the level floor.

  "Idon't have a proper wrap," she said, pulling the fur even tighter over the low bodice that she was reluctant to let him see. "So Mrs. Mulhaney loaned me this."

  "You look beautiful," he said in a husky, deep tone. His face was unusually hard, and his eyes held an odd glitter.

  Tess stared back at him hungrily. It was the first time he'd looked at her in exactly that way, and her toes seemed to curl inside her shoes. He made her feel like the Cinderella of her dreams.

  But seconds later, the spell was broken when he abruptly and curtly said, "Shall we go?"

  He took her arm and escorted her out. He was wearing evening clothes, a beautifully tailored black coat with tails and black pants, crisp white shirt, and bow tie. In his left hand he held a silk top hat and silver-headed cane. He looked impossibly handsome and elegant.

  When they were in the hired carriage riding toward the hotel where the ball was to be held, he stared at her in the dim, flickering light of streetlamps.

  His steady gaze made her nervous and she shifted.

  "I didn't know that you were lacking a dressy coat. I assumed that you had one, God knows why."

  "There's been no reason to…" She cleared her throat. "I shouldn't have occasion to wear one after tonight. I don't go out to such formal affairs … as you very well know."

  He glanced out the window at the passing buildings. He didn't dare look at her too much, he told himself, or he was going to lose his precarious control. The sight of her in evening clothes, with her hair elegantly done, was almost his undoing. She'd always been pretty, even in a faded dress, but tonight she was so elegant that she made him violently possessive. It was as if she belonged in cultured society even more than he did. Combined with his own inner turmoil about his ancestry, her elegance only punctuated the differences between them and set her at a greater distance. He felt more guilty than ever about his long-held secret. He had the right to be possessive of her, but she didn't know and he couldn't tell her.

  Tess was determined to have a wonderful time,despite Matt's cool indifference. Surely at least one man present would ask her to dance. Then Matt could do what he pleased—or ignore her, which he certainly seemed inclined to do. Her heart felt as if it were broken. She couldn't possibly let him see how his aloof manner was hurting her.

  The hotel was emblazoned in lights, and couples in elegant clothing wandered into it in pairs. They came in sleek carriages with uniformed drivers, drawn by beautifully liveried horses, and at least two arrived by motorcar. Tess had never seen so many wealthy people in one place in all her life—in fact, she had no idea there were so many wealthy people in the world. She was awestruck by the experience.

  Matt, holding her arm as they advanced into the hotel, whispered harshly, "Don't gape. They're just people."

  "I've never seen any people like this," she said, with fascination plain in her eyes as she looked around her.

  "Of course not," he said caustically. "One doesn't expect high fashion on an Indian reservation."

  She stepped on his foot quite deliberately and smiled coolly when he winced.

  "Suppose you just leave me here, cousin dear, andI'llfind someone to stand with?" she asked with venomous sweetness. "I'm sure you'll be relieved not to have to keep me company!"

  A maid took her wrap, leaving her uncomfortably revealed. Matt's eyes focused on the low-cut gown, the creamy tops of her breasts revealed in the most provocative way. He caught his breath audibly. He couldn't believe the gown was that modern. He'd never have let her buy it if he'd had any idea how she'd look in it. She was like a princess, and he was suddenly so violently aroused that his whole body throbbed.

  He started to speak just as a handsome young man swept between them and bent over Tess's hand, which he lifted to his lips. He'd been a recent patient at the hospital, where he'd flirted outrageously with her. They'd become friends, of a surface sort. His name was Michael Boson, and he was a wealthy young man.

  "I've been waiting all my life for you," he said with breathless abandon. "Dance with me until the wee hours, and then we'll sail away to the moon on a carpet of stardust!"

  Tess, relieved to have been saved from the sudden fury in Matt's black eyes, chuckled and tapped him with her lacy fan. "What a glib tongue," she teased. "I don't believe a word you say."

  "Heartless girl, and you nursed me through pneumonia, too." He turned when he saw Matt. "Is this he?" Michael asked with a lifted brow, his gaze roaming over Matt's tall physique. "I might have known. He even looks like an assassin. I daresay he's armed."

  "Michael, will you stop?" she pleaded.

  "Michael Boson, at your service," the young man said with a wicked grin. "You're Cousin Matt, the detective. I recognize you from Tess's description. Your cousin nursed me at the hospital and then cruelly turned her back on me because I'm four years younger than she. I hardly think age is an impediment to a great love affair, myself, but she has reservations. Don't you, chick?" he added with a grin in her direction.

  "Yes, this is my cousin, Matt Davis," she introduced them, and then laid her hand on Michael's sleeve, grateful beyond measure for his unexpected rescue. She couldn't quite meet Matt's eyes. "Dance me away, Michael. Matt didn't mind bringing me, but I'd hate for him to have to spend the evening being bored stiff with me."

  "Itwill be a great pleasure for me to spare him the inconvenience. Don't you worry, Cousin Matt; I'll take wonderful care of her, and you're invited to the wedding!"

  He carried her off before Matt could reply. Tess laughed as she went into his arms on the dance floor. She hesitated, though, when he launched into a dance that she couldn't do.

  "I don't know this dance. Or any dance that's at all complicated. I'm sorry," she said. "Could you teach me a step or two?"

  "Heavens, girl, where have you been all your life?" he asked, dumbfounded.

  "Living out west with my father, who was a doctor," she said. "We had barn dances, but nothing so elegant as this."

  He grinned. "This is a waltz. It's not difficult. Here. I'll show you the basics. It goes like this…"

  Matt, watching them with cold eyes, wanted to go right over there and tear Tess out of the younger man's arms. That l
ow-cut gown was already giving him fits.

  He became aware of someone nearby and turned his head. DiamondJimKilgallen, with a lighted cigar in his hand, gave him a steady appraisal from deep-set gray eyes. The man had jet-black hair, like Matt's own, but his was wavy. His skin was olive tan, although not as dark as Matt's. He had a broad, leonine face and he wore a thin mustache. His tuxedo was expensive, like his shoes. Matt had never seen him at such a distance before, and he knew at once that he wouldn't deceive this man with any pretext of contributing to charity.