- -
- 100%
- +
She looked up. “I’m afraid Miss Loutitia has a somewhat overemotional temperament. When things go the least bit wrong, she becomes hysterical.”
Gideon hadn’t met the man yet who wouldn’t rather face gunfire than an overwrought female.
“I can see why you’d want to avoid such a scene. Tell me, Miss Step, are you prone to overemotional outbursts?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. What is, simply is. I’ve learned not to rail at fate. Doing so accomplishes nothing.
Another silken strand of hair settled softly along the side of her face. A curious tightness gripped Gideon’s chest.
“I’ve made the same discovery.”
She moved toward the door. “Now that I know Courtney is safe, I’ll be on my way.”
“Not so fast.”
His words were harsher than he intended. Her back stiffened, straight and unyielding as an iron post set in rock-hard mortar.
“Since our business is completed, there’s no point in my remaining.”
You could always join me upstairs in my bedchamber. We could while away the next few hours between my sheets….
When that rogue thought materialized in his brain, Gideon’s skin grew hot. The militant Miss Step was the last female on this good earth about whom he should harbor lascivious feelings.
He pushed back his chair and stood. It had been an act of calculated rudeness to remain seated after she rose to her feet. He’d wanted to see if she had the fortitude to chastise him for his churlish behavior. He imagined restraining herself had been taxing.
“I’m sure you understand why I can’t let you leave, Miss Step.”
She whirled around. “What do you mean?”
It probably wasn’t a good sign that her widened eyes and the slight waver in her voice fueled his growing interest
“Good manners won’t permit me to let you go dashing into the night unescorted.”
She stared at him as if he’d just recited the preamble to the Constitution, or something else equally irrelevant.
“Good manners?” she repeated, clearly stunned.
He nodded.
“But you haven’t displayed a single bit of mannerly behavior!”
“Of course I have. You just weren’t paying attention.”
She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was. “Not more than three minutes ago, you remained seated after I had stood. Practically the first lesson a boy learns is to rise when a lady stands.”
Gideon was sure she felt better for getting the reprimand out. “A small oversight when compared to abandoning you to the likelihood of being murdered on Denver’s wild streets, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’m perfectly capable of returning to the academy without getting myself killed,” she responded with cold disdain.
“Perhaps you are, but I’ve no intention of putting the matter to the test.”
“It’s not your choice!”
Damn, she was stubborn. What she didn’t realize was that after committing himself to a course of action, he never backed down. “This streak of childish rebellion is wearing my patience.”
“Then I’d best leave.”
The woman actually had the misplaced gall to try walking past him. Gideon’s hand shot out and closed around her arm. A look of indignant astonishment swept her features.
“My way”, he said softly. “We’ll do things my way.”
“Why, you conceited, overbearing tyrant.”
“And here I thought you were having trouble understanding me.”
He didn’t know why he was taunting her. But he did know he wasn’t going to yield to the powerful temptation of turning himself inside out to please her.
“You can’t make me believe this rusty bit of chivalry with which you insist on bullying me is anything more than an example of your perverse nature.” She tugged her arm. “Now let me go.”
Strange how her absolute lack of coquettishness made him incredibly aware of her femininity. Standing this close to her, with her upturned face just inches from his, he was bombarded by her subtle beauty. Her skin was flushed with color. Her soft, parted lips trembled. Her eyes, sheltered beneath thick, dark lashes, beckoned him to pull her more tightly to him.
“My ‘perverse nature’ likes to make sure I get a sound night’s sleep. I won’t be able to do that if I’m kept awake by visions of you running for your life from some drifter who never got that first lesson on manners.-Nor do I like the thought of you getting caught in another rainstorm. Unless you like my hand on you and want to prolong this useless argument, I suggest you accept my offer of a carriage ride.” He couldn’t resist adding, “With an appreciative smile.”
Her eyes spat fire. Her feminine ferocity was oddly invigorating. For too many years, cynicism and bitterness had formed the bedrock of his character. This woman straining futilely against his hold glowed, with enough earnest outrage to thaw the most frigid soul. Her obvious devotion to duty and her spirited nature lured him closer.
She struggled briefly before giving in to the inevitable. Her breathing was fast and shallow. The stench of dog had dissipated. For the first time, her female scent teased his nostrils. His body hardened.
“All right. I’ll accept your offer.”
Her brittle capitulation seemed a major victory. “Where’s the smile?”
She bared her teeth with surprising indelicacy. If she was tamed to his handling, it would be a pleasure to feel the tips of those teeth lightly scraping various parts of his anatomy. In her present state, though, he doubted his hide would escape serious damage.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her eyes silently burned him at the stake. He watched her take a deep breath. He’d lost count of how many times during their encounter she’d done so. He would have liked to watch her chest inflate, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from her face.
“Are you going to release me?”
“Of course.” He did so reluctantly.
“I’ll wait here while you change,” she said coolly.
“Change?” They would be here until the next century if she expected him to change his basic nature.
“You’ll catch a chill if you go outside dressed as you are.”
For the first time since coming downstairs, Gideon became conscious of his attire.. He felt Miss Step’s gaze drift to the ridiculous nightshirt he’d been compelled to put on in order to greet his overemotional niece.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced the heat of embarrassment crawling up his neck. Having Miss Step see him in the frilled, embroidered nightshirt he’d received several Christmases ago from a former lover with peculiar taste in men’s clothing would be enough to make any man squirm.
The alternative would have been to come downstairs with nothing beneath the robe, which, of course, he couldn’t do with Courtney in the house. He usually slept naked and hadn’t even known he owned a nightshirt until he’d rummaged through his dresser. A cruel and malicious fate had decreed this nauseating beribboned garment to be the only thing with which he could quickly cover himself.
Gideon shoved his fingers through his hair in disgust. It was amazing that Miss Step hadn’t broken into gales of laughter at the sight of him in rosebuds and pink ribbons. It annoyed the hell out of him that she probably assumed it was his habit to wear such feminine-looking apparel.
He cleared his throat. “It won’t take me long to dress.”
“If you would just be reasonable about letting me—”
“We settled that argument. I won. You lost. Remember?”
He knew he sounded like the very tyrant she’d called him, but he refused to continue standing there dressed as he was. When this confrontation ended, he intended to have his pants on.
“I have an excellent memory,” she said with surprising calm.
Had she finally learned which of them was in charge?
“Wait here,” he instructed briskly.
She opened her mouth.
He raised an eyebrow, daring her to balk at his command. A half second passed. Obviously, she was weighing the ramifications of further rebellion.
“All right.”
It was nice to know that the universe had returned to its proper course, a course where Courtney and her intrepid schoolmistress yielded to his authority. “Help yourself to another glass of sherry. I won’t be long.”
Emma watched Courtney’s uncle stride from the room. She had no intention of having more sherry, or of cooling her heels while he went upstairs to dress. It was time the insufferable toad learned he could not bend everyone to his will. A flash of satisfaction swept through her as she thanked the Creator for the honor of being allowed to prick the overinflated bubble of Gideon Cade’s pride.
She wasted no time in vacating the library, moving quickly through the hall. It occurred to her that, if Miss Hempshire closed the academy as immediately as she’d announced she would, Courtney might not return to school. Emma experienced a pang of sadness that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye.
When she stepped into the entry, the sight of her torn and muddy cloak hanging from the coatrack next to the front door stopped her. It seemed as if a dozen years had passed since she first entered Mr. Cade’s residence. As she spread the timeworn garment over her shoulders, she remembered the dog.
Drat, she had no desire to burden poor Duncan with the likes of Courtney’s coldhearted uncle or his bizarre butler. Even though she hadn’t the means to support even herself for long in Denver, she impetuously decided to take the hound with her.
Emma altered her path and followed the direction Broadbent had taken when he led the dog away. She walked through a faintly lit hallway, past a spacious dining chamber and down a short flight of stairs. Another turn brought her into a large, well-scrubbed kitchen.
The dim light leaking from a trimmed lamp revealed large copper kettles hanging above an immense brick fireplace. There was also a substantial cookstove. On one of the wide counters sat a blue ceramic bowl over which a white cloth had been spread. A small bulge pushed upward at the draped cloth, indicating that bread dough was rising beneath it. Two apple pies cooled beside a deep steel sink. A large smoked ham lay next to the short-handled pump. Various tall cabinets and a sturdy wood table surrounded by half a dozen chairs added to the room’s aura of secure abundance.
At the rich aroma wafting from the apple pies, smoked ham and expanding bread dough, Emma’s steps faltered. She’d been so upset by Miss Loutitia’s news about the academy closing that she’d paced her bedchamber instead of going downstairs for supper. Emma’s stomach growled in recognition of how long it had been since she ate. She sympathized more keenly with Duncan for having to depend upon the kindness of strangers to supply him with food.
Forcing herself to ignore the thickly crusted apple pies’ siren call, she looked around the meagerly lit room in hopes of finding the stray hound.
“Duncan, where are you?”
Only her own rapid breathing disturbed the chamber’s silence. She saw the vague outline of a door through the shadowy darkness and walked toward it. She’d almost reached it when her right foot slammed into a chair leg. Pain shot from her toes through her entire body.
“Ow! Ooh, oh, that hurts!” She didn’t know which was louder, her cries or the raw scrape of the chair against the wood-planked floor.
Standing on one foot, she leaned forward and massaged her throbbing toes. It was difficult to see past the tears that had sprung to her eyes, but she forced herself to limp the rest of the way to the door. It opened to the outside. She was dismayed to discover a thick fog had drifted into town.
“Duncan,” she called again. Then she realized the fickle mutt probably didn’t comprehend that he’d been newly christened. “Here, doggy, it’s time to leave.”
Nothing disturbed the dank grayness that enveloped her. “I’m going now. I’ll be at the academy.” She was wasting her breath. Even if the dog was hiding nearby, he couldn’t possibly understand her.
She waited a moment longer, listening for a canine whine or whimper. Hearing nothing, she shifted her attention to the misty, otherworldly landscape that surrounded her. In even the best of circumstances, finding her bearings was challenging. In this macabre situation, she felt utterly disoriented.
She tried to visualize the position of the side doorway she’d stepped through in relation to the mansion’s exterior as it faced the street. It seemed that, if she walked straight ahead for a couple of yards and then turned right—no left—she would be heading toward the flagstone path she’d used to reach the front porch. When she found that path, she would go in the opposite direction and turn left…or was it right? No, a left turn would point her in the direction of the academy. Well, she hoped so, anyway.
Emma drew her thin cloak about her and tried to remember why she’d been so opposed to having Courtney’s uncle give her a ride in his carriage.
Oh, yes, he was an arrogant cur who terrorized others so that he could have his way. Also, there was a predatory look in his brooding eyes that made her skin tingle and her heart pound. She didn’t like how she felt when he was breathing down her neck, as if she were melting from the inside out and not in control of her mind and body.
Hoping for a stroke of good fortune, she surged forward into the fog. A fresh bolt of pain radiated from her right foot. It did little for her tranquillity to realize she would be limping all the way back to the academy. She tried to dispel the feeling that she was an injured warrior surrendering the battlefield to a superior foe. Besides, if she had been vanquished, it was only because he’d employed unfair tactics.
She took only a few steps before she smacked into what must have been a brick wall. Her injured foot registered its anguished protest. Emma braced one hand against the wall and reached down to comfort her battered toes.
The wall shifted unexpectedly, and she lost her balance. “Oh!”
Amazingly, the wall reached out to steady her.
“Well, Miss Step, now that we’ve established your word is worthless, shall we be on our way?”
As he’d certainly intended, the insulting question stung her pride.
She refused to feel one iota of guilt for trying to escape his odious company. “I was under no obligation to stay.”
“Only the obligation of having agreed to do so.”
“You…you bullied me into agreeing to wait.”
The powerful fingers gripping her arms tightened. She didn’t delude herself that she possessed the strength to pull free. He wasn’t hurting her. He was effectively demonstrating that his strength was superior to hers.
“I don’t resort to bullying to achieve my goals. I simply insist that those who deal with me abide by the laws of logic.”
Had her foot not been in such agony, she would have kicked the smug man soundly. And the blow would have landed where Johnny McGuire had taught her all men were vulnerable. While he was doubled over in pain, she would have sprinted away.
“Would you do me a favor?” she asked with as much calm as she could muster.
“What is it?” Definite suspicion laced the query.
“Put your lips together and keep them that way until we bid each other farewell.” That event could not come soon enough for her.
“Considering your age, don’t you think it’s time you stopped lapsing into such childish baiting?”
Emma choked down a hiss. Why did he insist on harping about her age? Just how old did he think she was? “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m twenty-four.”
“Really? I’d thought perhaps you were thirty.”
“Let me go.”
“Now I’ve upset you.”
Upset her? She was miles beyond upset. How dare he make such a cruel and thoughtless remark! He might have just as easily said she looked like a shriveled old maid with a hump on her back and had the word spinster branded on her forehead. Oh, she knew thirty wasn’t such an advanced age, but when a woman was single, she tended to be sensitive about such observations.
“Take me to your carriage.”
“I’ve noticed that even when you’re being reasonable, Miss Step, there’s a definite edge to your voice.”
He released his hold. Before she could celebrate the victory, he moved beside her and cupped her elbow in a guiding gesture. She gritted her teeth and began walking. Blasted, aggravating—
“Why are you limping?”
“Because one of your kitchen chairs attacked me before I could gain my freedom from this monstrous edifice you call a house.”
He stopped and knelt down. “What were you doing in the kitchen?”
“I was looking for that stupid dog, of course.”
He began to fiddle with the hem of her skirts. “You planned on taking him with you?”
“I considered it my duty to liberate him from—” She broke off and tried to back away. When had he suddenly become fascinated with her petticoats? “What do you think you’re doing? Stop that!”
She batted ineffectually at his roving hands. Instead of answering, he pulled her unceremoniously to the ground. She landed in a sitting position.
“I said to stop—”
“Hold still.”
“I will not! Get your hands off my limbs.”
“Relax, I’m just raising your skirts.”
“If you think I’m going to let you molest me in your yard, you’ve lost what little sense you have.”
He looked up. Because his face was so near, she had little difficulty making out his rugged features. “Miss Step, I have no doubt you are right. I do seem to have lost my senses where you’re concerned, however, I can assure you that I would never molest you in my yard. Believe me, there are more comfortable places to become acquainted with what’s beneath your skirts.”
“You blackguard! No matter how nefarious your behavior, all you dwell upon is your own comfort.”
“On the contrary, it would be your comfort I’d be considering. Now behave yourself. I want to judge how badly you damaged yourself while in my ‘monstrous’ house.”
“It’s too dark to see anything.”
“Damn, you’re right.” He pulled her skirt down.
She was in the middle of a sigh of relief when he stood and swept her into his arms. The world tilted alarmingly. “Put me down!”
“Miss Step, has anyone ever pointed out that you are an extremely bossy woman? In the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve barked out more orders than Sherman probably issued on his march to the sea.”
She was bossy? Clearly, the man suffered from delusions. She refused to say anything else until…She envisioned no circumstance wherein she would exchange further conversation with him.
“Would it kill you to cooperate?” His tone was at once aggravated and strained.
“If I’m too heavy, you’d best set me down.”
“It’s my intent to carry you inside,” he growled softly.
The low, hostile sound put her in mind of Duncan. “Then do so.”
“I will—as soon as you let go of the hairs on my chest.”
Emma’s face went hot. Immediately her fingers relaxed their death grip on his shirt. “Uh, I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” came the gruff response.
He proceeded toward the house. Even her guilty embarrassment couldn’t compel her to twine her arms around his neck. With her hands folded in front of her, she suspected she was an awkward bundle to manage, but that was his problem. She’d been willing, after all, to limp along beside him.
She was relieved when they reached the slightly raised step at the side of the house. Being transported by Courtney’s uncle through vaporous, otherworldly mists was surely the stuff of nightmares.
While shifting her weight to one arm, he reached forward to unlatch the door. Even though she knew she wasn’t heavy, she was still impressed by his strength and admitted he was a splendidly formed man. Too bad his character didn’t measure up to the rest of him.
“If you’d put your arms around my neck, this would be easier.”
“Stop playing Sir Walter Raleigh, and you’ll have both hands free.”
“I bet you’ve lost count of the times you’ve been called overbearing.” He leaned to the side, managing to get the door open. “They must call you General Step at the Academy.”
He carried her through the side door into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the leashed male strength at his disposal. He sat her on the kitchen table and turned the nearby lamp to increased brightness.
She assured herself it wasn’t concern that tightened his expression. He raised her skirts again. She said nothing, even though her stockings and lace-bordered pantalets were exposed to his view. Instead, she crossed her arms and imagined she was tucked safely in her own bed.
“Which foot is it?”
He didn’t look up as he asked the question, and she continued to have an unrestrained view of his thick pelt of black hair.
His head jerked up. She was pinned by a pair of relentless dark eyes. Swallowing, she decided she would limit herself to strictly necessary speech.
“The right one.”
He looked down again. She felt him gingerly remove her shoe. Despite his obvious care, a flash of pain spiraled through her. She flinched and sucked in her breath.
“Sorry,”, he muttered, his head blocking her view of the proceedings.
His warm fingers strayed upward, above her knee, where the garter beneath her pantalets held her gray stocking in place. There was no point in ordering him to cease his outrageous liberties. Other than crowning him on the head with the smoked ham by the sink, she’d learned, there was no way he could be stopped.
The throbbing in her toes lessened as her awareness became centered on the strangely hypnotic feel of his gentle touch. She closed her eyes. The stocking came down slowly. The caress of air stirred against her bare foot. She raised her eyelids. The scandalous sight of her limp gray stocking dangling over one of Mr. Cade’s broad shoulders greeted her. Against the flimsy garment, the black suit jacket he wore looked as rigid as armor.
“Damn, you really hurt yourself.”
For no reason at all, tears came to her eyes. She did feel hurt, perhaps even battered. The fact kept intruding into her thoughts that in less than two weeks all she would have between her and starvation was the meager funds she’d secreted beneath her mattress.
He cradled her heel in one wide palm while pulling a chair forward. Never taking his focus from her foot, he sat down. “I don’t think you broke any toes, but they’re swollen and turning purple.”
With him sitting, she could see the results of the chair’s assault. At a time when she needed to search for employment, she was going to be reduced to hobbling from place to place.
“One thing’s certain, you won’t be running any footraces soon.” His tone was unexpectedly sympathetic.
The warm pressure of moisture built behind her eyes. What a wretched time for him to start acting kindly. It was easier to deal with Mr. Cade when he was at his nastiest. How dare he unsettle the last of her composure by sneakily changing tactics.
At that moment, she would have given her soul for a clean white hankie. Instead, she was reduced to wiping her nose with the edge of her cloak. Seeing her worn, muddied shoe tossed heedlessly a few inches from the heel of his brilliantly polished boot made her feel even lower than the beetle she’d fancied herself earlier. Bits of matted newspaper littered the floor. Sitting on the table with her bare leg exposed to her knee—which was where he’d shoved the hem of her pantalets—her dress flecked with mud and her toes turning purple, she felt downright pitiful. Courtney’s uncle would probably have rather had a sack of soiled laundry on his table than her own sorry self.
She sniffed.
He raised his head. The dark eyes lancing into her didn’t hold a trace of pity. No, it was something else, something elemental and…shockingly intense. Her stomach turned over. It abruptly occurred to her how improper it was for her exposed limb to be thrust forward for his examination. While her thoughts were diverted by her threatened circumstances, he’d removed his grip from her heel. It rested with bold familiarity upon his inner thigh. She forgot anything so mundane as throbbing toes.