A Texan's Honour

Praise for Kate Welsh:

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS ‘A mistaken identity and a deathbed promise throw two strangers into marriage and mayhem. Welsh’s latest is a heartwarming novel about greed, revenge, love and desire.’ —RT Book Reviews

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR ‘The plot is compelling, with several subplots that add complexity to the story. The well-developed characters are likable, and make the reader care about what happens to them.’ —RT Book Reviews

His move west was supposed to mean he’d be blazing a new path for himself. Alone.

No reminders of his past. No associations that tied him to anyone. But there she sat—looking so alone and forlorn. How could he not offer help when she could leave her past behind too and he could easily help her do it?

“You don’t know where to run, do you?”

Her hands still clutched the pouch containing the jewelry. “No,” she said.

And that one bleak, hopelessly spoken word sealed his fate.

As a child, KATE WELSH often lost herself in creating make-believe worlds and happily-ever-after tales. Many years later she turned back to creating happy endings when her husband challenged her to write down the stories in her head. A lover of all things romantic, Kate has been writing romance for over twenty years now. Her first published novels hit the stands in 1998.

Kate was Valley Forge Romance Writers’ first president, and is currently their vice-president. She lives her own happily-ever-after in the Philadelphia suburbs, with her husband of over thirty years, her daughter, their one-hundred-pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever Ecko, and Kali, the family cat.

Kate loves hearing from readers, who can reach her on the internet at kate_welsh@verizon.net

Previous novels by the author:

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS

A TEXAN’S HONOUR features characters

you will have met in

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Texan’s Honour

Kate Welsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Prologue

Ireland

May 10, 1843

Midnight

It was officially Alexander Reynolds’s twelfth birthday. The mantel clock, in the bedroom he always used on visits to Adair, had struck the final note of midnight. But he was too excited to sleep. At dinner, his Uncle James had told him the book Alexander had been begging for was in the library and his for the taking. He’d also promised Alexander a birthday surprise in the morning.

His uncle, the Earl of Adair, who was very busy caring for the family and its interests, always made time for him and his own son, Alex’s cousin, Jamie. Alexander’s father, Oswald, spent all his time bitterly complaining that he himself wasn’t the earl.

Alex pushed those sad thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about his father. He wanted to be happy for one whole day—from midnight to midnight. And he didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Sliding from bed, Alexander crept along the hall, down the back stairs. He carefully opened the door to his uncle’s library. Uncle James was there, sitting in the tall mahogany chair behind his desk. He’d fallen asleep there, as he often did. Just as Alexander was about to tiptoe into the room, he heard his father’s voice. He couldn’t see him and was relieved because if his father saw him he’d be angry, and neither he nor his mother ever angered his father if they could help it. Alex started to back away.

But what his father was saying froze Alex in place. “Wake up, brother. I wanted you to know I’m sending you to your grave. And that sickly whelp of yours won’t be far behind. He’ll come down with something deadly or maybe I’ll arrange an accident. I’ll be earl within the year.”

“No. Please,” his uncle begged.

Before Alex could react, a gunshot echoed in the room and a crimson stain blossomed on the curtains near his uncle’s desk. Then Uncle James slumped forward and his head hit the desk with a sickening thud.

Terrified, grieving and sick to his stomach all at the same time, Alexander backed away from the door and crept to the backstairs. In his bare feet, he ran silently back to his room, shaking all the way.

As he made his way to his room, he heard servants rushing through the house. He climbed into bed, shivering and trying to think. He didn’t know what to do. If he told someone what he’d seen, would they hang his father? Would that be so terrible? he had to wonder. But whom could he tell who would be sure to punish his father and save Jamie?

His mother was too cowed by his father. She couldn’t even stop him from beating Alex. He just turned on her and she ran away crying. Suppose his father killed all of them? Would that be Alex’s fault?

The butler, or the estate manager? No. Not anyone on the staff? No one would take a servant’s word over his father’s. And if Alex did say something to persons of authority on his own, suppose no one believed him? If his father could kill his own brother and said he was going to kill little Jamie, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t kill Alex for telling what he’d seen. He didn’t care about that, he realized. Except that it would leave Jamie alone, standing in the way of Oswald’s desire for the earldom. Jamie would be at his mercy. Without Alex to help him, Jamie wouldn’t stand a chance.

It was too late to help Uncle James, or even get justice for him. But Alex would guard his cousin with his own life.

Alex swore to Jamie he would do just that when the next morning he found Jamie crying in his room over the news of his father’s suicide.

That was how—on his twelfth birthday—Alexander Reynolds’s childhood had ended, forcing him to keep a terrible secret and a sacred promise.

Chapter One

New York City

September 1878

“Mister Reynolds,” his cousin’s butler said as he entered the study. Alexander looked up from the map he’d been studying as the tall gray-haired man continued, “A young woman claiming to be a friend of the countess has arrived. She seems a bit … nervous, sir. I thought perhaps you would be kind enough to explain that the earl and countess have sailed for Ireland.”

“It is rather late.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Alex took a sip of his cognac, cautious as always to assume the careless persona he showed the world. Soon he would be free to let go of that facade. Soon that character and everything that had created him would be in the past and he could figure out who the hell he really was.

“Not looking forward to disappointing the lady, Winston?” he pretended to tease. “You never have that problem when I ask you to send a persistent mamma on her way.”

Winston stiffened to his tallest, most formal self. “This is different. Disappointing teary-eyed, exhausted females is not my forte, sir.”

“You think it’s mine?” Alex asked carefully. Was it?

“Not at all. But as I mentioned, she seems to be worried. And fretful. I suppose I could awaken Heddie—”

“No. No,” Alex said on a sigh. Mrs. Winston worked hard every day and was doing more than usual closing up Jamie’s house and with little help. He on the other hand had been doing nothing but marking time until what he thought of as his real life began.

Dammit. Why couldn’t this woman have waited another day to show up on his cousin’s doorstep? “I suppose I should earn my keep around here.”

Winston’s left eyebrow rose imperiously. “I believe you did that into perpetuity in San Francisco. You saved the lives of the earl and countess, their child and the lives of the entire household staff.”

And all he’d had to do to accomplish that was to kill his own father. Alex knocked back the rest of his snifter of Jamie’s best cognac.

The guilt from that night and from the years of hesitation and half measures that had preceded it threatened to crush him. He would have done it years earlier had he known it would come to that. He hoped so at least. It would have saved others endless heartache, his own years of regret and several lives.

“I’d best be off to handle this dirty work for you,” Alex joked, forcing his thoughts into the present. “Where did you leave the young lady? Not on the doorstep, I hope.”

“Sir! Of course not. I showed her to the front parlor.”

Alex forced a grin. Sometimes it was exceedingly tiring to pretend a lightheartedness he didn’t feel. “I never thought otherwise. Take a breath, Winston.” He stood to go in search of … “The young lady in question, Winston, what is her name?”

“Mrs. Patience Wexler Gorham.”

Alex rose. “I should hurry, I suppose. It has been my experience that women named Patience have little of the virtue to call their own.”

Winston nodded smartly, then withdrew. Alex strode down the stairs and along the hall of the New York town house. The house spoke of his cousin Jamie’s success. But, even more, of his determination to get out from under Alex’s father’s shadow.

Alex had always pretended to be the carefree one but somehow Jamie had managed to blossom into all that was sunshine and light. He smiled. Seeing Jamie so happy made everything he’d done since he’d turned twelve worthwhile.

Meanwhile Alex had spent years as a phantom and now he couldn’t quite find his way out of the darkness. It was his turn to crawl from behind the shadow that had been Oswald Reynolds, just as Jamie had done. The next step on that journey was leaving New York to begin his new life on the Rocking R, the Texas Hill Country ranch he’d bought. He was counting on the completely foreign, totally sunny atmosphere to free him of some of the weight on his shoulders. Of the darkness in his soul.

Because he couldn’t seem to do it for himself.

He stepped into the doorway of the parlor, a lovely, light-infused room with Louis Quinze furnishings, gleaming white woodwork and golden brocade-inset wall panels. Three exquisite crystal chandeliers kept it bright even at night.

But the beauty of the decorating paled in the presence of the lovely creature standing near the fireplace. He stared for a long moment at her reflection in a mirror on a side wall. Her profile was delicate, her green eyes heavily fringed with dark lashes and her hair a rich auburn.

Alex’s heart bumped in his chest when he cleared his throat and she spun to face him. Disappointment flooded those crystalline eyes. Winston, you rotter.

He cleared his tight throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gorham,” he said. “I come the bearer of unfortunate news. My cousin, Jamie, and his wife sailed this morning for his estate in Ireland.”

“No,” she cried. Her creamy complexion went instantly pale. “Oh, no! What am I to do now?” She looked suddenly as if all the starch had gone out of her. Wobbling a bit, she made a grab for the mantel.

Alex knew an overwrought woman when he saw one. The hand gripping the solid surface would hold her upright only so long. He reached her just in time to catch her before she could pitch forward on her face. He scooped her up then laid her on the settee. But she didn’t awaken. Not even when he went from patting her hand to stroking the lovely creature’s smooth cheek. He looked down upon her and found himself, just for a moment, tumbling headlong into love.

Then he got his head round straight. Lust. This was only lust. And look what pain that had wrought in his life so far! He’d lost all right to the child born of what he’d thought was love, but now knew to have been that baser emotion.

“Oh, dear. I was correct, then. The young thing is more than a bit upset,” Winston said from the hall, pulling Alex out of haunting memories.

“I’d say that is the greatest of understatements. Call your wife, would you, Winston? I think the lady may need a woman when she wakes.”

“But, sir, what are we to do about her after that?”

Alex sighed. This was a complication, to be sure, but what else could he do? “It is quite late and we can hardly send her out alone into the dark of night. I don’t think the earl would mind if we gave her a room till morning if she is in need of lodging.”

“I believe Lady Meara’s room could be readied in a thrice, sir. Heddie made it up and put the dust covers in place this afternoon.”

“I’m as sorry as I can be about having to awaken your wife but I think proprieties should be followed as much as possible.”

Winston nodded. “I’ll wake the wife and send her along then I’ll go and uncover everything. You can bring the young lady up while my wife dresses.”

Alex sighed in relief. “Thank you, Winston. I confess I’m completely at sea as to what to do for her. Or to say to her.”

“Perhaps you might listen when she wakes, sir.”

Alex frowned. Not what he wanted to hear. He could actually feel himself being pulled into a situation he wanted nothing to do with. Yet … “I suppose that means first I would be expected to ask what it is she came here to accomplish.” He wasn’t sure what good he’d be to her. He was barely any good to himself these days.

He received a reprieve of a sort because Mrs. Gorham—Patience—had not awakened by the time Winston returned. The butler reported that he’d readied the room and that his wife was dressing as quickly as possible.

Not knowing what else to do for the young woman, Alex lifted her slight weight into his arms and carried her up to little Meara’s room. He laid her on the counterpane and stepped back.

Looking around the room he smiled helplessly. It held the stamp of Meara, the child he could never claim as his own though he was her true father. Several years earlier Jamie had married the woman Alex had loved. She had given birth to Meara seven months after their nuptials. Alex, absent from England at the time, had had no idea he’d left Iris pregnant when he’d gone off on a mission. She’d died some months after Meara’s birth in a fall from a horse. Legally Meara was Jamie’s daughter. But more important, Jamie loved Meara no less than if she was his natural child. In fact, Jamie said he loved her more because she was Alex’s daughter. Alex shook his head in consternation. The inner workings of his cousin’s mind were ever a mystery.

His heart aching for all that would never be, Alex walked to the window and looked out, concerned to see a man walking up and down the street, checking yards and obviously searching for something. He glanced at the bed.

Or someone.

A moan from their guest told him his temporary housemate had decided to join him. He walked to the bed, grabbing a small chair on his way, and sat next to her.

Her eyes drifted open then widened in what could only be named terror. Judging from the way she sprang into a sitting position and shrank away to the other side of the bed, no doubt the person who had her so frightened must be a male. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” she gasped and looked around frantically. “Where am I?”

“At the home of your friend, Amber, in her stepdaughter Meara’s room,” he told her. “You swooned when I told you the earl and countess had gone from America to Ireland.”

She blinked and colored before she took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “Oh, yes. Of course. I’m so terribly sorry to have caused such an uproar. I traveled all day and I haven’t eaten. I won’t trouble you further,” she added and began to scoot away toward the other side of the bed and the door. “I must get on my way.”

Alex wrapped a staying hand around her delicate arm, tilted his head and considered the pretty young woman for a long moment. He took in her frozen expression, as well, and carefully let go of her arm. “Where will you go? You seemed not to know what you would do now that the countess is away.”

Tears welled up in her startling eyes, magnifying the multihued qualities of their green color. He had never seen their like. “But that isn’t your problem,” she whispered as if forcing the words forth.

“But I fear it is of interest to a certain man moving furtively along the street, checking yards.”

She sucked in a breath and cast her fear-filled gaze toward the window.

“Perhaps you need help, even if only from the cousin of the earl?” Alex asked, shocked to his toes to hear himself ask the question. Why could he not learn to mind his own business? He was to leave in the morning.

She blinked and hesitantly leaned back against the headboard. “Alexander? You’re Alexander?”

He forced a smile, though he loathed that name having heard it on his father’s lips one too many times. “My reputation seems to have preceded me. I hope what you’ve heard hasn’t been all bad.”

“On the contrary. Amber calls you a hero. She wrote about the problems in San Francisco and how you saved them all from certain death. I am sorry it cost you so much personally.”

Alex pushed thoughts of that night out of his mind. He relived it often enough in his nightmares. “I did only what I had to do. The question is how may I help you? We—Winston and I—already assume you’ll stay the night.”

She looked at her hands where she’d rested them in her lap. “That is very kind of you but I don’t wish to put you out. Or to cause you trouble. My father is a powerful man.”

“I assure you, powerful men rarely frighten me. I cut my teeth on a father who probably makes yours look like a petulant angry kitten. We seem to have troublesome sires in common. So tell me. What is so forbidding about yours that you would flee him?”

She sighed, staring at him as if weighing her options. The expression in her startling eyes clearly put him in the dubious category of the lesser of two evils. Truly, nothing new to him.

“I am a recent widow. My marriage was more on the lines of a prison sentence—though the prison itself was quite lovely.” She looked down again as if ashamed of her next statement. “My husband was very disappointed in me as a wife. To spite me, he went through his fortune in his last years. He left me penniless at his death. I had no choice but to return to my father. Father blames me for the problems in my marriage and now has arranged another marriage. Soon.”

Alex was incredulous, though why he would be after his treatment at his own father’s hands he did not know. Perhaps because she was so utterly angelic he couldn’t imagine any man, especially her father, not being softened by that endearing grace. “Your father blamed you?”

“My husband spoke ill of me to Father. And my father also holds a great grudge against me. My husband refused to allow me to travel, you see. Impatient to see her only daughter and how I was enjoying the wonderful marriage my father had arranged for me, my mother and brothers came to visit. She departed swiftly when she saw how unhappy I was. They were killed on their return trip. All of them.”

Alex’s own father had certainly been capable of such disloyalty. “And so your father blames you for their deaths and not your husband or the driver of the carriage?”

“My husband was a friend of Father’s and, as I said, he often spoke ill of me so I would have nowhere to go if I tried to flee my marriage. He claimed I’d grown full of myself and that I’d declared Mother would need to visit me if she wanted to see me. At least she left knowing the truth.”

“You said you’re recently widowed. For how long, if I may inquire?”

“Three months.”

He blinked. He knew Americans were less formal in general than the English but not in the upper echelons of society. Bedraggled as she had been on arriving, she was clearly from that group. “And yet, you said he wishes you to marry again soon.”

“The man is another of his friends though quite a bit younger. Mr. Bedlow has long wanted me.” She shivered and, though Alex could tell she tried to hide the reaction, he saw nonetheless.

“Father told me he has arranged our marriage for two weeks from now.”

“Am I to understand you don’t wish this man’s attention?”

She cast her gaze at her knotted fingers. “I refused the marriage, and more specifically the man, so Father locked me in my room. He told the servants they were not to feed me until I agreed to marry Mr. Bedlow. He made a mistake, though. Amber had come into my life at Vassar.” Patience’s smile was just a touch mischievous. “She taught me to climb trees. And the tree outside the terrace of my room has grown quite a bit since I lived there before my marriage. It was an avenue of escape. And I took it. I must admit, as afraid as I was of falling, my greatest fear was that if I fell and therefore failed to make my getaway, the fall might not kill me.”

Alex was truly horrified at the thought of a young woman preferring death to marriage to the man chosen for her. He wondered if his mother had had similar feelings when she’d been told of the marriage his grandfathers had arranged. And now he knew his father had eventually killed her. Or rather Alex had, by sharing the knowledge of his father’s misdeeds with her. If only she hadn’t found the courage to stand up to Oswald Reynolds over the earl’s murder.

If only he’d kept his own counsel.

Just then Mrs. Winston bustled in carrying a tray. “Time enough in the morning to make plans and decisions. Off with you now, Mr. Alex,” she ordered. “And here’s a bit of a snack, dearie. The husband says you fainted. Nothing a bit of soup and tea won’t cure.” She pinned Alex with a hard glare when he didn’t move. “What is it you’d be waiting around for, Mr. Alex?”

After assuring Patience that she’d be safe for the night, Alex stood and left, cursing his own cowardice. Had he not called upon Jamie’s love-able harridan of a housekeeper in the first place, he’d still be sharing a few more moments with their guest. Then he cursed his own stupidity and reminded himself that the only things he felt for Mrs. Gorham were lust and pity and he’d sworn not to let either emotion rule him in the future.

Patience stared after the admittedly handsome Alexander Reynolds as he left, having chivalrously promised to keep watch on the house while she slept. He’d been so kind. And had not even blinked an eye at all she’d revealed.

But really—what had possessed her to blurt out her shameful personal history? She tried to gain solace from the knowledge that she hadn’t spelled out the full spectrum of the degradation her husband had subjected her to.

But the question remained. In spite of all she already knew about Alexander Reynolds from Amber, she was unsure if she could trust him or any man ever again.

“You can trust that one,” Mrs. Winston said.

Patience jumped nearly a foot and her head instinctively snapped around to stare into the kindly face of the housekeeper who’d shooed Alexander away. It was as if she’d heard Patience’s thoughts. Her doubts. “How could you know what—?”