"No, I mean, it's hard to believe he went to Harvard. I know they let in those Siamese and Chinese princes and a Frog sometimes, even a Russian duke now and then, but not a half-breed. Hell, no, I don't believe it."
"Shit, I don't care if he's civilized enough to ball the Queen of England," Yancy brusquely said, ignoring Blaze altogether. "We need that parcel. Now, how're going to get it?"
"Why don't I go and talk to him?" Blaze very quietly said.
"Out of the question," her father curtly retorted. "You heard. He's killed three men lately.
"Really, Daddy, the man seemed quite—" Blaze paused, searching for the proper word since the one that came to mind—expert—would occasion licentious comment. "Pleasant with women," she finished in a level tone. "I heard him speak to the Chief Justice's wife and I briefly conversed with him myself. If it's the same man, I don't think he'll harm a woman. Let me try. At least I may be able to get close enough to talk to him."
Various opinions immediately broke out into a heated buzz of masculine voices. Blaze patiently waited. They knew, as she knew, that her suggestion was the only reasonable option short of massing an army. Yancy hadn't been able to get within speaking distance today, and both times he'd been driven off at rifle point. Without her attempt, they'd be returning to Virginia City one parcel short of an extremely profitable piece of mining property.
"I say we try it," Frank said.
"I say no!" Colonel Braddock snapped.
Bestowing on her father a calm, rational look that always seemed to convince him that what she wanted wasn't as rash as it sounded, Blaze countered, "Daddy, it's not as though I can't defend myself. You know I'm reasonably good with my Colts. You taught me yourself." She didn't mention that if this Hazard was the same Indian she'd drawn on in Diamond City in May, she'd have to rely on his good graces rather than her speed with pistols to protect herself. "Please, Daddy," she said, her smile ravishingly imploring.
Colonel Braddock vacillated, his eyes on his daughter's confident face, while his colleagues urged him to agree.
"Come on, Billy, it's broad daylight. What can happen?"
"We'll be standing right at the bottom of the hillside," another man added.
"He wouldn't hurt a woman. Likes women, rumor has it… a lot."
Billy Braddock's scowl deepened with that remark and Turledge smoothly observed, "Attenborough invited him to the ball, remember; looked as much a gentleman as any of us, it seemed to me."
"Turledge's right, Daddy. He wouldn't have been invited to the ball if he wasn't acceptable." Of course Blaze knew exactly to whom he was acceptable. No need to mention that. She looked at him expectantly. She was his only child; he loved her and, dammit, never knew how to deny her anything.
Blaze was counting on that. One more quiet "please" and he helplessly acquiesced.
JON Hazard stood under a clear sun at the crest of the rubble-strewn trail, hard, slender, hellishly curious, his rifle loosely disposed across his arms. Out of range of any firearm manufactured, squinting down the sun-baked landscape, he calmly watched the group of dark-coated men a thousand yards down mountain and inquisitively watched the slow ascent of the long-legged woman with hair like a cloud of shimmering sunsets. The trail was rough, uneven, littered with schist debris, all infinitely useful in gauging someone's approach.
She wore black twill trousers tucked into black highly polished English riding boots. Hazard transiently wondered which servant had been taken along to keep the boots so exquisitely shined. A white linen blouse, hand-tucked in scores of tiny pleats, enhanced the remembered golden glow of her skin, darkened to an almost unladylike hue since he'd seen her last. She must have left her parasol behind in Virginia City, he satirically reflected.
He knew why she was climbing the hill. He recognized the group of richly dressed men at the base of the mountain.
When she approached within ten yards, Hazard shifted his position fractionally, his finger easing away from the cocked trigger. Their eyes met; she flushed, then paled so the delicate face was contoured with rosy highlights. Admiration remotely stirred in his cool, dark eyes. "You interrupted my noon meal. Leave your guns outside." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back to his rough home, opened the door, and went inside.
Leaving her guns, Blaze walked across the small porch and stood at the entrance. Hazard was already sitting and eating. His suavely muscled brown torso, marked here and there with pale scars of healed wounds, disconcerted her—both the inscribed mementos of battle and the nakedness. He wore only antelope skin leggings5 and moccasins, his newly barbered hair, tangled and damp from exertion under the midday sun, a thin sheen of perspiration accenting the grace of his body. "May I come in?"
He raised his eyebrows, studying the slim woman before him. His memory of her had been accurate, although in daylight, she was younger than he remembered —and more beautiful. "Of course," he said.
When Blaze entered the small room, he rose, moved to the door, and shut it. Walking back, he paused, standing very close to her, and it seemed as though a warmth emanated from him; his dark eyes turned their full attention on her. Her eyes drifted to his mouth of their own volition and she remembered the burning fire of his kisses.
His slender arching hand flicked toward the table. "Would you care to join me?" he politely murmured as though he'd never felt the fine silk of her skin or tasted the sweet welcome of her desire. "Not up to your usual standards, I'm sure," he serenely noted, his voice by con-trast lambent heat, "but sufficient to keep body and soul together."
"Thank you, no," Blaze replied to the man known to most people diffidently as Hazard, her own memories of him suddenly too vivid. Unexpected qualms and unfamiliar feelings made her too nervous to eat. His food was simple: fried bread; a large steak, of elk or venison, she guessed; coffee; and a large tin container of raspberries.
"Try the berries anyway," he remarked, moving back to the table. "The boy from McTaggert's spent all morning picking them." He sat and began eating again.
"No, thank you," she repeated, determined to come straight to the point. She found him more disturbing than expected and the memories of the Territorial Ball too volatile to casually dismiss. Unconsciously squaring her shoulders, she said as calmly as possible, "I'm here to offer you a business proposition."
Glancing up, his gaze trapped hers and for a moment Blaze saw only luminous eyes and a dark, indulgent amusement. "A business proposition. I see."
Blaze relaxed. She'd known he'd be reasonable once one was close enough to talk to him. Yancy Strahan's business methods had never appealed to her either. Now it was simply a matter of agreeing on price.
Hazard wondered which businessman down at the bottom of the mountain owned her. She wasn't married, she'd said the night of the ball, yet was traveling with that group of men. Whoever it was must have brought her from the East; she was more refined than the available women out here. He understood what the business proposition entailed.
He could visualize her businessman protector now, telling her what to do… how to approach him… what to say; using her to try to get him another way— with a bribe and lure as old as man. So here she was, too nervous to sit down with him. Not sure exactly what to expect from a wild Indian who had threatened to shoot their last agent only this morning.
"You're aware your claim is contiguous to several promising properties," Blaze began, interrupting Hazard's reflections.
"Sit down. Do you have a name?" he asked, ignoring her opening gambit, and went back to his meal.
She hesitated briefly, for his presence was disconcertingly invasive, as though he'd touched her with his words and glance.
Lifting his eyes for a moment from his task of cutting his meat, Hazard said, "Do you?" and waited expectantly until she spoke:
"Miss Braddock." And sat down.
Ah, he thought, pretentions from a kept woman. Not Mary Braddock or Amy or Cora, but Miss Braddock. Would she be refined in bed as well? he facetiously mused. He ate then while Blaze in a small, dignified voice apologized for Yancy's discourtesy and began listing the claims around him Buhl had purchased. "So you see, Mr. Black," she continued, more assured without his dark gaze on her, "as an agent for Buhl Mining I'm prepared to offer you a very advantageous price for your claim."
She was really quite good, he thought. All the nuances of diction and substance were there. No doubt she'd been coached for the part. Hazard put down his knife and fork and pushed away his plate. "Fine. You're an agent of Buhl Mining Company," he mildly replied, but in the muted light, capricious with shadow, his face was civilly skeptical. "Just for the sake of argument," said Hazard encouragingly, "let's say I believe you." Sliding his chair back, he stood. Moving smoothly around the table, he pulled her to her feet. "Now then," he murmured, holding her straight shoulders, "what exactly are you willing to offer for my claim?"
His gaze, rested on Blaze's startled face, on the pale sunlight on her cheekbones, the slender bridge of her nose, on the ripe mouth. She seemed small, held close, and her soft lips, half open in surprise, were curiously beseeching. His hand moved to the buttons on her blouse and began opening one with unhurried fingers.
"I'm prepared—that is—Buhl's prepared to offer you—anything you want," Blaze softly stammered, mesmerized by his eyes, his touch, by the feelings that had sprung to life at his sudden nearness.
"Anything?" he quietly murmured. His dark fingers slipped under the linen and stroked the soft rise of one silken breast. "I like the sound of that." The feel of her skin was like rose petals, velvety and fine, and the thin chemise under the blouse was no obstacle at all to his sudden hunger. She opened her mouth to answer, but then his thumb and forefinger touched her nipple through the lacy fabric and the words lodged in her throat. Slowly, gently, he rubbed and teased each peaking crest into a rigid aching hardness. He hadn't kissed her yet, content to watch the lush sensuality infuse her face.
She stood very quietly beneath his hands. She was trained to be acquiescent though, he reminded himself. It was her job, the submissive pose. But he didn't mind. He was being offered a delectable break in his day and he'd be a fool to refuse it. He could take his time with her—that's why she'd been sent. So there'd be no interruptions. He might as well enjoy the bounties of corporate deviousness.
Her eyes were half closed, her breathing hushed, when he reached up to slip the cool linen from her shoulders, down her arms, over her small hands, freeing it from her body. His palms glided down the smoothness of her back; how fragile she felt under his callused hands. Tugging the blouse out of her trousers, he carefully laid it on the chair. The sheer white chemise, more lace than silk, scarcely concealed her upright breasts straining against the light material, nor the peaked nipples pressing like supplicants through the filmy undergarment.
Instinctively her arms came up to shield herself.
"Very nice gesture. Such a classic, but," Hazard said, pushing aside her protective arms, "I want to look at you before I fuck you." He deliberately used the coarse word, to remind her as well as himself that this scenario was bought and paid for by Buhl Mining Company—her owner, his adversary. She colored and appeared confused, but her sky-blue eyes were helpless when they gazed into his unflinching black depths.
He lowered his head with deliberate slowness to kiss her, excited despite himself by the stripping away of her habitual grace and poise. Whether artificial or not, the innocent confusion was erotically provocative and the throbbing in his groin swelled prominently against the leather leggings. She whimpered softly when their lips touched and this time her mouth opened of its own accord under his. He was being offered several heated degrees more than acquiescence in the gesture, and when he tasted the sweetness of her mouth, her tongue softly played with his, twined and teased, then winsomely danced away. He noted the difference immediately; she was responding like a young girl to a lesson previously learned. He marveled at the delicate sense of naivete she was able to portray, gave her high points as an actress, and looked forward to a very pleasant afternoon.