Authors: Robin Gideon
“Damn!” she muttered, drawing the critical attention of an elderly woman with diamond earrings that glittered in the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Pamela walked on, sipping the champagne more quickly than was wise, wanting to rush back to Garrett’s side, but refusing to give in to her fears. Deciding that fresh air was just what she needed most, Pamela stepped out of the ballroom into the mansion’s courtyard.
She finished her champagne and set the glass down on
a marble bird feeder. One of the army of passing servants
could pick it up later, she decided.
Breathing in deeply, she inhaled the fragrance of the
familiar country night, and her confidence began returning.
Inside the ballroom, where the smells of cigar smoke min
gled with those of perfume, she had been constantly reminded that she was someplace she shouldn’t be. Here in
the courtyard, though she was surrounded on all sides by
high walls, she was more at ease.
From the shadows to her right, she heard a soft, vaguely feminine sound. Pamela squinted to see better. Her eyes still adjusting to the darkness, she recognized Angie Darwell’s pale white flesh and stark black hair. Angie was in the arms of a well-dressed man not much taller than she was, though old enough to be her father. They were kissing, and the
man’s hand was on her breast, touching her through her
gown.
Pamela’s startled gasp drew their attention. The man glow
ered at Pamela, but Angie merely smiled her peculiar, cryptic
smile.
“Go inside, and I’ll speak with you later,” she instructed
the man, slipping out of his embrace. Her companion
started to protest, but Angie silenced him with a glaring
look from her piercing blue eyes. Then, just before he walked away—and clearly as much for Pamela’s benefit as
for the man’s—Angie kissed him hard on the lips with an
open mouth.
The man stumbled off, clearly shocked by Angie’s be
havior yet wanting more of her passionate attentions. Angie
smiled at Pamela.
“He’s a sweet man, really. Quite harmless. He’s been
so lonely since his wife died last winter,” Angie explained,
moving closer to Pamela. “And he’s positively loaded with gold.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you or chase him
away.”
Pamela’s ears and cheeks were getting warm. She was em
barrassed by what she’d seen, especially since Angie
seemed so at ease with her own sexuality and Pamela had
yet to put hers into perspective. Also, she was becoming
aware that she’d drank more than she should have.
“No need to apologize. It was nothing important.”
Angie’s blue gaze appraised Pamela. She’d already heard that Garrett Randolph had arrived with the bounty hunter’s sis
ter, whatever her name was.
“Not important?”
Pamela imagined being in Garrett’s arms, kissing him deeply
while he touched her breast. She’d always believed it im
portant. She valued Garrett, herself, and the passion they
shared much too much to think little of it.
Angie shrugged her slender shoulders. “I was only trying
to cheer him up. He’s been so sad lately.” She made a pushing gesture with her hand, as though to push aside the invisible presence of the wealthy old widower. The
man meant absolutely nothing to Angie, and the things she’d
just been doing with him had already been forgotten. “I’m
surprised to see you here.”
Pamela blushed a little but held Angie’s eyes. “Garrett brought me. Garrett Randolph.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of who he is,” Angie said. The
faintest hint of contempt came into her voice as she sized
up Pamela, whom she’d looked upon as an enemy from the
very beginning. She wondered exactly how great a threat
Pamela represented. “I’m just surprised he brought you here. He is going to be governor, you know.”
She heard the challenge, and she would not back down
from it. “I’m aware of that. He’s a good man. The people will vote for him.”
Angie smirked as though Pamela’s words were either terribly
funny or terribly naive. “The people will vote for whomever they’re told to vote for. Money and power win elec
tions, not the votes of every little jackass who takes the time to ride into Whitetail Creek to scrawl his pathetic X by some damned fool’s name.”
Angie’s bitterness, her hatred of ordinary people, caused
Pamela to take a step backward. Was that really the way elec
tions were won or lost? She didn’t want to believe the political process was so devious, or that Garrett could be a part of that, but if he was so honest and aboveboard
about everything, why had he become the Midnight Phantom…
and why hadn’t he confessed his identity to her?
“Do I shock you?” Angie continued, enjoying the horri
fied look on Pamela’s face. “I really don’t mean to. I just
think it’s important to shed some silly notions of the way
things get done in this world.” Angie grinned, studying
Pamela’s face. “Consider me your teacher and this dance
your first day at school.”
“Maybe I’d better just step back inside.” Pamela was trying
not to sound annoyed.
But her tone of voice revealed a lack of confidence, and for Angie Darwell, that was like a signal to attack.
“Let me come with you,” she said quickly, getting into
step with the much taller blonde. “I’ll continue your edu
cation.”
“Really, that’s not necessary.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” Angie scooped two glasses of
champagne from a passing tray, handing one to Pamela with
out spilling a drop.
“How long does it take you people to learn to do that?”
Pamela asked, shocked to see the same inane feat performed
again.
Why did it bother her? It was just one of a thousand
different indicators that let Pamela know Garrett and Angie came
from the same social circle, a circle that wouldn’t willingly
let her in. She was at the dance only because Garrett had
brought her, and everyone knew that.
“You don’t learn it,” Angie said, sipping her champagne
and weaving her way effortlessly through the crowd.
“You’re born with it, or you’re not.”
Pamela’s head was spinning. She finished her champagne,
hoping it would soothe her fevered brain and help her organize her thoughts.
Angie stayed at Pamela’s side, and introductions were finally made. Angie refused to be shrugged off.
As Pamela walked, stopping and starting as one does when not accustomed to moving in crowds, she wondered whether Angie and Garrett were sleeping together. If not,
why was Angie, looking like she’d been slapped in the face,
still by her side?
Of course they are sleeping together,
a voice whispered
in Pamela’s head.
Garrett sleeps with all the women he escorts
around town. That, it appeared, was an established fact.
Angie studied Pamela’s unstable walk and glassy eyes. The
mountain lioness had spotted a limping whitetail doe, and she was stalking it, waiting to go in for the kill at the moment she had the largest audience possible.
Angie intended to crush Pamela, to destroy her in front of all these people. When it was over, this upstart would know she could fuck Garrett, if that was what she really wanted to do, but she couldn’t have
the hubris to attend dances of this caliber with him without
suffering greatly for her error.
Angie Darwell wanted to live in the governor’s mansion, and if she was to do that, she had to be at Garrett’s side when he got there. Consequently, any other woman ac
companying him was an enemy whose destruction would
be an example to all who might think about crossing Angie
Darwell.
“Wait a minute, Pamela,” Angie said, taking her prey’s wrist
to stop her. “Let’s talk. There’s no reason for you to run from me.”
Pamela, knowing the Darwell mentality, sensed a trap was be
ing set. But what was it? In a blinding flash of under
standing, she realized she and Garrett had been behaving as though they were lovers, though she hadn’t yet confessed
to him that she knew he was the Midnight Phantom. And
because Angie had made no secret of it, everyone knew
she intended to be Garrett’s wife when he accepted the
responsibility of life as a prominent politician.
Pamela also realized with horror that, because of the wine
she’d had in the carriage and the champagne she’d drunk at the dance, she no longer had complete control of her
thoughts and feelings.
She looked into Angie’s eyes and saw the anger bubbling
in the wealthy young heiress’s soul. All around her the
guests gathered to watch the lioness devour her prey. Blood sport, Pamela now understood, was a major source of amusement among the highborn.
“Stay away from me, Angie. I’m warning you,” Pamela
whispered, sensing the impending attack and deciding to
go on the offensive rather than wait for it.
“You’re warning me?” Angie stepped back. In all her
life, she’d only been threatened twice, both times privately, and she had made both men suffer greatly for their threats.
“You silly tramp, do you really think I’m going to bother with you? I don’t care if you’re sleeping with Garrett.” She
spoke loud enough for the first row of onlookers to hear. “That doesn’t matter. He’s slept with a dozen women at this party, and I’m not in the least bit jealous of them. It’s
not who he fucks now that matters. It’s who he’s
going to be sleeping with when he goes on the campaign
for territorial governor that counts. And that’s going to be me.” Angie glanced around then blushed a little, as
though she were just now aware of how loudly she’d been
speaking. “I’m not angry with you, Pamela. I know he’s got
to get this wenching out of his system before he can settle
down with me. Go ahead, fuck him if you want. God knows, he’s handsome as the devil and absolutely
heaven in bed.” Her tone became hushed and ludicrously territorial
. “But frankly, it wasn’t necessary for you
to come to this dance. Garrett told me he’d been most gen
erous with you.”
Pamela heard the sounds men make when they’re struggling to hold back laughter, and she knew that everyone within hearing distance
thought she’d been sleeping with Garrett
to get into Whitetail Creek society.
“You bitch,” Pamela said, about to reach for the revolver
at her hip—only it wasn’t there. She wasn’t wearing
her Levi’s. She was wearing the beautiful gown Garrett had
bought for her.
At that moment she was so embarrassed and so enraged she would have gladly walked all the way back to her
cabin so as not to spend another moment in the company of these treacherous, self-righteous animals.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Someone
muttered, “My God, I think she’s going to pass out stand
ing up!” But she wasn’t even close to doing that. The wine
had taken the critical edge off her intellect, but it had also
rounded the sharp edges off her inhibitions and had less
ened her sense of intimidation. If Angie could be so open about her sexuality and still be accepted by this elite group, then surely Pamela, who would never be or want to be a part of it, had a free hand in what she could and couldn’t do on this evening.