Authors: Alice Duncan
Even
if he hadn’t enjoyed the artistic renditions as much as he might have,
the evening seemed a complete success. Deciding she really mustn’t
stare at Tom all night, Claire began to mingle, happy in the knowledge
that Tom had established himself as the new master of Partington Place
and, therefore, a force to be reckoned with in the community of Pyrite
Springs.
Tom
was about ready to cut and run by the time he finally managed to slip
away. He’d been trying to catch Claire’s eye for an hour or more
because he was much more comfortable in her company than he was in babbling
nonsense to a bunch of strangers, but she was being elusive as hell.
When he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he maneuvered himself over
to the bank of windows, scooted behind a heavy curtain and sneaked out
the door without anybody catching him. He felt as though he’d managed
an escape from behind enemy lines.
“My
God,” he muttered, peeking at the curtain to make sure he hadn’t
been spotted and chased down.” Nobody emerged and he sighed with relief.
Freedom at last. Sinking wearily against the balcony railing, he pulled
out one of his cheroots, snapped his thumbnail against a sulfur match,
lit up and inhaled blissfully.
“My
God,” he murmured again as he turned and rested his arms on the rail.
The
balcony overlooked the grounds of Partington Place, and revealed a view
that was magnificent in the daylight. Even tonight, with the weather
as cold as a witch’s tail and the stars and the moon washing the world
in pallid silver, Tom felt a sense of soul-deep satisfaction as he surveyed
his kingdom.
He
supposed he should at least try to get used to these artistic shindigs.
Claire set a great deal of store by them, and he’d recently discovered
that her happiness was very important to him. How odd. He’d never
particularly cared about another person’s happiness before; it gave
him a funny feeling to know he cared about Claire’s.
And
she’d had her hair done, too. Tom knew it was probably arrogant of
him, but he couldn’t help but believe she’d done it, in part, for
him. The idea pleased him terribly. He wouldn’t have cared if she’d
maintained her severe demeanor, but she really did look prettier, more
feminine, without those damned rattlesnakes coiled over her ears.
She
was really something, Claire was. This whole set-up was something.
His
cigar smoke hung in the frosty air like a puffy cloud, and Tom grinned.
He began making smoke rings for the hell of it. God, he loved being
rich. He’d never even imagined he’d be rich one day. This legacy
from his uncle was a miracle. A damned miracle.
Tom
wondered if Uncle Gordon had known what he was doing when he left him
Claire. Naw. He couldn’t have.
Because
he’d lived too hard for too long, Tom turned to face the direction
of possible danger. He didn’t want anybody silently slipping through
those windows and sneaking up on him. Propping his elbows on the railing,
he leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle. His new evening shoes
gleamed in the moonlight and he sighed happily when he looked at them.
Damn. He hadn’t worn anything but ragged old boots for years.
He
wondered where his uncle had gotten the idea that he’d been used to
fancy social doings. Probably from his mother.
A
niggle of irritation thrust itself into Tom’s mind at the thought
of his mother, and he determined not to think about her or his idle,
worthless father this evening. After he got used to his new life, had
started his Appaloosa breeding program, and knew exactly how his finances
stood, he could tackle the formidable problem of his indolent, indigent
parents.
He
bet Claire could help him think of a suitable way to deal with them.
She could do anything. The thought of the able, clever Claire made him
feel dreamy.
Suddenly
a movement caught the edge of his attention and he jerked his head to
the left. There, two windows down, a figure emerged from the crowded,
stuffy ballroom. It didn’t take Tom any time at all to realize it
was Claire. He smiled and decided the fates were playing right into
his hands tonight.
She
didn’t know he was there, but stood still, her gloved hands loosely
gripping the railing, and peered up into the chilly December sky. He
stuffed his half-smoked cigar into a sand-box, thoughtfully provided
by the ever-helpful Claire, and walked toward her quietly. He didn’t
want to give himself away too soon.
She
didn’t notice him approach and he paused to observe her for a moment.
Washed by moonlight and starshine, her face looked sweet and faintly
mysterious. Tom took a deep breath.
“Aren’t
you chilly, Miss Montague?”
She
jumped, startled, and pressed a hand to her breast. Tom wished he could
do that.
“Mr.
Partington! I didn’t realize you’d come out here, too.”
She
was utterly charming, looking up at him with those big eyes of hers.
Even her spectacles were adorable—because they sat on her nose.
“I
confess I had to escape for a moment, Miss Montague. Too much hobnobbing
taxes my social skills. I had to recruit my strength.”
She
laughed softly. “I don’t believe it for a minute, Mr. Partington.
Why, you won the hearts of everyone here tonight, I’m sure.”
He
cocked his head. “Did I win your heart?”
Colors
were lost in the moonlight, but Tom knew she blushed as she turned to
look into the sky again. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Partington,” she
said lightly.
“Seriously,
Miss Montague, aren’t you cold? Would you like me to fetch you a wrap?”
“No,
thank you. It was becoming intolerably warm in the ballroom, and the
cool air feels refreshing.”
“It
does, doesn’t it?” Tom decided to look at the sky with her, since
she apparently didn’t need him to hug her and make her warm. Maybe
later.
Orion
prowled the sky—too conspicuous a fellow, decked out in all his brightly
twinkling stars—to sneak up on the bear or the dog sharing the heavens
with him. Tom said softly, “At night on the prairie, sometimes it
almost felt like I could reach out and grab a handful of stars. They
seemed even thicker and closer when we were hundreds of miles away from
civilization than they do here, although they’re still beautiful.”
“It
must have been magnificent out there in the wilds of the limitless American
plains.”
“It
was.”
“Do
you miss all that freedom, Mr. Partington?
“A
little.”
“So
many of us have never had even a taste of freedom.” She sounded very
wistful.
“Well,”
said Tom, hoping to make her feel better, “It was a pretty hard life
most of the time.”
“I
suppose it must have been. But you’ve had so many thrilling experiences,
Mr. Partington.” Claire put a hand on his sleeve. “And before you
protest, I know you don’t consider your exploits to have been grand.
But to those of us who have never seen the great plains or been farther
away from civilization than a walk in the woods, your experiences seem
quite exciting.”
Tom
considered the little hand on his arm for a moment before he covered
it with his. She didn’t pull away, which he took as a good sign. “I
suppose you’re right. It seemed to me that I was only doing my job,
but maybe there was something special about it. After all, now that
the railroad has cut the country in half, nothing will ever be the way
it used to be. There’s no going back to reclaim the wilderness. There’s
very little left on this gigantic continent that’s unknown to us.
The Indians are on the run, the buffalo are dying or dead, settlers
are moving west by the thousands. In some ways, I reckon I’m partly
responsible for taming all that vastness.” Tom shut his eyes for a
minute. “I’m not sure I’m proud of it.”
When
he opened his eyes again, he found Claire watching him, her expression
solemn.
“I
believe I understand what you’re saying. But you know there’s no
way to stop the onward thrust of progress. If you hadn’t helped them
clear the land for the railroad, somebody else would have.”
“You’re
right, of course.”
Tom
forgot about Orion and the plains and the railroad as he gazed into
Claire Montague’s sympathetic face. She seemed to understand his feelings
better than anybody ever had. It was funny, he thought, that he’d
never missed this aspect of civilization, a partner in life. Perhaps
that’s because he’d never been exposed to such as Claire before.
“I
think you performed a magnificent service to your country, Mr. Partington.”
Sweet
Claire. Always his champion. He wondered if anybody had ever bothered
to champion Claire. She deserved a hero—a hell of a better man than
he. He wondered how she’d come to be such a sensible, vital woman;
what circumstances had molded her into the appealing person she was
today.
It
surprised him almost to death when he heard himself say, “I think
I need to kiss you for that, Miss Montague.”
Her
eyes opened wide. “You do?”
Her
tiny, shocked whisper fluttered in the air and caressed his ear.
“I
do.”
“Oh,
my.”
He
settled one hand lightly on her shoulder and another on her soft cheek,
guiding her head towards his. His lips barely skimmed hers. She didn’t
know a thing about kissing, but kept her lips shut tight. She was scared;
Tom could tell. He whispered gently, “Open your mouth a little, Claire.”
She
did. When his lips touched hers again, he found them soft and meltingly
sweet under his. He kissed her very delicately, very tenderly, in a
way he’d never kissed a woman before. He kissed her as though he cared,
because he did. After a moment, he felt her begin to sway against him,
almost as if she were dissolving in his arms. Tom groaned as his body
tightened with desire.
He
slid his hands over her almost-bare shoulders, feeling her cool, silky
skin. “Put your arms around me, Claire,” he commanded softly. After
a second’s hesitation, she complied.
Nothing
could have prepared him for his reaction to having Claire Montague in
his arms. Her tentative reaction ignited him and he discovered himself
wanting to teach her the art of love, to coax her secret passion into
fire.
She
would catch fire; he knew it. Underneath her modest exterior beat the
heart of a hopeless romantic. She tried to hide her ardor, and Tom wanted
to uncover it. He wanted to make her burn for him as he burned for her.
Groaning
again, he pulled her more deeply into his embrace. His lips left hers
to travel over her chin and onto her bare throat. He heard her gasp
and covered her mouth again. Her hands were still on his shoulders,
but he felt her fingers dig into his evening jacket as though she couldn’t
help herself. He wished she’d forget her reserve and relax for him.
“You
taste like sweet wine, Claire. You intoxicate me,” he murmured as
he nipped at her ear.
“Oh!”
she exclaimed breathlessly.
Tom
had to kiss her again for that, and he did. This time, he was more daring
and allowed his tongue to outline her lips briefly. She gasped.
Then,
just as Tom had hoped she would, she seemed to kindle into a small flame.
She was still uncertain, but her fingers stopped digging into his shoulders
and her arms slipped around to squeeze him tightly. Her mouth opened
to his gentle probing and she allowed his tongue to play with hers.
After a moment, hers responded.
Tom
couldn’t recall ever having his arms around a total innocent before,
nor could he recall ever being so near to losing control. But he knew
he had to be careful. Not for the world and everything in it would he
frighten Claire.
No.
He wanted to tantalize her feminine hunger out into the open, to show
her unmistakably that he considered her a lovely, desirable woman. He
knew she thought little of her charms, but he knew her to possess charm
in abundance. He wanted her to know it, to take delight in herself and
in him and in the magic they could create together.
If
anybody had told him on his first night at Partington Place that he
would soon be making mad love to his housekeeper, Tom would have scoffed.
He wasn’t scoffing now. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so aroused.
His
arousal was not entirely carnal, either, but owed a good deal to honest
affection and tenderness, two emotions that had been foreign to him
until he met Claire. They made this experience deeper, more meaningful
than any sensual encounter he’d had before. Until this evening, he’d
never kissed a woman he cared for; would never have guessed how exciting
an experience it could be.