To Seduce a Rogue (9 page)

Adam raised a brow. “Charlie worrying about a dress?”

Miles chuckled. “Oh, no. The dress is all my Kathy’s idea. Charlie, I’m sure, could care less.”

Adam began a fierce inspection of his thumbnail.

“This is the first year I can even remember her going. Charlie isn’t much for social gatherings,” Miles said.

“Well, Tom asked. What else could she say?”

“Ha. She could have said no. Just like all the other times.”

“Other times?”

“Yeah, Tom has been asking for nigh’ on two years. A dance here, a church gathering there, a picnic. Always the same answer...no, no, no.”

Adam could hear crickets chirping outside the window. The sun had dropped low, throwing a wide gold band across the table. He placed his hand in the strip, moving it in and out of the light. “I’m coming to know Charlie pretty well. She’s sure contrary to any woman I’ve ever run across.”

“Tiny-bird chairs.” Miles shifted. “Contrary, yep. That does sum it up nicely.”

Adam scratched his chin. “What I can’t figure is, why does Walker keep trying? Lila was telling me—”

Miles slammed his hand on the table. It was the first angry action Adam had seen him make. “Lila is jealous of Charlie and always has been.”

“And you know this, how?”

“I sparked her a bit, before Kathy came along.”

Adam blinked. Miles and...
Lila
.

“Surprised? So were her parents. She was sixteen. And lovely. But, such a spoiled—” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you what I saw in her. Probably nothing past her bosom.”

Adam took a slow sip. The fire trailing down his throat kept him from replying, which was probably a good thing.

Miles laughed and leaned his chair back on two legs. “We went to a few dances, and then I met Kathy—and boom. End of story.” Miles’ gaze slid towards Adam. “Aren’t you taking her to the dance? Make you jealous to hear about other fellas?”

Adam snorted and finished off his drink.

“Yet you’re concerned about Charlie and Tom. Mighty interesting.”

“Curiosity isn’t concern, my friend.”

Miles smiled and drained his glass. “Charlie grew up...differently. She was allowed to roam free, write, sketch. Work at the paper.” Miles’ gaze caught Adam’s. “Nothing has happened with Tom because she’s too strong for him. The milksop. And he knows it. Still, he’s hanging in there, thinking that sooner or later she’s going to come round. But, damn, how long does it take to fall in love?”

Adam released a disgusted breath. “Don’t even think of asking
me
that question.”

Miles lingered, staring into his empty glass. “One day...one day you’ll feel for someone what I feel for Kathy. Then you’ll understand.”

Adam shrugged, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. He had nothing to contribute to this topic.
Nothing
.

“So, how is she doing with the newspaper?”

He gazed out the window, across golden fields that seemed to stretch clear to the horizon. Quite suddenly, he longed to be on Taber’s back, riding like the devil. He was uneasy talking so much about Charlie. They were becoming good friends. He had
that
under control. Nevertheless, a moment or two, gazes tangling across the newspaper office, their friendship had slipped into other areas. Areas he did not want to occupy with any woman. Areas he was never going to occupy again.

He raised his glass, only to find it empty. “She’s doing fine.” Better then fine. “She has ten times the brains of most of the young reporters I work with.”

Intellect was not all. She had talent and a sense of structure, which was often impossible to teach. Her own style. And instinct. She had instinct, which
was
impossible to teach. She also listened. Really listened. How many reporters had he watched fail because they could not stand back and listen?

Adam snapped back as Miles tapped his glass.

“More?”

“No, I have to be going.” Adam held out his hand, which shook slightly. “Thanks for the...drink. Although I’m not sure I’ll be thanking you later.”

Miles stood, thumping Adam on the back. “Ahh, it’ll surely help you sleep tonight.”

“If not before.”

Miles’ laughter resonated through the ever-darkening kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring the mash to the picnic.”

Adam raised his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll see.”

“That we will.”

Adam sprinted across the yard to Taber, who had begun snorting and pawing the ground. After climbing astride, he edged his mount by the porch. “How about a small wager on the horse race I hear follows the picnic?”

Miles’ gaze traveled the length of Taber and back again. “Uh, uh.” He shook his head.

Adam spurred the horse to a trot and yelled over his shoulder, “I knew you were a smart man, Miles Lambert.”

Aggravation

A source or cause of annoyance or exasperation.

Adam crossed the street with a quick, sure stride. A smile touched his face as he recalled Widow Davis’ surprised expression as he presented her with the Jessamine he and Charlie had picked in the thriving field-of-yellow behind her house.

Actually, it had surprised Adam, too. He had picked the flowers for Lila, but the inspiration had been crushed somewhere between Charlie’s romping antics as she selected the most colorful blossoms and his own chaotic emotions.

Charlie had shown no qualms in revealing the hidden patch of bell-shaped Jessamine, only asking that he not tell Lila where he had picked them.

A promise easily kept.

He forced his gaze to the road as he dodged a tea brown puddle. They littered the street—small and large—a gift from last night’s storm. His boots were crusted with enough mud to fill a coffee mug.

He raised his hand in greeting to John Thomason as he passed the livery. People were scurrying along Main Street, tipping their hats and shouting greetings, telling each other what a fine day it was for a picnic. He wished he could steal even a smidgen of their enthusiasm.

He halted at the Dane residence and gazed at the mammoth structure as a picture came to him: an impressionable young girl—sapphire eyes shining with wisdom—rejected by her aunt and uncle because her independence and intelligence far surpassed their daughter’s. Charlie had told him some of her past with the Dane family; he supposed it did not help matters that he hated them a bit for it.

He looked to the left of the house and laughed as he spied the vehicle they would be taking to the festivities. Damned if it wasn’t a Jenny Lind box buggy, one very similar to his own. Although his sported a fixed top, not a folding one. They were a good model, made to be easy on a horse. Fast. Sleek. Expensive. And
so
Lila.

Everyone else in town would arrive on foot, in dilapidated, horse-drawn carriages, or in Mr. Whitefield’s grocer’s cart. Widow Davis was traveling that way. He would arrive with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal entrance.

Well, hell...he was going with a princess, right?

“Yoo-hoo!”

He raised his arm and squinted into the sun. Lila. Perched on a swing in the corner of her wrap-around porch. He waved as he opened the wrought iron gate. This time he ignored the puddles in his path.

She had been awaiting his arrival, from the look of it. He had—in some senseless part of his mind—hoped she was going to the dance out of a sense of obligation. No, she looked powdered and sumptuous. Carefully constructed.

A woman with a mission.

She smiled as he approached. The swing tilted, her face sweeping from shadow to light. Perspiration had plastered several strands of ashen hair to her forehead. Her lips glistened. Her eyes, surrounded by those incredible golden lashes, flashed amatory signals.

He stopped at the edge of the steps, willing her to come to him. They stayed like that a moment, locked in battle, before Lila laughed. With practiced poise, she stood and shook her skirts. “Would you like to come in for a drink before we leave? Mama and Papa should be here any minute.”

He gave her a long look, trying to decide if he liked her dress, a pale pink walking costume trimmed in rows of velvet ribbon. Flounces looped with what he thought were tuberoses ornamented the design. A bonnet bedecked with a large satin ribbon sat upon her head.

He smiled at the irony: she looked absurd
and
exquisite. Of course, in the past two weeks, his definition of beauty had taken a swift kick in the hindquarters.

“Why are you smiling?” Her shadow fell across him.

Attraction and disgust battled within him. “I was just thinking how lovely you look.”

“Do I really?” She leaned close, injecting a teasing note into her voice. “I planned it just for you.”

He forced his smile. For some reason, he wanted to tell her to go to hell.

Lila frowned. She touched his face, covered with day-old stubble. “Did you forget to shave this morning?”

He raised his brow. “I did not.”

She pressed her lips together and withdrew her hand.

Damn, she was easy to read. Too easy. As vexed as she became with him, she would hang in there because he had been deemed worth the trouble.

There was only one woman who did not seem to want anything from him; who enjoyed his companionship; who talked with him like a trusted friend.

There was nothing in this world Lila could do to conjure the warmth—or the agitation–that situation invoked.

All
the Lilas in the world could not soothe him with laughter and yellow blossoms, clear, blue streams, and the haunting scent of roses.

Temptation

Something that tempts, entices or allures.