Authors: Cynthia Sterling
“I must say I find you different as well, my dear.” He guided his horse down into the arroyo that divided the Double Crown and the A7 ranches. “You’ve blossomed into quite a lady. I’m astonished some young man has not stolen you from me before now.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I wouldn’t allow that, Charles. You and I are promised to one another.”
He winced. “Yes, well, that was quite some time ago. We hardly know one another. I’d hate to keep you from some more deserving man.”
“How can you say we don’t know each other? We grew up on neighboring estates.”
“We’ve scarcely spent much time in each other’s company. You can’t say we’ve really ever been close.”
“I know I’ve always loved you.”
He jerked his head around to stare at her. The intensity of her gaze unnerved him. “You can’t possibly know any such thing,” he said.
A soft look stole across her face. “I remember the very first time you kissed me, Charles.”
He faced forward again, frantically searching his mind for a memory of kissing Cecily. When would he have done so? The only times they’d been together had been at balls or dinner parties or other social outings, surrounded by other people. Even their engagement had been accomplished at a dinner table full of relatives, arranged more by his father and hers than the bride and groom-to-be themselves.
“I was fourteen. We were out riding with some other young people and I was showing off. My horse balked at jumping a hedge and I was thrown.”
As she spoke, the day came back to him. He’d been twenty-one, fresh from school, racing across the fields with his brothers Reg and Cam, and others of their set. Cecily was too young to be with them, but she’d followed anyway, pleading with them to wait up. He’d looked back just in time to see her try to take the hedge. She’d flown over her horse’s head and landed in the grass with a sickening thump. Heart in his throat, he’d wheeled his horse and raced to her, vaulting from the saddle and rushing to her side.
“You held me and comforted me and kissed my cheek.” Cecily’s voice was dreamy. “I knew then that one day we’d marry.”
He urged his horse to the top of the arroyo, and emerged on flat land again. Then he sat and waited for Cecily to reach the top also, and for his heartbeat to slow its crazy pounding. He couldn’t remember holding a fourteen year old Cecily in his arms, had no recollection of that chaste kiss on the cheek. But the memory of holding a fully grown Cecily lingered fresh in his mind, and the thought of kissing her made him stiff and uncomfortable.
He looked away when she rode up beside him, and silently scolded himself. Instead of thinking of making love to Cecily, he should be working to convince her to give up this crazy idea of marrying him. He should persuade her to leave Texas altogether.
They rode in silence after that, though he was aware of her eyes on his back, caressing him with love looks.
They stopped to water their horses at a rock cistern. Cecily unbuttoned her cloak. “It’s much warmer today, isn’t it?” she said.
“The weather here changes constantly,” he said. “If you aren’t careful, the constant seesawing hot and cold will make you ill.”
“I’ll learn to cope. Others do.”
Why did she have to be so blasted reasonable? He tried another approach. “Your parents must be beside themselves with worry. I don’t know what you were thinking, running away like this.”
“I wrote them a letter. I told them I was coming here to be with you and that they shouldn’t worry.” She tucked a stray lock of hair beneath her hat. “I’ll send a letter this afternoon, notifying them that I’ve arrived safely.”
“Your father will no doubt order you home at once.” At least I hope so, he thought.
She shook her head. “I don’t see why they should be so concerned. I used my own money to get here – part of my inheritance from my Aunt. I came properly chaperoned, and I’m staying at the home of my fiancé. Why should they worry?”
“But what possessed you to do such a thing in the first place?” The question burst from him with more passion than he’d intended.
She grew still, and fixed him with a steady gaze, a gaze that seemed to see past his carefully constructed facade, into the innermost part of him. “I knew you needed me.”
The absolute certainty with which she spoke shook him. “Why would I need you?” He gripped her shoulders, battling the urge to shake some sense into that lovely, infatuated head of hers. “I’m running a ranch here, not a tea party. This isn’t a place with a social season that requires me to host dinners and give balls or even entertain very many guests. I don’t need a hostess or a dance partner or a fourth hand at whist. Why should I need you?”
She watched him, serene. “Every man needs a woman beside him,” she said when he’d finished speaking. “To support him and comfort him and to bear his children.” Her smile deepened, revealing dimples on the left side of her mouth. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”
Those dimples drew him. He traced the gentle curve of her mouth with his eyes and felt himself giving way to the desire to keep her here. “No!” The word was for him even more than her. He had to send her away. And soon, before she’d snared him completely. “You’re wrong. There’s only one way a man needs a woman.”
He jerked her toward him, intending to kiss her roughly on the cheek, to muss her hair a little and disturb her delicate sensibilities. Let her see this brutish side of him and realize he was not the perfect gentleman she believed him to be. She’d run home to her father then, he was sure.
But at the last moment, she turned her head and instead of kissing her cheek, his mouth crushed against hers. Instead of crying out and pulling away from him, she pressed closer, pressing her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his own.
She smelled of rosewater and sunshine, and everywhere she touched him grew as hot as midday in August. She let out a breathy sigh and he caught the breath in his mouth, and plunged his tongue between her teeth to taste her sweetness. Even then, she didn’t push him away, but melted against him, shaping her body to his own.
She stroked his back; he slipped his hand beneath the velvet of her jacket and longed to tear away the shirt, too, to touch her naked skin. He ached to take her right there beside the water tank, and she seemed just as eager.
What was he thinking? This was Cecily here. The perfect English wife, hand-picked by his father to compliment his perfect English life. A life Charles no longer wanted. He forced himself away from her, stumbling backwards a little in his hurry to escape.
He stared at her. Her breasts rose and fell with the effort of her breathing. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark with desire. He turned his back to her, and addressed the ground at his feet. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.” He nodded. “You’re right, Cecily. Texas has changed me, and not for the better. I truly do not deserve a woman like you. I. . . I understand if you wish to never see me again. I only hope you will forget I ever behaved so abominably.”
“Charles, what are you talking about?” She put her hand on his back and leaned close. “I. . . I’m glad you need me that way as well.” She giggled, her breath tickling the back of his neck. “I do hope we can be married soon.”
“I. . . I think we’d best be returning to the house.” He walked over and snatched up his horse’s reins, then threw himself into the saddle.
Cecily used the rim of the stone water tank for a mounting block. Charles was glad he didn’t have to get down to help her. Touching her now, when his nerves still vibrated with unfulfilled need, might precipitate a repeat of what he’d just gone through.
What exactly, had happened? Was Cecily so naive she hadn’t realized the danger to her virtue? Or was she so desperate to have him, she’d use any means to force him to marry her?
He shook his head, at the same time trying to shake the desire from his body. Whatever the explanation for Cecily’s unexpected behavior, Charles would not give in. He refused to surrender his hard-won freedom for any woman. Not even one as desirable as Cecily Thorndale.
Chapter Four
The feel of Charles’ lips on hers lingered as Cecily made her way from the stables to the house. She wondered if the sensation would ever entirely leave her. For ten years, she’d treasured the memory of the boyish peck on the cheek that had sparked her first infatuation with the Earl of Brighton’s eldest son. The kiss they’d shared today had borne as little resemblance to that innocent buss as a distant star’s twinkle did to the noonday sun. She still burned with the heat of it. If only she could be sure Charles had felt that fire as well.
Entering the house, she sought refuge in a small side parlor. She needed time to sort out the morning’s events, to try to make some sense of the confusing whirl of emotions crowding her mind. Charles’s words told her he didn’t want her here, but his hands, and his searching lips, sent a very different message. That silent communication gave her hope that she could make him see they truly belonged together.
“Well, aren’t you the early bird?”
The comment pulled Cecily from her reverie. She looked up and saw Estelle emerge from the shadows in one corner of the parlor. She was drinking coffee from a china cup, a silk kimono wrapped around her thin figure. Cecily couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman in public rooms in her nightclothes, but then, Madame LeFleur and her ‘girls’ no doubt did all sorts of things unfamiliar to a proper lady. “Good morning.” She nodded to Estelle and unfastened her cloak.
“I suppose you could call it good.” Estelle returned the cup to its saucer and answered Cecily’s unspoken question. “I decided to come out here and enjoy my coffee in peace. I couldn’t stand the way that old witch in the kitchen kept looking at me, like I was something the dog tracked in.”
Cecily could well imagine the looks Mrs. Bridges must have given the prostitute. “Don’t mind her. Cooks always think they’re in charge of the household. It’s the same in England.” She removed the cloak and draped it over the back of a horsehair sofa.
Estelle stared out the front window. “I hear it’s real green in England. Is that true?” The sharp look she gave Cecily dared her to lie.
“Yes. It’s very green there.” She came to stand behind Estelle and studied the scene before her: the waving grass in muted yellows and browns, the silver-gray smudges of distant clumps of trees, the endless sky so blue it shimmered, like finest silk. “This place has a different kind of beauty, I think.”
“It looks just like the place we left, to me.” Estelle turned her back on the scene, and set her cup and saucer on a small side table. “I’d like to see someplace green one day, but I don’t guess I will anytime soon. Madame seems set on sticking here for a while.”
Cecily tried not to show her surprise. “Do you think that’s wise? The sheriff didn’t seem too welcoming.”
“Ha!” Estelle shook her head. “If I know men, he’ll be first to show up at our door once we’ve found a place and opened for business.”
“I always thought those sort of places had to operate, well, in secret.” Cecily knew she ought not to be so interested in Estelle and her profession, but when else would a woman like her have the opportunity to learn about this scandalous side of the world?
“Oh, you are an innocent, aren’t you?” Estelle laughed. “Whores may have to slink around in the shadows in England and in some of the big Eastern cities, but out here we operate a clean business on the up-and-up.” She smoothed her dressing gown over her hips. “This country’s overrun with single men in need of female companionship.”
Estelle made her life sound so exciting, even philanthropic. But a sadness lingered in her eyes that belied her confident speech. “What did you do before?” Cecily asked.
Estelle frowned. “Before what?”
“Before you met Madame. Were you. . . were you in the same. . . business?” She stumbled over the words, not wanting to name aloud Estelle’s occupation.
“Since I was fifteen.” Estelle looked grim. “My folks died and I wasn’t about to lay down and die along with them, so I did what I had to to survive.” She squared her shoulders, her expression challenging.
“I’m sure you did,” Cecily murmured, regretting she’d ever raised the obviously painful subject.
Estelle nodded. “I met Madame a couple years ago. She offered me steady work, a place to live, regular meals and decent wages.” She shrugged. “I can’t complain.”
Though Estelle’s words were casual, Cecily thought they hid depths of emotion. She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Haven’t you wanted
more
?”
“More money? Sure, I’d like more money. You handing out any?” Estelle’s gaze swept over Cecily’s riding costume. “I’d wager a woman like you throws away more cash on trifles than I see in a whole year.”
Cecily frowned. “I wasn’t talking about money. I was speaking of life. Haven’t you wanted more out of your life than. . . than servicing strangers? Haven’t you wanted a home, and family?”
Estelle turned away to look out the window once more. “Is that why you came all the way out here, thinking you’d snare the man you wanted and live happily ever after?”
Estelle made her trip sound so calculating. “It wasn’t like that,” Cecily protested. “Charles and I are engaged. I knew he needed me to help with his work.”