was suddenly displeased with the night, and with himself. She had gone
through a harrowing experience, and she had come through it with
tremendous spirit.
No more platitudes for this chit! he warned himself. But her eyes met
his in the dim light spilling from the open doorway. So deep a blue they
were mauve in the darkness, so wide and unwavering upon his. He wished
suddenly that 65 she hadn't been young, that she hadn't been beautiful.
That she hadn't been different from any other woman he'd ever met in his
life.
"Maybe you shouldn't have come tonight," he said sol fly She smiled.
"I'm fine, Lieutenant, truly I am. Shall we go in?"
He nodded and escorted her on into the room. Dancers filled the floor,
soldiers in uniform, officers with epaulets and brightly colored sashes,
women in their sparkling fin- cry. The floor seemed alive with the blue
and gold of the uniforms, and with brilliant reds and greens and soft
pastels, lovely silks and brocades, satins and velvets.
But none compared with the blue gown that Tess Stuart was wearing. No
other garment seemed to so fit a woman, to cling to her shape, to
conceal and enhance, to so artfully combine both purity and sweetly
simmering sensuality.
Like the touch of her fingers upon his arm. Like the scent of roses that
seemed to fill him and make him mindless of what else went on.
Jamie saw Jon Red Feather coming toward them, and he swore softly
beneath his breath. Normally the darned half breed was as silent as the
night. Suddenly these days he was expounding away with his Oxford
eloquence.
"Miss. Stuart! Jamie. Ah, you've made it at last. Miss. Stuart, please
don't think me too bold--Jamie! I dare demand the first dance!"
"Jon" -- he began in protest.
"Jon! Good evening!"
The delight in Tess's voice was so obvious that Jamie wanted to spit.
If the two of them were so damned all-fired eager to be together, Jon
should have escorted her tonight. It wouldn't have made the least bit of
difference to him.
The hell it wouldn't. She was his.
He'd found her, he'd touched her and he'd brought her back here. It
might be a trap, but he was deep within it now, and there was no
crawling out. Still, he had to he civil. Too bad they weren't out on the
plain. He and Jon could go to it like savage kids. They'd done it
before.
He smiled and bowed with the best of the Southern chivalry he could
remember from the days before the war.
"Jori--Miss. Stuart, please. Just return her in one piece, Jon."
"He's trying to pretend that I take scalps. I don't, you know," Jon
informed her gravely.
Tess smiled again--brilliantly. Everything about her lit up. Smiles for
him, and taunts for me! And still, Miss. Stuart, we are irrevocably
bound, aren't we? "Evenin', James," the colonel addressed him.
"Evenin', sir."
"I see that Miss. Stuart has been whisked away." He nodded toward the
dancers.
"Well, she's lovely. A very welcome addition to our little soiree, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah! Well, you shall't be lonely long. There's Eliza coming to whisk you
away, I dare say."
Eliza was on her way over. She had stopped to chat at the punch table,
but now, with her fan fluttering against the heat of the night, she was
hurrying around the dancers to greet him.
He hadn't seen her since he'd come back with Tess.
But she knew. She knew that he'd come back with a woman, and she knew
that he was with Tess tonight. He could see it in her velvet dark eyes.
She was smiling, but it seemed that the curve of her lip hid a snarl.
She was still something to behold. Her neck was long and swan like her
hair as dark as ebony, and though she was slender and graceful, a man
could g~t lost for hours in her voluptuous breasts. Her skin was ivory
and flawless, her lips red, her face lovely. Jamie knew she'd had her
mind set on tormenting him for some time. He usually enjoyed her company
because she was such a brazen piece of baggage. He'd seen her break half
a dozen hearts before she'd deter67 mined to stomp on his, but he'd
always managed to hold his distance from her. To take care that he never
spoke a word that sounded like commitment.
first lover, and he was sure that he wouldn't be her last.
She was especially seductive this evening, her ink-dark hair caught to
one side of her head and plunging in a black cascade over one shoulder,
her bodice so low-cut as to reveal the endless depths of the valley
between her breasts, her kelly-green gown contrasting beautifully with
the darkness of her hair and the perfect ivory of her complexion.
"Jamie, darling'! Well, you have saved the first dance for me. I've
missed you so!"
In full view of the company she slipped her arms around him, rose on
tiptoe and kissed his lips.
He waited for something to stir inside him. He swore inwardly. It was
Tess.
He was obsessed, and any other touch would leave him cold until he had
quenched that newfound fire. "Eliza, nice to see you," he murmured,
catching her arms and unwinding them from around him. She pouted
prettily, but he barely noticed. He was looking past her, toward the
dance floor where Tess smiled and laughed, swirled and dipped and
whirled in his best friend's arms.
They were striking together, the tall half-breed and the exquisite blond
who looked so delicate but had a will of pure steel. "Dance, yes!" he
muttered, and he swept Eliza into his arms and onto the floor.
"I was afraid that you hadn't missed me!" she told him, her eyes growing
dark.
"What? Of course I missed you," he said.
"You didn't come to see me last night."
"No, I had reports to fill out."
"I waited for you. Very late. Into the night."
"I'm sorry."
I'll wait again."
It was promising. Maybe he could close his eyes and imagine that he held
Tess's sun-honey blond hess
No. It wouldn't be fair.
He smiled.
"Eliza, I brought Miss. Stuart to the dance."
"Miss. Stuart?
Oh, yes! I heard about her! The zany woman who thinks white men are
Comanche." She shuddered.
"Honestly, Jamie, I understand how you might feel responsible, but just
walk her home and then come on over."
"Can't, Eliza. Not tonight."
She looked furious for a moment, as if she was about to argue. But she
fell silent, pressing closer to him. The musky scent she was wearing
rose around him. He felt the pressure of her breasts, the flash of a
thigh. She wanted to excite him.
"I'm glad to find you so understanding, Eliza," he said pleasantly.
"Of course. I'm always understanding," she told him gravely, sweetly.
Like hell, he thought. But he smiled. Jon was no longer dancing with
Tess.
She'd already danced with half the men in the regiment, Jamie thought
irritably. She was in the arms of a young sergea
nt now, a handsome
towhead stripling! A kid who probably hadn't even shaved yet. And he was
gushing all over her.
Just about to trip over his own darned tongue. Jon reclaimed her.
Jamie gritted his teeth, determined to watch his date for the evening no
more. He had no way of knowing that Tess Stuart was watching him every
bit as covertly. Those strange stirrings rose inside her as she watched
the ebony-haired enchantress laughing, pressing against him, heaving her
bovine breasts beneath his nose. She was very anxious to be retrieved by
Jon, and managed to dance her way over to the tall Sioux.
He promptly cut in and swept her around, smiling like the devil's own
disciple.
"Mr. Red Feather?"
"yes?"
"Who is the massive mount of mammary glands?" He laughexl and bent low
to whisper against her ear.
"That, Miss. Stuart, is Eliza."
He lifted his head again and smiled benignly toward Jamie.
"Keep an eye on that one," he warned Tess.
"I certainly intend to," she told him sweetly, then she tossed her hair
and laughed, and the sound of her voice was like a melody on the air.
And every man in the place seemed to turn to her. Including Jamie
Slater.
Chapter Four.
Tess didn't see how or when Jamie extricated himself from Miss. Eliza,
but within a few minutes, he was tapping on Jon's shoulder, claiming her
for a dance. She smiled serenely as they moved to the music. Hemust have
attended many of these little balls. He was as accomplished at dancing
as he was with riding and shooting. She felt suddenly as if she walked
on air herself, as if the room and the people all around them faded, as
if they shared more than a simple touch. Maybe they did. His eyes were
boring into hers.
"Enjoying your conquests, Miss. Stuart?"
She widened her eyes.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean every snot-nosed young trooper here is ready to lie down and die
for you." "Really?" she asked with a sweet note of astonishment. "Well,
how very genteel of the lads, how kind! But tell me, Lieutenant, how am
I doing with the others?" His jaw twisted slightly, but there was still
amusement to his smile.
"The graybeards, Miss. Stuart, are quite willing to dig their own
graves, if need be, for your cause."
"Oh, dear! Ah, well, let's hope that it need not be. But I'm curious,
sir, how am I doing with the men between nineteen and ninety?"
"Would it please you to know that a number of them were probably quite
ready to slit one another's throats for the mere bounty of your smile?"
She didn't know if he was teasing. Not anymore. The smoky quality was in
his eyes again. She lowered her lashes, shivering slightly, wondering if
he was really a man to play with so freely. Then she raised her eyes
with a bold and sweeping challenge.
"Thank goodness, sir, that you would not participate in such a skirmish!
I mean, as one could see how heavily involved you are ..."
"What?" he demanded, scowling.
"The bountiful brunette, Lieutenant. Miss. Eliza."
"Oh, Eliza." He said the name dism~ssively. Too dismissively. He knew
Eliza well, maybe better than he wanted to at the moment.
"Yes, Eliza," she said pleasantly.
"Are you engaged, Lieutenant?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"Ah, was the horror of that statement over the possibility of
engagement, or over Eliza?"
"Miss. Stuart, you are very presumptuous."
"Sir, no one is forcing you to dance with me."
His arms tightened around her. He was smiling, but there was a sizzle to
the smile, and it sent little shock waves rippling all along her system.
Maybe she was playing dangerously. It was delightful. Maybe she risked
igniting his temper to extremes she had yet to know. She realized that
she was willing to do so, that the storm taking place within her own
heart and body was demanding that she do so. "Miss. Stuart, I am your
escort to this dance, remember?" he said bluntly.
"Oh ... yes, well, I suppose that I had forgotten. When I saw the way
your lips became pasted together with Eliza's ..."
"Jealous, Miss. Stuart?"
"Well, how could I be? I have just entered into your life. I couldn't
possibly mean to dissuade you from, er, liaisons you have been
nurturing."
She heard the clenching of his teeth. The scowl that tightened his
handsome features seemed to reach inside her and take her breath away.
She felt his hand upon her waist, warm and powerful, and the fingers of
his other hand so tightly entwined with hers that the pressure nearly
caused pain. She inhaled a clean scent from him that also seemed to
speak of the plain, of the rugged vistas, of the horseman, the marksman.
Everything rugged, and everything striking.
He was a real son of a bitch, a small voice warned her. It didn't
matter.
"Do you always hop so recklessly into the fray, Miss. Stuart?"
"Whatever do you mean? What fray, Lieutenant?"
"You've barbs on your tongue, ma'am."
"Why, Lieutenant! I'm only speaking frankly."
"Um. I still say there are barbs there. Perhaps I should discover if I
am right ..."
He was swift on his feet, agile and sure. In a moment he had danced her
out the door and into the shadows on the porch. He swept her against a
supporting pillar, then his mouth descended upon her, lips parted,
parting hers. She had wanted this. this very thing. She had teased and
goaded him, and now she had him. But the kiss was no casual dance-floor
brush. It was a thing so searingly intimate that she lost all hope of
breathing, all hope of standing upon her own two feet. His mouth
encompassed hers, drawing from her all strength and will. The heat of
his mouth filled and infused her, and his tongue swept by all barriers
to ravage and invade.
And she did nothing to stop him, nothing to fight back, nothing to
protest even the shocking intimacy of the invasion.
He kissed her mouth as if he kissed all of her. His 73 tongue touched
every little crevice and nuance of her mouth and thrust with a rhythm
that entered into her pulse, into her bloodstream. It was far different
from anything she had ever experienced before. Anything. It brought
tremors to her limbs and a swirling tempest within her belly; it singed
her breasts and weakened her knees.
And worst of all, perhaps, she felt no remorse, no shame. She allowed
herself to fall into his arms, to feel his strength support her, the
rippling muscles of his chest and thighs. Then his mouth pulled away
from hers. She inhaled raggedly and lifted her eyes to meet his. It had
been a game; she hadn't been expecting this, and she was suddenly very
afraid that her eyes betrayed the depths of her innocence, of her shock,
of the staggering sensations that had taken place within her. His eyes
were heavily shadowed, and he didn't look at all like a man about to
laugh with the pleasure of an easy conquest, but rather like one
consumed with some blinding fury or emotion. But he didn't
speak. She
wanted to reach up and touch the sandy tendrils of his hair, fallen
rakishly over his forehead, but she didn't dare move, she didn't dare
touch him again, for there seemed to be something explosive about him.
"There she is!"
The accusing cry seemed to awaken them both. Jamie stepped back,
surprised, frowning, looking around.
A plump woman was coming out on the porch. She was small and seemed
exceedingly broad. Her hair was snow white and swept up beneath a little
cap, and her dress was old-fashioned, her petticoats as wide as they
might have been during the war, her dark fringed stole from an earlier
period.
She wasn't alone. People were spilling out behind her. "Clara," Jamie
said softly, still frowning.
"Clara, what on earth is wrong?"
Clara seemed not to hear him. She pointed a finger at Tess.
"You!
You--you harlot! You hussy! You whore!
Attacked by Indians, and crying out that white men fell upon you! How
dare you! You should have been killed! God will smite you down with an
arrow for lying! You trash, you white trash!"
"Clara!" Jamie shouted.
Tess, stunned by the violence of the attack, stared in silence.
"Clara, you're overwrought, but you owe this lady an apology, you can't
know"
"No!" Clara shrieked.
"She's the devil's spawn!" Tess realized then that the porch was full of
people.
The young soldiers who had been ready to die for her looked as if they'd
gladly nail her to the wall.
"How many of us have lost our dear loved ones to the bloody savages?
You, Lydia, the Pawnee took your only daughter! Charlie, the Comanche
cost you your arm, and Jimmie, your boy Jim went down in that fight with
the Apache. Heathens, bloody heathens, all of them! And now she's lying
about what happened to her little wagon train.
She won't let the men go after the real culprits, she wants a war with
the white men! She wants us all at one another's throats so the bloody
savages can move right in. She"--" No!" Tess shouted furiously.
"You don't understand, you weren't there, and don't you dare" -- "She
ought to be tarred and leathered and thrown right out of here naked as a
jay. Then she can run to her Indian buddies."
There was a startled moment of silence. Tess felt certain they were all
about to step forward and tear her into little shreds.