Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3)
Page 31
Forcing a bright smile, she kept her head averted from the disturbing creature on the wharf and stared determinedly at Jonathan's relatives as they started up the gangplank. Who did he think he was, looking at her in such a way? Why, she had half a mind to... What? Hit him with her reticule?
A giggle threatened to escape, and forgetting for the moment the annoying man on the wharf, she was able to greet Samuel Walker and Jonathan's mother, Constance, in her usual charming manner. She liked Sam Walker on sight, but the assessing gleam in Constance's green eyes and the slightly petulant cast to her mouth gave Fancy pause. She'd seen, upon the rare occasion, just that same expression in Jonathan's eyes and had also noticed the tendency for his lips to curve in a petulant pout when events didn't go precisely as planned. It hadn't bothered her before now, but seeing those traits more obviously defined in his mother caused her to speculate about the true nature of the man Ellen wanted to marry.
After the introductions had been completed and questions about their journey from England had been answered, the conversation became more general for several moments. Fancy and Ellen were both enthusiastic about their first sights of the New World and they spoke animatedly about the small settlements and the vast green wilderness they had seen on their journey up the James River to Richmond.
Sam Walker was obviously pleased by their reactions, and Fancy was drawn to him by his ready smile and the warm twinkle in his deep blue eyes. He might be over seventy, but he was still an extremely attractive man, his skin firm and dark, his nose straight and broad, and his mouth wide and full lipped.
Beaming at the two younger women, Sam murmured, "I hope that you will find your stay at Walker Ridge even more pleasant and entertaining than your journey has been so far. My wife, Letty, has been in a tizzy since she first learned that you were coming to visit. She would have been here with us this morning, but there were a few final things that she wanted to oversee before your arrival at the house. We all want you to enjoy yourselves."
"Of course," Constance said airily, "you must not expect to find things as you would in England, my dear Lady Merrivale. We are such provincials! I only hope that during your stay we can provide you and your delightful sister with suitable amusements and that you will find things here in the colonies not too backward."
"I am certain that my sister and I will be most happy," Fancy said gently. "Jonathan has told us a great deal about life in the Colonies and we have been looking forward to our visit at your home."
"Well, Walker Ridge is, even if I do say so myself, quite, quite exceptional," Constance said proudly. "I doubt you would find a finer home, even in England." A superior smile on her lips, she added, "The Viscount Darnley and his lovely wife came to visit us just last year and we had a prodigiously gay time. Do you know them? Oh, I suppose that you do. After all, your late husband was a baron, was he not?" She gave a titter of laughter. "My dear, I simply cannot tell you how pleased I have been since my darling Jonathan wrote and said that he was bringing home a baroness and her sister for a visit. I must tell you that all my friends have been positively green with envy. Of course, they will all want to meet you."
Fancy wasn't quite certain how it came about, but a few minutes later, as they all walked toward the gangplank, she found herself firmly anchored to Jonathan's arm, his mother on his other side as they followed behind an amiably chatting Sam and Ellen. Fancy was paying only half a mind to Constance's chatter, and while she didn't want to be too judgmental, she sincerely hoped that Letty Walker was more like Sam and less like Constance. If she wasn't, it was going to be a very long visit.
They had almost reached the gangplank and were just starting down, when there was a sudden gasp from Constance and she stopped dead in her tracks. Her face almost ugly with displeasure, she grasped Jonathan's arm even tighter and hissed, "What is he doing here?"
Fancy's gaze followed the direction of Constance's look, and her heart gave another of those funny little leaps. The frontiersman who had stared so boldly at her just a short while ago was standing at the base of the gangplank, a cool smile tugging at the corners of his long mouth. Unable to help herself, she whispered to Jonathan, "Who is that man?"
An unpleasant expression on his handsome face, Jonathan said grimly, "Why, only the bastard of the family. Chance. Chance Walker."
Instantly awake, she jerked upright with a gasp, clutching the sheet protectively to her bosom. Her eyes widened in shocked horror as she looked in Chance's direction and became aware of his indolent pose in her bed, his arms behind his head as he watched her, the naked expanse of his broad chest rising above the sheets.
Fancy scrubbed her eyes and pinched herself, certain she must be dreaming. Chance Walker could not be in her bed.
"Morning, Duchess," he drawled, his blue eyes gleaming, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed. "Get out of my bed immediately. You have no right to be here. Oh, my God! What if someone were to find you here?"
Chance looked hurt "You mean last night meant nothing to you?"
"What do mean, 'last night'?" she asked nervously, explicit memories of her dreams flashing through her mind. Her cheeks flushed. Surely he didn't know that she had dreamed of him? And she had merely been dreaming, hadn't she?
Chance watched with undisguised interest as the roses bloomed in her cheeks. Now, what the devil had brought that on? His eyes narrowed. "You do not remember?"
Fancy took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. She had done nothing wrong, and those dreams, well, those dreams had been just that—dreams. Fixing him with a glare, she said sharply, "Of course I do not remember—there is nothing to remember!"
"That is not exactly how I recall our time together, Duchess."
Fancy's eyes blazed. "Don't call me Duchess."
* * *
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A Heart for the Taking
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Also by Shirlee Busbee
A Heart for the Taking
Swear by Moonlight
While Passion Sleeps
Spanish Rose
Gypsy Lady
Lady Vixen
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Shirlee Busbee is celebrating 50 years of marriage to her husband Howard, and looking forward to another 50. Together, they live in Mendocino County, California, with three Miniature Schnauzers (Shirlee wants a fourth but Howard thinks two is enough—ah, drama ahead) and a herd of American Shetland Ponies.