Running Wild

by Denise Eagan

  “You know, Nicholas,” Star said, “you truly are an exquisite dancer. It is not at all what one might expect from—how do you put it?—‘just an ole cowpoke’.”

  And dancing with Star was exquisite torture, Nick decided. No better way to put it.

  During the two weeks since he’d kissed her, he’d avoided any more backsliding by making certain that they were never alone, even with all the outings the Montgomerys had put together for his entertainment. Lee, silently marking Nick’s discomfort, had assisted. It didn’t still stop her from flirting, and Nick sure couldn’t resist responding, but flirting was a helluva lot less tempting and less dangerous than this ball was proving to be. Times like this he understood why Methodists forbade dancing.

  “Lots of practice, ma’am,” he answered. “Out West dancin’s the only acceptable way a man can hold a pretty girl in his arms without proposin’.”

  She laughed. “And I know how much you would like to avoid that, sir!”

  It was his first ball—first of many he was told—given in his “honor” by the Hathaways of Marblehead. Luxury like he’d never dreamed of surrounded them—a marble and gilt ballroom, more flowers than a greenhouse, and the constant flash and sparkle of precious gems. All the men wore diamond cuff links; all the women wore diamond tiaras, including Star on the top of a madly complicated hairstyle of rolls and curls. And, she’d assured him, he’d find even more ostentation in Newport, for Bostonians were mere Yankees and far more inclined to trust funds than splendor.

  Yup, breathtaking luxury but all he could think of was how pretty Star looked in dark pink silk, and how the bodice of her gown must be too low to be proper, even though he’d seen lower ones on at least a half dozen women. They didn’t have her figure, and what they displayed wasn’t half as inviting. His gaze kept wandering to the diamond and ruby necklace caressing her swanlike neck and the pendant falling just above the curve of her breasts. It took Samson-like strength to switch his focus to her eyes.

  They weren’t any better. They gleamed with mischief, and between her and him, that mischief was always sexual. “No, ma’am,” he answered trying to keep his voice light. “I’m not avoidin’ anything. Marriage is a fine institution. Just cautious is all.”

  “And yet, I suppose a man as handsome as you had women lining up to dance with you, since that was the only way they could be ‘acceptably close’ to you.”

  Mischief and flirtation, and she was damned good at it. She petted his male pride, then captured his attention with those eyes, and suddenly he couldn’t remember how it felt to dance with any other woman. Ever. With only a couple inches difference in height, they fit well together, waltzing around the room in perfect synchronicity. Nick forced himself to hold her so as to allow plenty of space between them, but as the seconds ticked away, the glow of unsatisfied desire filled that space. At length it became an invisible presence, moving between them like a caress. Sonuvabitch, but it’d be more decent to pull her against him so that every inch of her body touched every inch of his.

  He took a deep breath and tried to form a reply. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember what she’d said. It didn’t help that a light flush colored her cheeks and made a gradual decent across her chest, toward her breasts, like right before climax. Damn, damn, damn.

  “No comment?” she ventured. Her voice was low, killing any attempt at being casual. She licked her lips as if they’d gone dry. “Generally one thanks another for such a fulsome compliment.”

  Soft red lips. He wanted to kiss those lips, followed by their tongues dancing in hot, wet imitation of their movements across the dance floor. After that, he’d trail kisses along that long, white neck, following the progression of the flush until his tongue found the tight pink peaks of her breasts.

  His body started to respond to the images his runaway imagination created. That could be embarrassing in a room crowded with strangers. Some of ’em were following his every move, not sure what to think of a gun-slingin’ Westerner dressed to the nines in a tuxedo suit and waltzing with one of Boston’s most distinguished daughters. No doubt they expected him to trip, or to trip her, or to make a dozen different blunders. What he was most tempted to do, though, was a helluva lot more than a blunder—it was a scandal.

  Star’s eyes started to glaze over. She stared up at him, her lips parted, and then her eyelids lowered in expectation of a kiss. The muscles in his shoulders tensed as he fought off the urge to accommodate her.

  Conversation. It was the only way they were going to make it through this godforsaken waltz. What had they been talking about? Dances back home. “Reckon one or two women were hopin’ for somethin’ longer lastin’ than a dance. Most likely, tho’ it was on account of my owning the Bar M and not me a’ tall.”

  She smiled and the glaze turned to a sparkle. “Back to the Western drawl, are you? Don’t think I have not marked how perfectly well you speak when it’s required.”

  “Yes’m,” he said with a grin, “but it’s surely a trial on this here cowpoke. I’d ruther be with you than anybody else, where I kin be myself, and that’s a fact.”

  She laughed as the music ended. Her laughter eased his tension, but did nothing to cool the desire. “Read any Plato lately, Nicholas?”

  Chuckling, he looped elbows with her and escorted her off the dance floor to a set of chairs that their little group had claimed at the start of the ball. Although the Hathaways expected them to circulate and socialize, apparently nothing forbade them from staking out a temporary home, especially when one of ’em was somewhat indisposed.

  Dressed in dark blue satin, Jess Montgomery was sitting up against a wall, hiding her condition. She was almost three months along and on the edge of withdrawing from Society until after her lying in. When Nick had come East he’d expected to see her and Lee brimming over with newly-wedded bliss. Instead he’d found them strained.

  “Ah, there you are, Star,” Del Huntington said behind them. Nick turned, his muscles tightening. “I’ve come to collect you for the next dance.”

  A bright, cheerful smile settled on Star’s face as she took Huntington’s arm. “Why Del, you handsome rogue, how wonderful of you to remember. I’ve been anticipating it all evening, as I’m sure you must know.”

  “Ah, be still my beating heart,” Del said. “It pounds in response to your flattery, sugar. Even though the brain knows full well that you are but playing the coquette, the heart always hopes for more.”

  “Until the next pretty woman walks by, no doubt,” she said with a laugh. “Nicholas, are you not dancing? You must find yourself a partner, you know. I suspect there are dance cards yet to be filled.”

  “Reckon I do know that,” he answered, pulling a chair over next to Jess. Like all the other chairs, it was mahogany, upholstered in gold silk and light as air. Nick hoped it wouldn’t collapse under him. “At dances back home we have more than one set, too. And fiddles and shoes and the whole shebang.”

  She laughed. “Shoes, too? Why, I never considered it! How fortunate for you!”

  He grinned. “Powerful fortunate, ma’am. But the gal I’d most like to dance with is sitting here feeling poorly. Left an opening on my card so I could keep company with her. If you’ll have me, Jess?” he asked with a quick wink.

  Gratitude flickered in Jess’s eyes. “Why thank you, Nick. I’d love it.”

  “You are a true gentleman, Nicholas,” Star said warmly.

  “No ma’am,” he said, setting down, “just an admirer of beauty.” With that, the music started up. Huntington and Star left to dance. Nick’s eyes followed them around the room—smiling, flirting, laughing. He didn’t want to watch; he sure didn’t want to compare Huntington’s dancing with his, but he couldn’t help it. Huntington kindled a competitive fire in him. He didn’t like the man, who he pegged as a stuck-up dandy, lookin’ down his nose at everybody. He less liked the way he looked at Star and talked to Star, and right now, he didn’t like the way he danced with her, either. He w
as holding her too close—

  “It’s hard loving them, isn’t it?” Jess interrupted his thoughts. “The Montgomerys, I mean.”

  He turned. Jess was doing the same as him, only her eyes were following Lee and Hannah Thompson instead. Jess’s face was drawn and her eyes glistened as if holding back tears. Women in the family way could be emotional, but he didn’t figure that was all of it. Lee and Jess were from different walks of life and combining them couldn’t be easy.

  Kinda like Star and him.

  Did he love her? Could he love a gadabout like her? She sure fascinated him, but for all that she went the whole hog when it came to her cause, by all appearances—by all anecdotes, too—she had a shallow heart. For most of her life she’d run wild and roughshod over any man who had the poor sense to care for her. No, he couldn’t love her. Loving Star Montgomery would be a fool’s errand. “Don’t know about love,” he said slowly. “But tamin’ ’em . . . reckon that’s well-nigh impossible.”

  She sighed and flashed him a mirthless smile. “I guess ‘tame’ works as well. They’re a wild bunch under all the manners and sophistication. They do have that down pat,” she said bitterly.

  “They ooze sophistication,” Nick said dryly. “Ward and Port seem pretty cool, though. Probably the family’s saving grace.”

  “Port, maybe, but don’t be so sure about Ward. He may hold himself on a short leash, but at heart Ward has as much interest in being tamed as does a wolf. It is no accident that he married a woman like Morgan.”

  Maybe so. Over the last weeks, he’d learned that Morgan and Ward not only tolerated Star’s obsession with her cause, they encouraged it. Truth was, Morgan, in the safety of the family circle, could get pretty fired up, which seemed to tickle Ward. Maybe they weren’t “tame” either. They just hid it better than Star did her wild side. Had Star shown that side to Huntington, or those other men? Or was he the only one who knew that those eyes could darken with excitement over something as fearsome as a rabid cougar?

  “He’s got a crush on her, you know. Del does,” Jess pointed out gently.

  “Yeah, Lee told me. Don’t figure why he went and married Jane if that’s the case.”

  “Well, I suppose if you put aside Star’s interest in women’s reform—”

  “Don’t think you can,” he interrupted. “She’d hit the roof.”

  Jess flashed a quick, tense smile. “Yes, she would. Anyhow, for all that he loves Star, Del despises the movement. He says women are hard enough to control without giving us more power. And Jane proves the point, I suppose. She’s as high-strung as Star.”

  Nick shook his head. “Don’t think I’d call Star high-strung. Makes her sound inclined to high strikes.”

  Jess laughed, and for the first time gave him a genuine smile, the kind that could knock a man’s socks off. He grinned back, relieved to see amusement in her eyes at last. He liked Jess. For all her beauty, she was a down to earth, small-town girl. “Yes, you’re absolutely right! Star would laugh herself into a grave before falling into hysterics.”

  “She would. Maybe intense is a better word.”

  Jess’s eyes narrowed as she deliberated. “Or passionate. About everything, from her movement to sports, to board games.”

  “Excepting for her fiancés.”

  “True. Anyhow, it’s likely that Del’s feelings for Star are one of the reasons their marriage is so difficult.”

  “That,” Lee said, from behind Nick, “and the fact that they can’t resist irritating the hell out of each other.”

  “Lee,” Nick said, turning his chair. “Thought you were dancin’.”

  “I excused myself by mentioning that Jess is feeling under the weather. Wouldn’t mind looking under the weather for me would you, sweetheart? Use all that prime acting experience and all?” he asked, pulling a chair over to join them.

  “Wouldn’t that be considered bad manners?” she asked coolly.

  Lee’s expression tightened. “Not when it excuses your husband from dancing with a woman who insists upon treading on his toes. I’m sure there’s a section in those etiquette books about that,” he said cheerfully, although anger sparked in his eyes.

  Frustrated amusement crossed Jess’s face, and Nick waited for her to snap back with her razor-sharp wit. Instead, she set her jaw and answered woodenly, “I expect good manners would require a man to grin and bear it.”

  Damn. Nick had danced with Miz Thompson earlier in the evening. She was a mighty fine dancer. Miz Thompson hadn’t stepped on Lee’s toes, and it was as clear as a bell that he’d excused himself to be with his wife, even though spending much time with a wife in public was against Society’s long list of rules. Wasn’t so clear to Jess, though.

  “Fair enough,” Lee answered gruffly. “Next time I’ll continue dancing. Perhaps by and by I’ll develop enough calluses that I won’t feel the pain. And so, Nick, how are you enjoying your first ball?”

  “It’s big,” Nick answered as the music ended. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Huntington escort Star across the room to dance with Ambrose Thompson, Hannah’s brother, and one of Star’s former fiancés. Ambrose was a tall, good-looking man, blond haired with deep-set dark eyes that Melinda would’ve declared hid the poetry of the soul or some such hogwash. Those eyes spent an awful lot of time on Star. “Kinda crowded, too, though the drink’s better.”

  Lee laughed, which Nick noted, seemed to relax Jess. “Don’t miss the rotgut, then?”

  “No sir. The champagne rules over that by a long chalk.”

  “Ah, wait until you partake of supper! How many more dances, Jess, two? Hand me your ball card, will you? Are you hungry, sweetheart? You must be. Perhaps we’ll sneak in early.”

  With an amused twitch of her lips, Jess handed him the card. “You don’t intend to play by those rules at this ball either, Lee?”

  He grinned and sat back. “No, I don’t. Moreover, I’m not required to, for we are all but cousins to the Hathaways and, therefore, need not play by the rules. Besides, one must excuse a cowboy like Nick, here, for a lapse in manners. Needs feedin’ on a regular basis, he does,” Lee drawled. “Soes I reckon we oughta mosey on in afore all the vittles is et up and Nick just whittles away ta nuthin’.”

  Jess and Nick laughed. “And how!” Nick said.

  Tension temporarily dispelled, Jess and Lee spent the next several minutes entertaining Nick with their usual rapid-fire exchange of wit. When the dance ended, Lee rose, offering Jess his elbow. “And that, sweetheart, is equivalent to the dinner bell ringing at the Bar M. Let us move in a swift, yet stealthy manner toward the supper room.”

  “You’re all standing,” Star’s voice came from Nick’s left. “Am I correct in assuming that my ne’er do well brother is mounting an early attack upon the supper room?” Nick rose and stepped back to include her in the group, along with Huntington, who’d hooked his arm in Star’s once again. And Thompson, who glared at Huntington. Star dropped Del’s arm, though, which seemed to mollify Thompson.

  “What a splendid idea,” Jane Huntington said as she, too, joined the group, her arm linked with a man Nick had yet to meet. “I must confess, I am famished. Has everyone met Simon Price? He’s from Chicago, but you Montgomerys might know his grandmother, who’s from Boston. Mrs. Farnsworth.”

  “So much for stealth,” Jess said under her breath. Lee laughed and leaned over to whisper something in her ear.

  “Can’t say I have,” Nick said, offering his hand. A man of average height, Price boasted a carefully groomed set of mutton chop whiskers and pomaded brown hair. “Nicholas McGraw.”

  “Met a few times. Nice to see you again, Price,” Lee said.

  “And you, Montgomery. Mr. McGraw, I am honored to make your acquaintance at long last. A capital fellow I have been told,” Price said. Nick noted that he seemed ill at ease, although by outward appearances he surely belonged here. He had the right speech, the right manners and the right clothing.

  “Much obliged to yo
u, sir,” Nick said. “Not that I deserve the kind words. Just a Colorado rancher is all.”

  “Of a large and prosperous ranch, so I have heard. It is a pleasure to have you among us.” His voice was a mite high for a man, and kinda scraped on Nick’s nerves. Most likely he thought it was genteel. Strange how these folk equated “feminine” with “genteel.”

  “He’s entertaining, at any rate,” Lee said. “Now, if we’re all agreed, shall we proceed to supper? Nick isn’t used to all this exercise, you know. Better feed him before he faints dead away.”

  “Plumb tuckered out, I am,” Nick agreed.

  “Why then,” Star said, with a laugh, “I suppose as long as we are storming the supper room for the sake of our honored guest’s good health, we shan’t incur censure. Nicholas, my dear honored guest, if you would be so obliging as to escort me into the supper room, I shall explain to you how this all works.”

  “Glad to, ma’am,” he said taking her arm. It was unusually hard. Muscle, from tennis and rowing which he found oddly appealing. “Reckon I already know how to eat, though.”

  “Why I reckon you do!” Star gurgled as they followed Lee to a pair of white double doors at the back of the room, blending in with the gold flocked wallpaper. “But do you know which are the best foods for dancing? That is my concern.” The band struck up again, and dancers took positions on the floor. Several older folk glowered at them disapprovingly. “We must be careful,” she continued, “for you are such a big, sturdy man. If you should you faint, you’ll take me down with you.”

  The thought of her falling down on top of him, her soft body pressing against him set his mind off along trails better not traveled at a ball. Or ever.

  Lee opened one of the doors just enough for them all to slip through. Nick glanced around, eyes wide in wonder. Grandly decorated in shades of pink and blue, the supper room was half the size of the ballroom. Sparkling chandeliers rained light down upon small tables set with linen and crystal. Food was laid out on long tables running down the middle of the room: a room-length array of all kinds of delicacies. Melinda would’ve swooned in delight, he thought with a touch of homesickness. There was duck and ices, roast beef and pastries, peas and carrots, and celery laid out in special silver containers. Everything, it seemed, had its own sauce or gravy. There were so many varieties of food that if Nick tasted every one, he’d be full ‘til Christmas. As they helped themselves, Star kept up a steady flow of conversation, part flirtation, part amused self-deprecation at the lengths she and her “set” went to impress each other. The conversation was uniquely Star, which somehow eased his homesickness.