Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous)

by Avery, Joan

  “What do you talk about? You and Stephen.”

  “Many things, my dear. Many things.” Otto stroked his horse’s mane.

  “What kind of things?”

  “We speak of the Utes. I am to meet with General Adams and will act as a translator for him when he speaks to Ouray about the hostages.”

  “Do you think the hostages will be released alive?” The wind caught a strand of Kate’s hair and whipped it up. She caught it and tucked it carefully behind her ear.

  “Yes, I believe so. Sadly, even if they are, it will not be the end of it.”

  “The end of what?”

  “The hatred. It will only serve to catalyze those who wish to be rid of the Ute. It will be, I’m afraid, the end of the people of the shining mountains...” He shook his head sadly. “The end of the Utes.”

  She nodded toward Stephen. “It saddens Stephen too, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it would sadden any compassionate man.”

  “He is kind, isn’t he Otto?” She shaded her eyes so that she could better see Stephen in the distance.

  “Yes, he is kind. And honorable.”

  “His back, Otto, do you know about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the Indians do that to him?”

  “No, it was not Indians.”

  She was beginning to learn, beginning to comprehend. She did not ask who it was that had maimed him so. She was afraid Otto would not tell her, or perhaps she was afraid he would, and after this morning’s intimate encounter, she did not think she could handle the truth.

  “Does he ever speak of me?”

  “He does not need to speak of you for me to know you are on his mind.”

  “But I am the biggest obstacle to his happiness. Is it all a ruse to get Andy?”

  “You must discover that for yourself, my dear Kate, for I suspect there is nothing that I can say that would convince you.”

  She pondered this for a moment. “Perhaps you are right. Thank you.”

  They fell once again into a comfortable silence.

  Did she trust Stephen? Could she love him if she didn’t trust him? These questions haunted her as the wagon moved slowly toward its final destination. She studied Stephen’s black-clad figure far ahead of them. He sat his horse with an assurance that touched every aspect of his life. He was the kind of man she and Lizzie had always dreamed about. Kind and compassionate, handsome and elegant. Why then had Lizzie’s love for him ended so tragically?

  “Ah, here we are.” Otto smiled with pleasure.

  Stephen had pulled up his horse and waited for the wagon to catch up.

  The town of Canon City lay basking in the late afternoon sun. It was little more than an assemblage of twenty or so buildings, but it accommodated a variety of business interests.

  The hotel looked comfortable enough to her, at least on the outside. There were, in addition to the hotel, a barber shop, a large mercantile, and the mandatory saloon.

  “Otto, what’s that building over there?” She pointed to a white stucco building that dominated the far end of the small town.

  “It is the Colorado State Prison.”

  She studied the building whose black iron bars contrasted sharply with the whiteness of its walls. The prison left her with a feeling of unease. She couldn’t pinpoint why. The feeling was just there, barely tangible.

  “I’ll see to our rooms.” Stephen dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the hotel. He disappeared inside. Otto was beside the wagon offering her a hand.

  “I believe you will find this hotel an improvement over my wagon.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She laughed but couldn’t help one last glance at the prison. Its white walls shimmered in the slanted late afternoon light.

  …

  Kate stepped out of the warm tub. The bath had been a godsend. After two days on the road, she was feeling human again. She rubbed her hair with the rough towel, feeling her scalp tingle. She walked over to the small wood-framed mirror that stood atop the low bureau in the simple but clean hotel room. The polished wood floor had been strategically covered in colorful rag rugs. A porcelain pitcher with deep purple violets painted on it was filled with fresh water. The bed was made of pine and displayed four simple spindles. A handmade quilt in shades of violet had been carefully tucked around the mattress.

  The windows in the room faced west, toward the back of the hotel. Outside, the sun was just beginning to slide down the far side of the mountains. She would have to light a lamp soon. But for a moment she chose to stand in the magical light of the autumn sunset.

  She looked back at her image in the mirror for a long moment. Slowly, she untied the sash of the soft green Japanese silk robe that she had donned after her bath. For the first time in her life she studied her body. The fluid silk fell open to reveal her softly mounded breasts and flat stomach. Still lower golden curls accentuated the apex of her legs.

  Never before had she been so attuned to its stirrings, so confined in its skin. What was it that she wanted? What was it that drove her to such risks?

  Already her white-blond hair had begun to dry. Small wisps of it curled softly around her face. She had to acknowledge the truth. She was being pulled under the spell of the same man who had seduced her sister.

  …

  “Good evening.” Stephen rose from the small table in the hotel dining room as Kate approached. He had bathed and shaved. His ebony hair, still wet from his ablutions, curled seductively behind his ears and over the collar of his fresh shirt.

  “Good evening.” The table was set for only two. Her heart skipped a beat. “Isn’t Otto joining us?”

  “No, he’s meeting with General Adams. He said he hopes to join us later.”

  “Oh.” Kate nervously worried the wool of her dark blue skirt between thumb and finger.

  Stephen moved around the table to pull out her chair. He smelled of soap and bay rum cologne. Memories of their recent encounter rushed back and threatened to master her.

  She looked around the room to steady her nerves. The small dining room was set to the right of the hotel entrance. Across a hallway, to the left of the entrance, was the front desk. She could see the clerk quietly working on accounts.

  There were only eight tables in the small space, each covered with crisp white linen. Dark burgundy velvet drapes had been pulled over the windows, blocking the evening’s chill. Light from the oil lamps warmed the cream and claret papered walls and added sheen to the highly polished planked floor.

  She would have preferred the room to be lively with conversation, but only one other table was occupied, the two men deep in conversation. Kate had not wanted to be alone with Stephen quite yet. She needed time to think things through.

  Already, she regretted the liberties she had allowed him that morning. It made things awkward, embarrassing. But it wasn’t embarrassment that flushed her cheeks and left her palms moist. It wasn’t shame that made it difficult to breathe and left her body moist in secret places.

  “Please.” He held the back of her chair and bent over her as she took her seat. “You look lovely.” His breath caressed her ear and played down her neck. It gave her gooseflesh and caused her nipples to rise until they pushed against the fine cambric fabric of her chemise.

  He returned to his own seat but the distance was not great enough to allow her to regain her composure. The lamplight softened his chiseled features and deepened his eyes. He looked concerned. Concerned about her. It was all too much, too enticing, too easy.

  “The food here is quite good. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He spoke casually, but his eyes, his eyes teased and cajoled and never left her.

  She looked down at her hands and nodded, afraid to speak, afraid to betray her passion. She needed to pull herself together. There was more at stake than their personal relationship.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked softly.

  She found her voice. “They have wine? Yes, that wo
uld be lovely.” She could get through this. She simply must not allow him any more liberties.

  Stephen signaled for the waitress, a young girl of sixteen or so. “Could you please bring us a bottle of your best claret?”

  “Yes, sir.” The girl nodded and left.

  “About this morning...” he began.

  Kate stopped him. “Please. It was my fault as much as yours. I have no excuses. You’ll only embarrass me further by talking about it. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.”

  This last statement was a vow to herself. Her eyes met his. If he had any decency at all, he would not press her further.

  “As you wish.” The pleasure she had seen in his eyes died. Left was a coolness with which she was all too familiar.

  Neither spoke again. The waitress’s reappearance finally relieved the awkwardness. She placed two crystal glasses on the table and, pouring wine in Stephen’s glass, waited until he tasted it and nodded his approval before filling Kate’s glass.

  Stephen ordered grouse, evidently a house specialty. When the waitress left, he sat back in his chair and raised his glass. “To a safe journey.”

  “A safe journey,” she repeated. She sipped the ruby wine and its smooth texture enveloped her tongue. She swallowed and let its warmth coat her anxiety and dull her apprehension. “The wine is very good,” she acknowledged.

  “It may not look like much, but Canon City sees more than its share of millionaires. The town caters to the miners. More than one man has celebrated a newly made fortune in this very room.” It was clear he was willing to make an attempt at casual conversation.

  “And more than one brought low,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow, evidently puzzled by her remark.

  “The prison. Otto told me the building at the end of the street is the state prison.”

  Her own attempt to make conversation failed miserably. He grew suddenly very quiet. Still, she was reluctant to return once again to sullen silence. “It appears you have eaten here before. You have a firm grasp of the house specialties.” She smiled politely.

  “Yes, yes.” His answer was distracted. He toyed with his fork. He was lost in thought. She waited expectantly.

  “I have more than a passing acquaintance with Canon City,” he finally said.

  “Then you’ve spent time here?”

  “It seems I’ve spent a lifetime here.” There was a certain character to his voice. Sadness, bitterness, acceptance? She wasn’t sure. She could do nothing but wait to see if he offered more.

  He reached across the small table and took her hand. She should have pulled away, but she didn’t. He cradled her hand and thoughtfully rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

  “I once said you couldn’t love someone unless you trusted them. I need you to trust me now.” He looked back up at her. His eyes had a soft sheen. How easy it would be to lose herself in them. Float in their liquid depths. “Katherine, I need to tell you something. Something that could change everything. And I don’t want anything to change. I don’t want to lose my son. And I don’t want to lose you.”

  Her heart stopped for the moment. What was he saying?

  “You once demanded to know why I didn’t come for Andy right after Lizzie died.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. She didn’t think there was anything that he could say, however horrible, that could possibly change the path on which they were headed.

  “I said I would have come if I could have. I couldn’t come because—”

  “Ah, here you are.” Otto’s jovial voice interrupted. “I told the General I must join my friends for dinner and he agreed to let me go.”

  Stephen released his grasp and sat back in his chair. He drew a hand through his damp hair. “Have I come at an inopportune time?” Otto asked.

  “No, please, join us.” She patted one side of the table. She had wanted to know the truth desperately. But now that Stephen was willing to share it, she was afraid.

  Otto pulled over a chair from an adjoining table.

  “How did your meeting go with the general?” she asked.

  “Well, I think I will have to remain in Canon City until General Adams can confirm plans with Army headquarters, then I’m to head to Ouray’s hunting camp. I hope I will not be too late.”

  “Do you think Ouray can control the young hot-heads that long?” Stephen asked him.

  “I think so. I only hope that bureaucratic bungling doesn’t delay us.”

  “Let’s hope that for once they show good sense.” Stephen signaled the waitress. “Another glass, please.”

  “I stopped by Grayson’s. I told the weasel that you would be needing provisions and to give you only the best. He is an astute man. He knows I provide a good part of his living. He will not dare cross me on this.”

  “Thank you.” Stephen finally appeared to relax. “You know how highly I value your friendship and your advice.” Unspoken communication passed between the two men. She was sure of it, but hadn’t a clue as to what it could mean.

  The waitress poured a glass of wine for Otto and the Russian raised his glass. “To friendship then.” Otto touched his glass to Stephen’s and then to Kate’s.

  Stephen in turn held his glass out to Kate. “To friendship and the trust that it brings.”

  She hesitated, madly torn by contradicting emotions. “To friendship,” she finally offered and perhaps someday soon to trust, she added mentally.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stephen paced the dark hotel room. He had not lit the single gas lamp that sat on the small bureau. He was content to let the room match his dark thoughts.

  Damn Otto. The opportunity had been lost. After dinner, Otto had even accompanied them upstairs to their rooms. There had been no further opportunity to tell her.

  He stopped his pacing long enough to run his hands through his hair. He remembered the events of the morning. The smell of lavender about her, the salty taste of her skin. He became aroused. It was the same as the first time he had seen her, the night of the Veiled Prophet’s Ball. Then it had been a pure visceral reaction. Now it was something more. The past few weeks had changed everything.

  For two long years, he had fought to keep the memory of Lizzie—her sweetness, her gentleness, her laughter, and her trust. It had been a battle that gnawed at his insides and played tricks with his mind. It had been two years of sheer hell filled with hatred for the man responsible for her death.

  That was his world until St. Louis. Until he had seen Katherine Barker and his son. What had started as a battle for custody had turned into something else—something he had never anticipated.

  Since he had found Katherine, he had come to peace with his memories of Lizzie. He had been able to enfold them softly in the good times and block out the tragedy of her death. His memories of Lizzie were finally safe, never to be mangled or destroyed by the past or the future.

  Finding Kate had freed him. Kate was not Lizzie. He realized that with every breath she took, with every word she spoke.

  His love for Kate had caught him unaware. One minute they were battling for Andy and the next they were battling each other, fighting the realization that their relationship no longer hinged solely on Andy.

  More real than any memories of Lizzie, his love for Katherine had been his salvation. To lose her now would be the final blow.

  Otto had said he must tell her. He had run out of time. He walked to the door and, turning the knob, opened the door a crack. He paused to listen. She was still awake. He could still hear her whispered movements and muffled footsteps. She was probably preparing for bed. That knowledge flooded his mind with unbidden thoughts.

  He pictured her as she undressed in the lamplight. Saw her white shoulders as she stepped out of her dress. He stopped himself.

  What had he said to Otto about honor? That he had none? That the last vestiges of anything resembling honor had fled in the last two years?

  If he went to her now, went to her room, he would do the
very thing he had promised Otto he would not do. He could not trust himself, not now, not tonight. It would have to wait until morning.

  He closed the door, shutting out the single shaft of light that streamed into the dark hallway. He walked away from the door, back to the window that faced out on the street. Moonlight cast a blue glow over the small town. The saloon still vibrated with activity, and its windows sent out enough lamplight to drive away the cool blue haze.

  The rest of the town lay quiet. At the end of the street, the white stucco of the prison walls undulated with shadows. Demons crawled along the rough exterior, climbing the pristine walls to gain access to hell.

  He tensed. His grip on the window casing tightened. Small beads of sweat formed on his brow. And every ugly stripe, every lacerated piece of flesh on his back ached anew.

  …

  She heard the door to his room across the hall open. She pressed her dress, slipped off moments before, to her chest. She waited. She did not breathe, did not move.

  Would he come?

  Was she a fool to want him to come?

  For what seemed an eternity, she waited. Then the door closed and his footsteps retreated into his room. What did it mean? What had this morning meant? She had dismissed any attempt on his part to explain. She had become frightened when he offered to tell her where he’d been the last two years. But she couldn’t afford to be frightened. She needed to know.

  Did he love her? She couldn’t be sure. She was sure of only one thing. She was in danger of loving him. Loving him so madly that to lose him would be as painful as losing Andy.

  She laid her dress on the lone chair in the room. Slowly she unbuttoned her chemise and slipped it off, likewise her drawers. She picked up her silk nightgown and let it slip over her naked body. Its caress left her skin painfully alive. Shakily she tied the satin ribbons that ran from her neck to her waist. She walked to the small bureau and picked up her hairbrush. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and began to brush her hair. With every stroke she became more aware of every pore of her skin, every hair on her body.

  She finished her hair and picked up her silk wrapper. Pulling it tightly around her, she walked to the window. She was not tired. She was more awake than she’d ever been in her life.