by Jill Gregory
Dessert was a tempting assortment of fresh fruit, sopaipillas, and berry tarts, served with strong coffee and a dozen bottles of Wesley Hill’s finest brandy.
Strangely enough, though, Buck seemed to have little appetite. He picked at the food heaped on his plate, his gaze returning persistently, though unwillingly, to the girl in the rose silk gown.
Bryony, who was seated between Roger Davenport and Matthew Richards in the elegant dining room overlooking the courtyard, noticed Annie’s triumph with delight.
She had little time to speculate about Buck and Annie though, once the meal was completed and the dancing began. She found herself outside on the festively decorated, lantern-lit courtyard, deluged with partners and barely able to breathe between dances.
She was even grateful when Roger slipped his arm around her waist and suggested they walk out among the orange groves. Matt Richards stood nearby and Bryony knew he would notice the rendezvous, so she acquiesced with a seductive smile and a quick assent.
“Oh, yes, Roger, I would love it!”
The moon gleamed down on them as they made their way toward the darkness of the trees. It was a sultry night, hot and windless, with a sprinkling of stars in the black Arizona sky.
Roger’s arm squeezed around her waist. When they reached the seclusion of the fragrant orange groves, he pulled her close to him and kissed her fervently, his hands groping instantly for her breasts.
Bryony jerked away, both angry and guilt-ridden. She supposed she had led Roger on just a little bit, but she wasn’t about to make love to him out here just to appease Matthew Richards.
“No, Roger, let me go,” she said firmly.
“Sweet, Bryony, don’t be that way. You do love me, I know you do. I was beginning to wonder if things would ever work out for us—until tonight. Now I see that your feelings are getting the better of you.”
Flashing his confident smile, he seemed immensely pleased with the situation.
“Darling, I’m so happy. When shall we be married? The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been thinking about this and I have a splendid idea. Why don’t we go to San Francisco together tomorrow? You can pack after the last guests leave tonight.”
“Roger, are you mad?” Bryony stared at him in astonishment. “Don’t you realize that I own a ranch here? I have property and livestock. I can’t just pack up and go—even if I wanted to!”
He laughed light-heartedly, then grabbed her by both arms, kissing her exuberantly.
“Bryony, you’re adorable. Don’t you realize that once I’m your husband, I’ll take care of all those financial details for you? We can dispose of the ranch and cattle later. I’ll handle everything.”
Bryony went still, staring at him.
“You see, darling, after you become my wife,” Roger continued breezily, “you won’t have to worry your beautiful little head over such matters as land and cattle ever again.”
She could scarcely control her exasperation at his condescending attitude, but after all, she told herself, she couldn’t really blame him for his optimism. After the way she’d been acting tonight, at least half the town must suspect that an engagement was imminent.
She only hoped that Matthew Richards was part of that group.
But as for Roger, the sooner she set him straight, the better.
“I’m very sorry, Roger. Truly, I am. I... I think all the wine I’ve drunk tonight has made me behave very badly. I apologize if I gave you reason to hope, to think...”
When he just stared at her, she drew a breath.
“Roger, the plain truth is, I’m not going to marry you and I never will. I don’t love you.” Her tone was firm. “I hope we can still remain friends because I’m fond of you—but not in the way that a wife should be fond of her husband. Marriage is out of the question.”
He stared at her, stricken. “But tonight... the way you looked at me, spoke to me. Bryony, you must love me.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Roger.”
Suddenly his eyes lit with fury. “I see. You think I’m a fool, is that it, Bryony? You’ve just been using me tonight, haven’t you? Trying to make some other man jealous! That’s the reason you’ve been flirting with me so outrageously, like a... a common harlot. Tell me, who is the poor fellow? Mr. Matthew Richards? Or one of your hired hands?”
Contempt edged his voice. “I see your game now—and I have the greatest sympathy for the victim of this charade. I should have known what to expect from you after our last meeting in St. Louis. You showed yourself to be a foolish, silly girl then, and you’ve proved it now—however, I must add scheming to that description. I’m devoutly grateful to have escaped your clutches, believe me I am!”
Bryony felt tears pricking her eyes. In a way, she deserved Roger’s condemnation. She regretted the pain she’d caused him.
“Roger... please forgive me. I swear to you, I’m not in love with anyone who was there at the party tonight! I haven’t been playing a coy, schoolgirl’s game with you! I...”
She found herself unable to continue, but to her amazement, her earnest tone and the tears on her eyelashes actually had an effect on him. His face softened, and somewhat mollified, he patted her arm rather awkwardly.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t cry, Bryony.” He looked dismayed by her obvious distress. “I apologize if I spoke too harshly. I don’t understand your behavior in the least, and I certainly have been hurt by it, but I suppose, since I’m leaving in the morning, we may as well part as friends.”
He cleared his throat. “After all, we probably won’t meet again, and I’m certain you’re as relieved about that as I am.”
She bit her lip. “I’d like to remain your friend, Roger.”
“Very well.” His tone was stiff. “But I won’t trouble you any longer about my feelings. Shall we rejoin the party?”
What else was there to say between them? Bryony merely nodded and they turned back toward the gaiety in the courtyard, silence weighing heavily between them.
As they neared the lights and the music and the happily twirling figures in the courtyard, Roger spoke formally.
“I think it would be best if I took my leave now, Bryony. I’m really in no mood for frivolity, and I have many preparations still to attend to before my journey tomorrow. You will excuse me, under the circumstances?”
“Of course,” she replied quietly.
Together they went in search of Frank and Edna, with whom Roger had driven to the party. Fortunately, they were ready to take their leave as well and the three were soon bidding farewell to Bryony on the front porch of the ranch.
Frank and Edna, with several nudges and grins and winks, hurried off to the buggy, leaving Roger and Bryony momentarily alone.
Bryony touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Roger. Truly.”
His smile was slightly wooden, but at least he made the attempt.
“Let us not speak of it any more. I shall do my best to forget, and so, I trust, shall you.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Good-bye and have a safe journey. I hope you’ll find San Francisco to your liking.”
“Thank you. I am certain it will prove a delightful and charming city. Good-bye, Bryony.”
She watched him stride quickly toward the buggy.
“Ah. Finally. Alone at last.”
Whirling about, Bryony saw Matthew Richards’s eyes gleaming at her in the darkness.
“Matt, you startled me!”
“Sorry about that, honey. You look so lonely out here. Aren’t you enjoying your own fiesta, or are you merely sad now that Davenport has gone?”
So, he had noticed her performance this evening. That was a relief. She attempted what she hoped was a mournful smile and replied in a low tone.
“I’m afraid I shall miss Roger greatly. I’d forgotten how charming he could be. It was lovely seeing him again.”
Matt’s expression was unreadable. “That was obvious. You know, I finally realized why you t
urned down my marriage proposal that day when we had our picnic. You were already in love with someone else, weren’t you, Bryony? I guess my case was hopeless from the start, isn’t that right?”
Before she could speak, he took her hand in his. “It’s all right, Bryony. Don’t feel bad. All I really want is your happiness. Tell me, are you planning to see young Davenport again soon? When he returns from his business in San Francisco?”
Bryony’s heart pounded with relief. Matt had taken the bait.
What an accomplished liar he is, she thought. But the important thing was that she’d accomplished her objective for tonight. Now it was only a matter of hours before she met with Jim.
She felt safe.
Her smile was dazzling as she tilted her head up at him.
“Perhaps,” she replied saucily. “But you must wait and see! I am not at liberty to speak of our plans just yet!”
There, that ought to satisfy him. She took his arm with a tiny laugh and led him back to the crowd of guests, chatting with great light-heartedness. Her relief was so intense that at first she didn’t notice Buck dancing with Annie Blake, or the way they were gazing as if mesmerized into each other’s eyes. Circulating among her guests, she quickly heard the gossip of the evening.
Buck Monroe, according to everyone at the fiesta, had fallen head over heels in love with a girl he’d known practically from the cradle.
And the townsfolk were already taking bets on how soon the wedding would take place.
Bryony smiled. She was delighted for Annie and Buck. She only prayed that her own problems would be settled as quickly, simply, and satisfactorily.
When the fiesta was finally over, Bryony tossed and turned in her bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. She was too tense, too eager for morning to come. Too excited to see Jim.
It was after three in the morning when she finally drifted off to sleep. She’d taken the precaution of hiding her derringer under her pillow, but she didn’t really expect any trouble. Matt had believed that she was in love with Roger, and that she’d soon leave Arizona to marry him. He wouldn’t try anything tonight.
Her sleep was deep, dreamless, as heavy as sandbags. She didn’t hear the creak of the floorboards in her room, or the squeak of boots on the floor. She didn’t hear anything until Rusty Jessup spoke to her out of the darkness.
And by then, it was too late.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Wal, now, if it ain’t the little boss lady, and don’t she look purty in her night clothes.”
The hissed whisper came out of the thick darkness.
Bryony’s eyes flew open in terror, but before she could scream, Jessup pounced on her, his sweaty hand clamping over her mouth, his body pinning her beneath him.
She fought like a demon and swore as she bit his hand. But he quickly drew his gun from his holster, jammed it against her throat.
Bryony’s scream froze on her lips.
“You make one sound, boss lady—just one sound and I’ll kill you. And I’ll kill that Mex housekeeper and anyone else who comes runnin’ in here, too. But you’ll be first. That’s a promise, honey—you’ll be first. Got it?”
She couldn’t answer.
Cruelly, he shoved the gun harder against her throat.
His voice was vicious.
“Got it?”
Bryony’s entire body trembled convulsively and she could barely breathe, but she managed to nod.
Jessup removed the gun, but kept it pointed at her as he straddled her on the bed.
Tears squeezed from her eyes. “What...what do you want... ?”
Her voice was a cracked, hoarse whisper.
Jessup grinned.
“Now, that’s better. You’re not so high and mighty tonight, are you, boss lady? Not like that day you fired me in front of all the ranch hands. I told you then you’d be sorry, but I reckon you didn’t take me serious. Now you do, though, don’t you? Now you know for a fact that Rusty Jessup always keeps his promises!”
“What are you... going to do?” she managed to croak, as dread engulfed her.
Jessup’s gaze ran over her trembling body, which was almost completely revealed by her sheer negligee. Suddenly leaning down, he fastened his lips to hers with lusty violence, sucking roughly at her mouth.
Bryony tried to scream but it turned into a muffled moan as she fought to squirm away from him. He held her relentlessly beneath him though and pressed the gun against her head as a terrifying reminder of what would happen if she did scream.
Jessup chuckled deep in his throat as she went quiet in fear. Then his free hand closed over her breast, squeezing it as his mouth sucked at hers. She felt him grow hard, and a greater revulsion than any she’d ever experienced seized possession of her.
Gun or no gun, she fought him wildly.
“Let me go!” she screamed, shoving against him with all of her strength, but he merely leaned back and struck her across the face. Her head reeled back against the pillow, and a strangled sob burst from her throat.
“No, please! Please don’t...”
Jessup grabbed her face, and squeezed it between his strong fingers.
“It wasn’t in the original plan, boss lady, but I reckon I’m goin’ to have you here and now. I’m tired of waiting, tired of following orders. And there ain’t much time...”
He ripped her nightgown aside and began loosening his trousers. Suddenly Bryony jerked her knee up with all her strength and slammed it into his groin. With a scream of agony, he rolled away from her.
Springing off the bed, she grabbed for the derringer beneath the pillow.
But before she could grasp it, a voice from the doorway brought her to a paralyzing halt.
“Freeze, Bryony. Don’t move, don’t scream. Or I’ll blow your pretty head off.”
Matthew Richards, gun in hand, stood beside the door.
Bryony went still. She didn’t move even a muscle. She couldn’t have. She wanted to scream, to weep, to die, but she stood like a statue as every vestige of hope drained from her.
“What the hell’s going on here, Jessup?” Matt demanded in a whisper that was no less violent for the fact that it was hushed. “You damned fool, are you trying to blow the whole plan to smithereens this close to the finish? I ought to shoot your damned eyes out!”
Jessup flushed, and fastened his trousers, climbing off the bed with noticeable pain. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered. “Damnation, look at her. She’d tempt a saint, and you know it. You’d have done the same as me, I reckon.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Meanwhile, you were supposed to see that she got herself dressed and packed! You’ve wasted valuable time, and made an ass out of yourself, by the looks of it. Now get downstairs and wait with the horses. I don’t want to hear a whinny out of them.”
With a dark scowl at Bryony, Jessup retrieved his gun and his black felt hat and stalked from the room, the door banging shut behind him. Matt stood alone with Bryony, his gun pointed at her.
“Get dressed,” he ordered.
“Matt, what are you doing? I don’t understand!”
“Don’t try that innocent act, honey. It won’t work. You know exactly what’s going on. Now get dressed and start packing your suitcase. A small one. Just take the things you might take for a short trip—say, to San Francisco?”
She gazed at him in shock. What was he talking about? Her head ached from Jessup’s blow, and she felt dazed and frightened. Somehow, things had gone very wrong.
She smelled death in the room with her, and knew from the cold, calculating expression in Matt’s eyes that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if and when it suited his needs.
She shivered uncontrollably.
“Of course, you’re not really going to ‘Frisco,” he said tightly. “But everyone around will think you did, especially after that nice little performance you put on tonight with that easterner. You played into my plans perfectly, Bryony, and I’m real grateful to you. We all saw yo
u sneak into the woods with him and it sure won’t take much to convince folks that you ran off with him lickety split. And by the time anyone learns different, it’ll be too late.”
Matt smiled maliciously. “Now, get dressed. We’ve got some riding to do, and I’m in a hurry.”
“Matt... please. Can’t we talk?”
“There’s only one thing I want to talk about with you, honey. That letter your father wrote before he died. Now I know that you’ve got it—or you know where to find it. And I want you to share that information with me pronto.”
Chilled to the bone despite the fact that it was stiflingly hot in the room, Bryony reached for a dressing robe and wrapped it quickly about herself. She was trying to stall for time, to think this out. Matt knew that she’d discovered the whereabouts of the paper—or so he said.
But how? How would he know? Pressing her hands to her temples, she wished she could block out the roaring in her head. It hurt her so. But she had to think!
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she began. “I thought you were my friend, and here you are in my room—with that horrible Rusty Jessup—threatening me and making absolutely no sense. What is all this about a letter?”
Slowly, deliberately, he holstered his gun and walked toward her. Bryony wanted to back away, but she forced herself to hold her ground.
With a sudden movement, he grabbed her by the throat. His fingers tightened.
“Don’t lie to me, Bryony. You’re a clever girl, and I admire you for it, honey, but the game is over. You know where that damned paper is and you’re going to tell me.”
His tone was calm, firm, deadly. He stared at her for several long seconds, as she tried to break free of his grasp, and finally, with a hard smile, he loosened his fingers and let her go.
Bryony rubbed her throat, more frightened than ever. But she’d be damned if she’d let him see her beg or cry. At this moment she hated him with murderous intensity and she stared him straight in the eye.
“The hell I will.”
Surprise showed on his face, then he smiled unpleasantly. “Oh, you will. I promise you. Maybe not here or now, but when we get to the place I’m taking you, I’ll have a chance to persuade you. And I promise you, Bryony, I will persuade you. Now get dressed. And remember, I’ll kill you, paper or no paper, if you make a sound.”