“I behaved rather well last night,” he muttered, his tone bleak, his thoughts elsewhere.
Daphne remembered the rumpled bed she’d seen that morning and the flush in Willow’s cheeks, but refrained from comment. “You asked me to go to the supper dance with you, Gideon, just to spite Willow. Now, I’m afraid, she’s determined to spite you in return. You brought this on yourself.”
Gideon’s hand was already on the doorknob. “You didn’t warn her?”
“I told Willow that you and Zachary are different from most brothers, and that this would be a mistake. What else was I supposed to say, Gideon? That you suspect your brother of all manner of secret sins, things I only know as hearsay?”
Gideon’s aristocratically handsome face tightened for a moment, but then, with extraordinary self-control, he relaxed a little, even smiled.
“It appears that we have no choice, then, but to play by Willow’s rules,” he said. “Are you ready to leave?”
Daphne swallowed and nodded. With a gesture of one hand, she indicated her shawl, draped over one of the hooks on the coat tree there in the entryway.
Gideon brought it to her and set it gently over her shoulders.
Daphne looked up at him in trepidation and concern. “I hope you know,” she said, “that you will only make this situation worse if you pretend that you still care for me.”
“Pretend?” Gideon retorted smoothly, wearing his lawn-party smile. Daphne could almost smell freshly cut grass and hear the click of croquet balls. “I assure you that my attraction to you is not feigned, my dear. You are a very beautiful woman—not to mention a good one—and the man who eventually becomes your husband and fathers your children will be fortunate indeed.”
Daphne rolled her eyes and took his offered arm. “Gideon, Gideon,” she reprimanded, under her breath. “What will become of you?”
He smiled, but only faintly.
Together, they set out for the supper dance on foot, for the distance was short and the night was warm.
* * *
The reaction of the townspeople to Willow’s wine-colored dress and unexpected escort was notable. It was also, considering all the times they’d slighted or ignored her, very satisfying.
Zachary drew his sister-in-law inordinately close for the first waltz of the evening. The dance hall was filled with noise and color and the enticing smells of the pies, cakes, and other delectable dishes brought by the local women. “They’re all talking about you,” he told Willow, in an intimate whisper.
“That’s nothing new,” she replied, drawing back from him a little way and looking around. “Do you see Daphne? She should be here by now.”
Zachary grinned. “No. And I don’t see Gideon, either. Perhaps they’ve worked out their differences and gone off to start anew.”
Willow flinched slightly, then recovered herself. Daphne had, after all, categorically denied having any romantic feelings for Gideon, and her fascination with Steven, during his brief stay at the ranch house after his grievous injury at the hands of Red Eagle, had been obvious. “Zachary,” she said directly, after yet another struggle with her conscience, “I must apologize. You see, the fact of the matter is that I’m using you.”
“I know that,” he answered smoothly, as they continued to dance.
She was stunned. Was she as transparent as that? “You know? And you aren’t angry?”
“Of course I’m not angry. I’ll stoop to any depths to spend time with you.”
If she’d had any doubts before, now Willow knew for sure that she had gone too far. Although he’d spoken in a light tone, there had been a worrisome note to Zachary’s words.
“I love Gideon,” she reminded him. “I love him very, very much.”
Zachary didn’t miss a step. There was something in his eyes that made Willow feel out of her depth, even cornered. “Ah, but does Gideon love you, my dear? Will he do battle for you, or will he simply shrug and turn back to the fair Daphne? Or any one of the women he knows back home in San Francisco?”
Willow didn’t miss his subtle emphasis on the words back home—the message was clear. Gideon didn’t belong in the wild Montana Territory; he was a man of wealth and sophistication, used to the culture and the comforts of a major city.
She paused to collect her wits, then raised her chin a notch and countered, “What do you hope to gain by this, Zachary?”
“You’ve aroused my protective instincts, that’s all,” Zachary said easily. They were still dancing, and although Willow wanted to break away, she wasn’t about to make a scene.
The gossip was bad enough as it was.
“Gideon is a grown man,” Willow heard herself say, “quite capable of deciding where he wants to live, and he did buy a ranch right outside of town, after all. Furthermore, Daphne doesn’t have any romantic feelings toward him.”
Zachary arched one raven black brow. Still, the music went on. Still they danced.
“Gideon is extremely wealthy,” Zachary said. “He owns property all over the map. As for Daphne and her sentiments, are you sure she doesn’t care for my brother? The two of them have been a pair, in one way or another, since childhood.”
“Of course I’m sure,” whispered Willow, who, all of a sudden, was not sure at all. While she didn’t believe for one moment that Daphne had been lying about the state of her affection for Gideon, she supposed it was possible that her friend had spoken in anger, or from bitter disappointment over the dashing of her own hopes.
In Daphne’s place, loving a man the way Willow loved Gideon and then finding out that he’d been married to someone else all along would have left her devastated.
Zachary still wore a benign, satisfied smile. One that made Willow want to slap him.
“I don’t believe you are sure,” he said. “And Gideon is very persuasive with the ladies, as I’m sure you would agree. Isn’t it possible that my brother has been dallying with both of you?”
Willow remembered—nearly relived—making love with Gideon in the sun-spangled grass behind their house and blushed. There was no arguing with the fact that he was adept at getting his way. Even when she was wildly angry, as she had been only the night before, Gideon could get past her defenses with very little effort; he’d already demonstrated that more than once. It wasn’t so hard to imagine that he might be just as successful with Daphne.
“Don’t look now,” Zachary said smugly, “but they’re here, Gideon and Daphne, I mean. Little wonder that they’re late.”
The implication in Zachary’s last words made Willow defy his warning and crane her neck to look. Daphne was a vision in pale blue silk, though her smile appeared a bit fixed, and Gideon stood tall and proud beside her, the last word in solicitous escorts. Seeing Willow, he nodded as though they had only a passing acquaintance and turned all his attention on Daphne.
“Thunderation,” muttered Willow, into Zachary’s fragrant neck.
At that point, Judge Gallagher brusquely cut in, waltzing his daughter well away from a surprised Zachary Marshall. “What the devil are you up to?” he demanded sharply. “And that dress. Did you borrow it from one of the dance-hall girls over at the Golden Feather Saloon?”
Willow worked up a faltering smile, relieved that her father had broken Zachary’s strange spell over her, and stung because Daphne and Gideon looked so right together. “What am I up to?” she echoed innocently, hoping Devlin would mistake the tremor in her voice for mischief, rather than heartbreak. “Why, Papa, I can’t imagine what you could possibly mean, saying such a thing—”
“Don’t you ‘Why, Papa’ me, you little imp,” Devlin broke in sternly. The set of his face was grim. “You’re trying to make Gideon jealous, aren’t you?”
Willow blushed. A lie would have been more prudent, but it was her private curse to blurt out the truth, whether the moment was opportune or not. “Yes.”
Devlin thrust out a sigh of exasperation and shook his head. “That’s foolish,” he declared, though he did keep his vo
ice low under the lively flow of the music. “Now he’ll feel obliged to return the favor.”
Willow couldn’t summon the spirit to argue the point. Between Zachary’s warning and the sight of Gideon and Daphne together, her bravado had deserted her. “What shall I do?”
Devlin softened a little, and there was warmth in his eyes. “For a start, you could go to Gideon and tell him, straight out, what you were trying to do. And then you could go home and get into a dress that doesn’t make you look like a hurdy-gurdy dancer!”
Willow didn’t care for her father’s suggestions, though she supposed they might have made sense to some people. She’d let the remark about borrowing her gown from a dance-hall girl pass, but saying she resembled a hurdygurdy dancer was going too far.
She stiffened, pressed her lips together, and stood stock still, glaring up into her father’s face.
Devlin sighed again and shook his head. “I should have known you wouldn’t listen,” he said.
Willow’s color was high. Insult heaped upon injury, that was the substance of her evening. And she’d looked forward to it so much, felt so womanly in her splendid velvet dress.
“You don’t seem to object to dresses like this one when Dove Triskadden wears them!” she accused.
The music stopped, then started again. Someone sawed industriously on a fiddle, and people stepped lively all around Willow and her father, but neither one of them moved at all.
Devlin arched one eyebrow. “You’re not Dove Triskadden, in case you’ve forgotten. And watch what tone you take with me, young lady. I can still send you off to find a switch.”
Despite everything, Willow couldn’t help smiling. In all her life, she’d never been spanked, but there had been one near miss, long ago. “Remember the last time?”
Devlin smiled. “How could I forget? I sent you to find a stick I could spank you with and you came back dragging a fence post!”
Willow was smug. “You didn’t spank me, either—you were laughing too hard.”
Devlin shook his head, his eyes dancing at the memory. “I figured an eleven-year-old with that much gumption ought to be let off with a warning.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Willow saw Gideon whirl by with Daphne in his arms and felt subdued again. If she approached Gideon now, as her father had suggested, he would probably only laugh at her.
And that would be worse than anything.
“Oh, Papa,” she sighed, “I’ve done it this time.”
“I’m afraid so,” agreed the judge, but his tone was tender and his eyes smiled at her. “Do you want me to talk to Gideon?”
The day when Devlin Gallagher could fight her battles for her was past, and Willow knew it. She shook her head and they finished the waltz in silence.
* * *
Overheated and tired of dancing to Gideon Marshall’s tune, Daphne hurried outside. Hell’s bells, had the whole town come to this affair? It certainly seemed so, but the grassy yard surrounding the dance hall was empty and quiet, and the breeze was deliciously cool.
Drawing in a deep breath of fresh air, Daphne wished that she’d been able to reason with Willow and Gideon and end this stupid game they were playing, once and for all. Alas, they were both as stubborn as a miner’s mule.
Inside the hall, a new set was beginning. Daphne slipped into the shadows edging the porch, lest Gideon see her and insist they dance again. It was then that she saw the rider, sitting statue still on his horse, perhaps a dozen yards distant, the two of them bathed in moonlight.
Daphne’s heart leaped into her throat. Steven? It couldn’t be. Not now, not here.
Heedless of the dangers of approaching a stranger, on horseback or not, Daphne swept off the porch, skirts in hand, and marched forward.
“Steven?” she marveled, hardly able to believe her eyes when she was within a few steps of him.
He tilted his head slightly in suave acknowledgment. His fair hair shone silvery gold in the light of the summer moon. “Daphne,” he replied in greeting, as calmly as if he hadn’t endangered his freedom—possibly even his very life—by coming there.
She stared at him, amazed and stricken by emotions she’d never felt before, as he swung one leg over his saddle horn, gained his footing on the soft ground, and strode toward her.
“May I have this dance?” the outlaw asked, after executing one dashing bow.
“Are you insane?” fretted Daphne, breathless because her heart was bounding around inside her, now surging into her throat, now plummeting to her stomach.
The distant strains of a waltz came to them, over the whispering prairie grass, swirling around them, enclosing them like an embrace. They came together slowly, surely, as though they’d danced like this before at some point just beyond the reach of their memories.
In a dream, perhaps, or another lifetime.
When the music stopped, however, the strange magic shattered instantly. Daphne, ever practical, faced the dismal facts. Enthralled as she was by this magnificent man, he was a thief with a price on his head—a price that had been put there by her own father.
“Leave, Steven,” she whispered. “Please—get out of here before someone sees you and . . .”
He was still holding her hand; his fingers, remarkably gentle fingers, moved idly over her knuckles, sending little molten shivers into every part of her. “Daphne—”
“No!” cried Daphne, as much to herself as to him. “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything at all, because I won’t be able to bear it if you do!”
With that, she turned to flee for her life and for her sanity, only to be restrained and then wrenched full into Steven Gallagher’s broad chest. The impact took her breath away.
Moonlight glimmered in his eyes as well as his hair as he caught her chin in one hand and tilted it upward. In the next moment, he was kissing Daphne with a commanding sort of gentleness, molding her soft frame to his hard one with magical hands.
It wasn’t easy, but after some concerted effort, Daphne finally broke away from his kiss. “Steven, I’m not one of your loose women. I . . .”
His hands, his brazen, strong hands, were still cupping her bottom, still holding her to the devastating evidence of his desire. He cocked his splendid head to one side and his smile was slow, sensuous, and very, very sad. “Come with me, Daphne,” he said. “Right now. Tonight.”
Daphne actually considered the suggestion. The idea of riding away with this man, on his horse, and surrendering to him in some isolated, moonlit place had definite appeal. “No,” she answered. She might have been smitten—and worse—but she wasn’t stupid.
“You’re a virgin,” Steven guessed, his hands kneading her plump, firm derriere.
Daphne flushed. “Of course I’m a virgin!” she sputtered. The frankness of country folk, she thought distractedly, was going to take some getting used to.
“I will love you gently,” he said. “In fact, Daphne Roberts, I will make you plead for more.”
Somewhere, Daphne found the strength to draw back one hand and slap Steven Gallagher’s face, and soundly. “Of all the arrogant, ill-mannered, presumptuous—”
He arched an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue her quiet damnation. Laughter burned blue in his eyes.
Far away, in the dance hall, the music began again. Daphne realized, with horror, that Gideon would soon notice her absence and come in search of her, if he hadn’t done so already.
“You’ve got to get away from here!” she said desperately, forgetting her ire, her indignation, and, partly anyway, her foolish yearning for this man. “Please, Steven, go now! I couldn’t bear it if—”
“If they caught me?” he said, his lips perilously near her own again, drawing her. “But I’m arrogant and ill-mannered. Not to mention presumptuous. Surely you don’t care if I hang—”
“Steven!” Daphne pleaded, and the word was a sob of terror.
He kissed her forehead. “You’re staying at my father’s house, aren’t you?” he asked.
Feverishly, Daphne nodded. What had she been thinking, tarrying here with a wanted man, allowing him to take such a risk? Dear Lord, if he didn’t go, and go soon, someone was sure to see him.
Blithely, he patted her pulsing bottom with both hands. “Are you sharing a room with your homely cousin?” he inquired, as though they had all the time in the world.
“Yes!” she said. “Please—”
“I’ll be waiting in the judge’s stables, Daphne. When the dance is over, come to me.”
Daphne would have agreed to almost anything by that time, so desperate was she to see this handsome, infuriating outlaw safe. “All right, all right!” she choked out, and then she turned and fled, and this time Steven made no move to stop her.
She had almost reached the dance hall before she dared to look back.
Steven had vanished.
Daphne sighed and looked up at the star-speckled sky, as if in search of a sign. She didn’t have to meet Steven Gallagher in his father’s stables; indeed, she would be a fool if she did, an utter fool. He was on the run, an enemy of her father’s, and they certainly had no future together.
No doubt, deflowering her would be sport to him, nothing more.
Again, Daphne sighed. She could stand there and philosophize all she wanted, she knew. But when the dance was over and the Gallagher house was quiet, she would go to meet Steven.
* * *
“If you ever wear a dress like this in public again,” Gideon intoned, his smile rock hard as he danced with his wife, “I will turn you over my knee!”
Willow was hurt, but she tossed her head defiantly and glared up into Gideon’s face. “You’ll have heart failure when you get the bill,” she said. “Or, at least, I hope so.”
The familiar muscle pulsed in his jawline. “You charged that getup to me?” he said through his splendid and tightly clenched teeth. “Good. That gives me the right to tear it to shreds.”
“You wouldn’t dare, Gideon Marshall!”
“Watch me, hellcat.”
Willow felt tears burning in her eyes. “I thought you would like this gown,” she said, unable to hide her feelings. “I thought I looked—well—rather nice in it.”
Willow: A Novel (No Series) Page 20