by Delynn Royer
"They actually fell for that?"
Gwin raised her champagne glass, her eyes sparkling. "The bigger the lie ..."
One story had led to another, each more outrageous than the last. Cole had laughed until his stomach ached. By the time they left the restaurant, he felt as if he'd finally gotten a glimpse of the wily Silas Pierce through the eyes of his loving children.
But now, as Cole stood watching Gwin stride down the street ahead, it wasn't Silas Pierce he was thinking about; it was Clell Martin. Tonight, Cole had studied Gwin's expressions whenever she spoke of him, and in her eyes he had seen a wrenching mixture of affection and sorrow. He also remembered Doc Price's casual inquiry about Clell on the day they had arrived in Virginia City and how Gwin had been so shaken by the mere mention of the man’s name that she’d stumbled over her own words. Cole was now certain that there had been more between those two than just friendship, and this new certainty brought with it a stab of something like jealousy.
She's your assignment, not your woman, Cole. Whether or not she and Clell Martin were lovers shouldn't matter to you. But it did. Somehow it did, and Cole was forced to admit to himself that Guinevere Pierce had come to mean much more to him than just the personification of his first solo assignment for the Pinkerton Agency.
"Awww, what's the matter with her?" Arthur whined. "All I wanna do is go to bed!"
"Oh, you will, my boy," Cole said, starting out again after her, "and I have a feeling it’s going to be in style. Let’s go."
*
Less than thirty minutes later, Cole was lighting the gas jets of a sparkling chandelier. Gwin, who had followed Cole and Arthur into their lavish hotel room, let out a sigh. The furnishings—two four-poster beds, a dresser, a writing desk complete with hotel stationery and pens, even the elaborate hat rack behind the open door—were all made of a deep, rich walnut. The wallpaper above redwood-paneled wainscoting featured an ornate green and gold scrollwork design.
Gwin was awestruck. "It's beautiful. Just like something out of Camelot." The soles of her dainty court shoes whispered over plush carpeting as she crossed the room. She ran her fingertips over one of the downturned bedspreads.
"Hmmm, yes." Cole set the long-handled wand he had used to light the chandelier on the writing desk. "And it costs like something only a king could afford, too."
"It's worth it. Sometimes you have to live for the moment."
"If you say so. Now me, I like to plan ahead."
Even under normal circumstances, Gwin thought Cole one of the handsomest men she had ever met, but tonight he was enough to take any woman's breath away. Dressed in his crisp new suit, with a striped ascot tie cinched at his collar, and his brown derby set back at a jaunty angle on his head, Cole Shepherd cut a dashing figure.
Arthur, who was beyond caring about his surroundings as long as it included a place to sleep, scrambled up onto the bed. He started pulling off his jacket. "Gooood night!"
Gwin started for the open doorway. "It's late. I'd better go find my own room."
"Wait,” Cole said. “I'll walk you."
She acted as if she hadn't heard. Throughout the evening, Cole had been trying subtly, but persistently, to get her to talk. She had managed to stave him off until now.
"Gwin, wait a minute."
She almost made it out the door before Cole caught up to her, snagging her by the elbow and spinning her around. "I said I'll walk you to your room. Besides, there's something I want to talk to you about."
"Can't it wait until morning?"
"You've been avoiding me all night."
"Let go."
"There are things we need to discuss."
Arthur interrupted. "If you two are going to start fighting again—"
"We’re not,” Gwin said. “Go to sleep."
"Oh, yes we are," Cole said.
"Come on, Shepherd, we're all tired."
"How am I supposed to get any sleep if you two are yelling at each other?" Arthur asked.
"Don't worry,” Cole said, “you go on to bed while I make sure your sister gets to her room safe and sound." Cole took Gwin's elbow and steered her out through the open door, closing it firmly behind them.
Once outside, he didn't let go of her as he led her down the deserted hallway to her room. Cole stopped and turned her around to face him. "You've been trying to put me off all night. What are you so afraid of?"
Gwin avoided his gaze. "I wanted this night to be ..."
He waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he prodded. "To be what?"
"Never mind. I just wanted it to go smoothly, that's all."
"And it did."
"Yes."
"What are your plans?"
"Plans?" Gwin tried to sound innocent and fell far short of her mark. "What plans?"
Cole pulled her closer and slipped two fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. Gwin suddenly felt dizzy, as if the champagne she'd drunk this evening had finally caught up with her. His voice was low and pressing, barely above a whisper. "You’re planning on running away, aren't you? That's why you wanted it to go smoothly. Because it's your way of saying good-bye."
"You're imagining things."
Cole's hand slipped behind her neck, pulling her still closer. "Am I?"
Gwin raised her free hand to press against his chest. Her intention was to push him away, but instead her hand just rested there, her fingers spreading out over the material of his coat. The scent of his shaving soap mingled with the faint aroma of bourbon, and she smiled to herself, thinking that tonight was the first time she'd seen him take a drink of anything stronger than whistle-stop coffee.
"Gwin?"
She blinked, surprised to see such a serious expression on his face. "What?"
"I'm half-afraid I'll wake up tomorrow and you'll be gone."
Gwin couldn't bring herself to answer. She had thought of slipping away in the night. It was inevitable that they must part ways. That was why she had wanted this night to go perfectly. This was the last night she would have with him. She didn't want it to be marred by pointless bickering. Tomorrow, they had to face hard choices. Cole had his career in Chicago to go back to. She and Arthur had a future in the East.
Cole studied her face. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"No."
"Gwin ..." The hand that gripped her elbow moved down to her waist. He bent his head and Gwin caught her breath as his lips brushed lightly over hers. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her flush up against him, and Gwin tilted her head to accept his kiss. Champagne bubbles, she thought giddily, her arms sliding up to lock around his neck. Nobody ever told me they could actually cause your feet to leave the floor.
The sound of keys jingling at the end of the hall startled them. Gwin jumped back as a portly gentleman in a black top hat approached, thumping his cane on the carpet. He grinned in passing. "Had a winning night, hey?"
Gwin felt her cheeks grow warm as the man stopped outside a door down the hall, inserted his key, and threw them a rakish wink before sweeping inside and closing the door behind him.
Cole muttered, "Bad timing."
Gwin frowned up at him. "How embarrassing."
"Oh, it was nothing. Just a kiss, Gwin."
Just a kiss? She glowered. "Excuse me if I can't be as casual about it as you seem to be."
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" He stopped and corrected himself wearily. "I mean, yes, I meant to kiss you, but we still have to talk about all this."
"Not here, Cole. We're in the hallway."
"Fine. We'll continue this in private." He held out a hand. "Your key?"
Gwin could think of no good reason to refuse and so produced her room key and gave it to him.
He opened the door. "After you."
Moonlight filtered through lacy summer curtains at one window, illuminating the room just enough that she was able to make her way to a night table by a canopy bed.
"I'll light the chandelier," Cole said.
"D
on't bother. There's a lamp here." Gwin found a box of matches and lit the wick, shooing away a puff of smoke.
"Nice," Cole commented, closing the door behind him.
Gwin dropped her reticule on the night table and looked around, pulling off her gloves and tossing them down. The room was luxurious, just as beautiful as Arthur and Cole's, but she was growing too nervous to appreciate it. The thick, quilted coverlet on the canopy bed had been turned down for the night, baring a set of immaculate white sheets. Her eyes lingered there a moment too long before she turned to face Cole, who still stood by the door, taking in their surroundings.
When he finished his perusal of the room, he met her gaze. He didn't say anything; nor did he look away, and Gwin felt a shiver that had nothing to do with being cold. Good sense told her it was time to leave Cole Shepherd behind, to forget him and get on with her life, but good sense had little to say about the warm feeling that blossomed inside of her when he kissed her.
Last night, sleeping alone in a bed that had once belonged to the Prices' eldest daughter, Gwin had dreamed of Lancelot for the first time since meeting him in the flesh. In the dream, he had stolen into her bedchamber in the night. He had taken her into his arms and kissed her. He had undressed her and placed her upon the bed. In the dream, there followed caresses and whispered words of love, but it had ended there, as always, and Gwin had awakened abruptly, feeling an unsatisfied ache in her body as well as her heart.
Now, Gwin averted her eyes from Cole's steady, silent gaze, afraid that he would see the truth in her eyes. She was ready to finish this dream once and for all.
She heard him moving around and she looked up to see that he'd doffed his hat and hung it on a hat rack next to the door. He started to slip out of his coat but stopped at catching the anxious look on her face. "It's warm. Do you mind?"
Gwin licked dry lips. "No."
He took off his coat and hung it next to his derby. "I suppose you know what it is that I want to talk to you about."
"I think so." Gwin silently cursed her stomach, which had suddenly turned into a butter churner. What was the matter with her?
Cole spoke. "All I want you to do is hear me out."
"Fine."
"I want you to go to San Francisco with me."
This was exactly what Gwin had been trying to avoid all evening. If they were to talk, they would inevitably argue. Perhaps dreams were not meant to come true after all.
She took a deep breath. "I can't do that."
"If we work together, I think maybe we can find out who killed Silas and the others. Don't you think it's at least worth a try?"
Gwin sat on the bed, kicked off her court shoes, and bent to peel off her stockings. She strived to keep her tone unconcerned. "Why do you even care?"
"What?"
"Is it because all of this won't look good for you when you go back to the Agency?"
His voice held a note of controlled anger. "Because it won't look good?"
Gwin's heart might be putty in his hands, but her rational-thinking mind knew that she had to goad him. It was her only hope of getting at the truth. "Letting a woman and a boy slip away from you wouldn't look very good on your record, would it?"
"No, I suppose not."
She sat up to face him. "It would be an easy scam, you know. Convincing us to return to San Francisco to help you uncover the true killer and then delivering us directly into the hands of the police."
The look on his face cut through her. "You think I'd do that after what we've been through?"
"I don't know. I haven't gotten this far by placing my trust in strangers."
"No, I reckon not, but I thought that by now maybe we'd gotten to know each other a little better than that."
Gwin felt her resolve wavering. "It hasn't been so long."
"No, not so long," Cole agreed, his voice softening. "It just seems that way."
Gwin's heart fluttered. Looking at him now, she felt an intense longing rise up from the pit of her stomach, very sudden and very strong. She tried to ignore it as she stood and crossed the room to a dressing table. She stared into an oval mirror, seeing nothing. "You still haven't answered my question. Why do you care? Why bother risking your neck to try to solve the murder of some no-account like Silas?"
"I won't deny that solving this case would look good for me at the Agency, but that's not all of it. Why do you think I got into this kind of work in the first place?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
She sensed his approach. "Look, I don't care who the victims are. No one should get away with cold-blooded murder. No one. It's not right."
"No, it's not right," Gwin agreed, subdued.
Cole now stood directly behind her. "And that's exactly what will happen if someone doesn't try to do something about it."
Gwin felt her determination crumbling. "And that someone is you?"
"No, that someone is us."
Her problem, she knew, was that she wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. "But what about Arthur? He's just a child. It's not right to put him in danger."
Cole gripped her shoulders from behind. "I won't let anything happen to you or Arthur. I promise."
"How can you make a promise like that?"
"When I took this assignment, you and Arthur became my responsibility. That hasn't changed." His hold on her tightened. "You want to find out who killed Silas, don't you? You want to see him pay for it, don't you?"
"Yes, of course I do, but—"
"You're safe for now, Gwin. For today. Maybe even tomorrow and the day after that. But what about later? No matter where you go, how long will you feel safe? You don't have any idea of who or what you're up against. Do you want to go on running forever?"
Gwin looked at him in the mirror. "Running?"
"As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you and Arthur fell off the face of the earth when you jumped that train. No one will know you're back in San Francisco. No one but me. I'll wire the Agency that I lost you and that I'm pursuing some leads on my own before returning to Chicago."
Gwin felt the last remnants of her anger and suspicion drain away. He wasn't lying to her. She didn’t need to see the truth in his eyes to know it. He was too honorable for that; too honorable, even, to try to force her to return to San Francisco with him, which he could do if he wanted. Even setting his damnable "supeena" powers aside, there was still that pesky horse-stealing warrant for her in Garden City, and they both knew it.
"Just think about it," he urged. His hand left her shoulder and traveled lightly up the side of her neck to touch her hair. "Think about it, won't you?"
"Yes." She felt a little faint. "I'll think about it."
But how could she think straight under these circumstances? She was losing herself to him. She thought it might have started the very first day she laid eyes on him in Caldwell, Kansas.
"You have beautiful hair, Gwin," he said softly, pulling one hairpin from her coiffure and dropping it to the dressing table.
Gwin didn't move, couldn't move.
Another hairpin slipped away. Then another. Then another and another, until a mass of curls tumbled past her shoulders. Cole took a handful of it and lifted it to his lips. "You're so lovely. You would tempt a saint, you know that?"
He took her by the shoulders and turned her slowly to face him. Gwin closed her eyes as his lips brushed her forehead, his breath warm on her skin. She flattened both palms against the smooth linen material of his shirt. He felt warm and firm, and she marveled at the vibration of his heart beating strong beneath her fingertips. He was real.
He kissed her temple and her eyelids. Gwin tilted her face up as his lips slanted down her cheek to press at the corner of her mouth. Then his hands slipped down to close at her waist. "If you want me to leave, tell me now."
Gwin's fingers slid up to play over broad shoulders. She felt the thick bandage beneath his shirt and was reminded of how he had risked his life to save her and Arthur. "No, I don't want yo
u to leave."
He pushed her hair from one shoulder and kissed her neck. Gwin shivered as his lips moved up, up, up, where she felt him nip gently at her earlobe. He whispered, "I want to make love to you." He lifted his head, and, with both hands, cupped her upturned face. "And you want it, too."
Chapter Seventeen
Gwin slid her arms up to lock around his neck. "Yes."
"You’re sure?" he asked, one hand slipping down and back around to deftly slip open the tiny buttons of her dress.
"I’m sure." Her heart started to pound at the finality of these words. It was time to push the hard reality of their circumstances from her mind.
She met his seeking mouth with her own, opening herself to him, her tongue finding his to mate in a slow, searching kiss that seemed to last a sweet eternity. Cole finally pulled away, pushing the sleeves of her dress down off of her to her waist, and then pressing his lips to her shoulder.
She was only vaguely aware that he was undressing her, unbuttoning the waistband of her petticoat, loosening the ties to her corset. With barely a tug or a pull, the corset fell away, dropping to the carpet by their feet. Her dress and pantalets seemed to melt off of her as he urged them down over her hips to collapse into a puffy cloud of satin and crepe around her ankles.
His hands rested on her hips, kneading gently as he spoke against her mouth. "I've wanted you since the first day I saw you."
Gwin marveled at his touch, at the tingling sensations spreading to warm even the tips of her extremities. She had felt these stirrings before. On board the train the night they had shared a berth and the night they had spent together beneath the stars. And, of course, she had felt them countless times in her own dreams—just before waking up flushed and scattered and abashed at herself.
She was abashed now as Cole pulled away from her, his hands smoothing artfully up over her rib cage to close over each breast, molding them gently with his palms through the thin material of her chemise. Don't think. Just let him ... Gwin caught her breath and closed her eyes as his thumbs played over each crest.
When his hands slipped back down, he lifted the waist of her camisole. Hesitantly, Gwin raised her arms as he slid it up and off of her. The garment fluttered to the floor.