She stroked his back; he slipped his hand beneath the velvet of her jacket and longed to tear away the shirt, too, to touch her naked skin. He ached to take her right there beside the water tank, and she seemed just as eager.
What was he thinking? This was Cecily here. The perfect English wife, hand-picked by his father to compliment his perfect English life. A life Charles no longer wanted. He forced himself away from her, stumbling backwards a little in his hurry to escape.
He stared at her. Her breasts rose and fell with the effort of her breathing. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark with desire. He turned his back to her, and addressed the ground at his feet. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.” He nodded. “You’re right, Cecily. Texas has changed me, and not for the better. I truly do not deserve a woman like you. I. . . I understand if you wish to never see me again. I only hope you will forget I ever behaved so abominably.”
“Charles, what are you talking about?” She put her hand on his back and leaned close. “I. . . I’m glad you need me that way as well.” She giggled, her breath tickling the back of his neck. “I do hope we can be married soon.”
“I. . . I think we’d best be returning to the house.” He walked over and snatched up his horse’s reins, then threw himself into the saddle.
Cecily used the rim of the stone water tank for a mounting block. Charles was glad he didn’t have to get down to help her. Touching her now, when his nerves still vibrated with unfulfilled need, might precipitate a repeat of what he’d just gone through.
What exactly, had happened? Was Cecily so naive she hadn’t realized the danger to her virtue? Or was she so desperate to have him, she’d use any means to force him to marry her?
He shook his head, at the same time trying to shake the desire from his body. Whatever the explanation for Cecily’s unexpected behavior, Charles would not give in. He refused to surrender his hard-won freedom for any woman. Not even one as desirable as Cecily Thorndale.
Chapter Four
The feel of Charles’ lips on hers lingered as Cecily made her way from the stables to the house. She wondered if the sensation would ever entirely leave her. For ten years, she’d treasured the memory of the boyish peck on the cheek that had sparked her first infatuation with the Earl of Brighton’s eldest son. The kiss they’d shared today had borne as little resemblance to that innocent buss as a distant star’s twinkle did to the noonday sun. She still burned with the heat of it. If only she could be sure Charles had felt that fire as well.
Entering the house, she sought refuge in a small side parlor. She needed time to sort out the morning’s events, to try to make some sense of the confusing whirl of emotions crowding her mind. Charles’s words told her he didn’t want her here, but his hands, and his searching lips, sent a very different message. That silent communication gave her hope that she could make him see they truly belonged together.
“Well, aren’t you the early bird?”
The comment pulled Cecily from her reverie. She looked up and saw Estelle emerge from the shadows in one corner of the parlor. She was drinking coffee from a china cup, a silk kimono wrapped around her thin figure. Cecily couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman in public rooms in her nightclothes, but then, Madame LeFleur and her ‘girls’ no doubt did all sorts of things unfamiliar to a proper lady. “Good morning.” She nodded to Estelle and unfastened her cloak.
“I suppose you could call it good.” Estelle returned the cup to its saucer and answered Cecily’s unspoken question. “I decided to come out here and enjoy my coffee in peace. I couldn’t stand the way that old witch in the kitchen kept looking at me, like I was something the dog tracked in.”
Cecily could well imagine the looks Mrs. Bridges must have given the prostitute. “Don’t mind her. Cooks always think they’re in charge of the household. It’s the same in England.” She removed the cloak and draped it over the back of a horsehair sofa.
Estelle stared out the front window. “I hear it’s real green in England. Is that true?” The sharp look she gave Cecily dared her to lie.
“Yes. It’s very green there.” She came to stand behind Estelle and studied the scene before her: the waving grass in muted yellows and browns, the silver-gray smudges of distant clumps of trees, the endless sky so blue it shimmered, like finest silk. “This place has a different kind of beauty, I think.”
“It looks just like the place we left, to me.” Estelle turned her back on the scene, and set her cup and saucer on a small side table. “I’d like to see someplace green one day, but I don’t guess I will anytime soon. Madame seems set on sticking here for a while.”
Cecily tried not to show her surprise. “Do you think that’s wise? The sheriff didn’t seem too welcoming.”
“Ha!” Estelle shook her head. “If I know men, he’ll be first to show up at our door once we’ve found a place and opened for business.”
“I always thought those sort of places had to operate, well, in secret.” Cecily knew she ought not to be so interested in Estelle and her profession, but when else would a woman like her have the opportunity to learn about this scandalous side of the world?
“Oh, you are an innocent, aren’t you?” Estelle laughed. “Whores may have to slink around in the shadows in England and in some of the big Eastern cities, but out here we operate a clean business on the up-and-up.” She smoothed her dressing gown over her hips. “This country’s overrun with single men in need of female companionship.”
Estelle made her life sound so exciting, even philanthropic. But a sadness lingered in her eyes that belied her confident speech. “What did you do before?” Cecily asked.
Estelle frowned. “Before what?”
“Before you met Madame. Were you. . . were you in the same. . . business?” She stumbled over the words, not wanting to name aloud Estelle’s occupation.
“Since I was fifteen.” Estelle looked grim. “My folks died and I wasn’t about to lay down and die along with them, so I did what I had to to survive.” She squared her shoulders, her expression challenging.
“I’m sure you did,” Cecily murmured, regretting she’d ever raised the obviously painful subject.
Estelle nodded. “I met Madame a couple years ago. She offered me steady work, a place to live, regular meals and decent wages.” She shrugged. “I can’t complain.”
Though Estelle’s words were casual, Cecily thought they hid depths of emotion. She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Haven’t you wanted more?”
“More money? Sure, I’d like more money. You handing out any?” Estelle’s gaze swept over Cecily’s riding costume. “I’d wager a woman like you throws away more cash on trifles than I see in a whole year.”
Cecily frowned. “I wasn’t talking about money. I was speaking of life. Haven’t you wanted more out of your life than. . . than servicing strangers? Haven’t you wanted a home, and family?”
Estelle turned away to look out the window once more. “Is that why you came all the way out here, thinking you’d snare the man you wanted and live happily ever after?”
Estelle made her trip sound so calculating. “It wasn’t like that,” Cecily protested. “Charles and I are engaged. I knew he needed me to help with his work.”
“Looks to me like he was doing just fine before you came along.”
Her stomach tightened. “Things will be even better now.” She sent up a silent prayer that her words might be true.
“Lots of men come west and leave wives and girlfriends, even whole families behind.” Estelle turned to look at her again. “I’ve never known too many women who bothered to come after them. I can’t decide if it’s because the men aren’t worth it, or the women are smart enough to figure out they’re better off without a man who doesn’t want them.”
Cecily took a deep breath, trying to overcome the sudden weakness that swept over her. Was it plain to everyone but her that Charles didn’t want her — that he despised her, even? Had love blinded her to an
indifference even this prostitute could see? “I intend to stay until Charles sends me away,” she said, more to bolster her own faltering courage than to convince the other woman.
Estelle shrugged. “You don’t look the type to last too long out here.”
“Excuse me, m’lady.”
Cecily jerked her head toward the door and was surprised to see a man standing there. As her heartbeat slowed, she recognized Gordon, Charles’s valet. She wondered how long he had been listening to them. Had he heard the last part of her conversation with Estelle? “Good morning, Gordon,” she said.
“Good morning, m’lady.” He nodded to Cecily, then turned to Estelle. One eyebrow quirked slightly before he resumed his patently cool expression. “Good morning, miss.”
“Morning to you, too.” Estelle sidled closer, a smile transforming her rather plain face. “I swear, this place is just crawling with you handsome English gents. Are you another one of them Lords?”
“Gordon is Charles’s valet,” Cecily said. “Gordon, this is Miss Estelle LeFleur.”
“Estelle Green.” Her smile broadened as she trailed a finger along the neckline of her dressing gown.
Gordon nodded again to Estelle, then turned his attention once more to Cecily. “Did you enjoy your morning ride, m’lady?”
“Yes, very much.” A blush warmed her cheeks as she recalled just how much. She turned away, hoping Gordon wouldn’t guess at the events of the morning by the look in her eyes. She had heard once that a man could always tell when a woman had been made love to, and though their embrace by the water tank had not gone as far as consummation, it was as close as Cecily had ever come before.
“Have you seen Lord Silsbee, m’lady?” Gordon asked.
“He’s in the stables, seeing to our horses.”
“Very good, m’lady.” He bowed to each of them, then backed out of the room, as soundlessly as he had entered.
Estelle came to stand beside Cecily. “I’ve always fancied a man with manners.”
“Impeccable bearing is one of the first requirements for a gentleman’s valet.”
Estelle frowned. “What does a valet do?”
“A valet acts as a gentleman’s manservant. He’s responsible for seeing to his clothing. In Charles’ case, Gordon is also something of a personal secretary, keeping track of his appointments and correspondence.”
“Why would a man like that want to be somebody else’s servant?”
Why did anyone take a job as a servant? It wasn’t a question Cecily had pondered before. “Gordon was born into service.”
“Like a slave.” Estelle’s expression darkened.
“No, of course not. He’s paid wages. He’s free to leave anytime, but he chooses not to. Jobs like his are coveted.”
“I’ll just bet they are.” Estelle gave Cecily a snide look. “You and your fancy clothes and fine manners and finicky ways. You don’t have a clue what real life is like. You can’t begin to know what a man wants. Just as well I guess. Women like you keep me in business.” She brushed past on her way out the door, trodding on the edge of Cecily’s skirt.
Cecily rocked back on her heels as if she’d been slapped. Was Estelle saying she was wrong about Charles needing her? Or was she referring to needs of another kind? She knelt and brushed the dust from her skirt, brow furrowed in a way that would have set Alice to scolding about wrinkles. She couldn’t deny she was naive about many things, including the things a man desired in bed. But she could learn those things. She could learn to please Charles both in and out of the bedroom, to be a partner not just of his body, but of his heart as well.
* * *
Charles leaned on the fence, watching a group of cowboys working some wild horses. The men took turns riding the green animals, who bucked and kicked and tossed their heads at the unfamiliar sensation of a man on their backs. Everyone who could manufacture an excuse to be here was watching the spectacle, but little of the action registered in Charles’s mind. He was occupied with thoughts of Cecily, and her surprising response to his advances this morning. He couldn’t quite believe this cool English rose had opened herself to him with such warmth. He’d meant to frighten her, but her unpredictable nature, and his own weakness, had resulted in a moment of pure pleasure, one he wouldn’t soon forget.
He must forget it, though. He had work to do, a ranch to run. As long as he focused on that, he could resist his father’s demands that he return to England. And he could resist Cecily, too.
He surveyed the men ranged along the corral fence. To a man they wore the broad-brimmed Stetsons, flannel shirts and leather chaps that marked their profession as surely as a British bobby’s bullet hat and blue surcoat identified him. They stood with the loose-jointed posture of men more comfortable in the saddle, some with one high-heeled boot propped on the bottom fence rail, some with arms folded over the top, jeering their coworkers as they waited their own turn to ride the windmilling wild horses.
His gaze reached the end of the row, and the one figure who seemed out of place. A cloth cap covered the man’s dark hair, and his suit of black worsted stood out like a blot of ink against the side of the corral. Charles frowned. What was Cecily’s footman, Nick Bainbridge, doing here?
He made his way around the cowboys to the footman. The young man pressed himself against the corral, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the top rail. He alternately gasped and sighed as he studied the action in the arena. Charles cleared his throat and Bainbridge jumped back. “S. . . sorry m’lord.” He recovered and made a smart bow. “Would you be requiring anything, sir?”
“I only wanted to talk to you a moment. To thank you for taking it upon yourself to find me yesterday evening.”
“I couldn’t very well let Lady Thorndale spend the night in a place like that.” Bainbridge raised his chin and assumed a stubborn look. “I’d have sprung her out myself if I had to.”
Charles nodded. He could imagine Sheriff Grady’s reaction to this East End tough. Charles would have ended up with two dependents to bail out of jail. “The question on my mind is how Cecily managed to get this far on her own. As far as I know, she’s never been out of England. And yet she came all the way to Texas by herself.”
“She had me and Alice to look after her, m’lord. We wouldn’t have let no harm come to her.”
“But where did she get such an insane idea in the first place? Why didn’t someone try to stop her?”
“Alice says it was a letter you sent what put the idea to come here into Lady Cecily’s head. As for stopping her, it weren’t my place to stop her, m’lord.” He shook his head. “Besides, she can be a mighty determined woman when she wants.”
Could she? He wouldn’t have thought that of Cecily. He remembered her as passive and pretty, delicate and lovely to look at. When had this strong beauty emerged from that fragile shell? The thought unnerved him, even as the memory of her kiss still warmed him. What other revelations awaited him about the woman he’d once thought to marry? Would they all be as pleasant?
“Might I try riding one of the horses, m’lord?”
Charles blinked, unsure he’d heard Bainbridge’s question correctly. “If you want to ride, I’m sure we can find something in our string for you.” Come to think of it, it would be a good idea to find Bainbridge a mount. Then he could accompany Cecily on her morning exercise, relieving Charles of the duty, and the accompanying temptation to repeat this morning’s performance.
“No m’lord, I mean one of these horses.” He nodded toward the corral.
Charles looked up in time to see yet another cowboy hit the dirt. “Don’t be a fool.”
“I’ve ridden before, m’lord. Me da always said I had a way with stock.”
“These are wild animals, Bainbridge. You’re liable to end up killed or crippled, and then what good will you be to Lady Thorndale or anyone else?”
Bainbridge looked sullen, but said nothing else. Charles was about to send him to the barn to choose a more suitable mount, when he
saw Gordon striding toward him. “Good morning, m’lord.” Gordon stopped before him and nodded.
“Good morning, Gordon. What have you been up to?”
“I have spent the morning placating Mrs. Bridges, who is complaining of the added burden of so many additional mouths to feed.”
“She never complained before when we added extra crews to work roundup.”
“Yes m’lord, but apparently ladies are a different matter. Mrs. Bridges has complained that they arise at all hours of the morning and demand special foods. Apparently Lady Thorndale’s maid had the audacity to invade the kitchen.”
“Offer to increase her pay. I’ll hire help if she likes.”
“I’ve already taken the liberty of telling her so, m’lord.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t let her trampled feelings interfere with her cooking.”
“Yes, m’lord. By the way, I saw Lady Thorndale just now.”
“Oh? How is she?” Charles braced himself. He’d half-imagined Cecily bursting into tears as soon as he was out of sight. Perhaps her initial response to him had been nothing more than shock. Now that she realized what a cad he’d been, she was probably beside herself.
“She looked lovely as always.” Gordon hesitated for a moment, as if about to say something else.
“What is it man? Out with it!”
“Lady Thorndale was with one of the ladies who came home with her last night. The woman was wearing a dressing gown, and very little else, I’d imagine.”
“She’s no lady and you know it, Gordon.”
Gordon bowed his head. “Yes, m’lord. But how did Lady Thorndale come to be associated with a person such as that?”
How had Cecily done anything she’d done since leaving her home? Charles shook his head. “It’s a long story.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do about what? About Cecily? Or about Madame LeFleur and her two chippies?”
“Both.”
“What can I do? Madam LeFleur and her girls are Cecily’s guests, not mine. They’ll leave soon enough. The sheriff has made it clear they’re not welcome here.”
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