Simmer All Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  California couldn't have had this much gold in 'forty-nine.

  Crimson walls and white marble mantels added to the richness of yet another room crowned with a painted ceiling, again a mythological scene filled with naked breasts and cherubs, Young Michael must have a permanent crick in his neck, if not in another part of his anatomy, from looking upwards all the time. Personally, Cole would just as soon not eat with all that frolicking taking place above him. Made a fellow feel like a drop of drool might splash into his soup any second.

  Fifteen people sat down for dinner—Christina, the earl, Cole, and a dozen early arrivals for the upcoming house party. At Christina's signal, a dizzying array of servants began sweeping in and out of the room, bearing silver salvers laden with dish after dish of aromatic foodstuffs. Despite the superior quality of the offerings, Cole didn't much enjoy his supper. How could he when, at the other end of the table, the Chili Queen was holding court?

  Cole had watched this woman practice her wiles upon men innumerable times over the past few years, but never before had her actions bothered him like they did this evening. Tonight her laughter grated like eggshells in the custard. Her flashing smile soured the sweetness of peas. The sparkle in her eyes stuck in his craw like a fish bone, and the dip in her décolletage steamed him like a damned clam.

  Because, although he'd seen it all before, this time her flirtation seemed... serious.

  She shouldn't be here. Christina should be home in Texas bathing babies at St. Mary's orphanage and singing in church. She should be laughing at the supper table with Elizabeth and Jake, not with some hot-eyed, dandified British lords. Shoot, better she be in the middle of Military Plaza stirring up chili than this over-decorated dining room stirring up lust.

  Because that's exactly what she was doing. Cole saw it in the way the marquess's gaze kept dropping toward her bosom, in how the baron kept licking his lips, and in the heat that flared in the baronet's eyes whenever Christina tilted her head to one side, exposing the length of her neck.

  "Woman needs to wear more clothes," he muttered.

  "I beg your pardon?" asked Miss Sarah Parkwood. "I'm afraid I didn't hear you clearly."

  Good thing. "It was nothing. I'm sorry." Cole offered her an apologetic grin and she smiled in response.

  Seated on his right, Miss Parkwood was one of the young ladies Christina had introduced to Cole earlier in the hallway. The woman had been as distracted as he throughout the meal, her romantic hopes obviously pinned on the roving-eyed marquess. Cole considered doing them both a favor by dumping his iced drink into the fellow's lap.

  "I said our hostess appears to be attracting quite a bit of attention."

  Miss Parkwood sighed wistfully. "I do envy Miss Delaney. She is so very... shining."

  The girl did sparkle this evening. Her mother would be proud. "You should see her serving up chili. That Christina makes this one look dull as a rusted bucket."

  "She's even more beautiful when she is cold?"

  Cole's brow creased. Cold? Oh, chili and chilly. "When she's happy, I mean. She's especially beautiful when she is truly happy."

  "She appears happy to me," Miss Parkwood observed pointedly when Christina's laughter bubbled into the air.

  Studying his long-time friend, Cole could see how Miss Parkwood would think Christina was happy. He knew better. He could see the sadness beneath the smiles and sparkle.

  It bothered him and he didn't know what to do about it. He couldn't tell Christina why her mother sent her away. Doing so might ease her pain in some respects, but the facts would certainly hurt her in others. And Jake had been right. The minute Christina heard her mother was ill, she would head for home. That wouldn't be good for Elizabeth.

  Unless Christina were married. To a titled lord.

  With that, the meal settled in his belly like buttermilk gone bad.

  Cole pushed peas around on his museum-quality, hand-painted bone china plate. Maybe he should help Christina find a husband she could tolerate. That way, both hers and her mother's interests would be served. With a husband strong enough to control her and blue-blooded enough to make Elizabeth happy, Christina could return to Texas. She would be home if the worst occurred.

  The thought of losing Elizabeth twisted Cole's heart. The thought of her passing while her estranged daughter batted lashes at a baron thousands of miles away cleaved that heart in two. Christina would be destroyed. Cole couldn't let that happen. Yet, he didn't know if he had the stomach to assist in a husband hunt.

  Dinner dragged on like a boring Sunday sermon. The lady on his left was an elderly marchioness, and after announcing her disdain for Americans, she ignored Cole completely. That suited him just fine. He used the time to consider what his next move should be.

  In all the concern over Christina, he couldn't forget the reason Elizabeth had sent him here. He had a copy of the Declaration of Independence to track down and the sooner done the better.

  Thoughtfully, Cole eyed his fellow Texan as she ruled over her grandfather's supper table. She had arranged for this Melton fellow and two other potential sources of information to travel to Hartsworth. Slick work, that. She'll make some man a fine partner.

  Across the table she laughed and touched her dinner companion's hand with easy familiarity. Beside him, Miss Parkwood sighed again. "She has such confidence, doesn't she? Are all women in Texas so bold?"

  "Let's just say Christina is special." And that, he thought, was the honest truth.

  Figuring he should do his share in the search for the Declaration, he smiled at Miss Parkwood. "I understand your family holds an interest in the American West?"

  They discussed her father's fascination with the West until the sweet course was served. At that point, a newcomer appeared in the dining room to a hail of hearty welcomes. "Who is this?" he inquired of Miss Parkwood.

  "He's Bruce Harrington, Viscount Welby."

  So this is one of Christina's marks. Cole leaned back in his chair, sipping wine from a crystal goblet, and considered the man. Welby wore his clothes with a high-fashioned casualness that reeked of wealth. He had those blond, pretty features women liked to swoon over and a laugh that had "charming rogue" written all over it. Cole detested him on principle. Welby was the type of fellow who would appeal to Christina.

  Cole leaned his head toward Miss Parkwood and confirmed, "He's not married?"

  "Oh, no. Welby is one of the most sought-after bachelors in Polite Society. Most ladies think him terribly handsome. He is known for the collection of vests he wears. He has them specially made in Paris."

  Cole tried not to scowl as the golden fashion-god viscount strode across the dining room flashing a ready smile and blue satin vest. He paused before the earl and bent his tall, broad-shouldered figure into a respectful bow before voicing an apology for his tardiness that held just the right note of sincerity. Offering the company a sheepish grin, he explained, "I spied an injured dog along the road to Hartsworth, and I stopped to help the poor thing."

  "Aww," breathed every last woman at the table.

  The viscount proceeded to give a thorough enumeration of the dog's ills and a boring recitation of his efforts to save the animal. Cole watched admiration fill Christina's expression as she made room for the hound's hero at the end of the table beside her. Had she forgotten that Welby might be a lead to the missing Declaration?

  Because of the viscount, the interminable dinner continued to drag on. Cole sat silently for the most part, listening to the conversation humming at Christina's end of the table as the viscount and the woman from Texas got to know one another. The more he heard, the darker his mood grew. Christina sounded positively... English.

  She referred to Texas in only the briefest of terms. When Welby spoke of the quality of his horses, she didn't bother to mention how her own father worked as a mustanger upon his immigration to Texas. When he commented on the beauty of the locket she wore around her neck, she failed to mention that the intricate design was the work of a Mex
ican silversmith who made his living by selling jewelry in the same square where she stirred up her chili. When the viscount mentioned that an acquaintance of his owned a herd of prize-winning longhorn cattle, she didn't bother to mention that Cole and her own brother Jake spent one summer driving cattle north.

  Christina's reticence about her home stung like a nettle, and it continued to plague him over the next few days as Hartsworth filled up with guests for the house party. She seldom spoke of life in San Antonio. She rarely spoke of her mother or her brother. It was as if she'd been born anew when she disembarked from the boat in Liverpool. Why, even her speech reflected an attempt to wipe away all trace of a Texas drawl.

  As a result, his own words took longer to pronounce, his "e's" took to sounding more like "a's", and his "r's" and "g's" sometimes went missing. The less Texan Christina became, the more layers of sophistication Cole peeled away.

  She had not ceased her flirting, but she carried it on in a more subtle manner than he was accustomed to seeing. For instance, Christina took to carrying a fan, something she'd always eschewed in the past. She used the ridiculous prop to say things she previously articulated, and Cole found the affectation even more annoying than her more usual outspokenness.

  Still, Cole couldn't deny that as far as the search for the Declaration of Independence was concerned, this division of duty, so to speak, worked well for him and Christina. Though they never actually got together and discussed how they would handle the hunt, a natural division in tasks occurred. A man spoke and acted differently with another man than he did with the woman to whom he paid court. Cole's conversations with Welby, for instance, netted him different information than did Christina's.

  This came to light when he came upon Christina sitting by herself in the garden folly following an afternoon stroll with the viscount.

  "Sitting all alone?" he drawled as he took a seat beside her. "Must be the first time in days. What happened to Welby? Your grandfather was positively gleeful when he mentioned you were taking a turn through the garden with the most eligible bachelor in England."

  His sarcastic tone earned him a nudge with her elbow. "Actually I strolled with Lord Welby and Mr. Parkwood, and I learned something important." Her green eyes gleamed with interest as she continued, "Listen, Cole, John mentioned Texas today. I understand you've arranged to meet him at the stables later?"

  Cole arched a brow. First names with Parkwood already? That was fast. "Yes, I'm to see him. Apparently he has a passion for horses. He wants my opinion of a hunter your grandfather might sell."

  "Good. I want you to ask him about the private club in London that is somehow connected to his family. While the three of us were strolling, Lord Welby mentioned they have a room decorated with items relating to the American West, and many of them are specific to Texas."

  His interest piqued, Cole asked, "What kind of club is this?"

  "I'm not certain," she replied. "However, the tone of Lord Welby's voice and the way John reacted to its mention suggested it is something less than proper. I pressed for more information, but he guarded his tongue. He might not be so reticent if you were to ask."

  Cole read her like a book. "You think it's a bordello."

  "The viscount did mention something about costumes," she replied, shrugging.

  Cole smirked. Chalk up a black mark by Parkwood's name. Ever since the mirror incident, Christina Delaney didn't abide men who frequented houses of ill repute.

  Standing, Cole turned his thoughts toward the missing parchment. He paced the confines of the folly, his brow furrowed in thought. Imagine, the Republic of Texas's Declaration of Independence hanging on a whorehouse wall. Half of him bristled with offense at the notion. The other half wanted to laugh. Somehow, it had an appropriate ring. The fathers of the Republic had made four extra copies of the original document and sent them by messenger out around the country in order to spread the word that independence from Mexico had been declared. Considering the business whorehouses did in a country populated mostly by men, chances were good more men would have read the news there than anywhere else.

  "I'll see what I can find out about this club," he told her.

  "Good." A thoughtful smile curved her lips as she mused, "Since you'll be busy with John, I'll concentrate on Lord Welby."

  "Has he provided any information about the quest?"

  "Not the Declaration. At this point, my focus with him has to do with my other search."

  Other search? Cole shoved his hands into his pockets. "You mean you'll be busy flirting."

  "How else am I supposed to find a husband like Mother wants?"

  He wanted to ask if she were as free with her kisses over here as she was on the other side of the Atlantic, but he thought twice about bringing that particular subject up.

  As she continued rattling about her social life, Cole's mood grew stormy. He wanted to shake some sense into her. She hadn't a clue as to what was truly important here. Of course, that's because she hadn't been told the truth. Cole found the news of Elizabeth's condition hovering on his tongue. Christina had a right to know just why her mother pushed her toward these Brits. He'd bet his favorite saddle she'd drop these earls and marquesses like a bad smell and hightail it home to Texas if she knew the facts.

  Which was exactly why he couldn't tell her.

  He cleared his throat. "If you want to know what I learn from Parkwood, meet me here tomorrow at the same time." He left the folly before she said any more.

  He regretted his words the following day when a damp and chilly wind ushered him through the statue garden and past ornate fountains to the wood walk. That in turn led to the folly and his appointed rendezvous with Miss Christina Delaney, Texan spy and husband hunter.

  The small stone building was a good ten-minute walk from the house, something he hadn't minded during the recent pleasant weather. Today was a different matter.

  "Better we had chosen an indoor spot for this," he muttered. With its three levels and four wings, Hartsworth had more than few appropriately private spots. Besides, their business wouldn't take a minute. Parkwood had talked freely about his Texas ties, and before their conversation ended, Cole had asked the man outright about the missing Declaration. Parkwood denied ever seeing such a document and Cole believed him. He'd also agreed that such a treasure belonged in Texas, and he volunteered to survey other family members for any information they might possess. The chilly breeze whipped around Cole, and he stuck his hands into his pockets and grumbled, "We're finding a new rendezvous from now on."

  Halfway to the folly, he had just rounded a rendition of Zeus when a hissing sound emerging from the marble god's lightning bolt brought him up short.

  Hiss-s-s-s. "Mr. Morgan. Wait. Come here." Sophie Kleberg's head popped out from behind Zeus's leg. Her brother waved from over a shoulder, then crooked his fingers at the same time he signaled for quiet. Cole moved toward them.

  Michael mouthed the words "Miss Chrissy" while pointing at the hedge behind him. When Cole was close enough, the boy whispered in his ear. "You've got to stop her, sir. This one worries me."

  "This one what?" Cole responded in a normal tone of voice.

  "Shush. He waylaid her on the way to your meeting. He said he wanted to talk."

  "Who?"

  Michael jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Mr. Welby."

  Cole noted the boy's use of the word "mister" instead of "lord" in regard to the viscount. It pleased the Texan in him that Michael refused to make any titular distinctions. Because the Kleberg family occupied the space of "dear family friends" rather than servants on the social pecking order at Hartsworth, the boy's insolence was for the most part ignored.

  Michael continued, "I think we have a problem with him. I wasn't too worried about any of the others, but Mr. Welby seems dangerous."

  "Dangerous? I don't know, Michael. A talk in the garden sounds innocent enough, even if the weather is less than pleasant."

  Sophie backed out of the bushes. "Hurry. They
've gone into the maze."

  "Come on, Mr. Morgan," the boy responded, tugging on Cole's arm. "What if he wants to do more than talk?"

  "He does," warned Sophie, her eyes round with worry. "Earlier when I was spying on Mr. Lord Welby, I heard him tell his valet he has plans for Miss Chrissy. The ladies here say he's the most eligible bachelor in England, and even my Mama thinks he is very nice and she is very, very picky. Miss Chrissy is so beautiful and perfect that of course he'll fall in love with her like everyone else. It could have already happened and he might be ready to propose."

  Cole would have replied, but he'd been struck speechless by the idea of Christina cast as perfect.

  "We are worried she just might accept," Michael added. "She's been acting even sillier about this wedding stuff than usual. She and Mama talked about what baked goods to have at the wedding supper."

  Sophie shook her finger at Cole. "This is your fault, Mr. Morgan. You have to stop her."

  "My fault? What did I do?"

  "You helped send her away from Texas. Now she's gonna get married and live here forever and that won't make her happy. I think my Mama would be happy living here, but Miss Chrissy won't. She has always said she has Texas in her heart."

  "Wait just a minute. Sending her to England wasn't my decision." And why was he defending himself to a couple of curtain-climbers? Cole shook his head and firmly pushed aside the doubt that crept into his mind. "Look, as far as Welby goes, I think you are worrying needlessly. She's just flirting."

  She wouldn't jump into marriage this fast. Not even impulsive, reckless Christina Delaney.

  But what if you're wrong? Cole moved toward the maze.

  "She flirts and flutters too much," Michael observed.

  "Amen to that," Cole agreed.