Heartstrings

by Rebecca Paisley

  He stared back at her.

  Silence clung to the air like choking humidity until a loud knocking at the door finally broke it.

  “He’s here,” Roman said. Mr. Perfect, he added silently.

  “Are you—are you joining us for breakfast?”

  Roman swore the tension between them was thick enough to slice. “I think you’ll be safe enough with Sir Blueblood and his fine little English pistol. If any dragons come along, he’ll rescue—”

  The knock sounded again. “Theodosia?” Hammond called from the corridor. He knocked again.

  Theodosia crossed to the bureau to retrieve her gloves and bonnet.

  Each time Hammond knocked, Roman’s agitation rose. He glared at the door. “I’ll go keep him company while you finish dressing.” Quickly, he moved toward the door, struggled with the doorknob, and stepped into the hall.

  Hammond watched him shut the door. “Is Theodosia—”

  “She’s not ready yet.” Roman leaned one shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I see.” Hammond fondled the large diamond on his finger. “And do the two of you always share a room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The same bed as well?”

  Roman smiled. “That’s none of your business.”

  Flustered, Hammond patted his carefully combed hair. “I presume you will be tagging along for breakfast?”

  “Where Theodosia goes, I go.”

  Hammond scowled. “You will not be present when I perform the services Theodosia has chosen me to execute, will you?”

  Roman raised one black eyebrow. “Only if you need a man there to tell you how to perform them, Hamm.”

  At the blatant insult, Hammond slapped his gloves across Roman’s cheek.

  Roman didn’t flinch.

  “Have you nothing to say about the fact that I slapped you, sir?” Hammond asked incredulously.

  Roman sent a dangerous smile into Hammond’s eyes. “Ouch.”

  “Sir, by slapping your cheek with my glove, I have issued a challenge to you,” Hammond explained, his irritation growing to anger.

  Roman laughed. “You challenge men with gloves in England? What do you sissies do when the fight comes? Throw socks at each other?”

  Hammond knew a fury that transcended all thought of civil behavior. Instantly, he reached inside his coat.

  But before he had time to even touch the metal of his pistol, Roman whipped out his Colt, cocked it, and aimed it at Hammond’s chest.

  Hammond paled with fear.

  Roman decided the man looked as if he’d dipped his face into hot white wax and let it harden there. “If you can’t bed a woman any better than you can pull a gun, Hamm, then I think it’d be a damned good idea for me to be there while you attempt to get Theodosia with child. I could sit across the room and call out step-by-step instructions.”

  Hammond had no chance to form a reply. From inside the room, Theodosia was trying to open the door. “Roman, are you out there? The door won’t open.”

  Hammond took the knob but failed to turn it. “It seems to be jammed, my dear. Give me a moment, and I will bring the manager.”

  Roman moved Hammond’s hand away and forced the doorknob to turn.

  As soon as the door opened, Theodosia saw Roman’s heavy revolver in hand and understood that the two men had had words.

  “This savage drew his gun on me,” Hammond announced.

  Theodosia waited for Roman to elaborate.

  He only met her gaze.

  She read the truth in his brilliant blue eyes.

  Watching their silent exchange, Hammond was reminded anew of their simmering attraction to each other. As he had last night, he tried to convince himself that their emotions didn’t matter, that he was the man who would bed Theodosia.

  But his injured pride demanded reprisal, and after a moment of thought, he knew precisely how he could gain such satisfaction.

  He threw back his bony shoulders. “Theodosia, I simply cannot endure this man’s presence. His thunderous expressions, dripping sarcasm, and fondness for violence have taken their toll on me. Indeed, my sensibilities have been tormented to such an extent that I must reconsider accepting your proposition.”

  Theodosia laid her hand on his arm. “Hammond, surely you do not mean to—”

  “Yes, my dear, I do. I am afraid that I will be unable to assist you in the fulfillment of your goals. I understand your unwavering desire to present your beloved sister with the child she has been unable to have, and I do apologize for having caused this inconvenience. I shall, however, stand firm in my decision. Good day to you both.”

  Roman watched the nobleman march down the corridor, then turned back to Theodosia. He saw bewilderment in her beautiful eyes, and shock, and panic.

  He saw defeat, and he understood that as she watched Hammond vanish down the hall, she was watching her goal disappear as well.

  Something happened inside him at that moment. He couldn’t name it, but it made him resolve to prevent Theodosia from losing what she’d worked so hard to attain.

  He leaned against the wall again and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, you win some, and you lose some.”

  Slowly, Theodosia moved her gaze from Hammond’s back to Roman’s face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You lost, Theodosia. Failed with your plans. You aren’t going to get a kid for your sister. It’s just as well, though. It was a dumb idea in the first place, and it got even dumber when you picked that aristocratic ass.”

  His callous attitude hurt her. She realized he didn’t want her sleeping with Hammond Llewellyn, but he didn’t have to gloat over the fact that her plans had fallen to ruin. “Roman—”

  “I’ll see you later.” Roman tipped his hat and started down the hall. “I saw a few Thoroughbreds at the livery, and I’m going to go take a closer look at them. I’ve got a ranch to buy and horses to put on it, in case you’ve forgotten. You might have failed with your plans, but I’m for damned sure not going to fail with mine.”

  Still pretending smugness, he continued to stroll down the hall. When he reached the stairs, however, he raced down them, reached the lobby within seconds, then hid behind a tall potted plant by one of the windows.

  In a few moments he saw Theodosia enter the lobby. She crossed through the room, exited the hotel, and stepped outside.

  He watched her from the window. She spotted Hammond walking down the boardwalk and hastened to catch up with him.

  The nobleman took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

  And the place inside Roman that Theodosia had managed to light up went dark again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Theodosia turned up the lamp and chose the chair farthest away from the one in which Hammond sat. They’d spent the day together. Hammond had driven her to Enchanted Hill. He’d made a wish; she had not. The day was over now.

  Night had fallen.

  Was it her imagination, or did the bed seem to be getting bigger? Every time she looked at it, it appeared to have grown, as if to remind her what she was supposed to be doing in it.

  A shiver of apprehension skimmed down her spine.

  Folding her hands together on her lap, she examined her hotel room as though she’d never seen it before. It did seem different, she thought. No bullet-studded gunbelt or black hat hung on the hat-stand, and no boots lay in the middle of the floor. The closet contained her gowns, but not a single man’s shirt, and atop the dresser lay scattered a bit of her jewelry, her lacy handkerchief, and her reticule, but no sheathed dagger.

  The room even smelled different. She couldn’t detect the scent of sunshine or steel or leather or the musky scent of hard work. She recognized only the fragrance of her wildflower perfume and Hammond’s spicy cologne.

  The room contained nothing that might have reminded her of Roman.

  “Theodosia, please do not be anxious.” Hammond tried to reassure her but could not help wondering when
she would allow him to take her to bed. “I am a gentleman, and I shall be quite content to wait until you are sufficiently comfortable to proceed with your plans. We—”

  He broke off suddenly when the sound of wagon wheels filled the room. Turning toward the window, he saw a parrot perched in a cage and realized the bird had made the sound.

  John the Baptist threw peanut shells and water at the windowpane. “Did you know the real John the Baptist got his head cut off?” he called.

  Hammond rose and approached the window. “A Psittacus erithacus. And what a handsome African gray he is, too. From whom did he hear the story of John the Baptist, Theodosia?”

  Glad for the distraction her parrot had provided, Theodosia unfolded her hands and smoothed her chocolate-brown skirts. “His name is John the Baptist, but as for what he just said, I imagine Roman told him the story in a moment of anger. Roman has been at odds with my parrot on several occasions.” She smiled, remembering not only Roman’s habit of arguing with the bird as if the parrot could understand, but the two times Roman had saved John the Baptist’s life as well.

  She recalled Roman’s crooked grin too. His quick temper, his unmatched survival skills, his boundless common sense, his deep, rich laughter, and all his hard-earned dreams.

  She had so many memories of Roman Montana.

  “Theodosia?”

  She blinked and saw Hammond staring at her. “Yes?”

  “My goodness, what are you dreaming about? The look on your face suggests you are in another world.”

  Another world, she mused. Yes, the world she’d shared with Roman. “I was thinking about Brazil.” She smoothed her skirts again.

  Hammond nodded but didn’t believe her. Oh, she’d told him about Brazil and the estimable Dr. Eugene Wallaby, but Hammond knew it was not the scientist or the Pindamonhangaba beetles that filled her thoughts.

  It was that long-haired savage she’d been running around with. What a bloody nuisance the gunslinger was! Even when the man was not in Theodosia’s presence, he was with her in spirit. Of course, Theodosia being in the same room she’d shared with Roman Montana did not help matters, Hammond realized. No doubt she “saw” him in every corner.

  “Yes, well,” he said to her, “while you were daydreaming about Brazil, I asked you how your parrot has fared on the journey through Texas.”

  “He has fared well, Hammond, thank you.”

  John the Baptist pecked at a bar on his cage. “Vulgare amici nomen, sed rara est fides.”

  “‘The name of friend is common, but true friendship is rare,’” Hammond translated. “He’s listened to Latin quotations, I see.”

  “I had a collection of snakeskins on my bedroom wall,” John the Baptist announced. “He has fared well, Hammond, thank you.”

  Theodosia felt a sudden sense of foreboding when she remembered how much her parrot had heard Roman say in the past. “Hammond, please sit down, so that we may—”

  “I am a gentleman,” John the Baptist interrupted. “I’m going to raise horses!”

  “My, but he is loquacious, isn’t he?” Hammond commented.

  John the Baptist lifted his right wing. “I was thinking of Brazil. Don’t you like the look of my uvula?”

  Theodosia stood and hurried to the window. “John the Baptist hears a great many things, Hammond, and more often than not I have not an inkling as to where he has heard them. He—”

  “When Flora moved in, the pie lady never came back,” John the Baptist continued.

  Hammond leaned down to the cage for a closer look at the bird.

  The parrot squawked. “Why the hell is he talking about beetroot? I’ll cover up my throbbing masculinity with a towel.”

  Hammond gasped. The bird was imitating Roman Montana, he realized. The curse and indecent sexual comment convinced him of that.

  Throbbing masculinity. Hammond felt a surge of jealous anger. “Fascinating bird,” he forced himself to say. “Simply fascinating.”

  “I told Flora about my dream of turning the farm into a horse ranch,” John the Baptist screeched, “and she said my plan was a castle in the air.” Theodosia quickly covered the cage with a cloth. Her parrot protested immediately by throwing water on the cloth. “I’ve heard of going insane, blind, or growing hair on the palm of your hand. Awk! She was Secret’s dam, and his sire was Driscoll’s Thoroughbred.”

  Hammond didn’t miss the look of dread that leaped into Theodosia’s eyes, nor did he ignore the fact that she’d swiftly covered the cage. The parrot was most definitely repeating what it had heard Roman say in the past, and Theodosia apparently considered the statements exceedingly private.

  He straightened and led her back to her chair. “Well, my dear, how do you feel?”

  She knew precisely what he meant. Hammond was ready to proceed with the bedding. “I…”

  “Would you care to converse for a while longer?”

  His suggestion relieved her immensely. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

  He smiled. “What shall we talk about? We’ve been together all day and have already discussed a wealth of subjects.” He looked around the room, pretending to deliberate upon a possible conversation. “Why don’t we discuss a few of the things your parrot mentioned? I must say that he is quite astonishing. What has he heard about a pie lady, for goodness sake? And who does he know named Flora?”

  She was saved from having to answer when someone knocked on the door. “Excuse me.” She stood and advanced to the door. “It’s not locked, but it won’t open,” she said when the doorknob wouldn’t turn.

  Standing in the corridor, Roman grasped the knob and forced the door open.

  Theodosia drank in the sight of him. She hadn’t seen him since that morning, and although the uncaring attitude he’d shown over the possible failure of her plans continued to sting her feelings, she’d thought about him all day. “Roman.”

  He’d never seen her wear the dress she had on tonight. The same color as her eyes, it looked beautiful next to her pale skin and flaxen hair.

  He wondered if she’d put the pretty gown on especially for Hammond. He wondered, too, when she would be taking it off for Hammond.

  He knew he shouldn’t have come to her room, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. “I left some things in one of the dresser drawers. Can I get them?”

  Hammond snorted. “May you get them,” he corrected imperiously, then stiffened when an ice-blue gaze sliced across the room and stabbed into him.

  Never taking his eyes away from Hammond, Roman strode into the room, his Colts sliding upon his thighs. Taking his time, he removed a shirt, a razor, and a black kerchief from the dresser drawer.

  Hammond cleared his throat to get Theodosia’s attention and stifled a vindictive smile. “While Mr. Montana is collecting his things, why don’t you sit back down so that we may continue our conversation, my dear? I believe a few of the subjects mentioned were a pie lady, a person named Flora, the unattainable dream of turning a farm into a horse ranch, and a certain Thoroughbred who belonged to Driscoll. Those were the topics we were about to discuss, were they not?”

  Roman went completely rigid. Only his eyes moved as he settled his gaze on the sole person in the world in whom he’d ever confided.

  Theodosia.

  She’d betrayed him.

  His silent fury blasted into her like a fireball. “Roman, you don’t under—”

  “I do understand, Miss Worth.”

  She watched contempt blaze into his eyes as he continued to stare at her. But his loathing did not grieve her as deeply as the profound pain she saw there as well.

  She rushed toward him, desperate to allay his suspicions.

  He walked straight past her and stopped at the door, which remained wide open. “I met a man this afternoon who offered me a job down in Morgan’s Grove. I came in here to get the rest of my things because I’m leaving Enchanted Hill.”

  Shock flew through Theodosia. She grappled for the top of the dresser to steady herself, th
en started toward him again.

  He gave her a look that expressed his every feeling.

  She stopped, suddenly comprehending how his enemies felt when confronted by the stark look of danger he was capable of presenting. It was frightening enough to stop a heartbeat.

  Satisfied that she understood his silent warning not to cross him, Roman left the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Theodosia, what happened?” Hammond asked, feigning total confusion. “Mr. Montana appeared rather irritated.” He walked to where she stood and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Theodosia?”

  She couldn’t answer. Panic gripped her as if with crushing fists.

  “Theodosia, what—”

  “I have to stop him,” she whispered. “I have to stop him!” She threw herself toward the door and grabbed the doorknob.

  She pulled, pushed, and pounded it, but it would not budge. “Hammond, help me with the door!”

  “Of course.” He ambled to the door and took a moment to examine the knob. Slowly, he curled his fingers around it and gave it a few token jiggles. “I cannot understand why the hotel management has not repaired—”

  “Hammond, please!”

  For a full ten minutes, Hammond made a great show of trying to force the doorknob to turn. “Theodosia, I am afraid we are imprisoned in this room.”

  She began to bang on the door with her fists. “Someone open the door! Is there anyone out there? Someone open the door!”

  It seemed to her that all of eternity passed before the hotel manager finally arrived and opened the door. “Miss Worth,” he said, “I’m sorry I forgot to fix—”

  “Which room does Roman Montana occupy?” she demanded.

  “Mr. Montana? He was in room eight, but my wife checked him out about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Theodosia raced out of the room, ignoring Hammond’s shouts for her to stop. When she reached the end of the corridor, she dashed down the stairs, hastened through the lobby, and ran into the street. Frantically, she scanned the town. When she didn’t see Roman anywhere, she ran to the livery.

  There she found her wagon and her own horse.