“Watch your tongue, wife,” he hissed in her face, “or you’ll find yourself lacking it come morning.”
Her lips turned up in a smile that had no foundation in humor. “Do not threaten me, Charles. Drake is back now, where he belongs. He won’t appreciate you threatening the woman he was once engaged to marry.”
Charles’s face tightened into a mask of pure rage. The powerful grip he had on her arm came threateningly close to snapping the bones in two. “Three years ago, wife. A lot has changed since then. You married me,” he paused, his nostril flaring with contempt, “and he married her. Not the act of a man who pines for another.”
Angelique’s jaw hardened as she averted her gaze to the dancing couple. The two seemed as oblivious to the people milling around them as they were to the curious mumbling their presence created. Their self-absorption pierced her heart.
Shaking off his hand, she glanced back at her husband. No attempt was made to conceal the hatred she felt. “He may have married her, but he loves me. Just look at her,” she scoffed, sipping thoughtfully on the fruited wine as Charles snatched another glass of brandy. “I find the reason Drake married her glaringly apparent, even if you do not. Her coloring, her bone structure. Why, she could pass for my sister! Yes,” she stated with conviction, “the woman is a substitute for me—and as a substitute she will be easily overshadowed.”
“You are deluding yourself again, dear wife. Drake won’t care to have you back after the reckless way you treated him. As much as I hate him, even I cannot blame him for that.”
A cold, calculating glint entered Angelique’s eyes as she pressed the chilly rim of her glass against pursed lips. “Would you care to wager on that, husband?”
“Let me put it another way.” His eyes darkened to a rich, vibrant shade of turquoise as he drew a finger across the long taper of her neck. To an observant onlooker, the gesture might be mistaken for a loving caress. To Angelique, it was anything but. “Deceive me once, with my brother or any other man, and I will slit this lovely throat.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?” she countered with a mocking grin. “Come now, Charles, we both know there is no love lost in this poor excuse for a marriage. You’ve never cared who shared my bed before, so why pretend to care now?” She sent him a bitter glance. “Or are you finally beginning to realize just how pitiful a specimen you are when compared to your brother?”
His hand curled into a claw that threatened to close around her slender neck. Angelique took a quick step back. She knew Charles would not initiate a scene. To do so would only double the attention his brother’s spectacular entrance had attracted.
“Your threats mean nothing to me,” she hissed, shoving her half-empty glass into his solid chest. “I will have Drake back. You cannot stop me.”
“I rarely waste my time making idle threats, Angelique. I’d as soon kill you both before allowing you to humiliate me the way we humiliated him.”
Her lips tightened as her gaze hatefully raked his muscular form. Rugged, but not nearly as appealing as his brother’s, she thought as she reached out and straightened his blue silk cravat. “Sharpen your blade then, husband. You’ll be needing it soon.”
With a rustle of her silk skirt, Angelique pivoted and strolled regally away. Her bearing was straight and proud, As though she hadn’t a care in the world.
The glass splintered in his hand, slicing his palm as Charles watched his wife maneuver herself through the crowd. Trickles of blood dripped down his fingertips, spotting the polished floorboards. He noticed neither that nor the stinging pain of the alcohol as it seeped into the cuts.
“I do not make idle threats, witch,” he spat darkly, stalking in her wake.
She might have been floating on air for all the ground Hope felt beneath her feet. The soft linen brushing against her calves was a luxury in itself. But it was nothing in comparison to the tingling sensations evoked by the strong arms around her waist, and the solid chest that grazed her breasts.
Dancing with no slippers to protect her feet could have been a fatal mistake—were she waltzing with anyone but Drake Frazier. She needn’t have worried. Not once were her fragile toes trod upon as he swept her into his arms and guided her with precision across the empty dance floor.
Who would have guessed that the hardened gunslinger who had taken on Oren Larzdon without blinking would be so familiar with the intricate steps of the dance? Certainly not she. But then, there was a lot she didn’t know about this man. And his list of mysterious attributes was multiplying by the minute.
“What are you thinking?”
The husky voice caused Hope to glance up in surprise. “I was wondering which one of these men is your brother,” she lied, not at all liking the direction her thoughts had taken. It was growing more and more difficult to remind herself she really should hate this man. “Do you see him anywhere?”
The sea-green eyes scanned the room as the dance made an elaborate turn. When his gaze darkened, and his arms tightened, she knew he had found Charles.
“Brace yourself, sunshine; we’re about to run straight into a storm.” He glanced down at her, his face expressionless. “Or more correctly, it is about to run into us. Charles and Angelique are heading this way.”
A strangled “Oh!” was about all she could manage through the sudden dryness in her throat. Although Drake’s attention focused exclusively on her, Hope knew he was aware of every step his brother took. He seemed not to notice her grip tightening with alarm on his shoulder and hand.
Drake waited until Charles and Angelique reached the border of the crowd, then drew a startled Hope hard against his chest. She blushed furiously at the intimate contact and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Kiss me,” he demanded throatily, his lips cutting a hot path to her own as his eyes darkened with passion. “And make it good—your job depends on it.”
Hope didn’t have to make up anything. The first touch of his, warm lips against hers, and she was lost. Her hands crept up around his neck, her fingers instinctively tangling in the rich mane of his hair as she opened up to him like flower petals open to the kiss of the morning sun.
It seemed like an eternity had passed since the last time she had felt his body pressing insistently into hers, his mouth demanding a passion she could not hide. She clung weakly to his broad shoulders, forgetting for the moment where they were, forgetting as well the captivated audience their mutual passion ensnared.
Her fingers ached to peel back the expensive shirt, to feel once again his rippling flesh beneath her hungry fingertips. The fine clothes could not disguise the smell of leather and sweat clinging to his body. It was a familiar scent that warmed Hope to the core, and she drank of it deeply as she surrendered herself to the consuming fire of his kiss.
All too soon, he pulled away. “Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes saying he was anything but. “I don’t think the old biddies huddled in the corner over there would appreciate our showing them what they’ve been missing all these years. Do you?”
She glanced up, her eyelids still heavy with unquenched passion. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they might enjoy it.” She paused, a mischievous grin tugging her lips. “It would certainly give them something to discuss at the next Church Social.”
“Incorrigible,” Drake chuckled. Clucking his tongue he shook his head. “Absolutely incorrigible. You should be ashamed of yourself, Miss Bennett.”
“Mrs. Frazier,” she corrected stiffly. “And I’m not ashamed in the least. Why should I be? I doubt we’re the only people who ever felt this way.” To her surprise, she found she wasn’t lying. She truly wasn’t ashamed of the passion she felt for this man—although she knew by all rights she should be.
His eyes sparkled. “Maybe not,” he agreed with a shrug, slowing his steps as the music drew to an end. “But I’d bet my life we’re the only ones who display it so openly. This room will never be the same again.”
Neither will I, Hope thought as she dipped a curtsey t
o his neatly cut bow. Neither will I.
“Hello, Drake.” The voice, remarkably like the purr of a contented feline, flowed over his shoulder with a satisfied sigh.
Drake straightened and all semblance of lightness left his body like steam floating up from a kettle. He took Hope’s suddenly cold hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.
By the time Drake had turned toward his brother and sister-in-law, the transformation was complete. The smile he sent to the tall, dark-haired woman was filled with warmth. Only Hope seemed to notice that the warmth did not touch his eyes. Angelique was too busy preening to recognize the falseness, and Charles merely stood gripping a bloodstained white linen handkerchief around his hand as he glowered at them all.
“Angelique,” Drake greeted, ignoring the outraged look that crossed his brother’s face. He inclined his head to the woman, untangling Hope’s fingers from his arm before stepping from her side. Angelique’s victorious smile lit up the room. Hope’s heart tightened.
“I should be quite angry with you,” Angelique murmured, accepting the fleeting kiss Drake placed on her flushed porcelain cheek. “The least you could have done was send word. We’ve thought you dead for these past months, you know.”
“And did the thought upset you?” he asked candidly, running the back of his hand over her jaw. Hope shivered, remembering all too well the feel of his weathered knuckles grazing her own eager flesh.
“It upset some of us,” Charles interjected hotly, before Angelique had a chance to answer. A muscle twitched beneath his left eye, reminding Hope of Drake when he was angered. “Some of us did not mind so much.” He turned his attention to a flustered Hope, and she found herself pinned under his steel blue gaze. “And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked coldly. “I heard her introduced as your wife, but perhaps I heard wrong?”
“You heard right,” Drake replied casually, his eyes never leaving Angelique, who preened like a contented cat under the unwavering attention. He offered no more information, but continued to pierce Angelique with his stare.
Charles gave a snort of disgust as he extended his hand to Hope. “I’ll presume you have a name, but my brother is too unmannerly to give it. Charles Frazier,” he introduced himself, taking her damp hand in his and pumping it lightly. “Yourself?”
“Hope Benn—er, Frazier,” she corrected quickly, through suddenly parched lips. She snatched her hand back as soon as politeness allowed, not at all liking the feel of his soft palm beneath her fingers. As inconspicuously as possible, she wiped the feel of him off on her skirt. No, Hope thought, Angelique’s skirt—for it was abruptly apparent from whose closet the gown had been borrowed.
Angelique tore her gaze from Drake’s, and regarded Hope head to toe with a glance just shy of loathing. “Hope?” she purred, a false smile turning her lips. Her nostrils flared with distaste. “How... quaint.” She looked back at Drake, dismissing Hope as though she were of no consequence. Slipping her hand beneath his elbow, she rubbed the breasts that threatened to spill free of the daringly low décolletage of her gown against Drake’s upper arm. “I am simply dying to hear all the details of your trip, darling. You’ve been gone so long.” The thick lashes lowered coyly. “And we’ve so much time to make up for.”
Hope gritted her teeth and tried not to scream. Always an intelligent man, Drake Frazier suddenly seemed not to possess a logical bone in his body. Perhaps it was the feel of soft flesh rubbing suggestively against his sleeve that was robbing him of all form of common sense? She hid her clenched fists in her skirt. Or perhaps it was finally being reunited with the true object of his affection—instead of a poorly built substitute?
Whatever the reasons for his bizarre behavior, Hope thought that if she was forced to stand here and watch this disgusting display for one more minute, she would surely be ill.
Angelique leaned close to Drake and whispered something in his ear that brought a smile to his lips. He never smiled that way at me, Hope thought as the orchestra began the first strains of another waltz.
Thrusting her chin up high, Hope turned to Charles. Her accent thickened considerably, and there was a glint of determination sparkling in her eyes. “Mr. Frazier,” she said with a coquettish grin that put Angelique to shame, “unless you think it too forward of me, I would be honored if you would lead me though the next dance.”
How easy it was to slip back into the role of genteel southern belle, Hope thought, as Charles regarded her with veiled surprise.
Inclining his head, he held out his arm for her to take. “Why, Mrs. Frazier, I’d be delighted,” he replied smoothly. His arrogant smile showed he was quite pleased with this unexpected turn of events. “Moreso if you would do me the honor of calling me Charles. After all, we are family now,” he added, patting her hand. “That in itself should allow us to be more familiar. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Swallowing her revulsion, she placed her hand on his sleeve and nodded. “Charles it is,” Hope said, meeting Drake’s stormy glare. Her gaze shifted to an amused Angelique, then back to Drake. “You don’t mind, of course, if I dance with your brother?”
Although phrased as a question, it was anything but. Drake gave a brisk nod, his attention distracted by her connivance. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Hope as Charles led her to the center of the dance floor. Against his will, it returned time and again.
“Mr. Frazier—Charles,” Hope said as she placed one hand on a shoulder almost as broad as Drake’s. The other was captured inside the curled fingers of his wounded hand. The linen handkerchief scraped against her palm. “You do dance well, I hope. I mean, you aren’t given to treadin’ on toes?”
“Toes?” he asked. With effort, he wrenched his gaze from his brother’s back as Drake and Angelique disappeared through the open French doors leading to the veranda. He led into the first steps of the dance, turning his full attention to the curious creature in his arms. “Why do you ask?”
With an impish grin, she glanced down at the bare feet peeking from beneath her hem. Charles followed her gaze, his eyes widening when he saw the shell-pink toes. “What happened to your slippers?”
“Your wife’s wardrobe wasn’t that generous,” she replied, as though she were telling him how much a wagon load of corn would fetch in the market booth.
To her surprise, he tipped back his head and let loose a laugh that rumbled from somewhere deep in his broad chest. The crystal blue eyes sparkled. “I thought the gown looked familiar,” he said as he swept her through a half-circle. “I just couldn’t place it. How on earth did you get it?”
“Stolen,” she replied in a clandestine whisper. “As, I’m sure, are my husband’s clothes.” Her gaze raked his form, noting how close his build was to Drake’s. Not quite as rugged, nor as broad, but close all the same. “Yours?”
“Ah, now those I recognized,” he nodded. “And yes, they are mine.” His gaze hardened, a little.
“You have a wonderful tailor,” she said, thinking that she liked Drake far better in a pair of tight denims, a threadbare flannel, and a worn leather vest and Stetson. “Tell me something,” she said lightly, her skirts rustling around her ankles as she was propelled away from, then back into, his arms. “Does it bother you that my husband has abducted your wife? And that, as we speak, they are probably strolling some secluded spot in the garden, catching up on old times?”
Hope wasn’t disappointed. The arm encircling her waist tightened and the blue eyes clouded with anger. It was exactly the reaction she had expected. He had been too charming, too careless in his reaction to the entire situation. Now she could see the truth. Charles Frazier was more disturbed with the way the evening was progressing than he cared to let on.
And what other feelings is he hiding? she wondered.
“Should it bother me?” he said finally, his voice tight. “After all, you might say I am doing the same with his wife.”
“But it isn’t the same,” she corrected shrewdly. “Those two go way back—or so
I’m told—whereas we don’t have any old times to catch up on.”
“Yes,” he conceded, with a nod and a calculating smile.
“Yet,” she said cautiously, feeling as though she’d been caught between a rock and a hungry wolf. This man had stolen Drake’s fiancée out from under his nose. Hope didn’t know why, but instinctively she knew that he was going to try and do the same thing with her.
Should I let him? she wondered as they lapped into an uneasy silence. She remembered all too clearly how Drake had hung on every word that flowed from Angelique’s lips. A stab of jealousy pierced her heart. While she harbored nothing but disgust for this caricature of Drake, she was also finding it difficult not to throw Drake’s callous treatment of her back in his face.
It would serve the gunslinger right to see that someone else could actually be attracted to her, Hope thought with a satisfied grin. It didn’t matter that Charles was forcing himself to feign attraction. The means would suit the end.
A few more couples drifted onto the dance floor. She eyed them warily, noticing how each one looked quickly away whenever her gaze met theirs.
“Is it stuffy in here?” she asked suddenly. The cloying smell of flowery perfume and spicy male cologne seemed to be pressing in on her from all sides.
“I hadn’t noticed.” The crystal blue eyes narrowed on her, and she could see that Charles wasn’t fooled for a minute. He was also more than willing to play the game. “Would you care to step outside for a bit of air? The garden is quite lovely this time of year. The roses died with the first frost, but it’s still filled with delectable surprises. You really should see it.”
Hope nodded, letting herself be guided from the dance floor. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d made the right decision in indicating a wish to see the gardens. But one thing she was sure—she couldn’t stand another moment of twirling through the stilted steps of a dance with a man she abhorred, all the while wondering what Drake and Angelique were doing!
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