Читать книгу A Christmas Waltz - Jane Goodger - Страница 8

Amelia watched, looking slightly bemused as the older woman left the room.

“I’m dying,” she said dramatically, making fun.

“You’re pregnant.”

Of all the reactions he’d thought she’d give him—guilt, shame, defiance—he had least expected her to begin laughing.

“I’m what?” she asked between perfectly unladylike guffaws.

“Is it possible?” he asked, for some reason praying it was not so.

“Are you telling me that the only reason for a woman to faint is because she is pregnant? What sort of doctor are you?” she said, giggling. “Unless my name is Mary and my husband is Joseph, I do believe I am not with child.”

Boone felt his cheeks flush. “It seemed likely, given you came all the way from England chasing after my brother.”

Now it was Amelia’s turn to flush. “I was not ‘chasing after’ your brother. He is my fiancé and we planned for me to come to Texas. Next time you make such a prognosis, Doctor, perhaps you should get more information. That sort of erroneous diagnosis could ruin a girl. Even the hint of such a thing. But perhaps Texas is so far removed from polite society, you were unaware of that.”

“It seems to me that if Carson had a fiancée, he might have mentioned it to me,” Boone said, feeling his temper inexplicably rise. He rarely showed his anger and he disliked people intensely who did. Taking a calming breath, he stood.

“I did mention her,” Carson said, smiling from the doorway.

Carson had mentioned many women he’d met in England, Boone knew. It was that he’d failed to mention he had a fiancée.

“Now what are you two fightin’ about?” Carson asked. “You look like a couple of cats vyin’ for the same mouse.” Boone and Amelia both glared darkly at Carson.

“Your brother insulted me,” Amelia said, lifting her chin. Carson gave Boone a sharp look, and Amelia hastened to add, “Well, not in a calculated way.”

“She fainted, and I thought she might be pregnant,” Boone admitted.

Carson’s eyes widened, and he let out a whistle. “If there’s one thing Amelia aims to protect, it’s her virtue.”

“As it should be,” Amelia said.

“She did faint.”

“It’s hot here,” she said. “Neither of you seem to notice. In fact, other than that mangy dog in front of your store, no one seems to notice.”

“It’s not hot,” the men said in unison.

“And the dog’s not mangy. He’s just old,” Boone said.

Amelia picked up the wet cloth and pressed it against her cheek. She looked like she was about to cry, and Boone wouldn’t have blamed her if she did. He couldn’t imagine traveling all that way, expecting a happy fiancé and a prosperous ranch, and finding his brother instead.

“You should lie here and rest,” Boone said. “You’re not used to the heat. It gets cool at night, don’t worry.”

“Cool?” Amelia asked, with rather a pathetic amount of hope.

“Temperatures can drop to the sixties.”

“That sounds purely delightful,” she said, looking at Carson with such love it made Boone want to leave the room.

He did, followed by Carson, and went down the hall to the store. He’d always planned to have Carson help out and eventually run the store, but his younger brother had never shown any interest in doing so. Some days Boone was so busy with his practice and running the emporium, it was near impossible. If it wasn’t for Agatha, he wouldn’t have been able to manage. When the ranches were getting ready to drive the cattle to Abilene, they went through Small Fork and both his mercantile and doctor’s office were busy. But all the ranches had already begun their drives, leaving Small Fork sedate and quiet for a time.

When they reached the relative privacy of the store, Carson let out a foul curse. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he said, looking to Boone for answers as he always had.

“The way I see it, you either marry her or you don’t.”

Carson gave him a dark look, but Boone had little patience for his brother’s dilemma. It was just one in a long line of dilemmas Carson had gotten himself into, and this one, he decided, his little brother was just going to have to solve by himself.

“It’s not my fault she came,” Carson said, sounding like a spoiled six-year-old. “She came on her own. We agreed that I would send for her. I figured after a while, she’d meet someone else and move on. Hell, I know her brother didn’t want her to come.”

“The thing is, Carson,” Boone said with forced patience, “the girl is here and it looks to me like she’s still expecting to walk down the aisle with you. You’ve got to tell her the truth.”

Carson shook himself as if Miss Wellesley was on his back, clinging, while muttering, “Damn, damn, damn,” over and over. He stopped finally and looked at Boone with an almost tortured expression in his eyes. If Boone didn’t know better, he’d say that Carson was actually tortured by the circumstances.

“She told me she loved me,” he said, as if that were the worst possible thing to hear from a woman’s lips. For Carson, it probably was.

“And how do you feel about her?”

“She makes me horny,” he said hopefully.

Boone let out a low chuckle.

“Why in hell did she come?” Carson asked again, as if this time he was hoping the answer would be different.

“You’ve got to deal with this,” Boone said, a clear warning in his voice.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will.”

When Amelia woke up, it was to a world gone soft and pinkish yellow. Her room glowed in the early evening light, and she smiled because she hadn’t seen anything so pretty in a long time. Best of all, it was no longer hot, but pleasantly warm. She felt amazingly rested and content, considering how miserable she’d been just a few hours ago. Smiling, she stretched luxuriously.

“You’re as pale as a fish belly.”

Amelia let out a small screech to hear the strange female voice in her room.

“I’m Dulce Sullivan.”

Amelia found a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman staring at her. Her skin was the color of tea with a bit of cream.

“I’m supposed to make sure the men don’t get beneath all those skirts,” she said, nodding to her dress, which had become a frothing mess in her sleep. Or perhaps in her faint.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Sullivan. You may call Miss Wellesley.”

Dulce stared for two beats, then burst out laughing. “My mother was right,” she said.

“Right?”

“You are the strangest-talking woman I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

“Yes, well, strange is in the ears of the hearer,” Amelia grumbled. That only made Dulce laugh even harder.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get used to you eventually.” The woman hardly looked sorry at all. She appeared rather pleased with herself. “For as long as you’re here.”

She said this last with forced emphasis, as if trying to tell Amelia something without saying it aloud. Dulce had a way of looking at her that made her distinctly self-conscious, with a hostile undertone, perhaps. “I plan to be here for the rest of my life,” she said.

“That right? I just don’t see it. Fainting types don’t last long out here.”

Amelia sat up and straightened her skirt and her spine. She supposed she did look like a “fainting” type. Everyone, even her brother, had underestimated how tough she was, and part of that was her appearance. She always had been pale, and having golden blond hair didn’t help. She was petite and thin and sweet looking, which was why whenever she asserted herself, everyone appeared slightly shocked.

“Mrs. Sullivan. I have traveled across an ocean, then traveled by myself across this vast country. I would hardly say that is the action of a weak woman.”

Dulce stared at her and Amelia thought she’d gotten through to her when the girl started laughing again. “Just can’t take a word out of your mouth seriously. Just can’t.”

Amelia let out a sigh and stood, grateful that the room didn’t spin around her. “If you are going to laugh each time I speak, Mrs. Sullivan, I’m afraid this arrangement will not be acceptable.”

Now that shut the girl up. “First off, call me Dulce. What exactly am I supposed to do? My mother said you just needed a female about to keep the men away.”

“Not men, man. Carson is my fiancé and there are times when, well, he doesn’t act the proper gentleman.” Amelia could feel her cheeks flush and was so mortified, she failed to see Dulce’s dark look. “But that is not the only reason you are here. I also need a maid.”

“A maid? My mother does maid stuff.”

“No, a personal maid. You will do my hair, help me change. Take care of my clothing. Make certain it is fresh and the wrinkles removed.” Amelia shrugged. “I’ve been making do, but most of my gowns are simply impossible to put on by myself, never mind my good corset, which laces in the back.”

Dulce shook her head, her eyes incredulous. “You want me to dress you?”

“Well, yes. To assist me,” she said, feeling somehow ridiculous for wanting such a basic thing. “Look at this dress,” she said, opening her trunk and taking it out. It was a lovely gown, made for her London Season by one of the best dressmakers in town. She held up the deep blue silk gown, and turned it round to show Dulce the intricate back held together by tiny buttons. “I could never get this on or off without assistance.”

“We don’t have fancy dances around here where you could even wear such a thing,” Dulce said, eyeing the gown as if it were made of rat fur instead of the finest washed silk. Amelia could already see that Dulce didn’t put much thought into her own wardrobe. She wore a loose blousy top and a plain brown skirt, but she looked hardly ordinary. There was something wild about Dulce, some underlying smoldering heat that was difficult to pinpoint. She had the look of what her brother would have called a “tart.”

“Oh,” Amelia said, looking down at the gown, which was one of her favorites. “Practically the only dress I have that doesn’t button in the back, besides the few I’ve been wearing, is my riding habit.”

“You have a special dress for riding a horse?”

Amelia dug through her things to find her favorite article of clothing, her dark green wool riding habit. She loved its smart looking jacket, with its wide shawl collar and sleeves that puffed near the shoulder and narrowed on her wrist. She wore the cutest little top hat with it and felt so jaunty and unconventional, and she’d pictured herself many times riding beside Carson in his fancy cowboy gear.

“Of course. Isn’t it lovely?” she asked, holding it up for the skeptical Dulce to see. “I’m not very good at riding, but I’ve been practicing so that I might be able to keep up with Mr. Kitteridge.”

“Waste of cloth if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Amelia said, with a flash of anger showing in her eyes. “If you could hang up all my dresses and take care of my things, that would be lovely.” She was done trying to make polite conversation with this difficult woman.

“What are you going to be doing?” Dulce asked, completely taking Amelia aback. Clearly this girl had never before been hired as a servant—and Amelia had never before been confronted with such hostility from an employee.

“I’m going to be doing whatever I please,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing Dulce frown fiercely. Amelia was normally an exceedingly polite young woman, but she’d had quite enough of Dulce’s criticism and hostility.

She walked from the room, trying to look like a queen, but the anger flushing her cheeks ruined the effect entirely, she realized. She didn’t know why the girl rubbed her the wrong way, but she did. Perhaps she should try to be more patient with her—and act slightly less rigid. It was clear that the behavior of servants was not the same here in this land.

As she walked down the hall, she realized she was still wearing the same dress she’d had on all day. It was a wrinkled mess, with a fringe of dust along the edge of the skirt. Amelia frowned, knowing she couldn’t return to her room now and ask Dulce to help her dress for dinner.

The apartment part of the building was simply a long hallway that stretched back toward the courtyard from the mercantile. On either side of the hall was a series of doors that led no doubt to other bedrooms. When she found herself at the back entry to the store without having encountered another soul or even another room, Amelia stopped, turned, and looked back, thinking she’d somehow missed something. There was nothing to do but begin opening doors and pray she did not walk into someone’s bedroom.

When she opened the first door nearest the garden, she smiled. It was the kitchen and it was completely empty. Her stomach rumbled as she looked around for someone preparing food. But no, she was completely alone.

Amelia had not grown up in a wealthy home, but she’d always had a few servants running about: a maid, a cook, and a housekeeper. Her family had been poor compared to the way her friends had lived because her father had been a second son. Her brother had inherited the earldom only after their childless uncle had died.

Still, Amelia was not used to fending for herself. Stealing pastries from Cook’s tray was her only experience foraging for food. She stepped into the room and began looking into cupboards.

“You won’t find anything,” Dulce said cheerfully from the door. “At least nothing fancy.”

“Do you know what time they dine?” Amelia asked, ignoring the way the other girl was attempting, rather poorly, not to smile.

“I have no idea when they dine,” she said, putting stress on the last word as if she somehow found it offensive. “But I do know if they did, they would have done it already. It’s nearly eight o’clock.”

Amelia stared at the empty kitchen with a certain amount of dismay. Eight o’clock was when she usually dined at home, and often later if they were eating out at another estate.

“Where is everyone? Where are Carson and Boone?”

Dulce shrugged. “I’m going to bed. You’re all unpacked. And if you hear screaming, don’t worry, it’s just Boone.”

She said the words with a certain amount of glee, as if she were trying to frighten Amelia. Still, Amelia couldn’t resist asking, “Why would he scream?”

“The devil visits him at night,” Dulce said, a wicked gleam in her eye. Then she shrugged, as if knowing she wasn’t frightening her listener. “He has nightmares. Wakes Carson up near every night when he’s here.”

“I’m certain I won’t be disturbed. Good night.” Amelia didn’t think it was possible that the girl had managed to hang and fold everything neatly, but she didn’t say anything. Suddenly, Amelia felt a fierce longing for home, for the polished marble floors, the thick velvet drapes, the smell of flowers blooming madly outside her window. She missed the bustle and politeness of efficient servants, her brother’s friendly banter, the laughter and general noise of her little cousins.

Amelia had spent much of her childhood utterly alone. Her older sister had died when she was eight, her parents when she was twelve. Her brother, Edward, had gone into the military because there was no other way to respectably make a living. Of course, their uncle, the earl, had been kept oblivious to any of their financial worries, her brother’s pride knowing no limits.

But Amelia hadn’t minded being part of the poor gentry. They’d had enough income from their rather sad estate to support a small staff and the upkeep of their home. She’d never felt poor or deprived. But, Lord, she had felt lonely. Her brother came home when he could, but his visits seemed few and far between. She grew up in a household of elderly servants who hadn’t a clue how to make a young girl happy.

When her brother inherited not only the earldom but also his stepaunt’s six children, Amelia had been ecstatic. Finally, she had a family, someone to talk to. She wished more times than she could remember that everything could stay the same, that she would remain a young girl surrounded by children and an adoring stepaunt. She’d never been happier in her life—until she’d met Carson.

It had been perfect. Her brother was getting married, her stepaunt and her cousins were moving into their own lovely little estate, and she was going to Texas to start her own life, her own family. Because more than anything in the world, Amelia didn’t want to be left alone, an afterthought, the extra wheel that really didn’t belong.

She swallowed down the burning in her throat, squeezing her fists in disgust that she had allowed herself to fall into self-pity. It was just…

Nothing was the way it was supposed to be.

Taking a bracing breath, Amelia began opening cupboards, finding dishes and pots and pans but nothing edible. Finally, she found the pantry and stood staring rather forlornly at three eggs, a sack of flour, a sack of cornmeal, a few cans of corn, canned peaches, and what appeared to be pears. Amelia poked her finger at some sort of salted meat, and frowned. Nothing looked even remotely palatable, except perhaps the eggs. The icebox was empty, and Amelia suspected it hadn’t held ice in quite a while, for the drip tray was dry as a bone. Surely even a place as remote as Small Fork had ice shipped in regularly.

“I’m afraid you won’t find much to eat.”

Amelia turned to find Boone standing at the entrance to the kitchen. His hair was wet and slicked back but already starting to curl, and his cheeks were ruddy as if he’d been buffeted by a strong wind. The Kitteridge men were ungodly handsome, but unlike Carson, Boone seemed to be completely unaware of God’s gifts.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, giving her an intense, sweeping look that was slightly unsettling. She was suddenly acutely aware that her hair was down, her dress a wrinkled mess, and her feet shoeless. The tile had felt so blessedly cool, she hadn’t wanted to put on her shoes.

“Much better. But I am hungry. Starving, actually.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I really don’t know how to cook anything.” She glanced doubtfully at the stove, an ancient thing that looked like it had been in use for one hundred years. The only thing she knew for certain was that she needed to put wood in it to start a fire.

“I thought Carson was…” He stopped and looked down at the floor, almost as if he were angry. “I guess Carson didn’t want to wake you. He and I usually eat at the hotel nights I don’t cook. Agatha leaves at four to help her own family.”

“You don’t know where Carson is?”

“No, miss. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll run over to the hotel and get you something and bring it on back here. This time of night there aren’t too many ladies hanging around the saloon, so it’s best you wait here.”

Amelia had the terrible feeling that Boone was covering up for Carson, that her fiancé had forgotten her. Or worse, was avoiding her. “I’ll just go out to the garden, then.”

“Okay, but watch out for rattlers. They don’t usually come out this time of night, but it was warm today.”

“Rattlers?”

“Snakes.”

The only snake Amelia had ever seen was a harmless infant grass snake, and she’d thought it rather charming. “Oh, I’m not afraid of snakes unless they bite.”

“This one bites and can kill you if it gets you good.”

Amelia smiled politely. “I’ll just wait here, then, shall I?”

Boone nodded then headed for the door, but before he left, he poked his head back into the room. “They come indoors, too.”

Amelia looked up, surprised, then narrowed her eyes. He was teasing her. At least she thought he was, because he certainly wasn’t smiling. “You are joking,” she said with false bravado.

“Probably.” And then he was gone.

Boone stepped out of his home and stopped dead. He could see a man with a long blond ponytail leaning against the saloon’s wall, his arms around a woman, obviously kissing her. He didn’t know his blood could boil any hotter, but there it was, boiling madly, his temper rising so fast he shook with it.

Boone spun around to make certain his brother’s fiancée hadn’t followed him out, then strode across the dusty street, all the while telling himself to calm down. It was fierce, this temper, and one he frankly feared. Ask any man or woman in Small Fork, and they’d tell you Boone Kitteridge didn’t have an angry bone in his body. He never raised his voice, never mind his fist.

But they didn’t know what was happening beneath the surface, how close that surging heat was to exploding, how many times he’d thought about knocking the lights out of someone. Boone, himself, didn’t know how he tamped it down, but he did. He didn’t want to be like his father; he didn’t ever want to lose control and hurt someone. Even if they deserved it.

And right about now, his brother definitely deserved it.

“Evenin’, Geraldine.”

The woman pulled slowly away from his brother’s kiss and gave Boone a drowsy smile. “Well, hey there, Boone.”

Then Boone turned to Carson, his gray eyes shooting bullets, though his little brother was completely unaware of it. “You think this is a good idea, with your fiancée right across the street?”

“She’s not really my fiancée,” he said, smiling down at the woman still in his arms. Carson was drunk, as usual. The two of them swayed together, clearly having shared a bit too much whiskey.

“She damn well is your fiancée, and you better get your ass over there. She’s hungry and it’s clear to me, if not to you, that she’s feeling a bit lost about now. She doesn’t even know how to start a fire in a stove. She’s hungry and I was heading over here to get her something to eat. Maybe you ought to bring it to her instead.”

Carson looked ill at the thought, and Geraldine tightened her hold on him.

“He ain’t goin’ anywhere, are you, love?” Geraldine asked, then planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth. Before Boone’s disgusted gaze, the two deepened their kiss and he could feel the anger coming back in force. He could feel his hand clench, and took a deep breath to stop the force of his rage.

“You beat all, you know that, Carson?”

Carson tore his mouth away from the whore and looked at his brother, really looked at him, his eyes filled with fear and self-loathing that was almost tangible. “I know, Boone. Could you just handle her this one night?”

“He can’t handle any woman, you know that,” Geraldine said, giggling drunkenly, and Boone felt a surprising rush of humiliation.

Carson pushed her rather ungently out of his arms. “You go back in, Gerri. I’ll be there in a minute.” Then he slapped her on the derriere to temper his words, causing the woman to giggle again as she walked unsteadily down the boardwalk toward the saloon entrance. He pulled off his hat and scratched his head before turning back to Boone. “I’ll take care of things in the morning.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know,” he said, slapping the dirty Stetson back on and grinning. “I’ll figure it out tonight.”

Boone let Carson go, then ordered up some food for Amelia—a thick beef stew, which was the only bit of food the kitchen had left at this late hour. When he returned to the house, Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table in the dark. Only her dim outline was visible in the day’s dying light, wisps of her blond hair seeming to softly glow, making her ethereal. Having someone like her in his home did not seem real. She looked like a little girl waiting for her supper, and his anger toward his brother grew.

“I didn’t know where the matches were and by the time I realized I should light a lamp, it was too dark to look for them,” she said softly, with apology in her voice.

Without a word, Boone reached for the matches by the stove, then lit a small lamp on the kitchen table. “We have gas lighting at home,” Amelia said, staring at the lamp, her blue eyes impossibly vivid in her pale face. “And my brother was talking about getting electrification. Can you imagine?”

“I think it’ll be a while before we get electricity out here,” Boone said, sitting down at the table across from her. Compared to her soft lilt, his voice sounded harsh, the way blaring trumpets sound after a flute solo. “You’d better eat before it gets cold.”

Amelia looked down at the stew and smiled. It looked wonderfully normal. Taking a spoon she dug in, and closed her eyes at the wonderful flavors that flooded her mouth. “It’s good,” she said, smiling. “I don’t know if it’s the best stew I’ve ever had, or if I’ve never been so completely starving before.” She expected Boone to smile, but he just stared at her as if she were a foreign creature sitting at his table.

It was hard to believe he was Carson’s brother. They seemed so opposite. Carson was full of charm and smiles, Boone so serious. She was quite certain she hadn’t seen a smile from him since her arrival. Still, she had to admit he had a quiet appeal. If she wasn’t in love with Carson, she would probably better appreciate Boone’s dark beauty. His hair was the color of rich chocolate and cut rather short, unlike Carson with his wild mane of blond waves. Boone’s eyes were deep gray and fringed with long, dark lashes, while Carson’s were blue with reddish gold lashes. And Carson had that wonderfully rich mustache, while Boone was clean-shaven.

Amelia knew Boone was the older brother, but he looked ten years younger than Carson. Yes, it was hard to believe her untamed, strong cowboy was brother to this neat and solemn man sitting across from her.

“Did you see Carson?” she asked before taking another mouthful. It really was the most wonderful stew.

Boone looked down at his steepled hands as if he’d suddenly become aware he’d been staring. “No.”

“I’ll have to tell him he’s been exceedingly impolite disappearing like this,” she said lightly. “I feel rather abandoned.” Amelia looked up and found Boone staring at her again. It was quite disconcerting, actually.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Boone looked slightly startled. “No.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

Boone opened his mouth as if to deny he’d been staring, but shut it and let out a short, impatient breath. “I just can’t figure out what you’re doing here.”

Amelia decided to ignore that rude comment. “I’m eating,” Amelia said, being purposefully difficult.

“I mean,” Boone said with forced calm, “what in God’s name made you think it would be a good idea to marry my brother?”

Amelia hardly thought Boone was being very brotherly at the moment. “Your brother is charming and handsome and intelligent. Qualities that were apparently given out sparingly in the Kitteridge family.” She lifted her chin smugly. “And he loves me.”

Boone had been looking at her with an expression one could only describe as complete bafflement, but at the last, he lowered his gaze. “That’s just plain stupid,” he said finally and without a bit of meanness. It was as if he were calmly informing her that she was of deficient intelligence, a gentle diagnosis from a caring doctor.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you came halfway across the world for my brother. I just don’t think a woman of high intelligence would do such a thing.”

Amelia felt as if he’d just slapped her—that’s how stunned she was by his cavalier words. What hurt the most was that she knew, deep down inside, coming to Texas was probably the most foolish, ill-conceived, impulsive act anyone of her acquaintance had ever done. By far. But she wasn’t going to let the man sitting across from her know that. She was about to set him straight when she burst into completely unexpected tears.

“You’re right,” she said, feeling the strain of the last weeks hit her like a tidal wave. He pressed a handkerchief into her hand and said nothing as she cried copious tears. “It’s clear that Carson wasn’t expecting me. I know that. I’m not stupid. Nor blind. And it’s just as clear he wishes I hadn’t come. He was so different back in England. Like a different man altogether. When he looked at me then, it was like I was the most important thing in the world to him. I don’t understand it. I don’t think…” She let out another sob. “I don’t think he…he…loves me at all.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Boone said. And Amelia looked up at him with ridiculous hope in her eyes. “He’s a man who likes his freedom. I think he likes you too much, and it scares him a little.”

“Then why did he ask me to marry him? Why did he formally ask my brother for my hand? It was in the Times,” she said, as if that would prove to the world that Carson did, indeed, love her. Oh, how she wished Carson was here reassuring her, instead of this cold man in front of her.

As Amelia watched, Boone’s cheeks turned ruddy and he looked down at his hands again.

“Was it for the money?” she asked, slightly horrified by that thought. But the man across from her just gave her a confused look. “If not the money, then what? He begged me to…” She stopped. Carson hadn’t begged her to marry him, he’d begged her to make love to him. All those nights he’d kissed her and touched her and she’d push him away when he went too far, telling him over and over she would not do that until she wore his ring. She’d very nearly succumbed more than once, because, Lord, he could be so very persuasive with those hands and that mouth.

Amelia slumped back in her chair and stared at Boone until she saw the truth in his face. “For that?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“But surely you suspect?”

Boone shook his head once, almost as if avoiding a blow. “I don’t know what goes on in that boy’s head. I never have. I think you need to have a serious talk with him. Tomorrow.”

Amelia nodded and moved a piece of carrot around the bowl with her spoon, just to give herself something to do other than cry. “Why would he do that? It can’t be true. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Amelia said, her anger starting to grow. “What man would get formally engaged just for the pleasure of making love to a woman?”

Boone gave her a strangely intense look, as if he could see right through her. “A man would,” he said softly.

Amelia shook her head. “No. It wasn’t like that. And when I see Carson, he’ll tell me. I’m tired and weepy and for some reason you’re being cruel to someone you don’t know. I don’t even think you know your brother, either. I know him,” she said, holding her hands against her heart as fresh tears fell.

“You’re probably right,” he said without meeting her angry gaze.

“I know I am.” And at that moment Amelia was completely sure of herself; all the doubts she had about Carson swept away. Carson had been happy to see her, had held her and made her feel loved. No man could touch her and kiss her the way he had unless he loved her. Yes, he should be here with her now instead of his rude brother, but he was probably doing something important, something for her, no doubt. Carson was the most considerate, kind, exciting man she had ever met, and his brother was simply being contrary. And if Carson lied about certain things, it was understandable. He loved her so much, he wanted her to love him back, and probably lied about the big ranch because he knew her brother would never have agreed to their marriage otherwise.

Amelia gave an inner grimace at that thought. Edward would be livid to know his little sister had traveled all this way only to be put in the tiny back room of a shop. She prayed her brother never found out that Carson had lied so outrageously. It had been difficult enough to get Edward to agree to allow her to marry a commoner, never mind a man who didn’t appear to have a pence to his name.

Her brother had just married an American girl, so he’d been more lenient with her than he might have been otherwise. Edward was many things, but he certainly wasn’t a hypocrite. She’d loved him for that, for his willingness to let her follow her heart, even though it meant following it all the way to Texas. She just prayed her brother never found out that the letter she’d claimed had been from Carson sending for her had been nothing but a blank piece of paper.

“You know how to work the pump?” Boone asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“The pump?”

Boone motioned to a water pump on the large kitchen sink. “Yes, of course,” Amelia said. She didn’t point out that they’d had hot and cold running water from faucets in her home, and that the only pump she’d ever used had been in their gardens.

When she didn’t immediately move, Boone nodded toward her bowl. “I’ve got to return that tonight or George will have a fit.”

“Oh,” she said, staring down at the bowl. “You want me to clean it.”

“If you could.”

“Oh.” Amelia would never admit that she had never washed a dish in her life. She went to the sink and rinsed the bowl, wiping it clean with a cloth that hung from a hook above the sink. She began to giggle and turned to Boone, who stared at her as if she’d gone mad.

“That was the first time I’ve ever cleaned a bowl,” she said. “And I do believe I’ve done an outstanding job of it.” She held up the clean bowl for his inspection.

Boone just shook his head. “Lady, you are in a world of trouble.” He took the bowl and left the kitchen, leaving Amelia behind, giggling and thinking she had, indeed, gone quite mad.

With a full stomach, Amelia made her way down the darkened hallway to her room. Back home, she’d probably just be getting ready to go out for the evening, or snuggled by a fire reading a book. But she was dreadfully tired, and since there was no one to talk to and no fire to snuggle by, she lay down gratefully on her bed, thinking about the next day and Carson. Things would seem better in the morning. Everything would work out just fine, she knew it would. Carson would hold her, tell her not to worry, and they’d talk about the wedding and the family they’d have together. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, picturing herself standing before a tiny rose-covered cottage with Carson by her side.

Amelia was in the middle of a wonderful dream. She was at a ball back home dancing to her favorite waltz, with Carson looking down at her the way he used to. He was beautiful, his bright blue eyes sparkling, his hair long and wavy and glossy, his beard trimmed and dashing. Every eye was on them, every woman in the ballroom gazing at them with a combination of envy and appreciation. He wore all white, his silver buttons glinting in the gaslight, his arms strong as he swirled her around the ballroom.

But for some reason, he was starting to shake her shoulder as they danced, and she scowled at him.

“Stop that,” she muttered.

“But darlin’, you have to wake up.”

Amelia opened her eyes and saw Carson, not the hero of her dreams but the unkempt, wild-looking man she’d been with that afternoon, and she tamped down her disappointment. Carson drew her into his arms and she was enveloped in an almost nauseating smell of smoke, cheap perfume, and liquor.

“Is something wrong, Carson?”

He pushed her back, his large hands on her shoulders, and for some reason he seemed like a complete stranger, not her beloved, not the man who used to pull her into the alcoves of her home and kiss her until her knees were weak.

“I have to go. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”

A waft of boozy breath enveloped her.

“You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough,” he said, and even in the moonlight she could see the flash of his brilliant smile. At least that hadn’t changed.

“I don’t understand. I just got here. Where are you going?”

“Why do you have to do that?” he said, sounding almost angry. “Why do you have to look so pretty? Why do you have to be so goddamn nice?”

“I’m sorry.”

He let out a curse. “Don’t you realize how rotten I am yet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Carson. All I know is who you were in England. And you were wonderful there.”

“I was a complete jackass. Hell, Amelia, you’re making this so hard. You’re making me not want to leave.”

The truth was finally dawning on her, and she felt her insides clench sickeningly. “You’re not coming back?”

“I…”

“Oh, God, I’m such an idiot,” she said, horrified by the truth that had been there all along, if she’d only been wise enough to listen to the reasonable part of her brain, rather than her heart.

“I’m comin’ back, darlin’. Don’t cry. Please. I’m comin’ back.”

Hope surged, but immediately left her when she saw the look on his face. He was lying, just as he had lied so many times before. But this time he didn’t even bother to try to hide it. Amelia may have been naïve, may have even believed that Carson loved her, but she was not a complete fool.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said. “Please, Carson. If you don’t mean to come back, don’t lie.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said, sounding tired. Then he flashed her a grin that tore at her already beaten heart. “I might just stay. You never know.”

But the next morning, Carson was gone.