Читать книгу Burke's Rules - Pat Tracy - Страница 12

Chapter Five

It wasn’t surrender. By linking forces with her pushy benefactor, she was exercising good sense. Jayne joined Burke at the bottom of the stairs. Burke... It unnerved her at how quickly she’d begun to think of him by his first name.

“That didn’t take long,” he observed, hardly more than a shadow in the muted light provided by a single low-burning oil lamp. He stepped forward. “I’ll take that for you.”

He reached for the valise. She was tempted to make an issue of carrying it herself. True wisdom, however, lay in knowing which battles to wage with the overbearing banker. She released the handle without comment.

His palm curved around her elbow as he guided her to the door. “Do you have the key?”

“Of course,” she replied, resenting being treated like a child.

“Wait here while I douse the lamp.”

Evidently giving orders was as natural to him as breathing.

Moments later a cloak of darkness claimed the room’s interior. Sufficient light from an outside street lamp filtered through the front windows and glass door panels. He had no difficulty making his way back to her. His unerring approach had her fumbling to get the key in the lock. She attributed her uncustomary awkwardness to his disembodied presence and the almost palpable tension he projected. Mentally, she commanded the stubborn key to turn.

There was an audible click. In the room’s subsequent stillness, her sigh of relief was clearly heard. A strong arm came around her, crowding her into a tiny pocket of space. It took a half second to comprehend that he was turning the knob and shoving open the door. In that minuscule fragment of time, her heart stopped beating, and her stomach curled into a tight ball.

She couldn’t get across the threshold quickly enough. It did nothing for her peace of mind to realize her knees had been reduced to insubstantial globs of melted butter. She wanted him to cease his disturbing behavior, but she didn’t know precisely what he was doing to annihilate her composure.

Just existing, taking up space and breathing were not things she could order him to stop doing. As much as she chafed under his unsettling effect, she intuitively understood that the problem was with her, not him. She was the one who’d temporarily lost her bearings. Therefore, it was up to her to find them. And she would. Just as soon as she put some desperately needed distance between herself and the worrisome Mr. Youngblood.

He followed her through the door. She shoved the key into his free hand, refusing to deal again with the tricky lock—anything to avoid having him pressed up behind her.

He said nothing as he saw to the task. Looking beyond his broad shoulders, she stared at the beautifully etched glass panels she’d purchased in a moment of extravagance. Leaving them for the new owner saddened her.

“This building you found, do you recall if its doors are the same size as these?”

He returned the key. Her fingers curved around the piece of metal, warmed by its contact with his flesh. She slid the key into a pocket.

“Offhand, I can’t give you the exact measurements. Do you have a preference for certain-sized doors?” he inquired blandly.

Despite his neutral tone, there was no missing the soft humor tinging his deep voice. “I just had those glass panels installed. If there’s any way to take them with me, I intend to do it.”

“You have excellent taste.”

She braced herself against the unexpected pleasure his compliment sparked. The street’s noisy hubbub penetrated the cocoon of intimacy that had embraced them. Miners and cowpunchers poured from brightly lit saloons. Harpsichord music from different establishments collided in jangling bursts of discordant clatter. Loud voices, male and female were raised in drunken laughter, song and angry tones, crafting a sinful chorus of raucous notes. It was as if she and Burke had stepped into a world of violent sounds.

“Stay beside me.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She pressed closer. He still carried her satchel. His free arm curved around her shoulders. For once, she wasn’t disposed to assert her independence. It was an alien sensation to feel in need of protection from someone bigger and stronger than herself. Yet being sheltered by him was strangely satisfying.

They surged forward, weaving their way through the tumultuous celebrants milling along the boardwalk. The summer night was ripe with raw, loosened energy that seemed to pulse between the roving clusters of drunken men.

“Hey now, watch where y’er going!”.

The slurred shout erupted from a small, roughly dressed man who stumbled into the path of several wranglers swigging drinks from earthen jugs.

“Naw, runt, it’s you who better watch what you’re about.”

“Who you calling runt, skunk face?”

“Wylie, you gonna let that dwarf get away with calling you skunk face?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, hell.” Burke’s arm tightened around her as he placed himself between her and the brewing trouble. With her nose pressed against his side, she couldn’t see what was going on. But she heard plenty—oaths, grunts, dull thuds of fists striking and connecting, along with wheezing groans.

Jayne had never been caught in a flood, but she felt as if she and the banker had been sucked into a wild tide of churning water. Someone barreled against Burke. Still in his protective grasp, she was jostled from the tight crook of his strong arm. Her fractured field of vision was filled with a turbulent sea of men who’d abandoned reason and were bludgeoning one another. Flailing arms and pounding fists sent bodies hurtling in every direction.

The majority of combatants didn’t seem to care whom they engaged in fisticuffs. Anyone crossing their path appeared to be fair game. Someone else rammed against her and Burke. One second she was tucked by his side, and the next she sailed backward into a hostile current of battling ruffians.

“Jayne!”

She heard Burke’s hoarse shout above the surging fury and tried to get to him, but two hooligans materialized from the writhing mass of brawlers and commenced trading blows. Like an avenging warrior, Burke moved between the pugilists. He tossed them apart and charged toward her, still securely gripping her valise.

Jayne’s heart thumped against her ribs. She’d never inspired a heroic rescue before. His boldness took her breath away. He closed the distance between them. A look of fierce determination stamped his rugged features. Goodness, he looked capable of slaying a fire-breathing dragon on her behalf.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a rush of motion. The image of a wildly swinging brown jug flashed. Hot pain and exploding rainbows converged in her brain.

“Jayne, can you hear me?”

Burke’s voice penetrated the vortex of throbbing pain churning inside her skull. She tried to open her eyes. The right one refused to cooperate. The left lid flickered, then gave up the effort. Tears flowed freely. Lying very still and not moving her head seemed her most prudent course.

There was a subtle disturbance in the air current around her. Something wet and cool was gently applied to her forehead. It felt wonderfully soothing. She almost sighed her pleasure.

“Come on, open your pretty green eyes and say something rude so I’ll know you’re all right”

“It hurts too much,” she mumbled. It registered that she was lying upon a soft surface, and the sounds of riotous battle had been silenced. “What happened?”

“I messed up.”

His tone was bitter with self-reproach, which made no sense. “Are you blaming yourself for our being swept into that drunken mob?”

“Not entirely.” His voice was closer. Whatever she was lying upon dipped toward the husky sound. “If you had done as I suggested earlier, you’d have been settled in a hotel room when the fight broke out.”

“You suggested nothing,” she felt compelled to point out. “You took it upon yourself to order me to accompany you.”

“Then I should have been tougher about enforcing that order,” he said gruffly. “How does your head feel? You took a hard blow.”

This time she thought she detected a note of concern in his voice. Obviously, the jug that had plowed into her had scrambled her senses. “I feel as if one of those huge draft horses stepped on my face.”

“Damn, I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Those brawlers should be locked up so they can’t attack decent folks who are minding their own business.”

“The law expects decent folks to be safely tucked in their own beds, not walking the streets late at night.”

Tucked in their own beds... The phrase brought immediate clarity to Jayne’s resting place. A pillow that smelled like sunshine cradled her head. She ran her palms along crisp sheets. At the freedom of movement and smooth friction of her bare arms against the bedding, several alarming realities slammed into her. She wasn’t fully clothed. Surreptitiously, she investigated her state of dishabille beneath the blankets.

Her dress was gone. So was her corset and... She wriggled her toes. Her stockings remained, but her shoes had been removed. Indignation spiraled. Someone had reduced her to her chemise and pantalettes. That someone had better not be the man who she now realized was sitting beside her on the mattress.

“If the pain is too much, I can fetch a doctor, Jayne. Some laudanum would take the edge off the hurt you must be feeling.”

Hot, suffocating rage made her flesh burn. “I’m sure drugging me would suit your purposes perfectly.”

It took herculean strength to get the words past her tightened throat. Embarrassment and fury rose within her. Just when she’d relaxed her guard, the cad had shown his true colors. And they were as black as his wicked, lecherous heart.

“Do you care to explain that statement?”

Through the self-imposed darkness of her closed eyelids, she heard the barely banked anger beneath the calmly voiced question.

“Don’t bother acting offended, or innocent.” She drew the blankets to her chin. “I know exactly what’s been going on.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not some innocent young miss to have the wool pulled over my eyes.”

“Aren’t you?”

“And don’t try to intimidate me with those surly two-word questions of yours. It won’t work.”

“Won’t it?”

She ground her teeth. New pain radiated in her skull. “It’s perfectly obvious what evil designs you’ve had in mind for me all along. And if you say, ‘Is it?’ I swear I shall blacken your eye.”

“Will you, indeed?”

She knew he’d deliberately crafted the three-word question to drive her insane. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear the trip would be all that far. She felt pushed to the outer boundaries of reason. One more sarcastic remark from him would complete the journey.

“Where am I?”

“I assume you would like a more specific answer than Denver.”

Her hands curled into fists. Composure, she breathed. It was essential that she retain control of her roiling emotions. So far as she could determine the fiend hadn’t taken advantage of her unconscious state. At least, she didn’t think he had. Could a woman tell if she’d been ravished?

Surely, a barbarian the likes of Burke Youngblood would leave telltale evidence of his lovemaking. Euphemia’s graphic explanation of a how a man physically invaded a woman’s body would cause a twinge or two, wouldn’t it?

Jayne’s eyes remained sealed shut beneath the damp cloth that rode low on her forehead. She concentrated intensely, focusing on the critical juncture between her thighs. If there was any discomfort there, however, it was obliterated by the throbbing in her head.

Unable to trust the messages her body was sending, she took comfort in logic. If Burke Youngblood had had his evil way with her, would he have taken the trouble to redress her in her chemise and pantalettes? She considered the question. He was a man of complex layers. He disguised his carnal nature behind the facade of a self-controlled businessman, but he had a devious side. He might restore her clothing to lull her into a false feeling of security.

She forced herself to draw another steadying breath. Now wasn’t the time to panic. She would have an accounting of his actions, and then she would deal with the repercussions—after she killed him.

“Tell me the worst of it,” she instructed.

“The worst?”

“Yes, I need...” She swallowed. “I need to know how bad things are.”

Burke saw that Jayne was becoming more agitated with each passing moment. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. She was safe from the violence that had broken out on the boardwalk. True, she’d been struck a hard blow, but he sensed the emotions making her voice tremble had little to do with her physical aches. Her color had been normal when she’d regained consciousness, but now she was flushed.

Guilt burrowed deeply inside him at failing to shield her from the vicious mayhem that had erupted around them. The fundamental tenet of being a man was to protect those weaker than himself. He’d placed Jayne under his care, and he’d let her down.

How did a man apologize for failing to safeguard the woman under his protection? Gall burned the back his throat at having to acknowledge to her and himself he’d failed.

He decided to postpone the bitter reckoning. “Backing up to your earlier question, you’re in bed.”

“Whose?” she virtually croaked.

He’d damned well been tempted to put her in his own. But at the last minute, sanity overrode the crazy temptation, and he’d carried her into one of his guest chambers. Under the circumstances, he doubted she was in the mood to appreciate his clear thinking.

“You’re in one of the guest bedrooms of my home.”

He could almost feel the increased tension radiating from her.

Her hand went to her forehead. She pulled off the cloth. “When I open my eyes, I expect you to have removed yourself from this bed.”