Cinderfella (11 page)

“Yes.”

She didn't protest when his hands slipped to the back of her head to untie the silk ribbons that held the mask in place. The cool air against her face felt heavenly, his fingers against the skin there even more so.

“You're very beautiful,” he whispered.

Her heart skipped a beat. His words were romantic nonsense, as this entire evening had been, a practiced flirtation. Still, just for tonight — “I am not, and you shouldn't say such things —”

“You are,” he interrupted. “And tonight I say whatever I want.”

His fingers traced her face, danced down her cheeks and across her jaw, brushed over her lips and back again. “Will you let me kiss you, Charmaine Haley?”

“Yes,” she breathed, without hesitation, without thinking at all.

His lips on hers were soft and reluctant, as if he was afraid she'd change her mind. They brushed lightly over hers, and then they settled in nicely, moving gently over her mouth. The sensation was intoxicating.

He tasted and smelled very pleasant, warm and amazingly different from anything she'd ever known, until this was
all
she knew. His taste and his smell, the feel of his mouth on hers, the beat of her heart and his.

Charmaine raised her hands to the back of his head, intent on removing the mask and revealing his face. He stopped her, his large hands gripping her wrists and pulling them away from the leather thongs that held his mask in place. He kissed her wrists, the palms of her hands, and he didn't release her.

“I want to see your face,” she pleaded.

“No,” he whispered, bringing his mouth to hers again.

“But why?” The question was a mere breath against his lips.

He sighed, softly, uncertainly. “I had planned to show you my face before the night was over, but now I can't. It would ruin everything.”

“Why? How could it possibly —”

He silenced her with a kiss. “Tomorrow I'll be gone,” he said. “Tonight is all we have, is all we'll ever have, and I don't want to spoil it.”

There was a terrible finality in his words, and Charmaine's heart pounded with excitement and an unexplained terror. She'd never see him again. Something akin to panic rushed through her, a real dread at the certainty that she'd never feel this way again. She allowed her lips to fall against his, seeking without shame the overwhelming sensation she felt when his mouth touched hers.

His hands released hers and danced up her arms, over her shoulders to her neck. Long fingers delved into her hair, and with his tongue he parted her lips and teased her with more. This was more than wonderful, it was magical. Her body was singing, her blood was dancing, this was . . . this was everything Howard had warned her against.

She drew her head back sharply, drawing away from the lips that taunted her. The stranger was unprepared, and as he had his fingers twined in the pearl necklace she wore, it snapped, and pearls went everywhere. They bounced on the gazebo floor, fell into her bodice, rebounded off his black frock coat.

“What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” she repeated as she came to her feet. “I can't . . .
this
is wrong! This is exactly why waltzing is sinful and should be outlawed.”

In the moonlight she could see his smile, and there was something about that smile that was hauntingly familiar. Of course, he had smiled several times throughout the evening. “This has nothing to do with waltzing, Charmaine Haley,” he whispered.

The intriguing stranger stood, slowly unfolding his long body from the bench, and Charmaine wanted nothing but for him to kiss her again. He took a step forward, toward her, but instead of taking her in his arms, he winced and stopped his progress.

“What is it?” Charmaine whispered.

He sat down on the bench and slowly removed one boot. When the black boot was in his hand he shook it, and then he turned it upside down. A single pearl rolled into the palm of his hand.

“I see,” she said, stepping forward to get a better look at the pearl resting in the palm of hand. It looked so much tinier in his wide, dark palm that it had as one of many around her throat. She was almost upon him when she stepped on another one of the pesky pearls. She knew it was a pearl, because the bottom of her shoe slid over it so smoothly — and so quickly.

If she hadn't been wearing a darn corset, she would have been able to right herself in time, but as it was she fell stiffly forward and into the stranger's ill-prepared arms. The boot he'd been holding in one hand went flying, and as he caught her around the waist they went tumbling over the side of the gazebo. Strong arms tightened around her, and when they fell, his body cushioned the blow for her.

He landed flat on his back, and she landed atop him with a knee on either side of his waist and her skirts bunched around her thighs. After a breathless moment she actually began to laugh softly. It was fortunate that they'd had no audience. What a ridiculous sight they must have made, tumbling over backwards that way!

Her heart was pounding, her hair was falling in disarray about her face, and her expensive gown was falling off of one shoulder.

A hand came to her face, and her laughter died. Long fingers touched her cheek briefly and then moved to the back of her head, and after a pause where taking a breath was impossible, the stranger pulled her face to his and kissed her again. Hard this time, insistent, his tongue invading her mouth as she sat atop him. She had never been so close to any man before, never had her body pressed to his and her mouth joined in this impossible way. The rush of longing that coursed through her body was unexpected and unwanted and much too powerful for her to ignore.

“I'll kill you.”

It took Charmaine a moment to realize that the husky voice had not come from the man beneath her. Evidently he realized it at the same time, because they popped up together, straightening hair and skirts and a slightly askew bodice as they came to their feet. It didn't help matters any that the hem of her skirt was tangled in the stranger's diamond stickpin, and it took them several seconds of shared fumbling to undo the entanglement.

“Daddy, I can explain,” she said quickly as she turned to face him.

“No explanation is necessary,” her father said. “I can see quite well.” He drew a gun from beneath his coat and pointed it in their direction. “Step away, Charmaine.”

“No.” She stepped in front of the stranger, knowing her father would never risk harming her. “Not until you put that gun away.”

He shook his head.

“Mr. Haley,” the stranger began.

“You shut up!” He waved the gun wildly. “Nobody touches my daughter, do you understand?
Nobody!
”

“Run,” Charmaine whispered. The stranger didn't move. Instead of running away he rested a large hand comfortingly at the small of her back, silently joining her in her defiance of her father. She looked over her shoulder, for one last glimpse of what she could see of his face. The mask and the moonlight thwarted her. “Run.”

“I'll never forget this night,” he whispered, and her heart stopped.

Before she could respond, before she could even think of a response, he was gone. He had finally taken her advice and run.

Her father swung his gun around quickly, firing a wild shot into the darkness, and the town clock chimed.

Midnight.

 

 

 

 

 

Eight

 

The clock was pealing the last reverberating strain of midnight, as Ash limped on one booted foot and one in only a sock to the alley where he'd left Pumpkin.

Well, everything that could possibly go wrong had. His plan to embarrass Charmaine had gone out the window the first time she'd smiled at him. He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted this one night to be perfect — for her
and
for him. For Charmaine to be horrified that the man she'd danced with all night was just Ash Coleman — that was not part of any perfect evening.

He unhitched Pumpkin from the post, jumped into the saddle, and leaned forward with a few soft words for the horse. And then he heard the voices, Stuart Haley's loudest and most furious bluster dominating them all as they headed this way.

If he didn't get out of this alley, he'd be dead.

With another whispered plea and a nudge of his heel to Pumpkin, they were off, flying from the alley and onto the street to surprised shouts. And then the gunfire started. After a moment of panic he realized the resounding shots came from only one gun. Stuart Haley's, no doubt.

The bullets whizzed past, too close for comfort, and Ash leaned over Pumpkin's neck to make a smaller target of himself. Getting himself shot wasn't exactly part of a perfect evening, either. He'd counted four gunshots, each and every one of them zinging by, much too close for comfort. Surely he was almost out of range. Haley had fired once there at the gazebo, so there was just one bullet left in that gun. Just one.

It was the final bullet that got him, grazing him low on his right and bootless leg and burning like hell. He faltered in the saddle, just a little, but Pumpkin didn't fail him. They flew away from Salley Creek and Stuart Haley and his posse.

Ash was well away from town before he was sure no one was following. Only then did he slow Pumpkin and look down at his leg. There to the side, just beneath his knee, was a furrow in the pants Nathan had taken from his trunk of costumes. His wounded leg continued to burn like the dickens but there wasn't much blood, so he figured it couldn't be too bad. All in all, it was a small price to pay.

The moon lit his way, as he meandered slowly toward home. It was a night to remember, this was. He'd danced with Charmaine half the evening, and it had been wonderful and somehow fitting, as if no one else in that room had the right to twirl her across the floor. She'd fit in his arms just right, moved with him without fault. Perfectly.

She still had sand, he realized with a smile in the dark. Charmaine said just what was on her mind no matter how outrageous. Decadent waltzing, ruinous novels, excessive excitement. Most of it was bluster, he'd realized from the start. She was repeating something she'd heard and thought she should agree with, but it wasn't genuine. All that talk about women's rights sure did get her fired up, though, and she was a picture when she was fired up.

And after all that he'd kissed her, and by God she'd kissed him back. A kiss that had fired up his blood and set it racing, that had awakened desires he'd purposely buried deep. In that instant, with that first kiss, Charmaine Haley had staked claim to his heart and his body, and she didn't even know it.

His warm memories turned cold with the sudden comprehension that none of it was real. He'd been someone else tonight, hiding behind that mask and pretending he could have whatever he wanted. Even Charmaine.

Mooning over what he couldn't have served no purpose. He didn't have time for courting, and even if he did it would be a waste of time in his present situation. Besides, she would never have kissed him if she'd known who he was.

Ash reached into his pocket and withdrew the white mask Charmaine had worn most of the night. He'd slipped it there after removing it from her face so he could kiss her, not consciously intending to steal it, but glad now that he had. Moonlight shone on pearls, made the white satin so bright it glowed with an unearthly radiance in the night.

He'd told her that he'd never forget this night, and it was the truth. Maybe she wasn't for him, but by God it had been perfect, for a while. Just for tonight, he reasoned. Just for tonight.

 

“I don't
know
who he is!” Charmaine shouted at her father again. “He was just a stranger passing through town. You'll never find him!”

He tossed a single boot onto the floor at her feet. “I don't believe it for a minute, young lady!”

They were standing in the middle of what had been the dance floor all night. It was cleared now, but for Charmaine, her father, and her very silent mother. After a wonderful evening her father had cleared the house of guests like a mad, raging bull. Even those who were supposed to spend the night were seeking refuge at the boarding house.

“It's the truth!”

“Then I'm glad I shot the sonofabitch!”

Charmaine felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. Her knees wobbled, the room tilted and swam. “You did what?” she whispered.

“Now Stuart,” her mother began calmly. “You don't know that you hit anything.”

“Six shots and I damn well didn't miss every time,” he seethed. “Sonofabitch flinched on that last shot. I got him all right.”

Charmaine made a silent vow that she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give her father the satisfaction. “There was no reason. . . . ” her voice trembled, so she closed her mouth and refused to say anything more.

“What have they done to you in Boston that you'd give yourself to some . . . some strange man who wanders in off the streets?”

“Give myself?” Charmaine whispered. “I didn't. . . . ”

Her father apparently didn't hear her. “What decent man from hereabouts will have you now? Maybe back East they'll stand for such behavior, but not in Kansas!”

It came to her suddenly, an epiphany that stilled her heart and her trembling knees.
What decent man from hereabouts will have you now?

“I've tried to tell you I'm a modern woman,” she said softly. “And you refuse to believe me. I do as I please. If I choose to dally with a strange man in the gazebo, I'll do so.”

Her father turned an alarming shade of red.

“I'm sorry you stumbled upon my liaison, Daddy. I never meant to hurt you.” He wasn't hurt, he was furious. She'd never seen him so angry. “I suppose there's nothing I can do about it now, but return to Boston as soon as possible and relieve you of the embarrassment of having me under your roof.”