Her Forbidden Gunslinger (7 page)

He was solemn again and she felt her stomach twist in fear. But so sure was she of what had passed between them, she knew she was misreading him and continued, her hand cupping his cheek. “I love you, Gray. I want to be with you.”

But he flinched from her touch. She felt like he had just thrown cold water on her and the chill worked its way to her extremities until her fingertips were numb with it. Her hands dropped limply to her lap.

“There has to be a wedding, Sophie.” The words only confirmed what his face had told her. She barely felt it as he gently removed her from his lap and set her on her feet.

“I don’t understand,” she finally managed in a near whisper.

He was standing then, close enough to touch, but their arms stayed firmly at their sides. She watched him open and close his mouth several times in an effort to gather his thoughts. Finally he spoke, but it fell pathetically short of what she needed to hear. “We had last night.” He did seem regretful as he spoke and touched a wisp of her hair. “I can’t promise you anything. Please.” He dropped his hand and took in a deep breath.

“Please?” The expression of resigned regret he wore did nothing to soothe her. “Please what?” For the life of her she had no idea what he was asking or wanting from her. She could not accept what he was telling her, could not accept that he was ready to move on. Each time they had made love it had been more achingly tender than the last.

As reality came crashing down, she realized the possible consequences of their night and her hand instinctively went to her belly.

“Don’t worry,” he quickly reassured her, correctly interpreting her action. “I never spilled my seed in you.”

She jerked as if he had slapped her, as if by denying her his seed he had committed some grievous transgression against her. Logically, she knew it was a good thing and she should be thankful. But it hurt to know that he had held himself back from her.

His hands were on her shoulders. “Sophie, don’t be mad. I would change things if I could.”

What he meant by that statement she didn’t know or care to take the time to figure out. She whirled away from him and quickly settled the veiled hat on her head. The room had become stifling and she needed to get away from him. She fled down the stairs and blindly made her way back to the dress shop. She knew he shadowed her by only a few steps but she did her best not to look at him. Anton Beaudin was her future and she cursed herself every kind of fool for forgetting it even for a moment.

* * *

Only the strength of his iron will kept Gray from pulling Sophie to him and refusing to let her go. He wanted her in his life, he realized as he watched her walk out. Hell, he’d acknowledged that from the moment he’d watched her come apart in his arms. Being with her had given him a sense of redemption, of life, of what it would be to love and have a future. What it meant to be accepted. No one had ever looked at him with the love and acceptance she had shown him. But he had a job to do and that had to come first, because if he didn’t put it first they would have no chance at all.

Would she hate him once she knew?

Chapter Seven

Sophie closed her eyes and held her face up to the cool wind that blew in from across the valley, doing her best to settle her nerves for the drop that was ahead of her. She perched on her knees by the open window of her bedroom and slowly opened her eyes to look down. Her bedroom faced the back of the house and the roof of the sunroom was just below. It was only a short drop down and then another to the ground. The tricky part would come when she attempted to purchase a ticket for the stagecoach. She’d already determined the schedule from an ad in the newspaper. It was leaving in the morning at six o’clock—too early for her absence to be noted. Her anxious gaze looked out in the distance, knowing that the train tracks were somewhere out there. Taking the train would be infinitely faster if only she had the funds.

But she didn’t, so she pushed the longing from her mind. If only her longing for Gray and the life they would never have together could be so easily pushed away. There were no tears left after the first day, not that those had served her any purpose, anyway. The ache that had lodged itself firmly in her chest was still present and she feared it wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. She was doomed to lose him.

She wanted to hate him, and there were times she almost succeeded. He had taken her virtue—well, had it foisted upon him—and coldly brushed her aside in no uncertain terms. Only he hadn’t done it coldly. She could still remember the pain in his voice when he had touched her, pleaded with her, just before she had stormed from his room. He hadn’t wanted to part with her. She was sure of it. He did feel
something
for her. But he had never promised her anything more. He’d never lied to her about that, she would give him that. It was her own foolishness that had dreamed something more could come from their one night together.

Was it his fault that he was at Jean’s mercy just like everyone else? No, her reason screamed at her, but her heart felt betrayed. Why couldn’t they leave together? Why couldn’t he offer to take care of her?

Stupid questions, those. Jean would find them eventually no matter where they went. Still, every time she saw Gray, she forgave him a little more. And she did see him. Almost daily, but never alone. Never so she could ask him those questions. She would catch him watching her with that solemn gaze, usually giving nothing away, but occasionally touching on the forlorn. She tried not to return his looks but it had become increasingly difficult since the initial heat of her anger had died out, and besides, looking at him soothed the pain left behind. Once she had tried to approach him, but Sinclair had come from nowhere and headed her off with a summons from Jean. It had occurred to her then that Sinclair might know what had happened between them. Then she realized it didn’t matter as long as Jean didn’t know. She had even gone by Jean’s study a few times, in the hopes that Gray would be posted there, but it was always one of the others. So she had concluded he was avoiding her and stopped trying.

And now, just days before the wedding, she was making her last desperate attempt to get away, even though it meant leaving him behind. She picked up her wool valise, which contained her wrap and extra dress, and held her breath as she dropped it out the window. Then she hoisted herself through the open window, one leg at a time, until she dangled from the window sill on her forearms. Her feet were still too far away to reach the roof below so she’d have to drop. Which would be fine, except she couldn’t figure out how to close the window behind her. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the sash from the bottom but it refused to budge as she’d suspected it would. It had been difficult enough to open with both hands from inside. Finally, she gave up. Besides, it was well after midnight, no one would see it anyway.

She held tight to the sill and dropped until her arms were fully extended, then let go. She would have landed just fine, she was certain of it, but an arm caught her around the waist and a hand covered her mouth. That frightened her worse than the fall ever could have. But almost immediately, she recognized the breadth of the chest against her back and the scent that enveloped her.

“It’s me.” His breath whispered past her ear, making her skin tingle in awareness.

Her body sagged against him in relief as she tried to overcome the rush of adrenaline that pounded through her. “What are you doing on the roof?” The question came out of her in a breathless rush once he dropped the hand covering her mouth.

Gray didn’t answer, though, he just held her against him until her heart stopped threatening to pound out of her chest. Finally he moved away from her and explained. “I was out back when I saw you at the window. I figured you were making a run for it.” And then he picked up her valise and took her hand, leading her along the wall to the inverted corner where the sunroom met the rest of the house. Once there, he tossed the valise down and leaped nimbly down to the ground behind it. Sophie followed but much more hesitantly, getting down to her belly first and following that way. He caught her hips from behind and helped her reach the ground. But when he grabbed her hand again to pull her away, she revolted.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you back upstairs before somebody sees you.” He explained.

“But I’m escaping. I’m not going back in. How can you want me to go back in there?”

He sighed but she couldn’t see his face to see what that meant. “How far do you think you’d get?”

She honestly didn’t know but it would be better than not trying. “How can you want me to go back in there knowing it means marriage to Anton? Is that what you want for me?”

As soon as the question left her lips, she was in his arms with his face buried in her hair. “No, the thought of you with him makes me crazy.” His voice was harsh against her ear.

Sophie savored the feel of his body against her, warm and comforting and so incredibly right it shouldn’t be forbidden. “Then let me go,” she whispered. “I could…I could wait for you or…or you could come with me.” Before she’d even finished she could feel him shaking his head.

“It won’t be that easy. This way is better. You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” It was an alarming concept. Jean had made it so she wasn’t sure she could ever trust anyone. Sophie pulled back just far enough to look up at him but it was too dark to see much except the shadowed outline of his features. “Are you saying I won’t have to marry Anton?”

He stared down at her and his thumb brushed her cheekbone, making the flesh there tingle. “I’m saying you have to trust me.”

The statement made her stomach flip-flop with anxiety. Could she trust him? He hadn’t told Jean the truth about that night but that could be because it saved him as much as it did her. How could she trust him when she didn’t even know what that meant? “Kiss me.”

There was no hesitation from him and in seconds his lips were on hers. The kiss was soft and tender, everything she imagined a goodbye kiss should be, but then he pressed inside and it became a kiss of hunger and promise that left her knees weak and made her lean heavily against him for support. When he released her, his hands held her face and his nose brushed hers. “Just trust me, Sophie.”

And God help her, she did.

* * *

The day of the wedding dawned dark with thunderclouds and a persistent chance of rain, in perfect accord with Sophie’s mood. She clutched her pillow tighter and stared out the window into one of the clouds as it drifted slowly by, reminding her of Gray’s eyes. Though she’d done nothing but think about it since he’d brought her back to her room, she hadn’t been able to figure out what he was planning. What did it mean to trust him? Would he stop the wedding? It would happen in mere hours if he didn’t stop it. Was that part of his plan? Or had he simply been trying to get her to go back to her room?

She didn’t know and it left her gripping her pillow with white-knuckled terror. She’d already determined that, no matter what, her participation in the wedding would be forced. She could not bring herself to marry Anton willingly. The words that would bind her to that man forever would never come forth from her lips. In the end, though, it wouldn’t matter. Jean would pay a bribe and it would be done, but at least she would know she had not married him in the eyes of God.

Her gaze moved from the cloud to the gown hanging in the corner and she felt her heart wrench. It really was a beautiful piece of work, just the sort of thing she had once dreamed of wearing to her wedding. White satin, with understated elegance and a few pieces of lace in all the right places. Now, if only the groom were right. She closed her eyes and without even trying, Gray stood there in his place. It was a foolish thought. He’d never want to marry her. Would he? She just didn’t know what he felt and it was making her irrational. As she was trying to figure it out, Martine knocked softly at the door.

She walked in just as Sophie raised her head. “I brought your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Martine sighed, but didn’t comment as she set the tray aside. “Well, we should get started then.”

Sophie felt her stomach drop, but she nodded. The wedding would be at eleven sharp, downstairs in the parlor. If Gray had something planned, as the small hope flickering in the deepest recesses of her irrational mind insisted he did, then she wouldn’t ruin it by making Jean suspicious. So she sat demurely in front of her dresser while Martine fixed her hair, but all the while thinking of the way Gray had kissed her in that very same spot.

“It looks beautiful, if I do say so myself.” Martine smiled and admired her handiwork.

Startled that enough time had passed for her hair to already be finished, Sophie shook herself from her reverie to look in the mirror. The coiffure did look beautiful. Her golden locks were pulled back from her face and pinned, but a strand of diamonds intermingled with baby’s breath hid the pins and created a sort of tiara. The rest had been pulled back loosely so several curled strands fell down around her shoulders. “It’s wonderful.” But her gaze went back to the diamonds and she wondered bitterly if Jean would appear at Anton’s tonight to demand them back.

The thought of the night ahead made her shudder and she caught sight of her face. It was drawn and pale with blue smudges beneath the eyes. She decided then on no cosmetics. Her face looked a horror and it would serve Jean and Anton right if that’s the bride they got.

“We should put on your gown now,” Martine prompted, hesitating. “I’ll get Anne to help.”

“No!” Sophie couldn’t bear the company of anyone else. “We can do it alone.”

Minutes later, it was finished and Martine excused herself to go downstairs. Sophie had half an hour to herself before the wedding.

The front bell had been ringing for the past hour as guests arrived. All of them important business associates and contacts Jean could finagle to accept the invitation. Not one social acquaintance among them. As if she needed any further proof that she was simply a pawn in this arrangement. She paced relentlessly, uncertain but hopeful that at any moment Gray would appear in her room and tell her everything would be fine, that she wouldn’t have to marry Anton.