Her Forbidden Gunslinger (8 page)

But the clock in her room ticked away without a knock on her door, without Gray, until finally it chimed eleven o’clock. She rubbed her damp palms on her gown, heedless of ruining it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if this damned wedding happened, if Gray had betrayed her. She walked to the window, hoping to see some hope of escape. There was nothing. A cart loaded with hay was being driven by an old man and pulled by two tired horses on the street past the back wall of their garden. A woman walked with a child skipping ahead of her. Out there, life continued, while here inside, hers was ending.

At exactly ten minutes past the hour, a knock sounded lightly on her door. Sophie’s heart leaped into her throat and pounded out a heavy rhythm there. She approached it cautiously, even timidly, afraid to open it and see that it wasn’t Gray. But finally her cold fingers turned the knob, and she had to stop her knees from going out, from giving in to the visceral response that instantly threatened to destroy her when she saw Martine’s petite frame standing there. Not Gray. Her eyes fell closed and she leaned against the door as she finally allowed herself to admit his betrayal.

He wasn’t coming. There would be no white knight riding to her rescue, no hero to keep her dragons at bay. The physical pain that tore through her was worse than she could have imagined. It was as real as any knife wound and it left her trembling with the aftershocks. It was made even worse by the knowledge that she’d walked right into the betrayal, had known the danger in trusting anyone and had done it anyway. Had wanted so much to have someone to hold on to when she had known all along that the only person she’d ever really have was herself.

Immediately her thoughts went to the day, the night, the life ahead of her. And she knew, without any doubt, that giving herself to Gray had been the worst mistake of her life. Not because she was shamed, but because it would make whatever happened with Anton so much worse. To have a taste of how things might have been and to lose it to settle for something that paled so much in comparison was worse than to have never known it at all.

“It’s time. Monsieur LaSalle requests you to come now.”

Sophie heard the words, but could barely nod a response past the pain that clogged her throat and threatened to cut off her air. In fact, she couldn’t move at all until Martine reached out to gently take her hand. She squeezed in reassurance and pulled her into the hallway and toward the stairs. Sophie followed on wooden legs, barely aware of their progress until they reached the bottom and Jean stood there smiling.

But as he looked her over, his smile faded to a sneer of disappointment. No, this was not the painted doll-bride he had ordered. “Didn’t you have enough time to get ready?” His hard gaze looked around the wide hallway to make sure they were alone.

No one was there except Martine behind her and Sinclair standing sentry at the closed double doors of the parlor. He refrained from meeting her gaze as she looked at him. She looked past him to the doors, the voices coming from inside telling her it was filled with guests awaiting her arrival. Her stomach rolled and it was only the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything that kept it from revolting.

“Go back upstairs and finish.” His voice snapped against her like a whip.

“So you think the lamb should go to the slaughter peacefully?” Her voice was raw as it scraped past the lump in her throat.

“Martine, get the flowers.” His fingers bit into her arm as he pulled her toward the closed doors. His voice lowered, but she felt its venom near her ear. “If you do anything to embarrass me, I promise you will regret it.”

She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of all the things she had done recently that would cause him embarrassment. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her lost virtue but, despite his betrayal, she wouldn’t endanger Gray needlessly. Jean could kill him.

“Here!” The bouquet of white roses was pushed callously into her hands.

She gripped them instinctively to keep them from falling. Before she could respond, the front door opened. Her breath stopped and she thought, now, surely now her knight would come. But it was an older man she recognized from the Nelsons’ ball. Jean left her to greet him and she heard his explanation of a late train, but then all sound stopped, at least for her, because Gray appeared behind the new arrival. He consumed her, leaving room for nothing else.

He walked past Jean and the guest, toward her, and she took in a slow, shallow breath, afraid to hope, afraid to think that maybe now. Maybe now he had come to save her. He was close enough that his scent assailed her, the leather and spice that clung to him, but also that scent she knew as his alone because she’d pressed her face against his naked flesh and breathed it in.

He walked by, close enough to touch, but then just as quickly he was past her, standing in front of Sinclair, his back to her. He’d walked by without even looking at her or acknowledging her in any way. Her gaze took in the breadth of his back, the dark hair that fell past his shoulders and she remembered the solid strength of him beneath her hands, the silk of him between her fingers.

It couldn’t have meant nothing to him.

Whatever he was saying to Sinclair was too low for her to hear, but she seriously doubted her ability to understand language at this point, anyway. She was all sensation and emotion. He turned toward the doors and she knew an insane need to talk to him just once. To remind him that she was there.

“Gray,” the word escaped her lips in a faint, aching whisper.

She almost thought he wouldn’t hear, but then his hand stopped on the crystal doorknob. He’d heard. Her heart leaped with joy but then his fingers turned the knob and he disappeared into the room. Words could never have conveyed what his actions had so eloquently accomplished.

She was alone.

Chapter Eight

Whatever might have been said after that door closed, Sophie wasn’t aware of it. She existed there in a fog of her own misery, reeling from Gray’s rejection, her mind turning in on itself as it attempted to insulate her from the pain. All she knew was that when next she happened to notice, Jean was standing before her pushing that bouquet into her hands again. The flowers must have fallen, because she looked down and saw perfect white petals sprinkled across the dark wood floor.

She wanted to take the bouquet, tried to move her fingers, but they wouldn’t respond to her command so the flowers fell to the floor again. Before she realized what had happened, Jean’s hand gripped her throat and the door pressed to her back. He stood above her, murmuring some threat, the whites of his eyes seeming to glow from his anger, but she couldn’t understand the words. Could only barely feel his fingers where they pressed at her neck.

Jean’s anger seemed so silly. He couldn’t know it, but Gray had accomplished what threats and fury never could have. Gray had broken her. By not even acknowledging her presence, by turning his back on his promise and the love she’d hoped they’d shared, he’d made it so she could hardly stand there holding herself up, much less offer Jean any fight. Even if her uncle allowed her to go, she hardly had the will to walk to the front door much less leave Helena.

Whatever Jean saw in her face seemed to reassure him and he let her go. Sophie glanced around to find the hall deserted. Sinclair and the last guest must have gone inside. Martine had disappeared. No one had witnessed his outburst. Of course not—he never would’ve done it had someone been around to see it. The thought had barely registered before Jean was sliding her hand through his arm and escorting her into the parlor.

It was filled with men. A few had brought their wives but most had come alone. She recognized a few from balls and dinners but the others were new faces. Without conscious thought, her gaze sought Gray. Even if she’d walked in with her eyes closed, she would’ve known where he stood. She gravitated to him like iron to a magnet.

He stood against the wall to her left and was watching her. She’d expected the cool demeanor he’d shown in the hall but now he appeared tense and his gaze burned into her. Even now, when he’d clearly abandoned her and she knew he felt nothing, those gray eyes had the power to touch her. She blinked to keep her composure and forced herself to stare straight ahead.

Jean had guided her to the end of the aisle where Anton stood waiting. She didn’t acknowledge him, though, simply continued to stare ahead. Maybe if she kept herself away from what was taking place it wouldn’t really happen. Maybe it would all go away and she would wake up back in Gray’s room with his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her ear. The thought was so painful it made her close her eyes to steel herself against it while a tear slid down her cheek. And when she opened them, the whole world had changed.

Someone shouted; it sounded like Sinclair. She turned her head to find him and saw the parlor doors had opened. Had someone else come in? For a split second everyone stopped, but then the room erupted in a flurry of movement. Something hit her from behind so hard it laid her out on the ground and knocked the breath from her lungs. Just then she heard three gunshots. She tried to move but the weight was still on her. The shooting was over in seconds and the room filled with the acrid smoke of the shots; she could even taste it.

Gray was shouting near her ear. She turned her head from the sound and realized it was his weight that was on her back. Sinclair was kneeling near the door, his smoking gun still in hand. Just as quickly as he had tackled her, Gray was off her and had grabbed Anton. She watched in horror as they struggled, unable to comprehend what was going on. Her gaze took in the chaos of the room and saw that many others had come in; one of them she recognized as the sheriff, his star-shaped insignia pinned to his shirt.

She didn’t see Jean, but Anton had been subdued and was lying on the floor as his hands were tied behind his back. Over his inert form, she met Gray’s quick glance and knew a moment of panic. He seemed a stranger to her, completely cold and remote as he focused on the task. She didn’t know who he was. He clearly wasn’t the man who had shared so much with her. The panic overwhelmed her, bringing her to her feet and making her run from the room and the confusion. She meant to run out the front door but it was wide open and there were even more men that way. So she turned and ran out the back. She didn’t know where she hoped to run, only that she had to get away.

“Sophie!”

She’d barely cleared the back door when she heard Gray’s voice. It spurred her forward toward the gate in the walled backyard, but she didn’t make it. He grabbed her just as her fingers were grasping to pull it open and dragged her back against him. Solid arms closed around her, but she refused to be subdued so easily and fought him.

“Why are you running? Sophie, stop fighting me!”

She went limp in his arms but only because she was still struggling to breathe. “What are you doing to me?” It was more a breathless plea than the furious question she’d meant it to be.

He buried his face in her hair, his lips warm against her ear. “Sophie.” The tortured whisper burned as it rasped over the open wound of her heart.

His chest was so strong and solid against her back that she couldn’t stop herself from reveling in it. She closed her eyes, causing more tears to fall. It meant she was shameless and beyond any hope, but any chance she had to touch him was heaven to her and more than she could resist. And as his lips caressed her skin, she moved her head to give him better access to her neck. Only a moment more, she promised herself, only a moment to take with her for the rest of her life.

When he loosened his arms and moved a hand up to cup her face, she finally found the strength to pull away and bucked against him until she wrenched free and turned to face him. But he was persistent and grabbed her arms, pulling her close. Her hands settled on his chest, pushing, and stayed there deadlocked.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She was surprised to see the depth of pain in his eyes. “I can’t bear that I hurt you.”

She almost reached up to touch his face, to try to soothe the pain from his eyes, but then she remembered that
she
was the injured party. “You were going to let me get married,” she accused.

“No! That never would’ve happened.” To emphasize the words, he pulled her flush against him and his arms went around her. Sophie realized how useless her struggles had been. “The wedding wasn’t supposed to happen, but for the latecomers it wouldn’t have got as far as it did. We’d hoped to arrest them before you even came downstairs, but LaSalle was determined to move things on as quickly as possible and we didn’t have a chance. I hate like hell that you were there. I didn’t think Sinclair would let you come in.”

“Who are you, Gray? I don’t understand what happened.”

“LaSalle, Beaudin and a few others were supposed to be arrested. Sinclair’s been following them for years. They’ve been buying up land with mining potential, usually by forcing people to sell. Some people have gone missing or been found murdered. There’s a whole slew of charges, but the wedding was an opportunity to get them all here in one place.”

“Who are you?” she asked again, needing to know that more than anything else.

“Everything I told you I was.” He spoke slowly, his gaze holding strong to hers. “Sinclair and Brand are marshals. Cole and I are just helping out for the reward money and because I owe Sinclair a favor.”

“So you let me go all this time thinking I had to marry that monster?” She watched him swallow.

“I know. Be angry.” His fingertips touched her cheek. When she would have pulled away, they curled around the back of her head, refusing to let her. “It wasn’t just me I had to consider. Maybe you hate me now and I have no right to do this.” His questioning gaze searched hers until he moved so close, his eyes closed and his lips covered hers. He kissed her with all of the pent-up longing of the past two weeks. The second his tongue brushed her lips, she surrendered to his kiss and the yearning it stirred deep within her. Her arms went around his shoulders, so there wasn’t a breath of space between them from breast to hip. And the kiss evolved into a heated, breathing thing of redemption and desire until he was drinking salvation from her lips. Finally he released her mouth, but still held her close. “Whatever else you think of me, Sophie, know this: I had decided you weren’t marrying Beaudin, no matter what happened today.”