Lady X's Cowboy (24 page)

But Lawford still didn’t look impressed.  “It’s just a scratch,” he scoffed.  He pulled up the leg of his trousers and pushed down his sock, exposing a long white scar on his calf.  “Got this from a Zulu chieftain’s spear.”

Will tugged at the collar of his shirt, and pointed to an old injury along his collarbone.  “Apache arrow,” he challenged.  “Had to pull it out myself.” 

Lawford started to remove his jacket.  “Let me show you the souvenir I picked up in Kashmir.”

“You two are insane,” Olivia cried, interrupting them.  She glanced back and forth at Will and Lawford, appalled.  “Have you forgotten what we are discussing here?  The possibility of murder.” 

Both Will and Lawford readjusted their clothing sheepishly.  But Will felt for the first time that maybe Lawford wasn’t such a stiff.

“Tell me again about this man,” Lawford said.

“Dark.  Mustache,” Will answered.  “A touch smaller than me, but looked like a bruiser.  He knew what he was doin’ with that gun.”

“He had a Liverpudlian accent,” Olivia added.

Will didn’t know what that was exactly, though the hired gun had sounded different from the people he’d met so far in England, even the lowlifes.  “There’s a gap in his left eyebrow, like an old boxin’ scar.”

Lawford looked grim.  “He matches the description of a man my people have been tracking for a long time.  An underworld professional by the name of Maddox.  Cold, dangerous, willing to do anything for money.  He’s smuggled opium, sold guns to Fenians, and murdered several men.”  Lawford cursed under his breath when Olivia turned even more white. 

“And now he’s on Pryce’s payroll,” she breathed.

“With all the power at my disposal, I can’t get to that bastard,” Lawford said.

“Will and I are thinking of something,” Olivia said, and damn if he didn’t light up inside like a prairie sunrise hearing those words.

Lawford looked at him, hard and piercing, so Will kept the brim of his hat low over his eyes.  Olivia had told him it was considered rude to wear your hat indoors in England, but he didn’t care much for politeness right now.  He had a good poker face.  He could out-bluff most boys in the bunkhouse, and even some of the ace gamblers in town.  So he used that stony face on Lawford, urging the man to call his bluff.

After the clock ticked a few times, and Lawford finally looked back at Olivia, clearly put out, as ready for a fight as Will.

It was a good thing that Lawford was in Olivia’s corner, and that Will happened to be in that corner, too, since Will had the feeling the man could be a fierce fighter and a worse enemy.  Even though he’d proved that Lawford could stand punishment, Will would be glad to see the last of him.

“Well, Graham,” Olivia said, rising, “I appreciate your concern, and I do hate to be uncivil, but I must seek the solace of my bed and try and catch up on some lost sleep.  I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be even more trying than the last.”

“Before you go,” Graham said, stopping her, “I should let you know the reason I came over to your house in the first place.  This concerns you, Coffin,” he added, glancing at Will.  “We may have found your family.”

Will tensed.  “Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for real?”  He didn’t want Lawford fooling him.

The man looked as serious as Will felt.  “It’s true.  Another day or two, and my men will have a name and address for you.  It took some doing, but we managed it.  Because Olivia asked,” he added.

“Will, that’s marvelous,” Olivia said excitedly, coming quickly over to give his arm a squeeze.

But he barely felt the touch of her hand.  He was so close, close to finding out who he really was and where he came from.  Once he knew that, he would know where he was headed.  Wouldn’t he? 

Will thought he would be happy, too, when he neared the end of his search, but mostly he felt numb.  He couldn’t get himself to feel anything.  What the hell was going on?  He was aware of Olivia and Lawford watching him, gauging his reaction, so he made himself smile.  “Yeah,” he said, “that’s wonderful.”

Olivia woke, hearing the large clock in the hallway strike midnight.  The candle on her bedside table had not gone out, but had burned quite low, leaving her bedroom mostly draped in shadow.  The fire, too, was almost out.  Olivia did not want to wake the maid, so she got out of bed and rekindled the fire herself.  Out from under the covers, with the flames in the grate struggling to come alive, the room was quite chilly, so she slipped on her wrapper and sat near the hearth to warm herself.

After Graham had left, saying he would be back sometime in the next few days, she and Will had eaten a strangely quiet luncheon.  She had thought the news that they were closing in on his next of kin would have made Will happy, but instead, he had fallen into an uncharacteristically grim silence.  She would have asked him why he was so gloomy, but the stony expression on his face seemed to preclude any conversation.  So, after nibbling on a cucumber sandwich, and saying good afternoon to Will, who barely seemed to listen, she dragged herself up to her bedroom.  Her maid had just managed to strip off Olivia’s clothes and get her into a hot bath.

Olivia had actually fallen asleep in the bath, but thankfully Sarah managed to find her before she accidentally drowned herself.  After brushing out her hair and changing into a white cambric nightgown, she finally managed to climb into bed.  It was a little strange, since the afternoon was at its height, and normally at this time Olivia was either at the brewery or paying calls, but the heavy drapes were pulled to shut out the light and soon all reservations were gone.  She had been asleep before Sarah left the room.

Now, however, Olivia found herself completely awake in the middle of the night.  What could she do?  Perhaps she could try and sleep again, but that seemed unlikely.  All her account books for the brewery were downstairs in the study, and she didn’t fancy running through the house clad only in her nightgown. 

Staring into the now-lively fire, she wondered if Will was also awake.  Most likely not.  Still, she longed to see him, talk to him.  The day had been horrible, an exercise in polite torment, with her not being able to even touch him after a night spent so intimately.  Now, with the house asleep around her and the dark of night spread across the city, she felt very alone.  Alone after she and Will had been so close, intertwined on the forest floor like vines.  Her eyes began to drift shut as she recalled how he had touched her, the way he made her feel and how she had discovered what gave her pleasure, too. 

She forced herself to stand up and walk over to her bookshelf.  At this rate, she would be running to Will’s room and pounding on the door within the next minute, demanding that he make love to her.  But she couldn’t.  He was being far nobler than she—denying himself because of her, because the repercussions could destroy her reputation, whilst he could simply move on and leave scandal behind.

So, sleepless, restless, she had to distract herself somehow.  She scanned some of the book spines, reading their titles, and then pushed a row aside to reveal stacks of paper-covered novels: her flimsy treasures.  Olivia picked one book up,
Ambush at Sage Canyon; or, The Desperado’s Return
.  It would do, despite the fact that she had read it three times already.  The accounts of stagecoach hold-ups and last minute rescues would comfort her. 

Setting herself back down in the chair by the fire, she opened the book and stared, unseeing, at the pages.  After reading the same paragraph three times without remembering a single word, she slapped it down on a little table, frustrated and disgusted with herself.

Thinking on it now, Olivia realized she had faced and overcome a number of obstacles.  Transforming herself from a silent owner to involved and vocal partner in the running of Greywell’s was the most significant.  She had taken the risk, despite the costs, because Greywell’s was something she wanted.

Then why was she hiding in her room like a coward, when the one man she had wanted in many years was so close?  Soon Will was going to find his family.  Then it was likely he would return to America and settle down.  Get married. Have children.  She and Will had such a brief time together—and she was squandering it on uncertainty and fear.  David’s sudden death had taught her that a person’s journey on this earth was brief.  She did not want to walk down this path alone.  Not now.

In the years since David had died, she had been living in two worlds, not fully part of either.  She was both a society widow and a business owner, and she was always acutely conscious of this split.  She wanted to be whole, the way she felt when she was with Will.  Defined, certain, undivided.

With sudden resolve, Olivia got to her feet.  She was tired of being an amalgam of different worlds.  By attempting to appease the two conflicting forces in her life, all she had gained was uncertainty in both.  Will brought her into focus, clarified the ambiguous.  When they were together, she escaped her doubts.  She could be everything and compromise nothing.  Finally. 

She stepped into a pair of low-heeled slippers, then, before she could let hesitation swamp her, walked to her bedroom door and opened it quickly.

Will stood on the other side.

Barefoot, dressed in trousers, braces, and an unbuttoned shirt, he looked as surprised to see her as she him.  For several seconds, they simply stared at each other.  Then he stepped forward and, possessed by a strange instinct, she moved backwards until they were both inside.  Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he shut the door behind him.

Her bedroom, which moments earlier gaped like a chasm in long shadows, now seemed exceptionally small.  The fire popped in the grate.  She became aware of his exposed chest, the delineations of muscle that shaped his pectorals, his ribbed abdomen.  He had the body of a laborer, hardened by work. 

She glanced up to see him watching her, the cool of his eyes heated by the fire—and hunger.  A ferocious devouring.

She tried to think of something witty to say, clever and dry, to regain her composure, but all sensible thought fled.  Energy, feral and dangerous, poured out of him, a wild and profound disquiet that almost frightened her, even as she found herself drawn to him. 

“I can’t stay away,” he said, his voice a raspy growl.

“I don’t want you to,” she answered.

He inhaled sharply.  “You know what you’re sayin’?”

Olivia had never felt more certain of anything before.  She nodded.  “I’ve had enough of words.”

Eyes still fastened to hers, Will reached behind and locked the door.  The sound of the tumbler sliding into place was the sound of her own resolve.  She was not going back.

Chapter Fourteen

She didn’t want to be civilized, and they weren’t.

Will and Olivia crashed together, not getting much farther than a few steps into her bedroom, a rough little jolt as their bodies and mouths met.  She thrust her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down to hers, while one of his large, agile hands cupped her behind as the other strummed along her neck.  Their lips were all over, inside each others’ mouths, a hot and liquid ferocity of feeding.

Only one day had passed between last night and this, but a lifetime, too, and they meant to make up for it.

When his hand left her neck she was sorry; then she wasn’t sorry at all as she felt the heat of his palm through the fabric of her gown, on her breast.  He groaned into her mouth.  She arched into him.  Before now, there had been so many layers of clothing.  Not anymore.

Then he bent his head and licked the tip of her breast through the cloth.  She felt the effect of his tongue everywhere—her other breast, between her legs, the ends of her fingers.  Like the most exquisite electrocution.  She cradled him to her.  The white cotton gown became transparent through his ministrations, she could see the dusky pink of her nipple through the fabric.  He saw, too, and with fingers far more dexterous than she would have believed, he undid the row of buttons down the front of the gown and peeled the cloth back, uncovering her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he said hoarsely.  “As beautiful as...”  He frowned, trying to think of the appropriate simile.  “As beautiful as you,” he finally said. 

“Will—”  But she couldn’t speak anymore as his hands touched her breasts, skin to skin, and a sudden fever shot through her.  Her knees buckled.

He caught her.  Scooping her up easily, he began to walk with her, her slippers falling to the floor.  She thought he would take her to the bed, large and welcoming, but instead he set her down on top of a waist-high table next to a sofa.  China bric-a-brac was cleared with a sweep of his arm and went bouncing to the oriental carpet.  Dimly, she recalled that the last time they had made love, she and Will had been in his element, the outdoors.  Yet now they were in her world, the cultured confines of her room, and it jarred her a little.  But then these thoughts barely registered in her mind.  Instead, she focused on Will, who stood between her legs, holding her arms, kissing her past coherence.  She didn’t care whose world they were in, as long as they were together.

She gave a small squeak of surprise as his fingers gripped the cheeks of her behind and scooted her to the very edge of the table.  Her legs dangled down, toes just brushing the soft pile of the rug.

“What—?” she wondered brokenly as he disappeared.  He had dropped to his knees, kneeling in front of her.  Again, his quick hands moved, pushing the hem of her nightgown up.  Between her uncovered chest and now her bare legs and, God, between her legs, she was mostly revealed to him.  She had a flash of memory—David had never seen her with the lights on, never seen her nakedness, nor she his.  And he had never, ever knelt as if in prayer between her legs as Will was doing now.

The expression on his face as he gazed at her dark triangle of hair was a cross between reverence and pure, bodily desire. 

“The sweetest peach,” he murmured.

At least she had secretly read those contraband provocative books in school, otherwise she would have no idea what he was planning.  Even so—