ToLoveaLady (7 page)

“Looks to me like he was doing just fine before you came along.”

Her stomach tightened. “Things will be even better now.”
 
She sent up a silent prayer that her words might be true.

“Lots of men come west and leave wives and girlfriends, even whole families behind.” Estelle turned to look at her again. “I’ve never known too many women who bothered to come after them. I can’t decide if it’s because the men aren’t worth it, or the women are smart enough to figure out they’re better off without a man who doesn’t want them.”

Cecily took a deep breath, trying to overcome the sudden weakness that swept over her. Was it plain to everyone but her that Charles didn’t want her — that he despised her, even? Had love blinded her to an indifference even this prostitute could see? “I intend to stay until Charles sends me away,” she said, more to bolster her own faltering courage than to convince the other woman.

Estelle shrugged. “You don’t look the type to last too long out here.”
 

“Excuse me, m’lady.”

Cecily jerked her head toward the door and was surprised to see a man standing there. As her heartbeat slowed, she recognized Gordon, Charles’s valet. She wondered how long he had been listening to them. Had he heard the last part of her conversation with Estelle? “Good morning, Gordon,” she said.

“Good morning, m’lady.” He nodded to Cecily, then turned to Estelle. One eyebrow quirked slightly before he resumed his patently cool expression. “Good morning, miss.”

“Morning to you, too.” Estelle sidled closer, a smile transforming her rather plain face. “I swear, this place is just crawling with you handsome English gents. Are you another one of them Lords?”

“Gordon is Charles’s valet,” Cecily said. “Gordon, this is Miss Estelle LeFleur.”

“Estelle Green.” Her smile broadened as she trailed a finger along the neckline of her dressing gown.
 

Gordon nodded again to Estelle, then turned his attention once more to Cecily. “Did you enjoy your morning ride, m’lady?”

“Yes, very much.” A blush warmed her cheeks as she recalled just how much. She turned away, hoping Gordon wouldn’t guess at the events of the morning by the look in her eyes. She had heard once that a man could always tell when a woman had been made love to, and though their embrace by the water tank had not gone as far as consummation, it was as close as Cecily had ever come before.

“Have you seen Lord Silsbee, m’lady?” Gordon asked.

“He’s in the stables, seeing to our horses.”

“Very good, m’lady.” He bowed to each of them, then backed out of the room, as soundlessly as he had entered.

Estelle came to stand beside Cecily. “I’ve always fancied a man with manners.”

“Impeccable bearing is one of the first requirements for a gentleman’s valet.”

Estelle frowned. “What does a valet do?”
 

“A valet acts as a gentleman’s manservant. He’s responsible for seeing to his clothing. In Charles’ case, Gordon is also something of a personal secretary, keeping track of his appointments and correspondence.”

“Why would a man like that want to be somebody else’s servant?”

Why did anyone take a job as a servant? It wasn’t a question Cecily had pondered before. “Gordon was born into service.”

“Like a slave.” Estelle’s expression darkened.

“No, of course not. He’s paid wages. He’s free to leave anytime, but he chooses not to. Jobs like his are coveted.”

“I’ll just bet they are.” Estelle gave Cecily a snide look. “You and your fancy clothes and fine manners and finicky ways. You don’t have a clue what real life is like. You can’t begin to know what a man wants. Just as well I guess. Women like you keep me in business.” She brushed past on her way out the door, trodding on the edge of Cecily’s skirt.

Cecily rocked back on her heels as if she’d been slapped. Was Estelle saying she was wrong about Charles needing her? Or was she referring to needs of another kind? She knelt and brushed the dust from her skirt, brow furrowed in a way that would have set Alice to scolding about wrinkles. She couldn’t deny she was naive about many things, including the things a man desired in bed. But she could learn those things. She could learn to please Charles both in and out of the bedroom, to be a partner not just of his body, but of his heart as well.

* * *

Charles leaned on the fence, watching a group of cowboys working some wild horses. The men took turns riding the green animals, who bucked and kicked and tossed their heads at the unfamiliar sensation of a man on their backs. Everyone who could manufacture an excuse to be here was watching the spectacle, but little of the action registered in Charles’s mind. He was occupied with thoughts of Cecily, and her surprising response to his advances this morning. He couldn’t quite believe this cool English rose had opened herself to him with such warmth. He’d meant to frighten her, but her unpredictable nature, and his own weakness, had resulted in a moment of pure pleasure, one he wouldn’t soon forget.

He must forget it, though. He had work to do, a ranch to run. As long as he focused on that, he could resist his father’s demands that he return to England. And he could resist Cecily, too.
 

He surveyed the men ranged along the corral fence. To a man they wore the broad-brimmed Stetsons, flannel shirts and leather chaps that marked their profession as surely as a British bobby’s bullet hat and blue surcoat identified him. They stood with the loose-jointed posture of men more comfortable in the saddle, some with one high-heeled boot propped on the bottom fence rail, some with arms folded over the top, jeering their coworkers as they waited their own turn to ride the windmilling wild horses.

His gaze reached the end of the row, and the one figure who seemed out of place. A cloth cap covered the man’s dark hair, and his suit of black worsted stood out like a blot of ink against the side of the corral. Charles frowned. What was Cecily’s footman, Nick Bainbridge, doing here?

He made his way around the cowboys to the footman. The young man pressed himself against the corral, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the top rail. He alternately gasped and sighed as he studied the action in the arena. Charles cleared his throat and Bainbridge jumped back. “S. . . sorry m’lord.” He recovered and made a smart bow. “Would you be requiring anything, sir?”

“I only wanted to talk to you a moment. To thank you for taking it upon yourself to find me yesterday evening.”

“I couldn’t very well let Lady Thorndale spend the night in a place like that.” Bainbridge raised his chin and assumed a stubborn look. “I’d have sprung her out myself if I had to.”

Charles nodded. He could imagine Sheriff Grady’s reaction to this East End tough. Charles would have ended up with
two
dependents to bail out of jail. “The question on my mind is how Cecily managed to get this far on her own. As far as I know, she’s never been out of England. And yet she came all the way to Texas by herself.”

“She had me and Alice to look after her, m’lord. We wouldn’t have let no harm come to her.”

“But where did she get such an insane idea in the first place? Why didn’t someone try to stop her?”

“Alice says it was a letter you sent what put the idea to come here into Lady Cecily’s head. As for stopping her, it weren’t my place to stop her, m’lord.” He shook his head. “Besides, she can be a mighty determined woman when she wants.”

Could she?
He wouldn’t have thought that of Cecily. He remembered her as passive and pretty, delicate and lovely to look at. When had this strong beauty emerged from that fragile shell? The thought unnerved him, even as the memory of her kiss still warmed him. What other revelations awaited him about the woman he’d once thought to marry? Would they all be as pleasant?

“Might I try riding one of the horses, m’lord?”

Charles blinked, unsure he’d heard Bainbridge’s question correctly. “If you want to ride, I’m sure we can find something in our string for you.” Come to think of it, it would be a good idea to find Bainbridge a mount. Then he could accompany Cecily on her morning exercise, relieving Charles of the duty, and the accompanying temptation to repeat this morning’s performance.

“No m’lord, I mean one of these horses.” He nodded toward the corral.
 

Charles looked up in time to see yet another cowboy hit the dirt. “Don’t be a fool.”

“I’ve ridden before, m’lord. Me da always said I had a way with stock.”

“These are wild animals, Bainbridge. You’re liable to end up killed or crippled, and then what good will you be to Lady Thorndale or anyone else?”

Bainbridge looked sullen, but said nothing else. Charles was about to send him to the barn to choose a more suitable mount, when he saw Gordon striding toward him. “Good morning, m’lord.” Gordon stopped before him and nodded.

“Good morning, Gordon. What have you been up to?”

“I have spent the morning placating Mrs. Bridges, who is complaining of the added burden of so many additional mouths to feed.”

“She never complained before when we added extra crews to work roundup.”

“Yes m’lord, but apparently ladies are a different matter. Mrs. Bridges has complained that they arise at all hours of the morning and demand special foods. Apparently Lady Thorndale’s maid had the audacity to invade the kitchen.”

“Offer to increase her pay. I’ll hire help if she likes.”

“I’ve already taken the liberty of telling her so, m’lord.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t let her trampled feelings interfere with her cooking.”

“Yes, m’lord. By the way, I saw Lady Thorndale just now.”

“Oh? How is she?” Charles braced himself. He’d half-imagined Cecily bursting into tears as soon as he was out of sight. Perhaps her initial response to him had been nothing more than shock. Now that she realized what a cad he’d been, she was probably beside herself.

“She looked lovely as always.” Gordon hesitated for a moment, as if about to say something else.

“What is it man? Out with it!”

“Lady Thorndale was with one of the ladies who came home with her last night. The woman was wearing a dressing gown, and very little else, I’d imagine.”

“She’s no lady and you know it, Gordon.”

Gordon bowed his head. “Yes, m’lord. But how did Lady Thorndale come to be associated with a person such as that?”

How had Cecily done anything she’d done since leaving her home? Charles shook his head. “It’s a long story.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do about what? About Cecily? Or about Madame LeFleur and her two chippies?”

“Both.”

“What can I do? Madam LeFleur and her girls are Cecily’s guests, not mine. They’ll leave soon enough. The sheriff has made it clear they’re not welcome here.”

“And about Lady Thorndale?”

He looked away. “I don’t know, Gordon. I just don’t know.”

“Might I suggest, m’lord, that as long as she is here, we might introduce Lady Thorndale to some of the local women? Women who would be more suitable companions than Madame LeFleur and her ‘girls’?”

“Of course. Here, take Lady Thorndale’s footman, Bainbridge, over to the stables and find him a suitable mount. He can accompany Cecily when she goes to make calls.”

“Can I try my hand at bustin’ broncs first?” Bainbridge pulled off his cap in a respectful gesture contrary to the stubborn gleam in his eye. “Let me give it a go and I’ll have it out of my system, ready to escort Lady Cecily all meek and mild-like.”

Charles bit back a smile. It would serve the cheeky lad right if he busted his head, or his backside, on the pounded dirt of the corral. “Boys, snub one for Mr. Bainbridge here,” he called over the fence. “He wants to give it a try.”

Six weathered faces turned toward the trio of Englishmen. Six hardened gazes sized up the black-suited footman, with his cloth cap and worn leather shoes. The foreman, Hollister, spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt, and signaled one of his men to bring out a new mount. “Come on out if you’re gonna do it, boy. Ain’t got all day.”

Before they had the wild mare tied fast to the snubbing post in the middle of the corral, Bainbridge had shucked his coat and scaled the fence. He dropped down onto the dirt with wiry grace and sauntered over to the gathered cowboys with all the assurance of a pro. Only a tightness around his mouth betrayed his anxiety.

“You ever break a horse before, son?” Hollister asked.

“No sir. I’ve ridden a good bit, though.”

The furrows on either side of Hollister’s mouth deepened. “Ordinary horse is a pussycat compared to these four-legged tornadoes. Maybe you ought to leave this up to boys with experience.”

Nick drew himself up as tall as he could, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Don’t see how I’ll be getting experience without I start now.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Hollister’s mouth. Charles thought he liked Bainbridge’s cheek. The boy was no coward, that was certain. Charles himself would hesitate to climb aboard the wild horse, its back already bowed as if readying for the first toss.

“All right then. Grab hold of the reins. We’ll throw you up on him, then you’re on your own.” Hollister handed Bainbridge the reins, then hunched over and made a step with his hands. Bainbridge stepped up and was hoisted into the saddle. He’d barely found his seat when the cowboys cut loose the mare, and she began to buck.