Wayward Sun

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Wayward Sun Katherine Smith

Whiskey Creek Press www.whiskeycreekpress.com Copyright ©2004 by Katherine Smith NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment. WAYWARD SUN by Katherine Smith WHISKEY CREEK PRESS www.whiskeycreekpress.com Published by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS P.O. Box 51052 Casper, Wyoming 82605-1052 www.whiskeycreekpress.com Copyright © 2004 by Katherine Smith Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. ISBN 1-59374-170-7 Printed in the United States of America

Dedication For Ashley, who believes in heroes and the magic of romance. I love you, sweetheart.

Prologue Arianne felt as if she were suffocating. The music swelled like a storm, filling a vast room that was already spilling over with laughter, whispers, and movement. Colorful fabrics swept past in a chorus of skirts and well-tailored coats, while the air was perfumed with the smell of sweet champagne, human sweat, and smoke. It all culminated in a roaring in her ears and a churning in her stomach. Impossible, she thought wildly. It was completely and utterly impossible to escape. Yet she had to do it and do it fast. Her stomach clenched, her gaze going desperately to the dance floor. She sought him, a tall, blond man who so effortlessly executed the dance and held his partner, a plump and aging virago, with all of the charm and elegance for which he was famous. His grace, his faultless good looks, his well-bred manners were impeccable. He was the man she had vowed before God to live with the rest of her life. Her husband. The thought was utterly foreign, as if she were detached from the person she had always been. The events of her wedding day made her feel slightly dazed, like the whole world had spun out of control. She was a married woman. She had done it. Lord, she was nervous. Her heart felt tight and hot in her chest. As if reading her thoughts, he turned his head and caught her eye. Then he gave her a measured look echoed by the casual and sensual curve of his well-modeled lips. One elegant blond eyebrow inched upward. He was sure he knew what she was thinking. And he knew that his face reflected that assumption of knowledge—he could tell by her obvious nervousness, the restless and virginal fear that made the evening close to unbearable, the strain of the days before the nuptials so telling upon her nerves ... and, of course... Her approaching wedding night. As if in answer to her wayward thoughts, the clock in the magnificent main hallway began to chime in ominous rhythm. The sound registered even above the chaos of the celebration ball. Midnight. It was finally midnight. She had thought the hour would never arrive. Her spine stiffened. Catching her skirts with damp palms, she cast one longing sidelong look at the doorway. As if by magic, the crowd parted enough to allow the opportunity she'd been waiting for. Now, her mind urged frantically. Now! Slipping away was not a matter for careful consideration. It was instead an impulsive grasp of the moment, like an animal darting for his lair in an effort to escape the hunter. She slid into the hallway, perhaps not unnoticed but at least not caught by yet another well-wisher or determined gossip. Her slippered feet made a desperate patter on the tiled floor as she raced toward the stairway, her skirts gathered high so as to not impede her flight. Minutes now. Only minutes. He would notice her gone and make his excuses. She hurried past a liveried footman, consciously ignoring his presence, knowing she would undoubtedly be judged again as a nervous bride, full of wedding jitters and innocent apprehensions. In truth, Arianne was anything but those things.

**** She wrenched open the door to her chamber with such force that her maid gasped and whirled at the sound. “Milady.” Mary was white as a sheet, her trembling fingers going upward to adjust the cap on her curly head. “You're late ... ‘tis already on the hour ... I expected you before this." “Is everything ready?” she rasped, heart racing, feeling the tick of time like a death knell in her brain. Even if he saw her leave, she was certain he would give her a few minutes to ready herself before he followed. He was, after all, considered to be the consummate gentleman. “Yes. Everything.” The girl tumbled to her knees, dragging a simple gown from under the bed. Leaping to her feet, she rushed to help Arianne disrobe, fumbling with the hooks on the rich wedding dress, tearing the delicate fabric in her haste, both of them heedless of the destruction. Pearls scattered on the floor as the material was pushed from her shoulders. The plain black dress Arianne donned was a studied contrast to the beaded and elaborate pale blue satin dress that was discarded, like so much refuse, and stuffed into hiding. Her long hair was gathered and forced into a severe bun by Mary's skilled but shaking hands. Black gloves were grasped and donned, stiff black skirts rustled as they fell into place. Mary whispered, “Hurry, milady ... I mean, your grace." “Don't call me that.” Arianne turned suddenly in a whirl of black fabric and painful outrage. “Please, never call me that." “I'm sorry.” Mary looked chastened, red pouring upward to stain her plump cheeks. “No, I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to snap.” A deep breath. Arianne said haltingly, “Oh Mary, this is it, isn't it?" “I'm afraid so, my lady." Afraid. Certainly she was. Frightened beyond words of her future in an uncertain world far away. And even more frightened by the world that yawned before her in England, like a gaping mouth from hell. She asked with fair calm, “Are you ready as well?" “My bags are packed and my mum awaits me in Plymouth. Don't worry for me.” Mary managed a watery smile. “Very well.” Arianne allowed herself the familiarity of a quick hug. Squaring her shoulders, she moved to the window and took hold of the rope that had been fastened to the edge of the balcony and lay coiled discreetly on the tiles. Down below, the darkened gardens waited, shielded only by a few hundred feet from the raucous noise of the party. The distance seemed daunting, especially hampered by her long skirts. What had seemed like a good idea now loomed as an incredibly foolish attempt. Arianne swallowed hard. She had no time to tarry. Her husband would be coming soon, eager to claim his new bride. Hurry, hurry, hurry... Taking the rope in both hands, she began to lower herself out the window, feeling the night air brush her face with the promise of freedom.

Freedom. The rope hurt her hands, digging into the soft flesh as she held her weight aloft, her skirts hampering every movement. The rough stone of the house caught at the material of her dress, impeding her progress. Biting her lip, she painfully inched downwards hand over hand, knowing that a fall at this stage of her plan would be a disaster. Her arms began to ache at once. Ten feet or so off the ground she could hold on no longer. She let go and landed with a jarring thud in an undignified flurry of black silk, quickly scampering to her feet and casting around. The shadows were thankfully silent. Sending a mute prayer upward, Arianne slid into the depths of a row of box hedge, her breath catching wildly in her throat. Her hands were damp and stinging from the climb, her heart hammering in her chest. One ankle ached from the fall, the pain only dimly registering through her haze of trepidation. She moved swiftly, the fragrant boughs catching at her clothes, her own harsh breathing overshadowed by the sound of a waltz drifting out the French doors to the gardens. The gate lay ahead. The gate to freedom, if only it was unguarded. Squinting through the darkness, Arianne felt a burst of hope. No figure stood by the wall, vigilant and aware. Instead, a huddled form lay on the ground, unmoving. Perfect. Mary, bless her, had done her work well. Hurrying forward, she stepped over the sleeping man and produced the slender key from her pocket. Unlocking the gate was a simple matter and it swung open on well-oiled hinges that did not send any warning of her escape screaming into the night. Grabbing her long skirts in both hands, Arianne ran, not looking back, ignoring the ever-growing feeling of panic in her chest. If someone saw her now... But there was no shout of warning from behind, no running footfalls in pursuit. Only the fading strains of music that grew dim as she gained the corner and caught her breath. The carriage was there, waiting. Chapter 1 Boston, August 1861 Somewhere in the darkness a dog howled, a lonely distant sound. For an instant the moment and setting might have been entirely different in his mind; majestic mountains rising in the distance, cool crisp air, soaring midnight skies, the ghostly shadows of wild horses grazing in vast pastures... Ross Braden quickly shook himself, staring out into the darkened but distinctly sculpted and trimmed silhouettes of his mother's Rose garden as he reminded himself of the truth. There were no mountains, no columbines scenting the night air, no stars scattered until the imagination could handle no more. This was civilization. This was elegant houses and cobbled streets and determined gaiety in the face of probable war. No, not Colorado in all her captivating, fierce beauty. Not by a long shot. “I thought I'd find you hiding here,” a calm voice said from behind his back.

Ross did not even turn around. He had only too easily recognized the telltale tread approaching; the laborious left step, followed by the quick healthy right one. He might have known that Robert would come for him. “Hardly hiding. I needed a breath of fresh air,” he said coolly into the black night air. “And you are hating every minute of the party,” his companion rejoined from behind him, continuing his slow advance, “so you keep ducking out here." “Every last excruciating minute,” he confirmed, and then lifted his drink to his mouth. The liquor tore a welcome fiery path down his throat. Leaning one shoulder against an ornate pillar, he studied the garden with heavy-lidded eyes, blocking out the sound of music and laughter that drifted into the warm air behind him. The vague throb of a headache lurked behind his temples. “How do you stand this, Robert?" His older brother edged into view, taking up a place against the balustrade, gripping the support while he leaned his cane aside. Even his carefully tailored evening clothes could not hide the ugly brace that bulged from knee to ankle. “I assume you mean the dinner party?" “Not just that. The dinner party, the constant stream of callers at the door, the bevy of servants underfoot every minute ... all of it. The whole package. I want to know how you endure the lack of solitude, of any sort of privacy." “It was your life once, too." “The life I left behind,” Ross said almost savagely. “Give me a cold night on a wild mountain, the depth and smell of an ancient pine forest, or even the clamor of a tiny, dirty mining town. Anything but this ... this facade of gaiety while everybody verbally stabs each other in the back and genteelly robs their neighbor's pockets." Silence. Eventually, Robert said quietly, “That's not an entirely fair assessment and I'm afraid I haven't your aversion to society. These people here tonight are my friends. I find these gatherings to be ... pleasant." “Pleasantly helpful to your aspirations to political office, you mean.” Ross found it impossible to keep the edge of cynicism out of his voice. Robert said agreeably, “Perhaps. I can't see that arguing the point will change either of our minds. In any case, you are being missed inside." Ross turned and lifted a brow. “Missed? If you are referring to the Whitfield girl, she's part of the reason I slunk out here like a beaten Indian dog. She's quite relentless. I might even say brazen. You would think my lack of prospects would put her off." With a short laugh, Robert said, “No indeed. Her father has money enough for both of you.” In the moonlight, his thin features were washed to bone and angle. “My black reputation then.” Ross muttered the words darkly. “That should scare her away." A faint ironic smile curved his brother's mouth. “How little you know your appeal. Some women find such traits exciting. You're a romantic figure, Ross, if a somewhat notorious one. Surely you realize that by now with the way the genteel ladies fawn at your feet whenever you are home.” A light laugh, not quite amused. “The rebel Braden son, gone to drink, violence, and wild women. I think Leticia Whitfield wants to be the one to tame you, to reform you." “You must be joking."

“I'm afraid not. Do you think Mother wouldn't know all the latest gossip?" “Oh, for heaven's sake.” Ross delved into his drink again. The eager Miss Whitfield, with her ample cleavage and obvious simpers set his teeth on edge. He said in disgust, “Surely her family wouldn't want me as a prospective son-in-law. Some of the rumors surprise even me." Robert raised an eyebrow. “Don't underestimate the power of the Braden name. Despite your somewhat checkered past, they would welcome you with open arms if you changed your ways and became a respectable banker." “Perish the thought. On both counts.” It was a tight comment. A pause. Robert's hand had tightened slightly on the balustrade, the knuckles whitening visibly. His voice was measured and slow. “Maybe you are being hasty, Ross. You still could be involved in the business, of course. It isn't too late." “If I chose to be, which I would not." “I beg you to change your mind." Something in his brother's tone made Ross straighten and look over. The expression on Robert's face was grave and shuttered, with a familiar set of stubbornness around the mouth. His aristocratic features were as austere as his clothing. Ross said sharply, “You aren't serious, I hope." “I might be.” His brother's mouth twisted in emotion. “Ross, think about it ... what could be ... you and I together running the business our grandfather founded, continuing the Braden empire..." Ross felt his aversion to that idea rise up like bile in his throat. He interrupted fiercely, “We've been through this, Robert, time and again. I could care less about the damned Braden empire, you know that. Did Father send you out here? Feel free to remind him that I would rather go back to being a grub-line riding cowboy without a dime to my name. My life now is that ranch in Colorado..." “I could make it well worth your while." “Dammit, the money doesn't matter!" “All right, enough.” Robert's left hand flew up in supplication. “It was worth a try,” his lips curved in an open grimace, “or at least I thought so. And no, Father did not send me. He gave up on you long ago. I did this on my own. The business is growing and my campaign is time-consuming. I can't even imagine what I'm going to do if I get elected. We need someone I can trust—preferably a Braden, and ... oh hell, like I said, it was worth a try.” His bad foot scraped the stone of the terrace as he shifted away in gesture of frustration. He gave up on you long ago... Odd, how the words stung. Ross thought he was long past any desire to have approval from his father. His brother, however, was another matter. He did value Robert's regard. “Robert,” he said, then with effort summoned the ghost of a smile. “Don't mistake me. I appreciate your offer and your concern." A resigned sigh escaped his brother's lips. “But you aren't interested in a boring, respectable life as a Boston banker, despite the security and respect it would bring you. No pretty young wife, no parties, no servants. You would rather live wild in your lawless world." Ross felt himself stiffen. “Don't believe everything you hear, brother. Perhaps I don't enjoy the strictures of Boston society, but neither am I lazy or shiftless. I work like a dog most days and

everything I have I built myself with my own hands. I value my freedom more than any fancy house or bowing servants." Robert smiled, a rueful curve of his mouth. “I have told myself for years that your rebellious nature would soften as you got older, Ross. Instead you seem to have grown harder, more implacable and distant. I hate to be wrong, you know that, especially about this. I worry about you." “Well,” Ross's answering smile was tight-lipped, his face feeling like it could crack, “don't bother. I don't need it. I can take care of myself." His older brother turned in the uncertain light and stared at him, dark eyes expressionless. He said softly, “Maybe that's our problem, Ross ... the huge difference between us, why we don't quite understand each other. I cannot fathom a life in which I don't need anyone." **** Her quarry was back in sight. Keeping her gaze fixed firmly in his direction, Arianne Brooke let a false smile play on her lips, barely listening to the elderly gentleman next to her so carefully expounding his views on President Lincoln's war policies. The entire room hummed with the energy of opinions being tossed around like so much flotsam. Between the growing tensions of secession and the new telegraph being built out West, tongues could not wag quite fast enough. She had learned quite more about American politics than she cared to know. She felt a twist of ironic amusement as she covertly watched the tall, dark man across the room. It was odd how an ocean and several thousand miles did not make much of a difference. Apparently these gatherings were all the same. Passionate politics, rich food gone cold on a littered buffet table, bold flirtations, and avarice thinly disguised as friendship. It was a world she knew well. She wouldn't miss it a bit, she assured herself. She edged past a group of plump dowagers, pointedly ignoring their curious covert stares, her skirts gathered in damp palms. The music swelled around her, lifting a sea of bodies in its roiling wake, the air reeking of perfume, tobacco, and rum punch. The ballroom seemed close and cloying as a sickroom, making her want to bolt for the open doors that led to a flagstone terrace and sweeter air. Ross Braden obviously had the same idea. He'd slipped out several times already during the evening. This time she was determined to follow. Thank goodness he was so tall, as it made it much easier to observe his movements. She had a glimpse of his dark head ducking between the elaborately carved doors to disappear from view. With all the people crushed together in the name of social pleasure, it was difficult to shove through the crowd, though she finally did manage. Gaining the doors, she slid outside a minute behind him. Cool air, a smattering of stars strewn across a velvet black sky, and the scent of flowers, overblown and dying. Arianne took a deep, steadying breath as she tried to clear her head, a rush of nervousness once again clenching in her stomach. Her plan, so carefully and successfully executed so far, depended so much on the next few minutes. God help her. He was standing by the ornate stone balustrade and staring out over the moon-washed gardens, a full glass of some pale gold liquid in his hand. As she hesitated, debating her approach, he lifted the glass to

his mouth in a lazy, graceful gesture. It was a reassuring gentlemanly mannerism, one that made her take another breath and step forward. Squaring her shoulders, she spoke firmly. “Mr. Braden?" He didn't turn but still stood there, contemplating the starry heavens as if fascinated. “Mr. Ross Braden?” she said a bit louder, certain he'd heard her the first time, but... “Who wants to know?” The question was idle and rude, the glass lifting lazily again. He didn't even glance in her direction. Moonlight illuminated his profile; clear, aristocratic, and cold. Taken aback, Arianne murmured, “I do, sir." “Really? And who, pray tell, are you?” The tone was cool, cultured, and a little disinterested. Actually, he sounded very disinterested. Fighting the ingrained urge to drop a graceful curtsey, Arianne said abruptly, “Arianne Brooke." “Ah." “Lady Arianne Brooke,” she elaborated with emphasis. It didn't happen. There was no swift turning in surprise, no rush of recognition, no welcoming smile. He said merely, “I see." Feeling the bite of irritation, Arianne stared at the broad back of the man pointed out to her as Ross Braden. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but indifference was not it. She felt a rush of heat climb into her face and swallowed hard in embarrassed chagrin. Surely, she had not misinterpreted William's letters? He'd written of Ross Braden in such a way to give the impression of a bond that extended well beyond their partnership in that distant ranch. If she'd assumed wrongly, it was the equivalent to disaster. After all she'd done and how far she had come, she could afford not a single mishap and Ross Braden was very much a part of her plan. Of course, what did she know of this man besides what William had written? Just the whispers and rumors that had come to her ears since she arrived in Boston. That he was a wild cowboy, an outcast of society, a reputed killer, causing scandal wherever he went. A small rush of panic crept up and tugged at her throat. No, she would not believe all of it, would not allow fear to paralyze her at this crucial moment. For months she had assured herself that surely he would cooperate when she needed it, out of friendship to her brother. To let her faith flag now was the ultimate in self-betrayal. The rumors must be nonsense anyway, she thought, studying the classic line of his averted profile. Here he was, handsome and just as polished as anyone attending the gathering, wearing the same kind of tailored clothes, with the same smooth manners. Women had flirted shamelessly with the man all evening, so surely his reputation couldn't be that bad, could it? But he wouldn't even turn around and acknowledge that she was standing there. Incredible boorishness, especially considering their civilized surroundings. He was being deliberately rude keeping his back to her. Clearing her throat, she spoke again clearly, “You are Ross Braden, are you not, sir?" A pause. Night air, sweet music and laughter drifting from the ballroom, the whisper of a breeze that brushed her face. Her cheeks grew warmer with every passing second but she refused to leave. Not yet.

“Yes.” The admission—when it came—was tinged with sardonic humor. “Guilty as charged. At least of that.” He lifted his drink, took a solid swallow, and finally straightened away from his repose against the balustrade and turned to look at her. Up close, she suddenly knew why all the women put aside the rumors and flocked to his side. Ross Braden possessed the kind of pure masculine beauty that could seduce a nun away from her vows. Thick dark hair waved back from his forehead, fine dark brows arched like wings above his longlashed eyes, and he had a straight arrogant nose above a thin but well-shaped mouth. It was a face that would have done grace to the fallen angel himself, especially with his dark coloring. He was tall, well muscled and lean in formal evening clothes, his careless repose every bit the essence of a well-to-do young man of society. Except his eyes. There was nothing the least careless or nonchalant about the dark, watchful gaze which fastened on Arianne with a burning intensity that made her swallow hard. A small shock rocked her body as he stared at her. Suddenly she did not discount the whispers she'd heard in the week she'd been in Boston. Those whispers about an unsavory past, despite his family's money and connections. Whispers about dead men and places he couldn't go because there was a price on his head. He simply looked dangerous. The dark eyes narrowed and Ross Braden lifted a brow. He said blandly, “Will's little sister is supposed to be a child, still in braids back Yorkshire." So he had recognized her name. Relief at war with affront, Arianne found her voice and said defensively, “Will's little sister may have grown up and taken a ship over to America, just as he did." “Is that so?” He looked amused at her tart reply but his direct stare was just as unsettling. “Doesn't my presence here confirm it?” She shifted a little under that penetrating gaze, lifting her chin. “I suppose. You are in Boston and you are,” a slight pause as he raked her body with an insulting and dispassionate look, lingering for just a second too long where her breasts swelled above the bodice of her gown, “grown up. When did you arrive, Miss Brooke?" “Saturday last.” She suppressed a slight shudder. Leaving the ship had been such a revelation; she'd been seasick the entire journey. As if she needed another reason to vow to never return to England, the sea journey alone would suffice. No, there was no going back; she was free of her old life. That is, almost. To be truly free, she needed this man and his cooperation. He had to help her. “Saturday,” he murmured, lifting his glass. “Yes." “And how did you end up at my mother's little party, if I may ask? She never mentioned you once and she prides herself on having the most exclusive guest lists in all of New England. The daughter of an English earl would have garnered comment, I assure you, and in all her babbling about visitors and menus I haven't heard your name mentioned once." The night air felt soothing on her heated face. The clouds moved overhead, softly floating past in a

liquid stream. She could hardly explain that anonymity had been her goal all along, as essential as breathing. At her request, she'd been introduced to the hostess as plain Arianne Brooke, no earls involved. Don't lose courage now, Arianne admonished herself, meeting his direct, compelling stare with a small quiver of apprehension. You knew you would have to explain, to plead your case. But, of course, this man was nothing like what she had expected. Will had left out Mr. Braden's notorious reputation when he wrote to her. Courage, girl. She rubbed her hands lightly on her dress and confessed, “I came with the Martins. Do you know them? Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Martin. Their daughter and I met at school in France several years ago. I have been staying with them since my arrival and they've been ... very kind and generous to me." He said nothing. It was slightly irritating. Arianne expounded haltingly, “I persuaded them to bring me as a guest.” It had been the only way to have an audience with Ross Braden without explaining to the obliging but nosy Martins why she wanted to call on him. That she could not do. It was essential that her plan remain a secret. Besides, they would have been appalled. “Is that so?” he asked indifferently, sipping his drink. “I admit I had an ulterior motive. I ... I persuaded them because I needed to talk to you and knew you would be here." His expression did not appreciably change but the dark eyes grew wary. “To me?" “Yes, it is terribly important." “Why?” he asked, flatly. His question hung in the air. She was breathing very quickly, like a cornered animal. Ross narrowed his gaze on Arianne Brooke's pale face, noting the swift rise and fall of her breasts under the pale rose silk of her fashionable gown. The meager light on the terrace lit her fine features with porcelain purity: high cheekbones in an oval face, lovely full lips, and dark long-lashed eyes that stared upward with unmistakable nervousness. He hadn't mentioned to her that speculation was rife in the ballroom over her identity. Everyone had been whispering over the beautiful blond in the rose silk. He, however, had recognized her at once, well before she had sought him out, hours ago when she had first arrived. He may have never met her before, but Will kept a miniature of his younger sister on the desk where they sat to do the ranch accounts, and the delicate features and beauty of the subject had a tendency to draw the eye. He'd spent a lot of time looking at her lovely image. Even with the changes wrought by maturity, the likeness was too much to miss and he was a man with an eye for faces. He couldn't afford not to be. Lady Arianne, it seemed, had grown into a remarkable beauty. He had to wonder why Will hadn't said one word about her leaving England, much less showing up in Boston. She swallowed, her slender throat working. Her voice was low, throaty, musical and as lovely as the rest of her. “William wrote to me and mentioned that you were coming to Boston to visit your family

this September. That your mother insists you come home every so often." “My penance, you might say,” he confirmed coolly. “For being the blackguard of the family." “Oh.” She swallowed again, looking as if she were uncertain how to take that remark, those thick dark lashes lowering slightly over her eyes. Her hands alternately kneaded the silk of her dress, betraying agitation. Perhaps she was shocked by his utter frankness. Women often were. So much the better. His reputation kept all but the most determined away. William wrote to me, she'd said... With a twinge of grim comprehension, Ross said, “As William never mentioned your possible arrival, I have to assume that unknown to him you arranged your visit to America accordingly?" A slight nod. Her eyes were very wide, very dark. Blond curls moved against the smooth ivory column of her throat. She really was a disturbingly lovely young woman. He cleared his throat. “I'm afraid to ask why you would do such a thing, Miss Brooke." “This isn't exactly a visit.” The admission was soft. “Then what is it?" She glanced away. The moonlight cast faint sliding shadows on her smooth skin. “The story is rather complicated, Mr. Braden." “I have an uneasy feeling that's true,” he observed dryly. That was only too accurate. For a man who often relied on instincts to give lightning judgments that could sacrifice or save his life, he could feel the tremors of warning thrumming through his brain. Trouble. Standing right in front of him in the form of one beautiful young girl. A couple strolled out through the open doors on to the terrace, laughing and close together, both slightly drunk by their unsteady footsteps. Unaware of their audience, the woman pressed her full breasts so close to the man's arm that their generous abundance threatened to fairly spill from her dress at any moment. Her gallant escort, intent on that riveting possibility, stumbled toward the steps with his avid gaze glued to her ample cleavage, still unmindful of the two people standing in the gathered shadows. “I need to get to Colorado,” Arianne Brooke announced softly as soon as the couple had blundered off into the gardens. “I want you to take me there when you journey back." He'd guessed that already, with another one of those uncomfortable warning twinges. “No,” he said simply, and drained his glass. **** “He wouldn't even listen,” Arianne said through her teeth. “What on earth are you going to do now?” Laura Martin sat on the edge of the bed in her nightdress, her arms wrapped around her knees, her brown eyes enormous and wide in her round face. “Ross Braden was a gamble, I told you that. His manners are as changeable as his moods. He's attractive enough in a dark dangerous sort of way, but not someone to count on to politely kiss your hand, much less transport you across the country. The only reason he's even received by most of the decent families in town is because of his family and their influence. Being alone with him for any length of time would

ruin your reputation. The man is a womanizer as well as a killer.” A prim sniff accompanied that observation. “I don't care about my reputation,” Arianne said bluntly. It was the weary truth. “And he isn't interested in me in that way in the least, believe me. He barely even looked at me. He was practically rude." Laura narrowed her eyes, looking shrewd. “I'm sure you're wrong, you know. Most men fall over their tongues when you're around, Arianne." Gloomily, Arianne shook her head. “It hardly matters since he refused outright my request. But I've got to get to Colorado somehow." “You can't go all the way out West by yourself. So what now?" It was the question that had been plaguing Arianne ever since she'd been left standing alone on that terrace at the Braden house. Damn Ross Braden and his black uncooperative soul. She'd never even gotten the chance to fully explain the urgency of her request. He'd simply walked away from her and then vanished for the rest of the evening. Short of exploring the entire mansion, she couldn't find him. Pacing by the fireplace, Arianne picked up the iron poker and jabbed at the sizzling logs, her restlessness born of frustration. She said curtly, “I made it to Boston from England, didn't I?" “That's quite different.” Her friend looked horrified. “I don't see how." “You were on a ship, sequestered in your cabin and able to stay away from everyone. There was really no danger.” Laura shook her head, and commented primly, “If my mother knew you'd journeyed here without a chaperone, disguised as a widow in mourning..." Arianne sent a shower of sparks flying in a red, glowing waterfall. “If she knew I intended to travel west, she'd be even more outraged. Besides, that disguise worked well, I'll have you know. No one even thought to bother me. I rather miss the convenience of a black veil." “Clever girl, aren't you? However did you dream up such a scheme? You always did have a little more imagination than the rest of us girls, even in school.” A laugh. Too much imagination, Arianne thought darkly. Even now, if she allowed herself to think of it, she could conjure up images of the chaos she'd left behind in London. The poker suddenly felt hot and heavy in her hand. Laura gave a little shiver, rocking the big bed. “There are Indians out West, you know. Utter savages. You hear such awful stories." Indians. Arianne suppressed a shiver of her own. She'd heard the stories too, some of them undoubtedly exaggerated, but even if half of it were true... “Settlers are pouring into Texas, Colorado and New Mexico,” she pointed out firmly, leaning the poker against the marble mantle and whirling back to pace toward the window. “I heard a dozen people at the ball babbling about it just tonight. And the Indians have been moved, haven't they? Relocated to territory where they are supposed to have their own land." “I suppose so.” Laura stifled a yawn with a well-manicured hand. It was plain that safe and secure in her lovely Boston home, she hadn't given much thought to where the Indians might have gone. She said with practicality, “But it isn't like you can summon your carriage and simply go there, my dear, stopping at lovely little inns to sleep and eat, with a convenient change of horses whenever you need

them. This is the West." “Other people get there. There must be a way." “Not unmarried women alone." “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I need time to think.” Arianne bit her lip and reached for the silk drapery, pulling it aside to stare blindly out into the night. Lord, she was suddenly tired and emotionally drained. Not to mention, a little voice clawed at her brain, stranded in a foreign country at the mercy of people who owed her nothing. Her gracious welcome would wear off sooner or later and then what would she do? Her perfect plans had definitely gone awry. And Ross Braden was to blame. Laura persisted, her soft mouth working. “What about outlaws? And the war? Colorado might not be the safest place, even if you do manage to make it there it one piece." “William is there,” Arianne said with a wistful smile. “My brother is all I have now, Laura. I don't have a choice; don't you see? If I stay here in Boston, I might as well board the next ship for home." There was a small silence. “Do you really think he'll come after you?” Laura asked in hushed tones. A sudden vision flooded into Arianne's mind. She could imagine the cold, chiseled features of Jared Carlisle as he opened the door to the bedchamber where she'd been supposedly readying herself for their wedding night. She could almost see the furious contortion of that well-modeled mouth as he registered her absence, feel the searing anger in those ice-blue eyes and the clench of fists against the rich material of his dressing gown... Arianne flexed her own hand convulsively, scraping her nails against the drapery she still held. Hoarsely, she said, “I'm very afraid he might." “You jilted him. Why would he run after you, a man like him?” Laura frowned, rocking slightly, still hugging her knees. “He has everything, if what you say is true. Money, looks, power. Why go after a woman that so patently does not want him?" “I smote at his arrogance. He'd not forgive it or forget it.” A swallow. It was a gross simplification. “All the way from England?" Arianne's smile was bleak. “He'd probably follow me to hell, if he knew I was there." Chapter 2 “Either you are for us, Ross, or you are against us.” The old man leaned backwards in his chair, his eyes as hard and unyielding as granite across the gleaming expanse of his elaborate rosewood desk. “Sir, at the moment I am neither one,” Ross argued politely as possible. He was keeping his temper well so far. Not that it had been easy to do so. A fist came down hard, scattering papers like autumn leaves. “The Union will stand, the North will see to it." “With you on their side, how could they not?” Ross muttered the words, fighting the urge to surge to his feet and escape the room before any more was said. He should have known why his father had sent

for him. “They say that McClellan needs able men. Word has it that he will be appointed commander of our entire army very soon. After the battle at Manassas Junction in Virginia this past July, it seems Southern arrogance has reached new heights. Perhaps this conflict will not be resolved so quickly as they first said." Dryly, Ross said, “Then I can see why you want me to participate, Father. Certainly there is nothing more appealing than tossing your son into a nice long war, especially against one's own countrymen." The eagle eyes across the desk narrowed and his father's mouth tightened. “A Braden should have some part in this. Our world is at stake, as well as our principles. Secession is a blasphemy to all our founding fathers fought for so bravely." “Perhaps.” Not wanting to argue with someone he knew well would never listen to his point of view, Ross attempted idle detachment. “Perhaps?” A roar. “Will you honor my request or not?" “Was it a request?” Ross smiled humorlessly, cocking a brow. “It sounded more like the usual ultimatum to me.” Sprawled in a federal chair that quivered under his weight every time he moved, he examined the tips of his polished boots with lazy interest. “If I spoke forcefully, it is because I feel so deeply on this issue. You are twenty-seven years old and not a child to be coddled.” His father gave him a glowering look, drawing graying brows together in the formidable frown that had cowed many a man. He added brusquely, “But then, even as a youngster, you never were much for coddling either. I thought the time had come that we could be frank with each other, if not cordial." Cordial. No, they were not cordial. They barely endured each other. As for the child he'd been ... they hadn't gotten along any better then than they did now. “If frankness is what you wish, you'll get it.” Ross shifted again in the ridiculously delicate chair and gave his father a level look. “No, I will not join the Federal Army, Father. Under no circumstances." “You wouldn't be a regular enlisted man. I can see to it you would be an officer. You have a law degree, with your education and background, who knows how far you could rise ... perhaps to general by the end of this conflict. I'll pull what strings I can." “General? Of course.” Ironically. “You could see to anything. After all, I'm a Braden." His father growled, “Damn right you are. Time you started acting like one. You belong at forefront of this dispute, helping to stamp out the notion of rebellion. I..." Ross interrupted in clipped tones. “Forget it, Father." His father's mouth tightened ominously. “Why not?" “I have no interest in this war. And I'm damned sure not going to pretend a loyalty I no longer feel to the state of Massachusetts. It isn't that I don't have my own strong opinions about secession, I do, sir, I'm just not willing to lay down my life for them. I have trouble enough of my own back in Colorado, where staying alive is a daily chore, much less running a successful ranching business." His father's lips went white with suppressed fury. He rasped out, “Your grandfather fought at Lexington. Bradens helped found this country, by God. One of us should stand firm to hold it together." “I believe the English felt that way about our independence. Yet I think you'll agree the result was for the best."

“Are you saying we should just let the South thumb her nose at us and leave?" “I am saying I am not certain enough of the conviction they don't have the right to do just that." “It's not the same situation as when we declared independence from Britain!" “Tell me how.” Ross knew the prod was a mistake but said it anyway. Glowering silence. Above his perfectly tied red cravat, his father's face was growing a matching crimson. He declared coldly, “If he could, Robert would go and gladly. And with his cool head, he would make a damned fine officer." Dammit, the story was always the same. The two of them exchanging words, the ugliness growing, and then Robert's name being flung in his face like a gauntlet. Ross stretched out his legs and said lazily, “I'm sure he'd single-handedly wipe out the Rebs and have Lincoln over for breakfast the next morning. While I..." “Would you disgrace our name more than you already have?” The question was harsh and loud. “Tell me that?" Ross felt his mouth tighten and fought for control before replying. “I beg pardon for my multitude of sins, sir. However, not all you hear is the truth and I can look any man, even you, in the eye." His father let a hint of disbelief show in his expression. His face was uncompromising and stern, with a jutting chin, hollowed cheeks, straight nose, and eyes that held both intelligence and ruthlessness. Still vigorous at sixty years old, he ran a banking empire with an iron hand and tended to handle his family the same way. He said silkily, “The rumors vary. I've heard you've shot as many as a dozen men in one sort of sordid quarrel or another." “Gossip can be horribly inaccurate.” The usual sick feeling stirred in Ross's stomach. How in the hell, he wondered for the hundredth time, did he get so notorious? God knew there were plenty of men in Colorado alone, truly bad men who had been in more gunfights, yet it was his name that stuck on everyone's tongue. “For your mother's sake, I hope so." The old anger licked through Ross's body, making him take a deep breath and straighten his shoulders. “She, at least, knows me well enough to distinguish fact from fiction." “She's a soft fool where you are concerned. Always has been." “We have that in common, then. I feel the same way about her affection for you. I don't believe I have ever understood it." “That's more than enough.” His father shouted, getting to his feet. “Ten minutes or so together,” Ross insolently pulled out his pocket watch and glanced down at it, “usually is." “Robert told me you would never do it." Softly, Ross commented, “He knows me well." “Odd, I never took you for a coward, boy.” The taunt was thrown down with anger throbbing behind it. If there was one thing the West and his reputation had taught Ross, it was to not be goaded too far. He stood up and said mildly, “But then again, Father, you never have understood me, have you?" ****

Braving the lion in his den was the best idea she could come up with and she wasn't at all sure it was wise. Arianne glanced nervously at the china clock ticking on the elegantly carved mantle for the hundredth time, plucking at her skirts with damp fingers. It was hard to sit still with such urgent tension coiling in the pit of her stomach. A deep voice said calmly, “He'll be here soon, I imagine. Meetings between him and my father never last long. Which, I must say, is just as well.” There was vague amusement behind the comment. Since she could hardly explain the difficulty she had in slipping away alone from the Martins even for a few hours, she merely summoned a perfunctory smile. Robert Braden stirred in his chair, shifting his weight awkwardly, watching her politely. Since her precipitous arrival on the Braden front doorstep fifteen minutes before, he'd been the perfect gentleman, escorting her to an elegant parlor done in lovely shades of burgundy and grey and settling down to keep her company while she waited for Ross Braden to return from whatever meeting he was talking about. Looking up and seeing the glimmer of curiosity in Robert's fine dark eyes, she felt a quiver of discomfort. Considering she was a perfect stranger who had now twice invaded his home without an invitation, he was showing great restraint in not asking direct questions. If Ross Braden was rude and blunt, which, she reminded herself wryly, he was, this man seemed unfailingly courteous. True, though Robert was somewhat older, at least mid-thirties at a guess, they looked startlingly alike, with the same thick dark wavy hair, arched brows, square jaw and sensual mouth. But the true difference lay in expression and demeanor. Arianne could sense none of Ross Braden's wary cynicism in his brother's composed features, nor did he possess that edge of steely hardness. She cleared her throat. “I am sure you are very busy, sir, and your time is valuable. I did not have an appointment and I assure you I would not think ill of you leaving me to wait alone." “My lady, I would not dream of it.” His smile was genuine and warm, lighting his thin face attractively as if he meant what he said. “Sitting in parlors with beautiful young ladies is a particular hobby of mine." Why on earth, she thought with some despair, could this not be the man who had joined her brother in partnership on that wild ranch in Colorado? Surely he would be gallant enough to help her? Then her gaze fell to his left foot, so misshapen that he could not wear proper footgear. A brace fashioned from leather and metal was obviously needed for him to be able to walk. That, and the carved cane that he held lightly against his elegantly clad knee. Colorado, clearly, was out of the question. “It happened long ago. A riding accident when I was six,” he said gently, making her jerk her gaze back to his impassive face. “I fell off and the horse stepped on my leg. It was very badly broken in many places and would not heal properly." She stammered, feeling the blood rush into her face, “I did not mean to stare so rudely. Forgive me." He shrugged, lifting his broad shoulders under a well-tailored buff frock coat. “People do, it is human nature. They are naturally curious and I find it easier to simply explain. There is nothing to forgive." Unwillingly, she smiled back faintly. “Life is difficult enough without added burdens." “I have a better life than most in this hard world. I don't think I can complain." Arianne bit her lip and smoothed her skirts again, giving the beautiful room a quick glance. He was right, of course. Obviously the Bradens were very wealthy, very powerful, and though a disability was

unfortunate, at least he had the sense to realize the rest of his good fortune. If only his brother was as rational and pleasant. She fingered the muslin material under fingers thoughtfully. He was being kind to her. Perhaps if she shared her plight with him, he could help her cause with his brother. Too desperate to not use every tool at her disposal, she said demurely, “Mr. Braden, I feel I owe you an explanation. No doubt you are wondering why I'm here." He shook his head at once. “You owe me nothing, of course. But I suppose I should admit you are correct. I am wondering why a lovely English lady has washed up, so to speak, on my brother's doorstep. I could not help but notice that you followed him outside last eve and the two of you seemed to share a ... passionate discussion of some sort." In spite of her nervousness and desperation, Arianne let out a tiny laugh. “Actually, it wasn't much of a discussion at all. The word discussion implies two people contemplating opposite points of view. He definitely did not contemplate mine. Your brother can be very ... er ... blunt and unyielding." Robert Braden chuckled. “I certainly cannot deny that truth. Both words describe him well. As do stubborn and hotheaded. All those traits have landed him in trouble once or twice, as I'm sure you've heard if you know anything about him." At least talking took her mind off of the minutes passing so swiftly by. Arianne confessed, “Actually, my brother is William Brooke." The name was obviously familiar. “Ross's partner?" She nodded. “I need to get to William. I was rather hoping that Mr. Braden would be kind enough to lend me escort to Colorado." Robert Braden frowned in apparent objection, his long fingers smoothing the satin finish of his cane absently. “Colorado? That's wild country from what Ross tells me. I'm not at all sure a young woman belongs there, much less a refined young lady like yourself. Just the journey alone is arduous and filled with danger. I worry every time he makes it." Arianne leaned slightly forward. “Yet it is my wish to go. Surely other women live there? They must, if the West is being settled like they say." “Yes, of course, but not..." Her shoulders stiffened. “Not?" “Not women like you, Lady Arianne." “I'm not the delicate flower you think I am, Mr. Braden." “I see.” A slight smile touched his well-shaped mouth. His good-looking face was grave again instantly. “I've never had the opportunity to meet your brother ... and had no idea he had a sister, but I'm surprised that William didn't come himself if you were coming to Boston." “I'm sure he would have, if he had known." “I don't think I understand." Arianne couldn't stand it any longer. She surged to her feet and paced across the lovely room to nervously examine a Chinese vase sitting on a marble pedestal. “I left London on my own, Mr. Braden. With no word to anyone.” She turned and gave him a rueful smile. “I knew from Will's letters that your brother would be here in Boston for these weeks and planned my trip accordingly. In essence, I suppose I ran away from home."

His ebony brows rose high in surprise. “With my brother as your trump card?" “If you like.” She nodded slightly. “Intriguing.” A murmur. His features were schooled to nonchalance and Arianne couldn't tell if she had shocked him or not. Certainly, he should be. It was not the behavior of a proper young lady. Quickly, she explained, “The Martins, with whom I'm staying, have no idea. They think I'm here on a visit arranged by my oldest brother, who is my legal guardian." “I'll not give you away, rest assured.” He held up a lean hand. “Thank you.” Ridiculous, but his kindness almost brought tears to her eyes. It had been so long since she'd had anyone to lean on... “So you came last night to the party to confront my brother, causing, I might say, quite a stir among my mother's guests.” His eyes twinkled. “It isn't often that a beautiful and mysterious young woman simply appears out of nowhere. I think most everyone was talking about the English girl with Laura Martin." She blushed at the compliment. “I wanted to meet your brother, true. I was hoping to convince him to help me." Robert Braden looked amused and sympathetic at the same time. “And tell me, did you?" “No." The sound of voices in the hallway outside arrested whatever comment Robert Braden might have made in answer. Arianne recognized the butler's cool tones and the rejoinder in a deep voice that sent a jolt down her spine; a dark mutter that sounded almost like a curse. Robert Braden got slowly to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane. “Courage,” he murmured blandly in a low voice as his brother appeared in the doorway. “Don't let him bluff you, Lady Arianne. Stand your ground." **** Ross could hardly believe his ears as he heard Blanding announce his visitor and her location. As if the day hadn't been black enough, now he had to deal with this. Earlier, Dante, the black stallion he'd purchased at an exorbitant price, had broken out of his stall and slightly injured his leg in the process. Any possible delay in leaving Boston suddenly chafed unbearably, especially after the interview with his father. He fairly stalked to the doorway. Arianne Brooke stood at the end of the room, wide-eyed and dressed in sprigged muslin that set off her ivory skin, slender shape, and lovely golden hair, apparently waiting for him. She had nerve; he'd give her that. After the crude way he'd treated her the night before, she'd found it in her to brace him again. Amazing. He was sure he'd sent her packing back to the Martins in a welter of frustrated feminine tears. Anyone who looked like her was surely used to twining men around her little finger. That perfection struck him again as he paused just across the threshold. The girl from the night before was now defined and glorified in the pure light of day. Lady Arianne was a raving beauty with high cheekbones, smooth skin, full pink lips, aquamarine eyes and a body that Venus herself would envy. Damnation. Did he have to explain again that she had no place out in a Godforsaken and lawless place like Eastern Colorado? What did it take to get through to the stubborn woman?

“Good afternoon,” he said grimly into the silence. “Hello, Ross.” Robert hobbled toward the doorway with his awkward gait, impeccably garbed as usual, his good-natured face showing nothing but a polite smile. “Please excuse me, I believe I'll go check on that letter I was expecting this afternoon." “Feel free to stay. This won't take long,” he murmured irritably, not liking the gleam of amusement in his brother's dark eyes. Damn you, he thought wryly, this is not funny. Robert ignored the invitation. He ambled out, leaving them ostensibly alone. Silence. It began to stretch onward awkwardly and Ross was last person to begin to break it. “I'm sorry to intrude in your home ... “Miss Brooke began to say hesitantly at last. “I thought we settled this last night,” he interrupted as coldly as possible, stalking toward the sherry decanter that sat on a small ornate table in the corner. Sherry was not in the least strong enough, but it would have to do for now. He poured a generous shot of liquid and gripped the tiny glass in his long fingers. He should offer her some first, of course, but he didn't. “I came here because you refused to hear me out last eve,” Lady Arianne said with surprising firmness for such a delicate-looking creature. “At least give me the courtesy of an explanation. Surely, given your friendship with my brother, you can do that, Mr. Braden?" She'd been hard enough to ignore the night before. Now, with the sunlight coming in the glistening windows, her clear young beauty was even more persuasive. Nineteen, he'd remembered as he lain in bed the night before, unable to sleep. William had said she was five years younger than he, which made her nineteen. Not that it mattered. Why was he thinking about her age? Hell. He took a deep sip of the sherry, wincing at the sweetness. “I suppose you've given me little choice. You're here, aren't you? Short of picking you up and tossing you out, I guess I have to listen. Blanding would have my hide if I threw a lady out the front door, so I guess you're safe enough for the moment." She blanched a little at that abrupt declaration but evidently wasn't horrified enough at his lack of manners to leave. “I have a reason for my ... forwardness."She stood by his mother's prized vase, her pale coloring a foil for the deep blues and ebony patterns on the porcelain. He couldn't help but think that she very much belonged in the elegant and civilized room. Which was why she had no business out West. She was everything soft and feminine and refined and none of those traits would help her there. “What reason would that be?” he demanded. Her lower lip trembled slightly at his acerbic tone but her blue gaze was clear-eyed and direct. “I have every intention of explaining my presence, sir." “Is that so? I can't wait to hear it. Please go ahead.” He leaned against the table, fighting the cloying taste of the drink in his mouth. She stiffened her slim shoulders and lifted her chin. “I think we misunderstood each other. I understated my case last evening. I should have stressed just how desperately I need your help." He lifted his brows slightly in a deliberate mocking arch that usually sent his father over the edge. “Let's not be melodramatic, Miss Brooke. If you are looking for adventure, Boston should offer you

more than enough of the New World. Perhaps we are not as civilized as Londoners, but still relatively cosmopolitan compared to where you wish to go." “Civilized?” she interrupted bitterly. “That's not my opinion, I assure you." “Of Bostonians?" “Of Londoners, sir." “Oh?” He suppressed surprise at that passionate speech. She tilted her chin higher, compressing her lovely mouth. Her blue gaze held his. “It's true. Sir, you should know, when I left England, I severed all ties. I am—ruined." “Ruined?” His brows shot up in question. Her cheeks flooded with color but she still held his gaze and nodded. “Socially. There is no going back." “Why not?” Flatly. She hesitated, her top teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Has Will ever mentioned our older brother, John?" He had, of course, now and again, usually when he was fairly drunk. Will did not have a flattering opinion of his older brother. In fact, he'd described him once as an overbearing, thick-witted ponce. Ross admitted grudgingly, “Yes." The girl declared, her voice low and earnest, “I assure you that I've been disowned and disgraced in his eyes and the eyes of society. If I returned, he would not allow me back in my own home. No one else would want to have me either. I would be adrift without recourse." Adrift. Hell, as if he didn't have enough problems of his own. The twinge of sympathy was unwelcome. And he was intensely curious. She had such an aura of innocence over that provocative beauty. “What exactly did you do, Miss Brooke?" “Defied his wishes very publicly.” Green-blue eyes continued to look at him directly and the shade of apprehension he saw there belied her calm demeanor. Her cheeks were now pale as ivory. “Are you familiar with the constraints of London society, sir?" “Much like Boston, I imagine,” he murmured, taking another huge sip of sherry and leaning his hip against the table. “A bunch of old pinch-faced peahens and roosters picking apart everyone that catches their notice. Hypocrites that act like they've never done a scandalous thing in their lives when the reality is that they are probably more guilty than any of the rest of us that afford them such delicious fodder for their whispers." Arianne Brooke looked slightly surprised at his vehement dissertation. She murmured, “Quite so.” She moved again, straightening her shoulders in a betraying convulsive action. “Anyway, I didn't accede to John's wishes and had to leave home. William is my only other family that would dare have me. I have nowhere else to go." In other words, she was stranded. In other words, he was a complete rogue if he left her in Boston, especially if she was determined to make it out West. Will was his trusted friend and loyal partner. One of the few people on earth he actually felt something other than antipathy for. And William Brooke adored his younger sister, no doubt about it. She was the only member of his family he spoke of with any affection. How would he feel if he found out that harm had come to her

because Ross had refused to help her? Irritation stuck in Ross's throat, vying for space with the insipid sherry he was drinking. Honor, something he thought long dead, lifted its ugly head. She had certainly struck the right nerve, painting herself as the outcast. He knew full well what it was like to be disowned and disgraced. His father's bitter words still echoed in his head. Stranded. Disowned. Disgraced. Still, it would be hell on earth trying to get a pampered English lady across miles of open country. Always a dangerous trip, the last thing he needed was a stone like her tied around his neck. “Lord help me,” he muttered into his glass. And she brightened, long lashes lifting above high cheekbones. She whispered breathlessly, “Then ... you'll take me?" “You won't survive the trip,” he said bluntly, swallowing his drink. “There are no feather beds on the trail, Miss Brooke. I ride cross country, sometimes not seeing a town for days on end. The Indians are hostile, the weather unpredictable, and rations sparse. The entire idea of you coming along is ridiculous. But if you are so very determined..." “I am. And I don't care how uncomfortable it is.” She sounded breathless. “I won't complain, I promise." “You will when you're hungry, cold, wet and miserable." “Others have done it. I can." “The others were not coddled English ladies from titled families." Her blue eyes suddenly flashed in unexpected defiance. She straightened in a regal movement. “Perhaps you don't know enough coddled English ladies, Mr. Braden. I'll survive, believe me. When do we leave?" “Tomorrow.” He hoped to shock her. “At dawn's light. And I mean it. If you are a moment late, I'll go without you." She smiled, a trembling smile of pure relief. “Perfect,” she sighed, “and I hate to disappoint, but I won't be late." He said curiously, “What tall tale have you concocted for the Martins to explain your sudden departure?" “I'm surprised you would care what I had to tell them, sir." “I am simply curious, that's all." “I have it all planned. Leave everything to me, Mr. Braden.” Her smile was sudden, dazzling, devastating with its charm. Oh hell, what have I just done? **** The fire had burned low but Ross didn't stir to replenish it. Any cold he felt was from the inside. The chill in the room didn't touch him at all. Slouched carelessly in his chair, he fingered his glass of whiskey and stared at the glowing embers. Making the decision to leave Boston and his family for another year of absence always caused the

demons of the past to rise up and taunt him. He would leave a dawn's light as promised and who knew what a full year could bring, especially with the very real threat of prolonged civil war hanging over the nation. Like his father, he was afraid any full-fledged conflict would be long and horrendously ugly. He only roused a little at the sound of the door opening. “Still awake? I thought you planned on an early start.” Not using his cane, Robert limped slowly into the room and chose an opposite chair, grasping the arms firmly as he lowered himself onto the seat. “I thought I'd say good-bye when you came upstairs to retire, but got tired of waiting." “You needn't have bothered." There was a small silence and Ross felt like an insensitive fool. Quietly, Robert said, “You're my brother. My only brother. I hardly ever get to see you because you live halfway across this vast country. I would think you would expect me to want to say good-bye." Ross lifted his head, registering the hurt in his brother's face. Guilt assailed him, tightening his chest. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm in one hell of a black mood. I was actually sitting here thinking about not seeing any of you again for a whole year." Robert smiled slightly and relaxed back in the wing chair. “Even father?" “Even him. We may not have much in common, but I ... I have affection for him." “As he does you. You simply have never fit into the mold he had poured for you. With his rigid ways, he doesn't understand." “We're even then." “Does any of this ill humor have anything to do with the persistent and very lovely Miss Brooke?” Robert asked the question mildly. Ross's answering smile was sour. “Absolutely." “I'm a little surprised you agreed to her request." “What makes you think I agreed?" “She left here with a very relieved smile on her very pretty face. Frankly, I thought you would prevail." “So did I. No one is more surprised than myself." Robert laughed out loud and rubbed his deformed knee in a thoughtless action Ross had seen a thousand times since childhood. “It's a little unconventional, true, but there are worse things than spending a good deal of time with a beautiful young lady. And she is, quite frankly, stunning." Ross took a solid swallow of his drink, and said bluntly, “Yes, worse things, I agree. Like trying to take someone like her unscathed across the country. Women are trouble at any time; on the trail someone like her is going to be hell. I cannot think of anyone on this green earth I'd like to ride with less than a spoiled aristocratic young girl. An hour out and she'll be whining like a hungry street urchin." “But for Will, you'll take her?" “The way she presented her case, I don't feel I have a choice." In the uncertain light, Ross saw his brother lift a brow. “You? She must be very persuasive. And here I thought you immune to female wiles. No matter how lovely the lady." Ross had spent enough time brooding over his decision to cart along the disturbing Lady Arianne. He

changed the subject and turned the tables by saying, “Speaking of female wiles, Mother tells me you are going to propose to Lillian Cross. Of the Hartford Crosses. Congratulations." “Mother,” Robert said dryly, “gets ahead of herself at times. I have thought of it, true, but I'm not certain Lillian could handle the pressure of being wife of a senator from the state of Massachusetts." “And that is how you choose a wife? Based on whether she'll make a decent political hostess?" Robert gave him a level look. “And how should I choose a wife? Surely, you, of all people, are not going to spout at me some sort of drivel about romantic love." “No.” A short laugh. “You have the right of that." “Though,” Robert grinned, his teeth gleaming in the faded firelight, “perhaps you should have a care for the beauteous Arianne. A woman like her could cast a powerful spell, Ross." Ross tossed back the rest of his drink. “Never fear." “Men have thought that before. Odd, isn't it, this urge we all have to tie ourselves to another human being for life." Ross snorted. “Women want to tie themselves to someone for life. I don't believe that urge is the same as what we men have. Our urges are a bit more basic." “All the more why you should have a care for Miss Brooke. If she wouldn't bring out those urges, no female would." A cynical smile tugged at Ross's lips. “Robert, believe me when I say that the minute she starts to complain and whine, all that golden hair and that very lovely body will fade to nothing in my mind." His brother laughed. “So ... you have noticed her somewhat compelling charms. I wondered." “I'm not dead yet, am I?" That remark wiped the smile from Robert's face. “No, though this war frightens me. There is fighting breaking out everywhere, Ross. Have a care, will you? The Indians suddenly don't seem as much of a threat as the division of our country. Traveling will be more hazardous than ever." “Don't worry, I know the trail back to Colorado like the back of my hand. Though,” he paused meaningfully, “if this conflict worsens, I may not be back for a long time. I trust you to keep me informed of what goes on here and to explain it all to Mother." Robert looked unhappy. “I will do my best, Ross, you know that." “Of course I do.” Ross got restlessly to his feet. “I need another drink. You?" A nod. “We'll drink to an uneventful and safe journey." “I fear,” Ross muttered as he reached for the decanter, “it will take more than a toast." Chapter 3 September, 1861 Eastern Missouri The river was swollen and sullen, moving in a snaking slippery glide past high banks, never a good sign. Sunset glimmered red and gray on the horizon, making the ridges of trees look dark and inaccessible. The pervasive odor of rotting leaves and narcotic vegetation drifted to the nose. The air felt unseasonably cool and crisp with a hint of wood smoke.

He'd thought that there was no one for miles. Wood smoke. He didn't like it. Glancing at his companion, Ross Braden felt the same ripple of disbelief that he had experienced for the past few days. How the hell did he find himself in such a ridiculous situation? The slight figure in the dark trousers and concealing hat didn't fool him a bit, nor would it anyone else. From a distance it would do perhaps, but surely anyone very close could spot the deception easily. Deception. That was a laugh. He was a damn fool for thinking it would work. It was better than nothing perhaps, but ... unfortunately, Arianne Brooke looked nothing like a young lad. Covering up that cloud of golden hair helped some, but the unmistakable curve of her hips in those tight trousers was more distracting than concealing, and the slim set of her shoulders was all female. The only satisfaction gleaned from the idea had been her horrified reaction when he had gone into the store and purchased their trail gear and then presented her with the purely male clothing. Neither had she taken very well to the idea of riding astride, but he'd given her no choice. No side saddles, no elegant riding habits. The less attention drawn to the lovely Miss Brooke, the better. As a liability she was bad enough even disguised. He had to admit, that so far though, she'd been pretty game. So far. His horse shifted, nervously throwing up his head. Ross murmured, “Easy, Dante.” His hand went to the muscled power of the sleek black neck, a soothing gesture designed to quiet. The animal shifted restlessly, the bridle jingling. He tightened the rein just a fraction. Dante had proven so far to be eminently unreliable and high-strung. He would be the perfect sire for the gentle stock on the ranch, giving fire and height to the stolid working ponies, but riding him across country in unfamiliar situations might prove to be tricky. “Are we stopping?” The question was subdued, coming from just behind him. Arianne rode her mount, his own favorite cow horse, a big bay named Junior, forward. He'd discovered, to his relief, that she was a competent enough horsewoman, even with the unfamiliar saddle. “Not here.” His reply was curt. Tightening his hands on the reins further, he waited. It was going to happen, sooner or later, and it had been a rather long day. This, he thought, was when she would start it. The past two days had been a gift, born of the adventure of it all, the newness. Now, with the gloss waning away, and the grueling hours in the saddle taking their toll, she would crack and begin the complaining, the begging, the spoiled demands. Of course she would. He expected no less of a pampered English lady. Instead, she said merely, “Why not?” One slim gloved hand lifted wearily to rub her cheek. “We seem to usually stop around dark." “Smoke. Smell it?" “Smoke?" “Where there's fire, there are people." “We're moving on because someone is camping nearby?" Ross said grimly, “There's a war on around us, make no mistake. I have no inclination to run into troops from either side. Bleeding Kansas is something I remember only too well. This is still divided territory,

Miss Brooke." A frown, barely visible in the deepening gloom, wrinkled her smooth forehead. “Is the West really so vast that we can avoid people completely?" “Not completely perhaps, but the less we encounter the better.” He gave his black stallion a nudge with his heel. “And, lady, this not the West. This is civilized country, complete with villages, churches and even jails." Green-blue eyes glimmered from under the shadows of the wide brim of her hat. “Jails constitute civilization in your eyes, Mr. Braden?" “They certainly help. Jails at least represent an attempt to enforce the law." “Is there no law whatsoever in Colorado?" “Sure there is.” He guided Dante forward, following a trail that was nothing more than a deer track through the underbrush and sapling oaks. His voice cool, he said, “But it consists of a man's sense of decency. His own version of fairness and justice." Her horse was slightly back, following Dante down the narrow trail. She said to his back, “Different laws for different men? That doesn't seem practical or wise. What's to keep one bad man from doing as he pleases and hurting innocent people?" “A gun, usually.” Ross shrugged. “The ultimate law of the West. It's an unfortunate but necessary fact." He could almost feel her gaze go to the holster that lay heavy on his right thigh. The weight of the gun he carried was so familiar now he felt a little naked without it, yet she'd looked alarmed when she first saw him dressed in his trail clothes with the gunbelt strapped around his hips. Silence. The whisper of the lilting wind as it sighed mournfully through the leaves. The dull thud of the horses hooves came clearly as they began to descend into a small gulley. Somewhere beyond the river a owl called once, the sound drifting eerily on the darkening air. It was hard to tell if he had shocked her once again with his talk about the lawless territory where they were headed. He sure as hell hoped so, he promised himself as they rode on, it was something he'd been striving to do ever since they'd left the stodgy halls of Boston. On the train, the steamer, even on the first few days of the trail, he'd endeavored to answer her eager questions with the blunt, hard truth. If she couldn't take the brutal facts, she had no business in Colorado. Not that innocent, cultured, beautiful women had a place there, anyway. Trouble. He once again shook off that feeling of trepidation. He needed to look for a campsite; that was trouble enough. **** To think she'd looked forward to ending the monotony of being trapped back in her widow's disguise and stuck away as much as possible. Staring at Ross Braden's broad back, Arianne stifled an unladylike grimace of disgust and pain as she watched her companion's big horse pick his way daintily through the trees and snarl of dying honeysuckle vines. What should have been a grand adventure was turning out to be almost as dull as sitting in a steamer cabin or sleeper car and having nothing but her thoughts for company and the ever-changing landscape sliding by. At least then she'd not been racked with agony as well as boredom. She'd been riding all her life but never for all day long, much less three days in a row of hours in the saddle.

It was killing her. She felt as if her whole body would shatter into tiny pieces. Not that Ross Braden cared about her discomfort. The man simply ignored her. He'd barely spoken to her the entire journey. It wasn't that it piqued her pride, she assured herself, adjusting awkwardly in the saddle and feeling the aches in her thighs and calves pierce like tiny hot knives. She was just as glad to be left alone, without any unwanted male attention. It was more the sense of loneliness and isolation his silence created that bothered her. She was in a strange country, committing herself to the care of a person she barely knew. True, she had won, forcing his hand and making him grudgingly take her with him on his cross-land journey. But he was not a gracious loser by any means. Not a gracious man, she thought darkly. A bit disturbing, but never gracious. If she'd thought he was handsome dressed in formal clothes back in Boston, he was even more attractive in a broadcloth shirt that spanned his broad shoulders, tight-fitting pants on his lean hips and long legs, and well-worn boots. A hat was pulled low over his eyes and concealed his dark wavy hair and chiseled features. A true horseman, he sat the evil-tempered Dante like he was part of the animal. At first, she'd simply thought him angry to find himself saddled with such an unwanted burden. On the train, he'd been conspicuous by his absence, spending most of his time back in the car carrying his precious black stallion. True, the horse was difficult, she knew that, and hadn't taken well to the journey because of some injury. But once they had boarded the steamer for the remainder of their civilized journey to St. Louis, things hadn't been appreciably different. She was still delegated to her cabin almost exclusively, deprived of the freedom his presence at her side would bring. It was like being imprisoned, for he had dictated unmistakably that she was to stay put unless he was with her. One miserable stroll on the deck at nightfall was all he would allow. By the time they had disembarked, she was close to screaming. Things had only gotten worse when they had outfitted and took the trail without so much as an overnight stay at a decent hotel. She'd been entranced at first by the wild beauty of the land that was so different than the green and groomed pastures and fields of her native country. But when her exclamations of delight and excited chatter were met with nothing but grim silence, she had lapsed into a subdued quiet. Grumbling inwardly at his less than friendly behavior, she'd decided to just keep her thoughts to herself for the sake of her pride. Two nights they'd made camp and eaten in almost silence, her questions answered by the most abbreviated of responses, his face never betraying a twitch of emotion. He did everything, unsaddling the horses, gathering wood for the fire, making their dinner, setting up camp, with the same stoic expression. Damn his noble, suffering hide. They rode on. **** “You don't have to pretend,” Ross said in a dry tone. As much as he'd tried to keep distance between himself and his lovely burden, he found he couldn't quite keep quiet when she was so obviously in pain and suffering in silence. He was torn between sympathy and a deep amusement. She lifted her head and said, “Pretend?" “I was a tenderfoot once and we've ridden a long way. It seems worse on the third day for whatever reason. Groan out loud, if you want, curse, anything to make yourself feel better. The stiffness will take a few days to pass.” Poking at the fire with a long stick, he rearranged the embers to bank it for the

night. Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, he slanted her an amused look. Lady Arianne shifted a little, her soft mouth tightening into a line of obvious agony at even that slightest of movements. “I don't know what you mean,” she whispered unconvincingly. “You don't?” He leaned backwards and said with cynical observation, “Then you must be made of iron, my fair lady. Most of us common folk have to grow accustomed to life in the saddle. Maybe we're not made of the same quality as you aristocratic English bluebloods." The firelight played on her delicate features, throwing shadows under cheekbones and emphasizing the length of her long lashes. She sat awkwardly and primly on a log, without her hat, her long golden hair tumbling in unruly waves down her back, barely able to balance her plate on her knees and every action bringing a stifled wince. Her small booted feet were stretched out in front of her. He well remembered his first long journey on horseback and knew she must be in near misery. “Maybe I have a pang or two,” she admitted finally under his skeptical gaze. “And I have never thought myself better than anyone else because of my heritage, Mr. Braden." Her lofty response brought a small smile to his lips. “Mortal after all, Lady Arianne? And admitting it, no less. How refreshingly candid." “Of course I am.” She looked annoyed suddenly, lifting her shapely chin in that regal way that both irritated and intrigued him. “I simply find it easier and more dignified to ignore my discomfort than to dwell on it." “A sound idea,” he commented, poking the embers again. “I'm glad to hear it." “Besides, you made it clear, Mr. Braden, that complaints of any kind would not be tolerated.” She smiled with false sweetness, the shadows under her eyes betraying her pain and fatigue despite her brave front. She squared her shoulders and lifted her arched brows. “Let me see, how did you put it? Oh yes, you informed me at the beginning of our journey that feminine whining set your teeth on edge, particularly if done in an English accent." “It does,” he grunted, not wanting to acknowledge the grudging admiration he felt for how she had handled things so far. Part of it, he guessed despite his taunt, was a sort of aristocratic pride on her part that would not let his challenge back in Boston go. She did not want to act the pampered miss and prove him right. He added mildly, “Will has a good dose of the same stubbornness you have exhibited so far." “Stubbornness?” One delicate brow inched further upwards. “Was that a compliment, Mr. Braden? If so, maybe you should work on your technique.” Taking a bite of a biscuit, she chewed determinedly and swallowed, challenging him with her straightforward stare. “A compliment? Not particularly.” He shrugged, further amused by her obvious irritation. “Occasionally Will has trotted out that trait at inconvenient times. Once he nearly got us both killed when he refused back down over a blasted card game." She looked horrified, her lovely features blanching. Her plate tilted dangerously on her knees before she caught it. “What, killed? Will?" “Don't seem so shocked, my lady. Are you trying to tell me that dapper English gentlemen never duel over gambling disputes?" A falter. “I suppose they do, yes. I mean dueling is against the law, but some do ignore it. But not my brother." “I beg to differ. He's no more immune to a sense of outrage than any other man. And it's the same thing

here as in Britain, the same principles at stake, just a different place." The fitful evening breeze played with a few tendrils of shining golden hair that curled around her face, caressing her smooth cheek. Looking wistful in the leaping flicker of the firelight, she said, “I haven't seen Will in three years. I suppose he's changed. If what you say is true, he must have.” Her aqua eyes were shadowed and dark. “If you remember him as hot-headed, sentimental, and excessively possessive of what belongs to him, then he hasn't changed much." “He has good reason to be possessive,” she murmured. “John made sure that he knew every day of his life that Will was the younger son and would inherit nothing." Ross tossed the stick he'd been using to stir the fire into the dying flames. He said without inflection, “It's not much different here in America." She quickly shook her head. “Your older brother seemed ... kind. He's nothing like John, believe me." “I do believe you. Robert is a decent sort, even if he is a hide-bound politician at heart. I thank heaven that I wasn't my father's only son for we probably would have killed each other by now.” Ross stopped abruptly, realizing what he had said. He had no idea why he made that confession. “I barely remember my parents.” Her voice was hushed and she stared down at her uneaten food. Dammit it all, he found himself feeling empathy for her. Orphaned, ostracized by her family, in an unfamiliar world with an unwilling guide, she must feel very much alone. On the other hand, she was a very beautiful young woman who was used to luxury and adulation. She was spoiled, impulsive, and proud, which is how she had landed herself in such a predicament. Ross shifted and said evenly, “Will said they both died in a sailing accident." “Yes." “How old were you?" A slight smile moved her full mouth. “Five." So young to be left to the tender mercies of John, the selfish brother that Will so heartily despised. It made Ross uncomfortable to think about it. Pity, he'd found in the past, was a weakness. He stood and flexed his muscles, knowing the twinges he felt—after a month in Boston—were nothing compared to what lay in store for the aristocratic Miss Brooke. “Are you finished?" She nodded, relinquishing her plate as he came over to retrieve it. “Thank you." “You didn't eat much.” He surveyed an almost full plate of beans and a half eaten biscuit with the cynical suspicion that the fare was a little too plain for her tastes. That would change. One had to eat and that was all there was. “I'm sorry, I wasn't very hungry." “If you are in too much pain in the morning,” he announced, staring down at her lovely upturned face, “we could stay here for a day. A little rest would help ease your aching ... er ... muscles, and Dante isn't accustomed to this pace either.” He glanced around at the darkened forest surrounding their little camp. “This isn't a bad place and seems quiet enough." It had been a find actually, a small hollow ringed by trees and close to a bubbling spring that fed a meandering creek. A thin wind shuffled the leaves in the tops of the trees, but it was warm and calm by the fire.

“I'll be fine.” She held herself stiffly, obviously not wanting to move in front of him in case she betrayed any sign of pain. Stubborn wasn't the word. Look how she had twisted him into bringing her along. Unbelievable. “Suit youself,” he said. **** Fire was climbing up her spine and singeing her nerves into knots of complete agony. Arianne gritted her teeth and kept upright through sheer determination. Sitting up had been a lesson in pain, her body betraying her utterly. Her legs felt disengaged from the rest of her; weak, wobbly, and unresponsive. Her backside ached like the very devil, and she felt that crawling like a babe might be the best she could manage. No, she was not going to give in to it. The last thing she could tolerate in her current state would be that self-satisfied smirk on Ross Braden's handsome face. You won't survive the trip ... coddled English ladies... Gritting her teeth, she struggled somehow to her feet. Still clad in the dusty clothes she'd worn the day before, she squinted up at the sun breaking over the feathery tops of the trees, her breath catching at the chill air filling her lungs. She didn't, she had to think with a twinge of amusement overriding her discomfort, feel the least coddled. Green leaves, soft springy grass, an incredible rosy sky just tinged with blue as the light spread upward in slow magical progress. The air was so clean it was almost intoxicating. A high ridge ran along one side of their campsite and the beds of rock were actually distinguishable, as if layer had been laid upon layer. Topped with trees, it made her feel a little safer in this wild world. In spite of all her pain, it was rather glorious. She had never slept outdoors before this trip and certainly never in the dirty clothes she'd worn for two days. And while she itched to wash, there was a haunting exhilaration in this departure from civilized life. Speaking of uncivilized, Ross Braden was nowhere to be seen. His magnificent black horse grazed quietly a hundred feet away, which was reassuring because if the skittish animal was so calm, surely there was no danger. Her own mount, a rangy bay gelding named Junior that Ross claimed to have owned for years, was nowhere in sight. He must have taken the horse and gone somewhere. Thank heavens. She needed the privacy and was going to take advantage of it. Grabbing her saddlebag and tottering forward like a feeble old woman, she hobbled toward the sound of running water. The morning grass was damp with dew, soaking the dark trousers Ross insisted she wear to mid-calf. She stumbled forward toward where a brook tumbled along near the edge of the small meadow next to their camp. Her legs felt strung with wire that had been wound too tight, refusing to work properly. The pain was nearly excruciating. She essentially fell to her knees, dropping the pack and groaning out loud. Plunging her wrists into the clear stream that gurgled over pebbles as shiny and perfect as gemstones, she hung there for a long moment, letting the icy liquid gush over her hands and arms. Dear God, she had no idea her body could ache in so many places. Hard ground to sleep on, hard saddles to ride on, and endless grinding miles over uneven countryside had jolted, stretched, and generally abused every muscle in her body. Only permitted what society considered to be the type of exercise a young lady of breeding should indulge in, she simply was not

used to so much physical activity. At nineteen, she felt a hundred. How Ross Braden would laugh, the thought drifted to her, if he could see her helpless and lolling on the bank of the stream. He would take great pleasure in pointing out in that caustic, precise drawl of his that he had expected her collapse all along. That thought alone prodded her into straightening and lifting her dripping hands to her face. Cool water trickled down her face and neck. Arianne shivered. What she needed was a bath and a hot breakfast to set her aright. There was no way she was going to let Braden be right. There would be no begging for a day of rest. She refused to be a coddled English lady. Yet the thought of climbing back on a horse ... a small shudder crept up her spine as she imagined the sheer effort it would take to maintain a normal facade. Glancing back, she could still see the tiny camp where they'd slept, her saddle and blanket by the remains of the fire. She needed more cover, some privacy and moments to herself in case he came back. The grass was long, but not quite enough. She wobbled toward a bush that grew at the curve of the creek, the branches trailing languid fingers into the moving water. It was deeper there, at least a few feet of clear pure water with a sandy bottom. Looking around, she saw nothing moving but the quiet horse nipping the grass. She was alone. Working quickly, she unwound the strip of ribbon that secured her heavy hair and worked through the tangled strands until it hung loose on her shoulders and down her back. Taking a deep breath, she slipped off her trousers and waded in, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. Tossing her shirt on the bank, she gasped as she sank into the cold water. It was a combination of wonder and agony. The icy water slid over her skin, smooth as silk. Arianne arched her neck and let her hair trail into the moving stream, rejoicing in washing off the dust of the trail. Taking a bar of soap from her pack, she scrubbed with vigor, but the cold of the stream was insidious and she was shivering violently a few minutes later when she climbed out and dried herself with her discarded shirt. Dressing quickly in the second set of clean clothes that Ross had bought in St. Louis, she gathered her damp, dirty clothes and her bag, limping back toward camp. Only to stop dead in her tracks. Good Heavens, she'd been right to worry. He was back. Ross was crouched by the fire, wielding a pan that emitted the tantalizing fragrance of bacon. Hatless, his dark curling hair gleamed with moisture, as if he too, had decided to put the stream to good use earlier. He wore faded trousers that clung to his lean legs and a soft brown shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The muscles in his forearms rippled impressively as he lifted and tilted the iron pan. He was, she couldn't help but notice not for the first time, a very good-looking man. A very dangerous and disturbing man. She could hardly forget all those rumors back in Boston. “Good morning,” she said faintly. He didn't even look up. His response was acerbic. “Did you enjoy yourself?" “Enjoy myself?" “Your bath."

“It ... it was quite cold." With typical curtness, he said, “The weather isn't likely to warm up with winter around the corner. Get used to it." “You asked, sir. And I was commenting, not complaining.” She dropped her saddlebag with a thump, staring at his bent head. He'd even shaved, the clean line of his jaw gleaming in the morning sunlight. His profile might have been carved from stone. A lock of damp, dark hair hung disarmingly over his forehead in a boyish curl. “Don't wander from camp again." It was something in the way he said it. The words themselves were not abrasive, but his tone sent tingles of irritation flowing down her nerves. “Excuse me?” Arianne felt her mouth tighten. “Do I need to explain?” He lifted his head, his dark gaze meeting hers with a startling, intense vitality. “If I'm not here, don't leave camp, it's too dangerous. That seems simple enough." “Not to me." “Really? What don't you understand?" The implication that she was slow-witted made her clench her teeth. “Don't be ridiculous. There is no one for miles. Besides, I wasn't far." “It's an order, Miss Brooke, not a request. You wanted to come along for this ride, so you can obey the rules." Good heavens, surely she was allowed a bath now and again. Fighting anger, she commented coldly, “As long as they are not absurd. What's wrong with a little cleanliness? You seem to have bathed yourself, Mr. Braden." “I'll decide what is absurd and what isn't, understand, angel?” His smile was pure arrogance. Trying to hold on to her temper, she said sweetly, “I have no say? I understand that when the colonies broke away from England it was in order to form a democracy. Or am I mistaken? You Americans trot out your liberality with annoying frequency. Is it simply hypocrisy?" “I don't even pretend to represent a whole nation, and don't pull out your grand airs, they make no impression whatsoever on me.” His expression was infuriatingly bland. “Play the regal lady for someone else." Anger rose, breaking in a tide that brought heat to her cheeks. Really, the man was intolerable. She had followed his orders so far without comment, even to wearing boy's trousers, riding astride, and enduring his rude silences. But this was too much. She said in a tight, flat voice, “Mr. Braden, I am not a child and will not be treated as one. I escaped London on my own, made it to Boston on my own, and I can take care of myself." He dropped the pan on to the glowing coals and came to his feet in a swift, graceful movement. His dark eyes were unreadable. “Can you really?” he asked softly as he stepped closer. His shoulders were very, very wide. “I'm a grown woman.” Arianne snapped out the words, standing her ground and tossing back her damp hair. Damn him, she refused to be cowed. “Ah,” his gaze narrowed on her face, “a grown woman. True enough. But that is the problem, isn't it?” He towered over her, taller by at least seven or eight inches.

“What does that mean? I don't see..." He moved so swiftly that she didn't even realize what he was doing until he caught her wrist in his long, strong fingers and pulled her abruptly forward. Off balance suddenly, she stumbled and fell against him. The scent of leather, tobacco, and clean cloth. Arianne jerked backwards, incredulous at the sudden attack, and he caught her other wrist with his free hand as she tried to push against his broad chest. Both arms were wrenched behind her back, leaving her immobile in his relentless grip. “Very much a grown woman indeed.” He spoke softly, jerking her closer, his face inches from her own, staring down at her. Her breasts were touching his chest, which was unsettling and embarrassing. “Yes, you are. I'll not argue that point." “What are you doing?” She squirmed, furious and a little afraid. Ross Braden didn't seem like the kind of man who exerted himself for no reason and she felt a twinge of apprehension clench in her stomach. It was like struggling with a block of granite. Without losing his grip, he transferred both of her wrists to one powerful hand, the other coming around to catch her chin. His long fingers were warm against her cool skin. To her alarm, his gaze dropped to her mouth. “An experiment,” it was said in an offhand way, “to see just how well you can take care of yourself." “Let me go,” she panted and tried in vain to kick his shin without losing her balance. “Free yourself.” A challenge. His dark eyes gleamed. He easily forced her closer so that she was pressed indecently to the line of his hard body. Oh God. Trying to cover her fear with anger, she spat out, “Don't be ridiculous. You are twice my size and I would hardly stoop to struggling with the likes of you..." Her breathless protest was cut off by his mouth coming down hard to cover her own. She had never been so shocked in her life. Heat, fury, helplessness. All three washed over her in an instant. Dimly it registered; the man was kissing her. He must be out of his mind, accosting her in such a fashion. As far as she could tell, he didn't even like her. His lips were firm, hot, and absolutely insistent. Stunned by his audacity and her vulnerability, Arianne went perfectly still. Her position, pressed against his lean body and held immobile, was a secondary consideration to the sensation of being kissed in such an audacious way. It was like being licked by fire. His mouth did not caress, it claimed with fierce possession, allowing no resistance. It was softness and steel, tenderness and violence all rolled into one moment. His tongue traced the line of her lips and with his fingers he applied pressure to her chin, letting her know he wanted inside. For some unknown reason, some wild instinct perhaps laced with a great deal of curiosity, she complied, opening her mouth. Instantly the kiss deepened as his tongue slid inside, touching her own in a scandalous fashion. Barbarian, she thought frantically. Yet he was not hurting her. She was barely aware of it when he let go of her wrists, his fingers sliding into her damp hair, cupping her head. The other hand came upward to slide along the curve of her throat, feather-soft and light. His mouth slanted over hers for what seemed forever, his tongue probing deeply, caressing and teasing. When he finally lifted his head and broke the kiss, he was breathing quickly.

The dark eyes were unfathomable, staring downward. Shattering the spell, he said hoarsely, “Have you gotten the point or shall we continue?" Arianne swallowed, still acutely aware of their bodies pressed together, the iron of his thighs against hers, her curves and softness a foil for the muscular flatness of his chest and stomach. His face was just inches away and she could see the classic masculine perfection of his features, the fine arched brows, the clean line of jaw and mouth, those penetrating startling eyes. Clearing her throat, she said in a wobbly voice, “Further manhandling is not necessary, Mr. Braden. I understand perfectly that I am a member of the weaker sex. That was never in question. This entire demonstration was simply in ... bad taste." His brows shot up. “Really. I thought you tasted ... delicious. And I could swear I felt some growing enthusiasm on your part." “Let me go!” It was a gasp of embarrassment. He was truly the most outrageous, irritating... He complied, stepping backwards. Putting his hands on his hips, he cocked a brow. His firm, sensual mouth curved in a mocking smile. He said softly, “What you need to understand, angel, is that where we are now, and more so where we are going, there is no law but possession." Rubbing her wrists, Arianne summoned every ounce of dignity in her being to say calmly, “I belong to no one but myself." “Unless some lucky drifter stumbles on you naked in a stream taking a bath. Then you would belong to him, at least for however long it took to rape you.” His words were brutally frank, his expression grim. “I won't let that happen.” She swallowed, feeling vaguely sick. “Good girl. The best way to do that is to stay in camp unless I'm within calling distance. Understand? I want your word, for whatever it is worth." Her brows shot up. “What?” she exploded, suddenly more furious than ever before in her life. “For what it is worth? How dare you be so insulting after the way you just insulted me!" “I have never understood how a simple kiss is supposed to be an insult.” He actually laughed. “That, sir, is because you are a crude anti-social heathen.” Her voice shook, spoiling the disparaging comparison. “Ah, that must explain it.” His mouth curved in a wicked grin. “Now, your word, my lady. Will you give it?" Hotly, she said, “How could I not when you made your case so ... so inventively." He turned then, dropping back down to the neglected pan on the fire. The bacon was smoking, and he expertly scooped it toward the edge of the pan. “Understand this, Miss Brooke. I didn't want it but I'm responsible for you until I deliver you to Will. I intend to deliver the package as undamaged as possible." “How noble.” Her voice was hollow as she watched him tend to their breakfast. “You have no idea, Miss Brooke.” It was a mutter to the fire, and she barely caught it. He lifted his head in an almost weary gesture. “If you're hungry, I suggest you get out two plates and the biscuits from yesterday. They are in the supply pack over there." The enormity of what he had done seemed like nothing to him. Arianne stood there, still fuming, and watched him with a feeling of almost confusion. Who was he, she wondered bitterly, protector or predator?

“Miss Brooke.” The keen eyes glanced upward. “What?” she asked stiffly. “I believe I asked you to do something. Or are you too much a lady to do a little work?" She lifted her chin and took a swift breath. “I will be happy to contribute, Mr. Braden." He said flatly, “Get moving before our food grows cold." She hesitated only a second. Then, concealing a wince, she moved stiffly toward the pack. **** Ross munched his piece of blackened bacon, inwardly cursing himself for being an idiot. He must have lost his mind; there was no other explanation for such a mistake. Perhaps it had been the sight of her; long hair curling damply down her back in slick, dark gold rivulets, that perfect skin glowing with the morning cold from the stream, her slim figure not the least boyish in the clothes he'd purchased back in Illinois. Back in Boston, she'd been very beautiful. Now, here, set against the wilderness of hills, trees, and rampant grasses, with her wild wet hair and defiant stance, she was stunning. And he'd been just stupid enough to put his hands on her. Not just his hands either, but his mouth and body, branding his senses with the essence of something that he could not touch. Rarely was he such a fool. The miles ahead suddenly stretched in painful eternity. Getting to his feet, he stalked off with the pan to the stream to wash it. They needed to get moving. Chapter 4 The ring felt as heavy as lead in her hand. It was cold too, like trying to hold a nugget of ice. Her fingers ached horribly from just touching it. Arianne was only too glad to hand it over to the rabbity man behind the counter, watching him bend over it greedily. “Lady, it's real,” he said incredulously, lifting his head. His beady eyes shone in the unreal light. “Of course it is.” Her lips felt stiff. “And old.” He licked his thick lips, practically drooling over the gem in his hand. “Centuries old,” she confirmed. She could feel them, the ghosts of the Carlisle family, gibbering at her from the depths of their clammy graves. Maybe that was the enveloping sensation of dread that was running up and down her spine. Whatever it was, just looking at the jewel made her feel queasy and ill. “I've never seen anything quite like it. It must be an heirloom. Are you sure you want to sell it?" “Very sure.” Couldn't he see how she loathed the thing? Impatience rose almost like a panic. “Can you tell me how much it is worth?" The temptation to cheat her was there; she could sense it in the shift of his eyes and the sallow gleam of his cheeks in the inadequate light. But then he shook his head and set the ring on the counter, pushing it regretfully toward her. “I cannot set a figure to it. A fortune, Madame, that is all I have to say."

“You have no desire to purchase it?” She felt strangled with the need to be rid of it once and for all. And she needed money. Desperately. Money to escape him. She had given every dime she had scraped together before she left England to pay for her train and steamboat tickets. “Oh yes, I have very much the desire. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. But, Madame, I could not afford it. Not if I sold my shop and everything I own.” Pale watery eyes blinked at her. His thin mouth curved regretfully. There was no use for it; she had to pick up the hateful thing. Lifting it gingerly, she went to absently slip it on to her finger, but thought better of it and dropped into her reticule instead. She could still feel Jared's long elegant fingers slipping it on to her finger and sense his awful gloating triumph. She would never wear it again. She would rather die first. Turning to leave the shop, she glanced up just in time to see a figure materialize in the doorway. Blond hair, sculpted lips, strong chin ... and the eyes, blue as a deep ocean and so iceberg cold that the air around began to freeze and paralyze. Oh God, he'd found her. She couldn't move, not even to scream. Please ... please... She whispered, “Jared, please ... no." And he smiled with chilling purpose as he reached for her. **** She was dreaming. Ross propped himself on one elbow and listened to the small sounds of distress coming from her slender form, muffled as they were by the blanket she had pulled upward over her face. Arianne Brooke moaned like wounded animal and then cried out, her scream piercing through the quiet night. The word was intelligible but he thought it was a name. Instantly he was out of his bedroll, bending over her and shaking her shoulder. At the touch of his fingers, she flinched violently away, rolling dangerously toward the dying embers of their evening fire, her slim body twisted in her blanket. “No! Please no. Don't touch me!” Her voice was panicked, anguished with obvious terror. “Miss Brooke.” Going down on one knee, he caught her writhing form by the shoulders and held her out of danger, tugging the blanket off her face. She struggled for a moment and then went very still. He said softly, “Arianne, listen, it's me, Ross Braden." Wide terrified eyes stared up at him from a pale face framed by disheveled hair that gleamed purest gold-red under the dying firelight. Her throat moved convulsively as she recognized him. Her lips formed the word faintly. “Ross?" “None other." “Oh.” A swallow. After just a few days on the trail, he thought sardonically, years of social training fell away and they

were so quickly to first names. Hardship had a way of equalizing the balance. He said, “It was a dream." “Thank God.” Her eyes shut briefly. She lay limply in her tangled blanket, soft and vulnerable in the aftermath of whatever had frightened her so much, the open throat of her blouse showing the quivering muscles of her slender throat. It must have been one hell of a dream, he thought curiously, noting the gleam of tears on her lashes. Her cheeks were wet as well, betraying her agitation. Kneeling beside her, he asked slowly, “Are you all right?" A swallow. “Yes ... yes, of course. As you said, it was just a dream. It can't hurt me." The night was fine, clear and bright with stars in a sky so vast that the enormity of it seemed to challenge the mind to accept it. They were camped on a gentle grassy hill with nothing but more rolling hills and huddled trees in the distance. He crouched there in the soft grass, frowning down at her, his hands still holding her trembling shoulders. Everyone had nightmares now and then, he'd had a few himself, but her reaction seemed extreme. “Does this happen often?" “No." “You're cold,” he said quietly. He wasn't so emotionally far gone and detached, he told himself as he stared at her, or so out of touch with the notion of chivalry that he didn't at least have some compassion for a suffering creature, human or otherwise. He offered, “Do you want me to build up the fire?" “I ... yes, please." He let her go and moved to stir the glowing coals and add wood, acutely aware of her sitting up behind him and shivering in the night air. The dry kindling caught on easily and he carefully piled small branches on top until he had a solid blaze going. “Better?” He sent her a brief glance as she edged forward. She was still pale and the hands she held to the flames were quivering, but she nodded gratefully. “Better." The blanket had slipped to the ground and she leaned forward on her knees, her slim body defined by the darkness and the fire. Her blouse was unbuttoned at least halfway, something which had undoubtedly happened during her restless tossing. Ross could not help it, his gaze went to where the generous upper swell of her smooth breasts were visible through the gaping fabric, then it traveled down to her shapely hips outlined in the tight trousers. In hindsight, he thought for hundredth time as he stared, the disguise was more than ludicrous; it was downright dangerous. Rather than making her look like a young boy, it emphasized her femininity in a devastating way. Though it was the last thing he wanted, his body began to react, to tighten uncomfortably in arousal. She noticed the direction of his stare and glanced down, her shaking hands hastily going to fasten the errant buttons. Spots of color appeared on her cheekbones. It was not the first time she'd caught him staring since they had started out on this journey; he knew that. She blurted out, “I'm terribly sorry if I woke you." Tearing his burning gaze away, he said hoarsely, “It's nothing." “I really rarely have nightmares." Somehow, he felt this was a lie. “A good thing,” he murmured, sinking back on his heels, “as this one

did not sound too pleasant. Tell me, who is David?" “David?” She blinked. “It was hard to hear clearly. You sounded most distressed and David appeared to be the cause." “Oh ... no, not David.” She bit her lip. The firelight teased her hair with ruby glints over the gold. Her almost angelic beauty was made more poignant by the evidence of disquietude in her wet cheeks and trembling hands. How he wished he could ignore that particular observation, but he couldn't. Not with his mind, or his body. Dammit. “What was the name then?” he pressed, not to be cruel but he was damned interested and talking took his mind off of this traitorous sexual interest in his best friend's very beautiful sister. “Jared.” A whisper. Her lashes fluttered slightly. “Jared, then. Who is he?" “The man my brother wanted me to marry. He's why I left London." He was sure his expression did not change enough to expose the small shock that statement made. The interest he'd felt in her story back Boston had been negligible. He'd assumed she was being dramatic to stir his sympathy, and by God, it had worked, hadn't it? One simper from a those soft lips, one pleading glance from those incredible eyes, he had mocked himself often enough in the past two weeks, and he had folded his hand almost without a fight. For Will, he had assured himself more than once. Which just might be a lie and Ross made a habit of trying to be honest with himself. Shrugging off that notion, he asked, “What exactly is your objection to this Jared?" “My objection?” Arianne's hands still shook as she warmed them again over the growing flames. She was looking at the fire, her profile defined by the shimmering light of the flames. Ross prodded, “Is he ugly? Stupid? Poor?" Silence. The prairie stretched out vast and cold around them. The sky above was very dark, with the pale globe of the moon hanging very low on the horizon. Only the low whisper of the wind across the grass vied with their low voices. Earlier a pack of wolves had given a lonely and eerie vocal performance but they had faded away and the immediate world was silent with sleep. A muscle twitched convulsively at the side of Arianne's mouth and her thick lashes drooped. “No, not at all,” she admitted softly. “Quite the opposite. Jared Carlisle is handsome, intelligent, and rich as a nabob. He inherited a dukedom at age eighteen." And he had wanted to marry Arianne. Who could, after all, blame him? She was probably the most beautiful woman Ross had ever seen and while there may not be many beauties to choose from in Colorado, he'd sampled a good deal of what Boston had to offer before heading west. “Quite a paragon,” Ross remarked darkly, stirring the fire unnecessarily, and studying her expression. He irrationally disliked the bastard already. “Titled, rich and good-looking. And he fell in love with you and wanted to marry you." “It wasn't love,” she said quickly and firmly, finally turning her head and meeting his eyes. “Never that." “What was it, then?"

“Obsession, perhaps.” Her aqua eyes were suddenly swimming with tears again and she blinked several times, smoothing her hands across her knees slowly. “I'd just had my coming out and I caught his interest. He ... he pursued me. It was extravagant and very public, which turned out to be awkward for the both of us." “Awkward how?" Her response was low, spoken in the same hushed and unemotional tone, “He offered for me." “You sound perfect for one another." She shook her head wildly. “No ... not at all. And his proposal was maybe one of the most awful moments of my life. It was one of those grand gestures, with hothouse roses and an orchestra and people in attendance." “Sounds like he was sure of his answer.” Ross felt a perverse sense of satisfaction that Arianne Brooke was not at this very moment ensconced in some mansion, sharing her bed with a handsome aristocrat. She shuddered slightly. “I refused him. I ... I couldn't possibly accept, not the way I felt. There was an awful scene, as you can imagine. Jared was so unused to that kind of ... disappointment. I doubt he'd been denied anything he wanted in his whole life. The idea began to consume him. It became a matter of pride, a contest of wills." Fighting down an unwanted bite of what could only be stupid and irrational jealousy, Ross said sharply, “I'm surprised, considering his attributes, that you would refuse him in the first place." Arianne hunched her shoulders. Above her, the night sky gleamed with silver perfect stars. Her hair glimmered like rippling water as she moved. She said softly, “A lovely piece of fruit can be wonderful to look at, yet rotten inside." His brows arched upward at the stirring conviction in her voice. “Jared Carlisle is rotten inside?" “Yes.” A whisper. “Not that most people can see it. He is skilled at deception, believe me. Most of polite society thought him the catch of the season and myself the perfect fool. They positively fawn on him, which he thinks only his due. None of it helps matters. He only grows more conceited, more spoiled and demanding." The smell of the fire was sharp, tangy with the breeze. Ross asked in a deliberately casual tone, “But not you? How is that?" Arianne shivered then, a small shudder that racked her slender form. “No, not me. I learned the hard way what he is." His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean? What did he do to you?" She shifted, her body language eloquent of her distress. “Never mind, Ross. Do we have to discuss this? I think I've answered enough questions. I'd rather ... not remember the details." “That's unfortunate, but I think I have a right to ask a question or two. After all, you did end up in my lap, so to speak. Was your brother John one of the people that Carlisle had fooled? Is that why he pushed for this marriage?" Arianne shook her head. “No. John knew the man and just what he was, believe me." “And yet he still wanted you to marry such a man?” Ross felt a lick of anger on her behalf stir in his veins. Arianne stared at the fire, her lovely face intent with unwanted memory. “He had no choice. Jared charmed him, like he charms everyone at first, and then led him to ruin. Financially, I mean. It was all

deliberate and well-thought out. John invested all he had, every shilling of the Brooke fortune, in this scheme that failed miserably. In the end, Jared owned the family estate, the townhouse in London ... everything. We were paupers and at his mercy." At the mercy of a spoiled manipulative man who would do anything to get what he wanted. Ross guessed, “But if you married him, he would give it all back?" Her smile was strained. “Something like that. There were papers signed, solicitors involved. John was frantic ... he insisted I had no choice. For him, for myself, for his family. His desperation was painful and humiliating, even to me. John has always been self-serving but this was worse. So much worse. I actually thought he might do himself harm, leaving my sister-in-law a penniless widow with three young children." “A coward takes that path.” Ross let the disgust he felt color his tone. “Perhaps. I don't know if John is precisely a coward, he is simply weak." “Will has mentioned once or twice that your older brother was a worthless chunk of humanity. He certainly is weak and a coward if he intended to sacrifice you to cover his own stupidity.” Ross felt oddly as if he could strangle the man just thinking about it. His hands knotted into fists. “You live in two different worlds,” Arianne mumbled defensively. He countered crisply, “At one time, we did not. I left that world because of hypocrisy like his." She looked away, her face touched by the firelight. “I'm sure he told himself that if Jared wanted to marry me so badly, he would be kind to me." A spark shot out of the fire like a bullet from a gun. Ross stared at the girl across from him, noting her pale, set face and quivering mouth. This long after the dream and she was still shaken. He asked with lethal softness, “And would he have been? This man who still gives you nightmares, would he have been kind to you?" Arianne swallowed hard, her reply soft and frightening, “I left England so I would never have to find out the answer to that question." **** Her eyes felt dry as dust and ached with lack of sleep. Though after days now in the saddle she was not quite as stiff, muscles unused to such activity still throbbed dully with every movement of her horse. Arianne squinted at the noonday sun and sighed. Hours to go and she was nodding in the saddle. It was bad enough to spill her woes to a man as cold and distant as Ross Braden, but to lie awake for hours afterward, staring at the stars and remembering the events that had sent her fleeing her civilized home for the wilds of Colorado, that was pure foolishness. Cold. Distant. Irritating. Words she had used in her mind a thousand times so far on the trip to describe her companion. Yet, the night before he had seemed ... different. True, he had insisted she tell him what he wanted to know with his own particular brand of ruthless determination, but he had also seemed to sympathize with her plight. She wondered if he had sensed, with that keen perception that seemed so much a part of him, that she hadn't given him the whole story. His profile was remote as she chanced a glance over at where he sat his horse, his features icy even in the blazing heat. A shadow of dark whiskers crept along the sculpted line of his jaw and his mouth was set firmly. He wore his hat pulled low and constantly scanned the countryside as they rode, as if trouble lurked around every corner. Wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, he was wide-shouldered and lean-hipped,

sitting his horse like he was part of the animal and so at ease that his hands did not seem to move to direct the stallion where to go. The land had flattened imperceptibly all day and in front of them rolled a vista of scrub brush and tall grasses, punctuated occasionally by small groves of trees. Arianne had no idea how Ross knew his way, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Once, far in the distance, she had spied a group of horsemen, no more than a blur on the wild horizon. She had to wonder if those figures were the cause of his vigilance. She couldn't help but recall Laura's comments about Indians and outlaws. A small shiver crept down her spine. It was a little frightening to realize just how lost she would be without him. If he chose to abandon her, she would undoubtedly die in this vast, wild place. Being so entirely at the mercy of another human being was a new experience. Or was it? Not so much different than being dependent on John and his high-handed tactics, though of the two, she vastly preferred the forthright Mr. Braden. At least he wanted nothing from her. “Stop!" The order startled her. She started to pull back but Junior had already obeyed his master's command. Ross had reined in, half-turning in his saddle toward the east. His expression was shuttered, his dark eyes hard as polished steel. “That's it. I smell smoke and can't ignore it any longer. I have for several hours now but I was hoping it would clear away." “More campfires?” Arianne asked wearily, shifting her seat. “Really, Ross, what harm will it be to run into someone—" “Be quiet.” The order was terse. He lifted his hand, his face tilted into the breeze. In her semi-stupor, Arianne was only too glad to oblige. Her body ached, her head was heavy and she felt like she could fall off her horse and lay happily on the ground for about the next year. His dark gaze swung to her and she caught the blaze of something in his eyes. “I hope I'm wrong,” his voice was grim, “but I think we might be in the path of a prairie fire. Do you smell it?" “No, I don't.” Arianne shook her head. She could smell nothing but her horse, acrid dust, and the sharp tang of the outdoors. “What's a prairie fire?" Ross paid no attention. He muttered, “Just our luck, the wind is picking up. There's a river a few miles ahead. I think we'd better head for there pronto and seek safety." “Why? Ross, what's the hurry? I can't even smell anything and—" “Come on. Ride." He didn't wait for her. Arianne saw him urge Dante forward with his knees, his lean form slanting forward over the neck of the great black. Her own mount followed without even a signal, nearly unseating her as Junior surged ahead. She felt the tears begin to stream from her eyes as they raced on, her face stung by the rushing air. Never having galloped astride before, much less in her stiff and sore condition, the sudden acceleration was difficult to bear. Losing the stirrups, she held on for dear life to the saddle horn and let the horse have his head. He was, she thought in dim resentment, following Ross's orders anyway. She vowed she would not disgrace herself by falling off as they clambered over small swales and raced over the uneven ground at a jarring pace. She'd been riding since she was a young child and refused to submit to her exhaustion and the unfamiliar saddle and mode of riding.

It seemed an eternity until he slowed to a rough jolting trot by a sweeping line of willow trees. Junior, as usual, followed Ross's lead more than hers and slowed as well, giving her a chance to regain her seat and stirrups. Swiping at her streaming eyes, Arianne said crossly, “Are you sure? I don't understand your panic. I don't even smell smoke." His dark eyes gleamed as he turned in the saddle and his smile was mocking. “You will, my pampered English miss, you will." “But, Ross..." He snapped out, “Look, Arianne. You wanted me to take you West. I'm doing just that. Stop arguing with me and listen. Everything I say, and I mean every single word, you are to take literally, understand? I've survived these fires before and intend to do so again." “Of course I understand,” she shot right back. “Despite what you frequently try to imply, Ross, I am not an idiot." He actually looked surprised. “I have never implied any such thing." Her brows went up in disbelief. “Really? I could swear you treat me like I am a brainless doll most of the time." “On the contrary, you seem to possess moderate intelligence. For a woman, of course." “Moderate?” Fury and outrage made her breath clog in her throat, impeding further speech. “Why, you ... you..." Laughing out loud for the first time since she'd met him, Ross nudged Dante closer, leaning over and lightly touching her cheek. His dark eyes danced with cool amusement. “I was joking, Annie. Save your energy for the next few hours instead of expending it on being angry with me. You're going to need all the strength you can muster." **** He was rarely frightened, but these fires never failed to take his breath away. It was coming with a chilling velocity, the wall of flames high and daunting, the smell so acrid and choking that Ross wet his bandana and draped and tied it over the lower part of his face just to be able to breathe, instructing Arianne to do the same. Smoke obscured the sky, billowing in beautiful white clouds that rolled and writhed with an unnatural life of their own. The wind already brought cinders of black fluff and bits of embers that hissed and glowed with eerie anger as they hit the water surrounding them. The roar in the distance was ominous. And there was more than just the threat of the fire to keep him busy. It was going to take everything he had to keep Dante from bolting. The high-strung black strained against his bridle, rolling his eyes so that white gleamed against his dark coat, his muzzle dripping foam as he reared and fought for freedom. Waist deep in the river, Ross wasn't at all sure he'd be able to hold the animal when the fire swept past them. Not a novice with horses, he still wasn't certain, if it came down to man or beast, which would take the day. And then what the hell would they do? Not only would he lose his valuable animal, they'd be down to one horse for two riders and a lot of miles between them and Colorado. Arianne was finally frightened, Ross could tell. Her face was pale and she huddled next to Junior, hatless, her long braid streaming, the damp blouse sticking enticingly to her skin. He'd told her to immerse herself in the water and she hadn't hesitated to duck under, obediently dampening the horse's mane and tail with water as he instructed. The lovely blue-green of her eyes were wide and fixed with

horror on that advancing wall of smoke. Though it was an odd thought for the moment, he couldn't help but note that as much as he hated to admit it, she had been true to her word so far. Not once had she complained, not even when he had so forcefully kissed her. The kiss. She'd tasted beautifully sweet, like honey and innocence. A hell of a time to think of that, he reminded himself sourly, with a firestorm bearing down on them. Inevitably, the animals came, signaling the worst. Rabbits and deer first, and innumerable small rodents that streamed into the water in a unending wave. A coyote swam past, so close that Ross could have reached out and touched his head. The crackle of the flames drowned out all noise and Dante surged against his rein. Ross braced his weight and held on, swearing profusely. A snake slid past Arianne, at least four feet long and gleaming black against the lurid water. She didn't even flinch, her own face white as chalk and her hands clutching at Junior almost more for support than restraint. Breast deep in the water, she seemed mesmerized and almost trance-like. The thickness of the air was like a smothering blanket, choking the lungs and making his eyes stream with stinging tears. Here it came. He could feel the fury and force of it as it advanced. The partition of heat and flying embers hit the shore in a bevy of sound and ferocity. Ross cringed back against the furnace blast and held hard to his heaving horse, his eyes protesting from the smoke and heat. Animals screamed, the sound distant and vague above the fiery and demonic crackle. Dante was insane, out of control and frightening, his weight surging through the water, tossing Ross around like a toy. Glad that he had cautioned Arianne and Junior to stay safely downriver, Ross clung to his lead and used his own dead weight to subdue the animal, hoping that once the wall had passed, he would calm down. It seemed an eternity before the sky lightened perceptibly and the air was fit to breath; yet it was probably just minutes. “Ross?” The call was high and thin. “Here,” he called back, still calming his frightened horse. Quieting under his master's hand, Dante quivered and shook but finally stood firm. Smoke trailed across the water like an early morning mist. Ross squinted painfully, his eyes feeling raw and swollen. “Arianne? Annie, where are you?" Then he saw her. Clinging to Junior's saddle, she was wet and bedraggled, her face streaked with soot, the bandana gone. Large embers still floated between them in the sluggish water, fiery bright. She coughed, her light voice hoarse and weak. “I think I need to apologize for doubting you. I guess you were right about the fire." Choking and coughing himself, he began to laugh. Chapter 5 The world smelled like the inside of an old chimney. Or maybe it was just her clothes, her bedroll, her hair. They had finally ridden out of the fire-ravaged damage in late afternoon but the memory still seemed to linger. Arianne twisted in her blankets and swallowed painfully, her throat still raw from the smoke and heat that had rushed in and enveloped them, almost to their deaths. That was plain fact. If it hadn't been for Ross, they would be dead. He had anticipated the disaster, he

had known what to do, he had even managed to keep his intractable stallion from bolting under that horrific onslaught of fire. He had been ... incredible. Oh, true enough, he had seemed competent and tough those first days of travel and surely he had secured their train passage and steamboat tickets, arranging their trip with ease, but not until this day had she seen that side of him that shown unyielding steel and diamond hard. They had been in grave danger and he had saved their lives. It had brought an unwanted, almost stunning realization. He was right in his objections in her coming along, she realized for the first time with dismay. She was an undoubted encumbrance. One he did not want. And who would blame him for feeling that way? Not only did he have to deal with his high-strung stallion, but also with someone who could neither cook, nor set up camp, or even saddle the horses. She was useless, and worse, a responsibility. He even had pointed it out to her. It wasn't something she had comprehended when she had pleaded for him to take her along on this dangerous trek. She had never really thought of it that way when she had laid her plans. She had just assumed he could bring her along without considering how much trouble it might cause him. She felt not only guilty and foolish, but selfish in the extreme. Rising up on one elbow in the darkness, she whispered, “Ross?" “What is it?” He was instantly alert, sitting up in his bedroll to look at her. In the thin wash of moonlight from above, his dark eyes were like midnight, his wavy hair tousled and wild. “What do you hear?” The glint of the drawn gun in his hand came clearly. “Nothing.” Her smile was rueful in the darkness. “Nothing? What do you mean? What is it?" “That's just it. I don't hear anything, or smell anything, or do anything. I'm sorry." He rubbed his jaw. “Excuse me? I'm afraid I'm a little confused. What are you talking about, Annie?" “I'm useless to you. A burden.” The admission was painful. “And you woke me up to point that out?” Ross smiled sardonically and shoved his hand through his hair. The gun had already disappeared beneath his blankets. “I'd already noticed, thanks." “You don't deny it? That I'm a ... liability?" “Deny it? No, why would I? You're a big liability because I have to worry about your pretty neck as well as my own. I told you so the day you asked me to take you along. However, here we are. Go to sleep, Arianne.” He sounded wearily amused. Her voice was small. “We could have died today." “Welcome to the West, my lady.” He lay back down. The moon shone on the blackened land around them. There was a thin wash of stars above a hazy cover of clouds. Or maybe it was latent smoke. This was definitely their most comfortless camp yet, on a patch of dusty ground near some sickly-looking trees that had already shed most of their leaves. She said softly, “I didn't really know. You said fire but I didn't know. It was so—awful. I was petrified." “Look,” he sounded exasperated, talking to the sky. “I understand that you are shaken, I was a little scared myself and I've been through a brush fire before. But there are worse things out there. Indians, buffalo stampedes, outlaws, wild animals..."

“Now I'll sleep better.” She gave a hysterical little laugh and clutched her blankets. “Is there anything else you want to give me to worry about? I am already having trouble sleeping and I swear I'm more tired than ever before in my life." It was the truth; she was so exhausted that her whole body seemed to hum. “My point is, to survive out here you have to simply take one thing at a time. Deal with each threat as it arrives and try not think about what might be next. Otherwise, you'll just lose your mind worrying over things. It's good advice, I promise." Arianne glanced around, smelling the smoke from the scorched range, feeling the rough ground underneath her blanket, watching the two horses grazing, ghost-like in the darkness. A coyote howled somewhere, a troupe of friends answering his call in a yipping chorus of sound. It was all very wild, very remote, very frightening. Back in England, she could picture her brother, John, snug in his elegant bed at their London townhouse, brandy at his elbow and a bevy of servants at his beck and call. Sinking back down and huddling in her blankets, she muttered, “It might be too late. I think I've already lost my mind. I'm here, aren't I?" **** It had been a long afternoon. Dammit if the woman didn't want to keep asking him personal questions. Ross knew all about the closeness that comrades developed on the trail and had always traveled alone just to avoid that kind of attachment. He'd made it a point. Least of all did he want to become involved emotionally with an impetuous and lovely English girl who had no business anywhere but in the civilized confines of London society. He needed to stop calling her Annie. The endearment implied something that wasn't there. An intimacy, a friendship. No strings; that was his policy. Life was better that way. Especially the kind of strangling strings that accompanied any involvement with someone like Arianne Brooke. Yet here they were, as he'd said. He had let himself get closer to Will than anyone in his life except Robert and look at the trouble that had brought him already. His instincts were well-honed. Arianne was trouble. To his peace of mind if nothing else. “I believe I told you that I left Harvard because of my father.” He said the words between his teeth, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Riding next to him, Arianne persisted, glancing over. “I know, I remember. You just never said why." “Does it matter?" “Well, yes, I guess it does." Ahead there was nothing but an endless vista of rolling prairie, now beginning to be dotted here and there with grazing buffalo. No threatening fires, no stampedes, no ominous horsemen on the horizon. In other words, there was no escaping the interrogation. Her horse moved alongside his, and if there was one good thing about the day, it was that the sun was obscured by a light film of grey clouds and the temperature was comfortable. Arianne seemed to sit her horse astride with more ease for the first time since they had set out. Slim and graceful in dark trousers and a light blue shirt, she looked at him from under the brim of her hat, her very blue eyes questioning. A lock of golden hair had escaped the braid she'd made of her long

hair and teased the perfect, elegant line of her jaw. “Why do you have to know this?” he asked darkly. She shrugged. “I'm interested to learn why a son from a prominent and wealthy Boston family decided to leave home for the wild, wild West. Besides, it passes the time to talk." “I find silence an excellent way to pass the time." “Well, I don't. So ... wouldn't it be easier to just tell me?” Her smile was charming, pleading. That smile was more dangerous than any stampede or brush fire. Glancing away, Ross said curtly, “All right, you win. As I said, I left because of my father. He has a way of shoving his own ambitions down your throat and I have an aversion to swallowing them. As I got closer to completing my law degree, I began to see how much he had manipulated my decisions. I was able to acknowledge to myself that I had no real interest in practicing law. What I was doing was for him, not for me. I had no choice but to tell him so." “I am sure,” Arianne said quietly, “that it took some courage to inform your father of the fact you had decided not to finish and go on to practice." Ross trained his gaze on a vulture that circled high above the horizon, floating in a distant and unattainable world. The memory of that ugly scene was one he'd rather forget. “You are correct on that assumption, my lady. He disowned me, cut me off. Not one penny, not a roof over my head. Actually, I expected no less. I headed west because there was nothing left to me at home. He made that perfectly clear." In evident sympathy, she said, “Will came to the colonies for much the same reason." “I know. Our somewhat common background drew us together." Her silence and his accompanying relief were short lived. She asked, “How did you come to go into business together?" His smile was without mirth. “We met quite by accident and furthered that acquaintance, in jail." “Jail!” Arianne's gloved hands clenched on the reins. Under the brim of her hat, her eyes widened. “Why on earth would Will ever be in jail?" Ross lifted a brow in amusement. “I see you have no problem imagining me in such a circumstance." “I ... well...” She seemed to suddenly find a distant bird circling high above them fascinating. “I mean, they do say ... things. That you have participated in several fights ... even killed men..." “Is that so?" “Your reputation is a bit formidable." “They say many things you should hold with suspicion, Lady Arianne.” It was impossible to hide the bitterness in his tone. She glanced over in surprise, half-turning in the saddle, amazed comprehension coming over her fine features. “You care. I am surprised. I won't deny it. Somehow I thought you wouldn't." “I care for the fact that it hurts my mother. Otherwise, for myself, no, I don't care. It is the inaccuracy that bothers me. I am willing to take responsibility for whatever I do. But what on earth do Boston socialites know of what goes on in Southern Colorado?" A frown. “Nothing, I would suppose."

“Exactly." Arianne seemed to subside into thought, her lovely face tilted upward, half-obscured by the wide brim of her hat. Ross could almost feel the wheels turning and braced himself for the next onslaught of questions. It didn't come. Thank heavens, he told himself. The afternoon grew colder, a whistling wind beginning to sigh from the North. If he was cold, he was sure that Arianne was feeling the bite of the stinging breeze even more. Turning up his collar, he urged Dante to pick up the pace, having a definite destination in mind. He always made a point to take the same route on this trip, avoiding the towns and keeping out of the way of main roads and thoroughfares. It was a good way to stay out of trouble and he found that the Indians rarely bothered the lone rider. More intent on the military outposts and permanent settlers, in his experience they were hardly ever more than spots in the distance. But sometimes he needed a good hot meal and a warm bed. Not to mention renewing his thin stock of supplies. Without a packhorse, he traveled as light as possible. He caught the whiff of wood smoke even before he saw the lights. He and Arianne caught the worn trail about a half a mile away from the house. Used to picking across rough terrain, Arianne, green though she may be, roused enough to say in amazement, “This is a road. We're on a road." Ross shook his head. “A trail, nothing more. Look, two horses can barely walk abreast." “Are we near a town?” She sounded hopeful. “There's a trading post ahead. I know the owners well and they'll give us food and a bed. We'll stay there the night." “Inside? Under a roof?” There was pathetic excitement in her voice. “Don't sound so amazed.” He spoke softly. “It's only been a few days. See how quickly circumstances can change? Instead of your handsome duke and bowing servants, you have a sore backside and the grit of dirt in your teeth from the trail. Are you regretting your choice yet, my fine lady?" He was sure she would hesitate. Without a pause, she said firmly, “No." **** The woman was huge, almost as tall as Ross at more than six feet and certainly wider. Nearly twice as wide. Arianne watched with fascinated eyes as Mrs. Lamby lumbered across the tiny room to amiably plunk down a plate of food in front of her on the plain plank table. It smelled wonderful. Ross seemed only capable of cooking biscuits, beans, and bacon. “Buffalo steak,” the woman announced cheerfully to her absolute disappointment. Arianne stared at her plate and tried to hide her expression of disgust. Buffalo? She'd seen buffalo. She wasn't interested in eating a lumbering, furry mountain. “Best thing you've ever had this side, or the other side for that matter, of the Mississippi,” Mrs. Lamby declared stoutly. “Smell it. Taste it. If it isn't all I say, I'll eat your boots." Considering her boots were dirty, coated with trail dust, and hadn't been off her feet in days, that was a

powerful promise. With trepidation, Arianne took the challenge and cut off a corner to pop it in her mouth. It was, in a word, marvelous. “See?” A triumphant gloat. The giant woman grinned broadly. Arianne's mouth watered so that she could not reply. So far the trail fare had been designed to keep them alive, nothing more. On her plate, besides the steaming piece of buffalo, were some creamy potatoes cooked to perfection, a chunk of homemade bread, and a wedge of apple pie. Without ceremony, Arianne mumbled something in thanks and seized her fork and began to eat like she'd never had a bite of food in her life. Heaven. She was warm, safe under a roof, and eating the best meal of her life. Never mind that the room was little more than a crude shed at the back of a isolated trading post. The table was made of mismatched planks and both her plate and cup were of battered tin. But the finest dining room in London had never looked so good or held such appeal. It was difficult to restrain herself from scraping her plate in a decidedly unladylike manner when she was done. Every scrap was gone. Ross hadn't finished much before her and was giving her an amused stare from those dark eyes from across the table as she sighed in repletion. Letta Lamby beamed as she cleared their plates. “What did I tell you, honey? Now, admit it." “It was marvelous.” Arianne gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you very much, ma'am." “You're welcome. And call me Mother, honey. Everyone does." “Well then, thank you, Mother." “Do you want a mite more? You are just a bit of a thing, aren't you?" “I couldn't possibly.” Arianne patted her stomach and smiled in denial. Hands on hips, the huge woman gave her a sweeping look. “How could a tiny sprite like you handle a man like Ross Braden?" Handle? The implication was enough to make Arianne's face burn. She said in a strangled voice, “I don't handle ... that is, I am not in any way interested in...." “He's a handsome load of trouble for any woman.” A wink. Under her breath, Arianne said, “A load of trouble, perhaps." “You don't think I'm handsome?" Giving him a scathing glance, Arianne said tartly, “No, I don't." He had the nerve to laugh out loud. He said, “Mother, Annie is unfortunately immune to my many charms. Is there somewhere I can sleep? Alone?" Mother Lamby's eyes were like tiny raisins in her pumpkin face. She sighed. “Sure, though it's a pity I tell you ... both of you so young and comely. Ross, you can sleep in the loft of the barn tonight. There's an empty cot because Clyde is out driving cattle.” Her beady gaze transferred to Arianne. “And you can bunk in with me and don't worry, little one, I don't move much in my sleep.” A deep chuckle. Arianne looked at a Ross as the woman moved away to carry the plates out the door. “With her?” she hissed in a horrified whisper. He shrugged in graceful nonchalance, glancing around the tiny room. “It's a bed. What did you think, you'd have your own suite complete with a dressing room and maid?"

Arianne stiffened. How dare he? She'd crossed an ocean, lied, schemed and deceived, slept on hard ground without complaint, been through bruising rides, awful fires, and he dared to suggest now that she was ... spoiled? She gritted out, “Of course not, Mr. Braden." The man actually looked more amused. Leaning back in his rough chair, he grinned. “Are we back that to that now? I thought I was Ross." “And I thought that by now you would give me some credit." His expression didn't change. “Forgive me, Annie, but look at this place. It is hardly a posh hotel. The Indians have burned it down three times. Besides the store up front, there is this kitchen and one bedroom. It's the only manmade structure for miles and miles. Be grateful for whatever you get." Straightening on the hard bench, Arianne tried to contemplate the bed that she and the gargantuan Mother Lamby could occupy together. “I think I'd rather share your loft, after all,” she said faintly. “And you can have my spot in Mother's bed." Ross laughed again, not a sound she'd heard often. Mother was right. He was rather too devilishly handsome; she couldn't help but uncomfortably notice. Back in Boston with his fine clothes, he'd been attractive, true. But lounging in his chair with his collar open to show the column of his strong neck, with his tousled dark hair, and the two day growth of a beard gracing his jaw, he looked like what he was reputed to be, a dangerously fascinating and volatile cowboy. “Mother,” he said, his fine mouth twitching, “just might be a mite too much for me. I think I'll pass. I make it a point to never sleep with a woman who can beat me in a fair fight. I have a feeling I would lose if we came to blows." Never sleep with ... what did that mean? With his looks, he'd probably had many women, Arianne thought with a surprising stab of jealousy. She'd seen those shameless Boston belles drooling over him. How ridiculous. She must be losing her mind to think of Ross Braden in that way. His eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong, Annie?" She was staring at him and he'd caught her gaping regard. She felt heat build into her face and quickly shook her head. “Wrong? No, of course not. And why on earth do you persist in calling me Annie?" He lifted a dark brow. “I like it. Arianne is too formal, too English. You're out West now, dressed like a boy in boots and trousers. I think Annie suits you." “And if I don't care for it, Mr. Braden?” She lifted her chin, determined to cover her discomfort. “Sweetheart, I didn't ask you, now did I?” His smile was bland and he stood up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. “I don't know about you, but I am dead tired." “Enjoy the barn.” She smiled with false sweetness. “Enjoy your night with Mother.” He grinned. Arianne watched him stroll across the room. At the door he paused and turned back, meeting her eyes, their gazes clashing. He said softly, “Good night, Annie." **** “They've got less men, less ammunition, less of everything, Braden.” Woolsy Cartwright was a portly old man, his face blotchy in the firelight, tossing back his drink and swallowing hard after that passionate declaration. Not a cattleman, he was a trader, still clinging to the dying profession like a

limpet. Ross shifted and reached for the whiskey bottle. He smiled thinly. “They have bravado and courage coupled with an arrogance beyond compare. Don't mistake me, I think we have a formidable foe in the South." “They can't beat us. It isn't possible." “Well, I'm afraid they could. They shouldn't, mind you, but they just might.” How odd that what Ross couldn't say to his brother or father, both such die-hard Yanks, he could voice into this rough room with a near stranger. “Secession is wrong. We shan't stand for it.” A thick fist came down on the wooden table as the other man declared his feelings. Ross laughed without mirth. “From what I understand, we aren't standing for it. The Union preserved and be damned to the rest. Or so says my father.” Taking a quick drink, he realized he was becoming a little vague from the effects, something he rarely allowed himself. “Damned right.” Cartwright slammed his meaty fist on the table again. His curling gray hair shimmered in the candlelight. “Those Rebs have tweaked our noses right enough. What gives them the right to pull apart what so many died to put together?" “I don't know. Maybe they don't have the right. Maybe, though, they do." “Well, I'll tell you. No right at all." “Woolsy, you do realize the English once felt the same about us, don't you? We seceded from them as sure as the Southern states are leaving the union." The other man blinked blearily. He'd drunk a good deal more than Ross. “Damned right!" “Damned right, what?” Ross fingered his glass. Woolsy blinked. “I dunno. What were we talking about?" “The Union?" “Yeah. I guess so.” A gloomy expression came over Woolsy's wide, wrinkled face. “My son and daughter still live in Maryland. All the border states are pretty divided. I wonder which way she'll go." “The border states are a toss of the coin. That's what makes this so ugly. No one wants to shoot his neighbor." “Maybe it won't come to real war." Ross shook his head wearily. “Come on, man. We both know this war won't be short, whatever they're saying. They might have less railroads and arms, but they have a conviction we lack." In the dim lighting of the bunkhouse, Woolsy's full jaw wagged. “Conviction? The hell you say." “Yes, I do say. In their life, in the institution that represents it, even if it is slavery. The South won't relinquish their lifestyle easily. They are fighting for an ideal. We're fighting for a nation." Woolsy, barely educated and half-drunk, looked baffled. “An ideal?" “They have a certain utopia. A grand life with servants and mansions and fine food and drink.” Even as he spoke, Ross felt a certain sense of hypocrisy rise up inside his chest to choke him. He'd come from such a very similar world. Right at that moment he was certain his parents sat at a wide, polished table with more food than would feed a dozen people. He'd been there so many, many times himself, amidst the gleaming china and expensive imported wines. The South wasn't alone in its excesses.

The memory was bittersweet. He'd been born into that world, but not destined to live in it. Like Arianne. In an odd way, they were kindred souls. He wondered how that very pampered young lady was reacting to her night with Mother Lamby. She'd been game so far but Mother was a challenge to anyone's delicate sensibilities. Grinning broadly, he reached for the bottle to refill his glass. **** Shifting uncomfortably, Arianne turned over. Next to her a mountain of a woman emitted snores that she wouldn't have thought possible. Not only did Mother have most of the blankets and the greater part of the thin, lumpy mattress, but also she sounded like a steam engine on its last legs. Oh well, she grumbled to herself. You're under a roof. Sleeping on clean sheets in a nightgown that might be designed for a baby elephant but was still clean and warm. There was no room for complaint. Actually, she missed Ross. And it was a dismaying admission. His quiet breathing in the dark, the rustle of blankets as he turned over, the sound of his deft movements in the morning as he rose to fix breakfast and prepare the horses... Arianne punched her pillow in fury. No, she would not miss him. Next to her, Mother let out a whistle worthy of a female buffalo in heat. Hell, it was clear she did. Chapter 6 Ross stopped dead in the act of unsaddling Dante, arrested and caught in the glory of the moment. The sun was dying a spectacular death, sinking and spilling light like spreading crimson blood on to the horizon. As he watched, the huge orb seemed to hover and wait, staring down at the world it was abandoning. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful as this sunset?" “Perhaps Mother Lamby's buffalo steak,” Arianne muttered almost inaudibly. She leaned, shoulders slumped, with her back propped against her saddle where it sat on the ground, her slim legs out in front of her, her eyes closed in fatigue. She had removed her hat and her golden hair wisped in unruly tendrils around her face where it had escaped the ribbon she'd used to confine the thick mass. Those loose wisps framed her delicate features in fiery halo, catching the reflected light. She said apologetically, “I'm sorry, but I am too tired to have much appreciation for anything right now except not being on Junior's back. Just how far have we come in the past few days, Ross?" “A hundred miles and more.” His answer was off-hand, but in truth, just looking at her, he felt a bit of guilt and a lot of grudging admiration. He'd pushed the pace brutally, not giving much latitude for her gender or her inexperience. He was ridiculously proud of how she'd stood the test and not whined his ears off, nor slowed them down. Aristocratic Lady Arianne was more than just a pretty face and shapely body. She had some backbone to her, he'd decided during this journey. Not enough to endure the trials of pioneer life, he still maintained she belonged somewhere safe and civilized, but she had a certain steely determination

under that cultured loveliness. Her long lashes lifted over those incredible aquamarine eyes. She stared at him. “And where are we? Do you know?" “Western Kansas.” He unclipped the girth and hoisted the saddle off of the restive Dante, setting it by the place he'd selected for their campfire. “Pretty country, isn't it?" “Yes,” she agreed, watching him as he crouched and started to pull out flour and lard from the saddlebags. Rousing enough to actually glance around, she murmured, “This might just be one of our prettiest camps yet. It's lovely here." She was right. They had found a low swale next to a wide, bubbling stream strung with green willows and sapling cottonwoods. The grass was green and springy soft underfoot, and behind them a rolling hill protected the camp from the light crisp breeze. The air smelled sweet with the scent of spicy brush and the tang of autumn. A bevy of geese flowed overhead, honking loudly as their wings beat the air in an audible rhythm. “I'm ravenous, I don't know about you. I may not be Mother,” Ross commented as he moved to get the fire going, “but we do have bacon and beans and—" “Biscuits.” She finished the sentence in obvious resignation. He grinned. “Of course." “I would kill for fresh, hot scones and strawberry jam with clotted cream.” Her tone was wistful. He glanced up sharply. “I believe back in Boston I told you that there would be nothing like that..." She interrupted sarcastically, “Yes, yes, you told me, Ross. I know it. You made it very clear that the ride would be long and hard with few comforts. But I wouldn't be human if I didn't long for home now and again, would I?” Arianne laughed but the sound held little mirth. Sighing out loud, she struggled to her feet. “I feel filthy and the stream looks inviting. I am going to go wash." Ross didn't lift his eyes from the small fan of flame he had going. “Just don't wander out of earshot." “I am well-aware of the rules.” The reply was mocking. She fumbled in her pack and retrieved a bar of soap and a precious change of clothes. Out of the corner of his eye, Ross watched her limping, slender form head down the grassy slope toward the water and the cover of the trees. He waited only a minute or so to pick up his rifle and follow. Making a diagonal line, he got to the line of trees about fifty feet above where she'd disappeared from sight. Edging slowly into the brush and being as quiet as possible, he ducked behind the cover of the hanging branches and crept forward until he spotted her down the bank. Settling on a rock half-hidden by a full bush whose leaves had turned a brilliant reddish hue, he laid his rifle across his knees. She would die, he thought in grim amusement, if she knew that every single time since they'd gotten off the steamer he'd watched her, rifle in hand, while she bathed. But he could hardly leave her to go off alone. It was simply too dangerous. Somehow, he doubted the protection would be worth her embarrassment in her own mind. Well, that was just too bad. He quickly scanned the opposite bank for any alarming sign of movement. It looked peaceful and quiet. His gaze shifted immediately to the woman down the bank. She was in profile, her slim fingers going to the buttons of her blouse. His mouth went dry as she unfastened it quickly and slipped it off her shoulders. Her breasts were full and beautifully shaped, the nipples puckered and tight from the cold. Just as swiftly she undid the boyish trousers he forced her to wear and stepped out of them, kicking them backwards on the bank. For a moment she stood there nude,

poised and immobile, like a breathtaking Greek statue of perfect womanhood personified. A golden goddess with creamy breasts, a slender waist, and long, long legs. He felt like he ceased to breathe. Arianne swiftly waded into the stream. The water gushed around her slim thighs and she gasped loudly at the frigid temperature. He had memorized the vision of her naked body in the past days until it was burned into his brain. He stared, fascinated beyond his will, as she unraveled her long braid and shook out her golden hair, ducking under to wet it. Water streamed off her curves and hollows as she stood and began to soap her smooth skin. God, he wanted her. Like fire in his blood he wanted her. He wanted it to be his hands sliding over her silken skin, his mouth suckling those lovely breasts, his body between her white thighs, sinking again and again into her softness and heat until she was clinging to him in abandon and sweet pleasure... This almost intolerable longing was beginning to affect every moment of his life, disrupting his sleep, his appetite, his ability to concentrate on the very real dangers of their trek. Swallowing hard, he tried to distract his carnal thoughts, to tell himself sternly it was a normal reaction to the prolonged celibacy of their journey. She was a beautiful, desirable woman and he was every bit a normal, healthy male. They were thrown together for every minute of the day, living in close and intimate proximity. It would be absurd to expect himself to not feel an attraction to Arianne Brooke. The only problem with that logic was that he'd wanted her since the first time he'd set on eyes on her at his mother's party. Before she had ever approached him with her request, he watched her and had been inexplicably struck. There was something about her, a quality of delicate femininity coupled with an unexpected depth of inner strength that set off something deep inside him. And he couldn't touch her. Not only was she his partner and best friend's sister, she was simply not the type of woman you could take to bed and then leave behind. The last thing he wanted or needed was a wife, which made the decision very simple. Didn't it? Every night since he'd met her he'd lain awake and thought about her. That cloud of golden hair, and his inner ache to touch it. Her silky skin and luscious body, the fullness of her pink lips and the intriguing darkness of her blue-green eyes. Kissing her once had been such a mistake, he couldn't ever remember making a worse one. The sweet taste of her lingered; tantalizing, haunting, excruciating, all female. He'd existed in almost a state of permanent arousal since Eastern Missouri. As he was now. He shifted, adjusting his clothing against the swelling in his crotch and cursing very softly under his breath. He didn't need this, he insisted to himself, he didn't need her. It was his body betraying him, not his heart. Wasn't it? A movement in the bushes across the river caught his attention. He tensed, willing himself not to jerk or move at all in reaction. Something dark shifted behind the screen of scrub brush on the opposite bank. Ross slowly pivoted the rifle into his right hand. Stealthily, from the cover of the vegetation, a head lifted above and came into view. Dark hair, straight as an arrow. A bronzed face and dark eyes, unaware of his observer as he contemplated his quarry. It was an Indian brave, his tribe unknown to Ross from what he could see of

his head and shoulders. The man rose above the bushes and slipped toward the water. Edging silently toward where Arianne stood unaware in the river, he was smiling, his obsidian gaze fastened on his prospective captive. The knife in his hand was an unmistakable statement of his intentions. This was it, what Ross had feared all along, why he justified to himself spying and intruding on her privacy. Adrenalin surged through his veins in a wave. As he watched, the Indian gained the bank and stepped out of cover. Arianne was turned away, her smooth back to the threat. She had begun to shiver and rinsed her hair with shaking fingers. Firing off a gun would bring any others of the party down on their heads, but Ross didn't have much choice. He was just too far away to rush him and fight hand to hand. The man would undoubtedly get to Arianne first. Hoping this brave was a scout or lone warrior, he brought the rifle swiftly to his shoulder and took aim. The man caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and flinched, halfturning, but it was too late. Ross fired. He was sure to aim high, not to wound, but to kill. The Indian swayed for a moment, and then plunged headlong into the water. Arianne whirled around, sending an arc of water from her sodden waist-length hair. Her hand flew upward against her mouth and small gasps of horror made her lips open and close. Ross prayed she would not scream. “Annie! Keep quiet. It's all right.” Fighting his way through the underbrush, it took him several seconds to reach the open spot where she'd left her clothes on the bank. The warrior floated face down, a spreading pool of blood staining the water and beginning to drift downstream in an eerie crimson rivulet. Arianne didn't move, riveted seemingly by the sight of the dead man in the river, her bare shoulders quaking, standing waist-deep as the water gurgled past her shivering figure. Ross called out softly, “Annie?" She didn't move. “Annie, come here. Sweetheart, it's all right." It was as if she came to life. She began to back up, the cool water swirling around her bare thighs, a sobbing beginning in her throat as she moved. Wary of a further threat, Ross let her fumble her way to the bank unaided, still gripping his rifle with both hands and vigilantly watching the bank of the river where the brave had first appeared. Once she touched dry soil she flung herself frantically upwards, scrambling forward, heedless of her lack of clothing as she careened into him, clutching at his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. She was in his arms, pressing her body tightly, so tightly to his. He had dreamed often enough of holding her naked, but not like this. Damn. One hand soothed her bare back, touching her tangled wet hair, his touch warm against her chilled flesh. The other still held the rifle at ready. He could feel the quiver of her breasts against his chest, the pounding of her heart as she crowded against him. He was nearly as wet as she was, he thought dimly, as he continued to scan the shore for any further movement. Between her tears and the sodden length of her hair, his shirt was soaked. This was very dangerous. They had to leave. Now, before half a nation of angry warriors descended

upon them. The faster they put distance between themselves and the dead man, the better. Gently, he eased her away and touched her cold cheek. Taking care to look into her eyes and not let his gaze drop to the tempting vision of her nude body, he said, “I'm sorry, angel, we need to pack up and ride. There might be more of them." “More?” A horrified sob. He had to consciously fight keep from looking at her, to concentrate on their danger. For her. For himself. “Yes, more. And that wouldn't be good for either of us, I promise you. I'd like to think I'm good, but a band of angry Indian braves would be too much for me. Get dressed, Annie. We'll break camp as swiftly as possible and get out of here. I want miles between us that dead Indian, so hustle." **** She had been more than exhausted when they finally stopped. She had been stunned and weary and utterly drained when they had finally made camp after riding through most of the night. It was dark still, with only a promise of light on the horizon, and she had fallen into her blankets like a dead person. Dead. Opening her eyes, Arianne remembered. All of it. The man floating in the water. Long sleek black hair surrounding his face like seaweed, a naked upper torso, his muscles lax and useless, and blood seeping out like an inevitable tide... Ross had killed him. Arianne sat up abruptly. It was obviously late afternoon. The shade from an old huge cottonwood had crept over where she'd thrown her bedroll, the gnarled limbs vivid against a deepening azure sky. She felt nearly sick with lassitude. How long exactly had she slept? “You're awake.” A deep voice. Ross. Blinking, she turned her head and focused on his figure near a smoldering campfire. Wearing the usual jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, he was somber, his handsome face furrowed in concern. He said slowly, “I was beginning to worry about you. I didn't want to wake you but I was starting to become very concerned." Her tangled hair was hanging in her face and she pushed it carefully away. “I was ... tired." He smiled, an attractive crooked curve of his sensual mouth. “I'd say. And who could blame you? I've been pushing pretty hard and having to ride all night was a bit grueling." Yes, it had been grueling; she wouldn't argue that observation. When they had stopped for camp the first time she'd been near collapse. To mount her horse and ride again was like torture. But she had wanted to leave that beautiful spot with its memory of horror as much as Ross. So she had summoned the strength somehow and ridden. “Are you hungry?" The question made her look up. Food. Arianne shuddered and shook her head. “No." “You have to eat, sweetheart. Keep up your strength. The last thing I need is to have to carry you the rest of the way to Colorado.” As he spoke, Ross filled plate with beans from a pot that sat on the

glowing coals. He brought the plate over and squatted down to hand it to her. She had no choice but to take it. Their faces were on a level. She met his intent, dark gaze reluctantly. She saw sympathy there, but also the glint of steely hardness that was so his trademark. For some inexplicable reason she wanted to reach out, touch the lean line of his jaw, to smooth her fingers across those chiseled lips. He said softly, “Forget about it, Annie. Put it behind you. It's over and done. We were lucky that that brave wasn't part of a big raiding party that were nearby and would have happily slit our throats at the sound of a single shot. This is Indian country now, understand? We have to be more careful than ever. The Indians aren't the savages they are portrayed to be, but they are fighting mad over having their land stolen from them. It's just a fact of life. Whites are fair game." “Fair game?” Her lips felt stiff. “He would have taken you captive if I hadn't been there." “You ... killed him." There was a flare in his dark eyes. “Hell, yes, I did. He was sneaking up on you with a knife in his hand." “Is that why you were watching me?” Heat scorched upward into Arianne's cheeks. The plate of food was warm in her hands as she stared at his grim face. “Because we're in Indian country?" “No.” The corner of his firm mouth tightened. He slowly shook his head, still holding her gaze. “I'm afraid not." Ross wasn't the type of man to sugarcoat anything to make the truth easier to bear. Arianne read his expression correctly and her face grew even warmer, if that was possible. “You always watch me, don't you?” Her voice was thin with accusation. “You have all along." He shrugged his broad shoulders and stood, towering over her. His reply was negligent. “Beautiful naked women are not safe in this country, or probably anywhere on earth for that matter. And bad men with wicked thoughts on their minds are not the only danger. There are lots of nasty creatures around." Remembering the fact that she had clung to him, stark naked and sobbing, didn't help her discomfort. Ross had had to practically pry her away and then stood there while she jerked on her clothes, still holding the rifle he'd used to kill a man on her behalf. The memory was both humiliating and horrifying. Her cheeks felt on fire. Clearing her throat, she said dully, “I suppose it would be ungrateful for me to be angry that you spied on me when you saved my life." Ross strolled back to the fire and lifted the coffee pot to fill his tin cup. He said casually, “I doubt he would have killed a prize like you. The knife was probably just to intimidate you and keep you from screaming. He might have shared you with his tribe, but I doubt he'd kill you. I don't know which you would consider worse." She swallowed hard. “Neither do I." “Perhaps from now on you will keep that in mind when you know I'm watching, Annie." “You won't ... you can't..." “Oh, I will." Something, the husky tone in his voice, brought her gaze back up to collide with his dark one. He added in low voice, “I have to confess that watching you bathe has been the highlight of this trip so far.

You are a very beautiful woman, Annie. Your body is as lovely as your face." It was hardly the kind of compliment a gentleman gave a lady. Outrage, whether he deserved it or not, made her stiffen. “And I am sure you are quite the connoisseur, Mr. Braden." “I am not a young boy any longer,” he agreed with infuriating smugness. “I have seen my share of naked women, and rest assured, you are the loveliest so far." “And that makes it all the better? I want none of your ... your crude compliments,” she sputtered. “Crude? I don't think telling a woman she's beautiful is considered crude.” He gave a low laugh. “It isn't like I mentioned that you have perfect breasts, not too big and yet large enough fill a man's hand ... or his mouth. And smooth white skin, so pale and lovely, begging for a lover's touch. Your legs are long, very long, perfect for wrapping around a man as he loves you." “Ross!’ She tore her gaze away. The plate wobbled dangerously in her hands. “Stop it." His voice was mesmerizing and she knew he was still staring at her. “Maybe we should clear the air here. The truth is, angel, the only difference between me and that dead Indian who was looking at you as if he wanted to eat you alive, is that I'm not a great believer in having sex with an unwilling woman. Do I think about what it would be like to be inside you with those long legs wrapped around me? Yes, I do, make no mistake about it. Often." Arianne made an inarticulate sound of shocked protest. He continued in that same soft inexorable way, “But, rest assured, I won't act on that lust unless you are to invite me. I've retained that much of the civilized manners I learned as a boy. So you're safe enough, my lady, even when I'm watching. Now, eat your food while I pack up because we're going to make at least a few miles today, understand?" A little dazed, she nodded and picked up her fork, shaking inwardly and outwardly. Anything, anything to end this unsettling conversation. She spooned the lukewarm beans into her mouth and chewed, not tasting anything. She avoided looking at Ross as he saddled the horses and swung their packs into place. When she finished, she rose and took plate to the tiny spring a few feet away, rinsing it first and then dashing the icy water on her heated face. Unless you invite me. Oh God. **** He'd finally shocked the hell out of her and he was glad. Arianne's innocence might be outraged but he was the one who had suffered every living minute since he'd met her. Dammit. He'd been brutally honest but then again, this was a brutal place she was heading. Maybe she needed to know what most men would be thinking as they looked at her. The skies had darkened ominously throughout the evening and he knew they should stop soon. The way the air was growing colder with each passing second signaled a storm on the way, probably a bad one. He could feel it, smell it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught out in the open in the middle of it. He didn't mind most of the discomforts of the trail, but sleeping in a sodden bedroll was not his idea of fun and it was unlikely that Arianne would enjoy it. Urging Dante forward with the pressure of his knees, he studied the shadowed landscape urgently for a likely spot. A small patch of scrub trees to the right caught his attention. They were saplings mostly, good for his purpose. He signaled to Arianne with the wave of his hand and rode over, seeing with satisfaction that the spot was fairly level, with the land rolling downhill from it in a gentle slope. Not too open, not too

sheltered by larger trees that might draw lightning. Perfect. “Here,” he called over the rising wind and dismounted. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The moaning of the whistling breeze was eerie and unsettling. The trees swayed and quivered. “I think it's going to rain,” Arianne called back, sounding dismayed. He grinned. “Sweet Annie, you're turning into quite a scout. I believe you're right, angel. Now get down and help me." Two saplings bent and tied together made a good support for the first tarp. Ross draped it over the top, fashioning a low tent. The other he spread on the ground to protect their blankets from the damp. He secured the corners with small stakes to keep the wind from flapping and tearing at their shelter. Working quickly, he ordered Arianne to fetch their bedrolls and supplies while he unsaddled the horses and hobbled the resistant Dante, never an easy task. Junior wouldn't stray, bless his loyal heart, but the high-strung stallion was another story. The first fat cool droplets caught his face just as he was finishing with the uncooperative black. Leaving the horses cropping the sparse grass, he made sure once more the tarps were securely lashed before slipping into the makeshift tent. Arianne sat cross-legged on her blanket, her eyes huge in the dim light. The wind whipped at the sides of their shelter, making her flinch. Ross dropped on to his own bedroll and shook the hair out of his eyes. “It's really going to blow,” he said calmly, “but we should be dry enough. We've been pretty lucky so far with the weather. This had to happen sooner or later." “I suppose so.” Her response was hushed. Silence except for the banshee wail of the coming storm. Somehow, sleeping across from her beside a campfire was suddenly so much different than sharing the confines of their tiny tent. Ross could see the pulse beating in her slender throat and sense her discomfort from her shuttered expression. His earlier comments were like ghosts, haunting the inside of the tent. Lightning cracked like gunfire. Ross arranged his saddle so he could use it as a pillow and lay down, being too tall to comfortably sit in the small space. Closing his eyes, he murmured, “Get some sleep, Annie. There's nothing else to do ... unless, of course,” he slowly lifted his lashes and looked at her, “you can think of something?" Her eyes grew even larger as she caught his innuendo and she hastily shook her head, quickly laying down and rolling into her blankets. She turned her back to him, presenting the tempting curve of her backside through the blanket draped over her slim body. Hell, he thought with resignation, it was going to be one long night. Chapter 7 A low roar filled his ears. Rain trickled down the back of Ross's neck, an irritation that made him grit his teeth. He was tired, bone-deep tired, and wet to the skin despite his slicker. Shifting in his saddle, he reflected that the entire past week had been pretty miserable. And now the river. What a damned awful complication. It roiled past the bank in desperate furious passage, deep brown from the mountain rains that had lasted

for days, foaming white at the wide bend to his left as it swept past. Licking at the land hungrily, it tore a deep portion of earth away almost just in front of them, collapsing the bank and swallowing it into oblivion. Bits of wood and debris whirled and danced, sucked under by the powerful current. Hell. He'd been afraid of this. Very afraid. It had been raining for what seemed like forever. Usually this section of the river was a sleepy shimmer of meandering water, barely deep enough to wet a man to his knees. “Is there a better place to cross?” Arianne shouted, nudging Junior closer to make herself heard above the thundering water. He glanced down at her face, noting the tight set of her lips and her wide, frightened eyes. Her long lashes were sticky from moisture under the brim of her hat and her skin the pearly white of alabaster. If he was exhausted and uncomfortable, he could only imagine her distress. Her slender shoulders were slumped with fatigue. He said curtly, “I doubt it. This is the usual crossing. Normally it isn't deep and the bank on the other side is low and easy to climb." She eyed the rushing water. “Shouldn't we wait?" “I wish we could, but with all the rain, it isn't going to do anything but rise for the next few days. I think we'd better try now before it gets worse.” Ross wiped his wet face with his hand and rubbed his jaw, still staring at the barreling torrent. It wasn't so much the river that had him worried. He'd made crossings before in high water, but never on a high-strung horse like Dante. “Isn't this dangerous?” she asked, following his gaze and hunching her drooping shoulders in a shiver. “Yes.” It was impossible to lie. More cowboys were killed driving cattle across swollen rivers than from almost any other cause. He didn't intend to die, of course not, but if something happened to him, how would Arianne fare alone? He felt a slow chill run up his spine. Straightening in the saddle, he shook off an encroaching sense of foreboding. Yes, it was dangerous but the whole damn trail had been dangerous and he had no intention of being trapped on the wrong side of the Cimarron in flood. Home was just too close and the sooner he was away from this imposed close contact with Arianne, the better. For both of them. He was hanging on to self-control by a thread. “I'll go first,” he announced crisply, tightening Dante's rein. “I've crossed here before many times and the main danger is letting the current push you too far down past the crossing where the bank is high on the other side. We'll ride a bit upstream to give us better odds." “You'll go ... first?" “Yes." She stiffened, her gaze flying to his face. “Shouldn't we go together?" His smile was crooked. “I don't particularly trust Dante to manage this smoothly. The last thing we need is to get in each other's way. When I get across, I'll signal for you to start." “But ... Ross, are you sure?” She looked anxious at the thought of being left behind. Her gloved hands were knotted around the dripping reins of her horse's bridle. His tone softened as he looked down at her bent head. He leaned over and caught her chin, lifting her pale, damp face. Her eyes were dilated and wide, gazing past him. “Don't worry, Annie. Junior can swim like a fish and he has done this many times. He's a trail horse from way back. Just give him his head and he'll take care of everything. This should be easy as pie."

No response. She seemed morbidly fascinated by the life and roar of the water, refusing to look at him despite his insistent grip. “Annie?" A swallow made the muscles jump in her slender throat. She whispered, “I don't like this, Ross." “Angel, look at me." She blinked. Her gaze slid unwillingly to meet his. “I don't like it either,” he agreed grimly. “But if we stay here, it could be a week, maybe more before we could try again. And if it continues to rain, who knows how long we would have to wait. The situation isn't ideal but I've encountered worse and managed it. So let's get moving. The sooner we're across the better.” Letting go of her chin, he whirled his horse and urged it upriver. **** The man was insane. Arianne watched as he spurred the big stallion into the water, the first leap taking them directly into a crashing torrent of white foam. Oh God. Her heart froze in her chest. Lifting a trembling hand, she dashed the rain from her eyes as she strained to see what was happening. Her pulse seemed to be thundering in her wrist and throat. Water dripped from the brim of her hat in a steady stream. She was wet, chilled and frightened. Very, very frightened. Dear Heaven, what if something happened to him? That thought was almost as paralyzing as the scene unfolding before her shaken gaze. And the disturbing part was that she wasn't afraid for herself, left alone in the wilderness. She was worried about Ross. She was, in fact, petrified he would be drowned before her eyes. If something happened to him, she wasn't sure she could bear it. And the realization was both startling and infinitely disturbing. Man and horse were superimposed against the muddy water, both of them made insignificant by the power of the flooding river. She could see the stallion, little more than a thrusting dark head as the horse surged forward, the water swirling up over Ross's lean hips and waist. Dante seemed to be swimming well enough but she could see at once that he was fighting his rider as predicted, tossing his head violently from side and impeding their forward progress. Ross, hunched over the horse's neck, seemed from that distance to be neither concerned nor surprised over the animal's agitation; he simply kept his seat like he was part of the horse. The river swept them away downstream at a rapid pace, which was alarming. It seemed to take forever, yet it was probably less than five minutes. Arianne bit her lip to keep from crying out when they reached halfway, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her. Sitting woodenly on her horse, she still absently clutched the reins as she watched, trying to ignore the numbness in her feet and fingers from the soaking cold rain. And the numbness inside from pure fear. A good-sized log, bobbing like a toy in the swift current, rolled past them once, narrowly missing the struggling horse. As it swung clear, she felt relief wash over her entire body in a physical wave. Sagging in the saddle, she swallowed down a gagging sense of panic, feeling literally sick. It had been so close she thought she would faint from the terror that spiked through her body.

Finally, Dante's shoulders gave a heave and Ross was instantly out of the saddle, slipping into the water to his chest before scrambling up the bank. The horse followed, shaking as he gained the land, his glossy coat dripping and running. He snorted in displeasure and half-reared, dragging Ross a short distance before he was pulled down and under control. Thank God. Her breath left her chest in a short prayer. They had made it. Ross turned and waved his arm in the air. The signal, she realized. He was expecting her to do this as well. It was her turn now. To cross that wild span of rushing river. Arianne took a deep breath. Somehow it seemed easier to nudge Junior toward the water than it had been to watch Ross take the same course with the unpredictable Dante. Apprehensive as she was, she did not doubt that Junior would be as trustworthy as Ross had declared him to be and get them across. The horse barely needed urging before wading obligingly into the swirling water. The water was unbelievably cold, gushing up to greet her and she gasped. Cold spinning force and invincible power. It swirled around her in a relentless tide, tugging and grabbing and all the while mercilessly frigid. She felt the instant that Junior began to swim because they were swept downward at the same time that he began to powerfully surge forward. Water poured over her thighs and splashed at her waist, filling her boots. Her muscles tightened in fear. She clutched at the reins and tried to prevent utter panic. It was too powerful. Surely they were being swept away. Dimly, she became aware that Ross was shouting something. The words came vaguely through as she held on for dear life, barely audible over the angry roar of the rising water. “...give him his head." The world smelled of mud and rainwater mingled with wet horse. She felt caught in the remorseless grip of the river, powerless and inconsequential. It was a terrifying sensation. Rain pelted down her head, water consumed her from below. She was a prisoner at the hands of something great and implacable and primal. Her hands clenched convulsively on the reins. How did she ever let Ross talk her into doing something so foolish, so dangerous? “Annie, for God's sake, give him his head! Let go! You have to let go now or it will be too late. Angel, listen to me!" Angel, listen to me... The words came dimly again but this time got through. She realized that she had been impeding Junior's progress with her tight hold. It took tremendous effort to let the reins slip through her hands and relinquish any sense of control, but she did so, clutching her saddle horn instead for support. The difference was immediate. Junior swam faster without the restriction, his head darting forward as he strained toward the opposite bank. Once so far away, it now seemed possible they would make it and she could even see Ross, hatless and drenched, his face pale as he stood at the edge waiting for them. A wave slapped over her right thigh and shoulder, splashing icy water on to her face and making her choke. She could not ever remember being so wet, so cold, so very frightened... And Ross was shouting again. She heard his frantic voice over the bellow of the river. His posture was rigid as she kept her gaze on his figure safe on the land that loomed closer with each mighty stroke that

Junior made forward. His dark hair was streaming as if he'd dove into the water himself. She wasn't even touching the reins anymore ... why was he shouting again? Intuition made her turn her head. A huge tree, bare-branched and rolling in the deadly current, was sweeping right toward them. She had perhaps two seconds of horrified comprehension before the world turned into a melee of branches, water, and suffocating darkness. **** She was gone. It simply could not be. Ross stood, locked into place by horror, his muscles frozen and ineffectual. One moment both horse and woman had been strong and nearly across, and in the next moment, disaster had hurtled out of the blue and consumed them both. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. He felt as if his world had ended abruptly. No, he thought numbly. Not Arianne. It could not be. Incredulous, he stared out over the water. Woman, horse, and tree had vanished in a swirl of brown water and wicked naked branches. Arianne. No! His body finally came to life, jerking into action. He ran down the bank, frantically searching the water. The tree, destructive but uncaring, was buoyant in the spate, rushing out of sight around the bend in mere seconds. Otherwise, the river was empty of all life but the mighty and relentless tide of water. He refused to believe it. He could almost see the image of her limp body rolling helplessly in that mad current, her lovely eyes open and her arms flailing as she was swept away. “Annie!” The cry was of anguish, torn from his lungs. He stumbled on the wet ground and went to one knee, only to be up again and running. No, no, no, the chant went up in his brain, insistent with fierce rejection. He screamed her name again and again. Denial was so consuming, that he could have sworn he heard a faint reply, carried by the damp, fickle wind. His eyes were smarting, hot, hurting. A strange warm dampness coated his face, running down his cheeks. “Annie!” he shouted. Again, did he hear something? Bushes tore at his clothes as he ran through the underbrush, following the path of the rushing deluge. Please. It was a prayer, desperate and devout. Then he saw her. Relief was like a tidal wave, washing through his body. It was followed instantly by stabbing guilt and paralyzing fear. Each sensation flooded through him in hot and cold daggers. A huge boulder near the far bank, normally a formidable presence in the streambed, was nothing more than a dark ripple on the surface of the water. Arianne had lodged against this and clung there, halfprostrate and helpless in the grip of the river, her fair braid streaming in the water, the fragile shape of her head barely visible above the consuming tide. Junior was nowhere in sight. She was still alive.

The world seemed to rush in, to focus, to steady his nerves into a single fusion of cold and steely determination. “Annie,” he cried again, this time deliberately wiping the panic from his voice. “I'm coming for you. Hold on, sweetheart. Just hold on." “Ross!” Her reply was very faint over the roar of the water. Dante. He turned and saw the horse, grazing now on the sodden grass, his ears laid back in discontent after his trip across the river. There was absolutely no way he could force the black horse back into that water. He knew it. Every horse was different and some took to the water better than others. Dante had hated the swim; he'd made that clear enough every inch of the way. It took effort to approach the horse with a calm demeanor when he was screaming for action inside. Taking the coil of rope from his saddle, he looped the end around the saddle horn, and took up the reins. He was shaking, trembling from head to foot. Drawing in a deep breath, he steadied himself and cleared his mind of everything but the task at hand. Not what could go wrong, just what he needed to do. Leading the horse toward the river was a huge problem, the high-strung Dante wanting no part of the melee. Ross coaxed and urged the horse, all the while conscious of the stranded and endangered woman who needed him. There was nothing to tether the horse to except a small scrubby bush, but there was no time to hobble him or search for anything else. Anxious glances at the water showed that Arianne still clung to her rock, but the minutes were ticking by and the water was rising by the second. She was barely above water as it was. “Hold, boy.” He put his hand on Dante's muscled neck, his voice as calming as he could make. The black moved restlessly but did not tug at the rein. Tossing his coat aside and stripping off his slicker and gunbelt, Ross grabbed the rope attached to the saddle and tied it around his own waist, his fingers fumbling with the knot. He walked to the bank and stared out over the torrent. Then he plunged into the river. The icy current instantly grasped him and pulled him downstream. He began to swim steadily in long powerful strokes, conscious only of the enormous urgency he felt to get to Arianne. It felt sickeningly like he was making little progress. Once, something, a dead animal perhaps from the weight and feel of it, crashed into him and sent him under before it swung free and disappeared. He came up gasping and swallowing water, and saw that he was indeed at least closer to where Arianne still lay clutching the huge rock like a lifeline. But awareness came as he struggled on. He wasn't going to make it to her. He was too far downstream already and the pull of the rushing water was worse than he had thought. Making progress across was difficult enough, swimming upstream against that current would be impossible. Hell, his arms already felt like lead, his chest was bursting, and he couldn't reach her. She saw him. Lifting her head, he saw her dark eyes like two black holes in her pale, streaming face. Her lips moved but he couldn't hear her, not with the water roaring past his ears as he swam. A few more feet ... God help him to make it a few more feet. He reached out and the ache of effort tightened in his chest and shoulders.

He stopped, treading water as best he could, trying to not drift any farther back. The rock was about twenty feet upstream. “Let go!” he shouted. She had levered the top half of her body to lie across the top of the rock, keeping her head out of the deadly water. “What?” she replied weakly, the sound barely drifting to him as she lay still, not moving an inch. “Annie, let go. I'll catch you.” It was difficult to shout and keep himself afloat. Dear God, it was a gamble. If she were swept past him, she would be lost. She knew that too; he could see the fear on her face even from that distance. She shook her head in resistance to the idea. A wave slapped him in the face, making him choke. He could hardly hold his position for long; it was nearly a superhuman effort as it was, even with the help of the rope and horse. “Annie, let go! You have no choice." “I ... can't.” An answering cry. Please, he prayed silently, find the courage, angel, trust me ... I need you, I need to save you or I can't live myself. Please, for the both of us, let go. A few seconds passed, then, miraculously, he saw her move. One second she was still on her lifesaving perch, the next she gone. Frantically he blinked and searched for her, only to see her golden head bob to the surface as she was rushed toward him like a bit of driftwood. Ten feet away ... maybe less. He almost had her. His hands reached out, the rope taunt around his waist now that he floated so far downstream. To his horror she went under again, but his searching hands caught a bit of fabric and he grasped hard, jerking it back toward him with all his might. She came up, choking, frightened, and very panicked. He managed to ward off her clutching hands before being dragged under, spinning her around so that her back was to him. His arm went around her neck under her chin as his other hand went to the rope. Barely keeping her above water, he rasped out, “I've got you, I've got you and I won't let you go. Listen, Annie, listen to me. If you don't you'll drown us both." “Ross...” A whimper. Her fingers clutched desperately at his arm, digging in. “Listen. I'm going to pull you around and turn. Get behind me. Grab my shoulders and let me pull you, understand? Whatever you do, don't put your arms around my neck.” He was shouting again, doing his best to keep them both above water, using the rope as a lifeline. She nodded. He could feel the jerk in the muscles of her neck against his encircling arm. “Good girl." Her fingers twisted in his shirt and he helped her inch by inch by turning a little so that her hands could go to his shoulders. As soon as he was sure she had a good hold, he began to pull them back to the shore, using the rope still attached to the horse's saddle instead of trying to swim. Dante. The restive animal didn't like the sudden weight of both of them combined with the fight against the inexorable current. Ross could feel that he was moving restlessly, their progress arrested by jerky pulls and sudden slackness that sent them backwards in the rushing water. “Come on, boy, stay firm,” Ross muttered through clenched teeth. If Junior had been there on that shore, he would have known the horse would be stalwart and steady.

Junior. The pang of sorrow had to be ignored. He would think about the loss of Junior later—after they were safe—and in the meantime he had to depend on the uncertain temperament of the high-strung Dante. He couldn't see anything but the swirling water around them. Hand over hand, he struggled toward the shore, acutely conscious of the girl clinging to his back and their precarious position. It was cold, weighty progress. The water sucked and bled the heat from their bodies and tried to lure them into the deadly rush. Fighting with every ounce of his strength, Ross steadily pulled hand over hand, bringing them closer to shore. A ringing whinny broke the air. Ross felt the moment when the stallion bolted in displeasure. The sudden wrench on the rope nearly tore it from his hands and he cursed, swallowing water as they were suddenly dragged toward shore and he went under. The top button on his shirt gave, but Arianne hung on, her weight a relief. Searing pain in his hands, the heavy drag of the water, the taste of blood as he bit his lip. He was fighting to surface, choking for a breath of life-giving air. They slammed into the bank before Ross realized how close they were, Arianne losing her grip. He lunged and caught her before she was swept back into the tide, breaking surface and hauling her, sobbing and choking, into the circle of his arms. The rope must have snapped, he realized, gasping, but thankfully he could actually stand where they were and he lifted and pushed her onto the bank, crawling up after her. He was on his hands and knees, chest heaving, his clothes streaming water on to the already saturated ground as he quickly untied the rope around his waist. Arianne lay on her back in the muddy grass, eyes closed, her oval face white and drawn. Her slicker was gone, as was one boot, torn away somehow in the crisis. She was soaked and muddy and ashen as a ghost. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth and began to form a pink pool in her sodden hair. The guilt was overwhelming. His fault, all of this was his fault for insisting that they cross that damned river. “Annie.” A whisper. “Are you all right?" Her eyes opened. Those magnificent eyes framed by sticky wet lashes. Her lips trembled. “Yes." “Are you sure?" “Oh, Ross.” A sob racked her slender body. “How could you?" “Jesus.” He wearily closed his eyes and tried to ignore the burning on the palms of his hands where the rope had taken its toll. She had every reason to blame him, to question his judgment. He started to mutter, “I thought it was safe enough, sweetheart, I swear it. I never meant for any of this to happen, you have to believe me..." She interrupted hotly, whispering, “Not that, you ... you stupid oaf. How could you risk your life that way? Are you crazy?" He opened his eyes and stared at her. Even drenched, disheveled, bleeding, and lying in mud, she was so damned beautiful it hurt to look at her. “What are you talking about?" She said softly, incoherently, “You went back into that river. For me." “Of course I did,” he defended. “It was my fault you were clinging to that Godforsaken rock. All of it was on my head."

“Your fault? I don't see how." “No? Well, I do.” His smile was grim. “Of course, using Dante as an anchor may not have been the best idea I ever had for a rescue attempt. Unreliable bastard.” He got to his feet, stooping to extend a hand to her. “Can you stand, sweetheart? I think I'd better go find our horse." She lifted a cold hand and slowly grasped his outstretched one. “Junior." “Yes.” There was no inflection in his voice. “Oh, I'm so sorry, Ross.” Her eyes were filled with tears. Stifling a wince, he pulled her to her feet. “He was just a horse." “He was your friend. You told me that you'd had him for years; that he had twice saved your life. He's a very great loss." “I could have lost more." She looked away. Mud dripped from her clothes, blood still ran from her mouth, and her hair was a matted mess. She shivered violently. “We both could have." “Let's be happy we didn't.” He sincerely meant every word. A nod. “Can you stay here alone while I find Dante?” His knuckles brushed her damp cheek in a light gesture. “I won't be gone long, I promise. He was tired and won't have gone far. I've learned that much about him over the past weeks." “I'll be fine." There was something so lost about her expression, so poignant and vulnerable that he hesitated. “Annie,” he said slowly, “don't fail me now. You've been magnificent these past days, staying the course without complaint. I need that courage, that stubborn determination to show me up, to hold fast. Show me what a well-bred, spoiled English lady can do, will you, angel?" Her shoulders tightened imperceptibly. Her chin went up. Smiling to himself, he turned away and surveyed the ground for telltale hoof prints. Chapter 8 The pines glistened with moisture and Dante's hooves sunk into the mud to his hocks. The air had grown steadily colder as the afternoon waned, with a keen tang to it that was reminiscent of the snowcapped mountains that could be barely glimpsed in the distance. The afternoon had thickened perceptibly, and late shadows made it gloomy and dark under the trees. All around them came the sodden drip of laden branches. “Just a bit farther,” Ross muttered encouragingly, trying to ignore the stumbling horse, his own aching body, and the slumped weight of Arianne behind him. She had not spoken much since they had found the black and he lifted her up to resume their journey. How he wished for anything, even a barrage of personal questions that would indicate she was recovering. At least he could make it up a little bit to her by providing a fire and a roof over her head for the night. They could both stand to be dry and warm. A few minutes later he reined in underneath a towering cottonwood that sprouted majestically in a

small patch of fluttering aspens like some ancient forest monarch. Then he swung out of the saddle, his boots squishing mud under the blanket of pine needles as he landed on the saturated ground. “Where are we?” Arianne asked wearily, lifting her hand to push a stray tendril of damp hair off her temple. Though they were out of the wind now, in her wet clothes she still shivered, looking about with little apparent interest. “Why are we stopping here?" He handed her the reins, wrapping her limp fingers around the leather straps, though it probably wasn't necessary. Dante stood with his head drooping, looking as tired and wet as his passengers. “Just stay here and I'll be right back. I want to check out the cabin and make sure it is deserted. I have to admit I'm just not in the mood for unpleasant surprises." “Cabin? What cabin? Where? I don't see anything.” Her eyes were huge in her pale face, dark and dilated with fatigue. She swayed slightly as she stared down at him. He smiled with what he hoped was reassurance. “You aren't meant to see it, sweetheart. See those two tall trees over there?” He pointed. “It is nestled in a tiny hollow just on the other side, sheltered from the north wind. The man who built the place was a fanatic about his privacy." One hand went upwards in a pathetic attempt to push her disheveled hair out of her face. “Will he mind, I mean, I'm such a mess..." “Don't worry, we won't be intruding. He doesn't live there anymore." “Anymore?” A whisper in apathetic question. “He's gone?" “He moved on. The place is empty now, or should be." “He was a friend of yours?” Arianne stared downward from on top of Dante's back, her mouth drawn with distress. “You could say that,” Ross murmured evasively. “Of sorts, at times. Sometimes a friend, sometimes my worst enemy. Let's just say I know he won't mind us using his place.” Patting the weary horse briefly, he turned away, slipping through the trees. Soporific rain falling, the smell of wet earth, the sodden slip of fallen leaves under his boots. Ross moved silently, gliding through the gathering dusk, letting his senses relay any sign of danger. He went slowly, head bent, listening for anything out of the ordinary. It was utterly quiet except for the thin whistle of a damp breeze spitting rain in his face through the dripping branches above. He detected no hint of wood smoke despite the chill creeping into the air, which was a positive sign. Pausing in the inadequate shelter of a spindly spruce that had lost the ageold forest battle for light and space, he surveyed the area in a sweeping glance. The structure looked thankfully deserted; no horses in the small enclosure attached to the cabin, no smoke curling from the stone chimney, no footprints in the soft earth leading up to the single simple door. Nevertheless, Ross slipped his gun out of the holster and held it steady as he approached the door. Carefully easing around the building, he took a deep breath. Lifting the simple latch, he kicked it open and stepped inside. His wary gaze flashed over the old iron bedstead with the musty blankets neatly folded, the cold stone hearth, the dry, dusty floor, the simple table against the wall. Empty. And had been for some time. It was a relief. He could never be sure when some drifter might stumble on to the place and take up residence. The location was remote and well hidden, but one never knew. Tonight they would have heat and shelter.

Quickly retracing his steps, he saw Arianne still sitting limply astride Dante, her bedraggled appearance emphasized by the droop of her shoulders. He didn't even bother to mount the tired animal, instead reaching up to tug the reins from her unresisting hands. “All clear,” he said encouragingly as he began to lead the horse toward the cabin. “We'll be dry and warm in a moment and the world will change, Annie. It is surprising what a little comfort can do for the spirit." “I suppose that after today, we could both use that,” Arianne mumbled in reply. “I know I could. A fire sounds like heaven, Ross. I'm so cold and wet. I've never felt this way." What an understatement, Ross thought grimly. His aristocratic companion had certainly learned the hard way that the simple comforts were not to be dismissed as one's due, and it was a harsh lesson. He'd come from an affluent background himself and clearly remembered the first time he'd awakened soaked, hungry, and half-frozen. By now, the servants, the clean clothes, the luxurious house ... all of it seemed like a distant life lived by someone else to him, but Arianne was just learning. She'd asked for it, he reminded himself, trying to shove down an unwanted surge of sympathy. She had insisted on going to Colorado and he had told her it would be a hard journey. Yet he still felt an unbelievable wave of desire to protect her and give her comfort. “Just give me a few minutes, Annie,” he said softly. “I'll make things better, I promise." **** It was a miracle. Holding out her hands, Arianne felt the warmth of the crackling fire singe her skin, reveling in the hot feel of it. She leaned forward, tilting her face toward the flames, ignoring the water still dripping from her sodden clothes. Nothing seemed so important as the feel of warmth against her chilled flesh. “It seems like a lifetime since I've been under a roof and dry." “It's been a while, I agree. The past few days have been pretty miserable.” As she watched, Ross dumped another armload of wood in the corner, moving with the lithe grace that was so innate and natural to him. He didn't seem to mind being wet and freezing, or at least didn't show it with his usual tough competence. He hadn't even moved toward the fire except to put wood on it. “A few weeks can be an eternity,” Arianne said reflectively, staring at the fire and flexing her sore shoulders. “I feel as if Boston might have been a dream. It seems so long ago, and nineteen years in England just a faded memory." “New experiences have a way of filling the time and mind and you've had plenty.” His agreement was neutral in tone. “Yes.” She lifted her shaking hands, drying and warming them. Without her coat, her soaking wet blouse molded to her breasts like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. She would not even be aware of this if she hadn't glanced over and caught Ross staring. He tore his gaze away in a betraying fashion, suddenly busying himself by inventorying the contents of his saddlebag. Glancing down, she saw that her nipples were plainly visible through the cotton fabric, pointed with the cold and wet. She hunched her shoulders, but it did little good, the wet material clinging to every curve and hollow. Shrugging, she relaxed again, savoring the warmth and shelter around her. It seemed such a trivial matter to concern herself with when just being alive was a blessing. Any other time, she would be frantically embarrassed, especially after the passionate declaration of longing that Ross had lain between them. But for now, she was just too tired.

Tired. But alive. Thanks to Ross. Again. She now owed him her life over and over. “I have two shirts, both clean thanks to Mother Lamby and still relatively dry,” he announced. “We have a blanket that is somewhat damp but not too bad, a bar of soap, a comb, some coffee but no pot, a spoon, a frying pan, and a little salt. The bacon was in the pack on Junior. No flour, no beans, no lard." Arianne refused to be dismayed. How ungrateful would it be to whine about the loss of a few items when she still had her life? She murmured, “I'll eat dirt, I'm so glad to be here." Sitting back on his heels, Ross looked amused as he glanced over, his sensual mouth curving. Droplets of water still clung like tiny jewels to his lean jaw. “I think I can do a little better than that. Dirt is definitely off the menu. There will be some game around here. I'll rustle us something for dinner, trust me." “I do,” Arianne said without thinking. His dark eyes narrowed slightly and the smile abruptly left his face. “Do you, Annie?" “Trust you? Yes.” She swallowed, feeling heat climb into her cheeks under that direct, burning stare. “Shouldn't I?” It was foolish to challenge him in such a way but she said it anyway. “To provide dinner, yes.” A soft polite reply. “Otherwise, I am not so sure." His hair was beginning to dry, longer than since they began their journey, curling at his neck and jaw, magnificently tousled and dark. His damp shirt was shaped to his muscular shoulders, open because of some missing buttons to show his strong neck and upper chest, and his worn jeans outlined lean, powerful thighs. His hands rested casually on his knees but the intense expression on his face was a combination of dark promise and calculation. He said abruptly, “Maybe we shouldn't even be discussing this. I've already told you where I stand. The less said the better." He had never, Arianne thought involuntarily as she sat there pinned by that dark stare, looked so dangerous ... or attractive. He still wanted her. She knew it; there was no mistaking it, not even for someone as sexually ignorant as herself. This time he didn't have to say it out loud. It was exciting. It was frightening. Not because she thought that Ross would ever force himself on her, she knew him better than that by now. He had had a thousand opportunities if he had been that kind of man, and had never taken anything except that one first kiss meant to teach her a lesson. No, the problem was that Ross wouldn't force her because ... if she were honest with herself, he wouldn't have to force her. Dear God, she hoped he didn't realize that disturbing fact. But she was afraid he did. Turning away from that searing gaze, she stared at the fire instead. He said abruptly, “I'm going out." “Yes.” All she could manage was a mumble. “But I'll be back." A threat or a promise?

She heard the scrape of his boots on the dusty floor and felt a waft of cold air as he opened the door and went outside. The door shut behind him with a soft bang. This time the shiver that racked her body had nothing to do with the cold. **** The rabbit crept out of the cover of a trailing willow, its nose twitching even as it cropped a blade of withered grass and began to nibble. Ross lifted his gun and shot it cleanly, feeling the pang of regret he always did as he watched it twitch and go still. He stood, stalking over to pick it up by the hind legs. It might be the natural order of life to kill to survive, but he damn well hated killing anything, even a rabbit, even for food. Not, he thought with irony, that any of the pinch-nosed dowagers back in Boston would believe such a thing. He was sure they pictured him prowling the Wild West, gun drawn, a bloodthirsty expression on his face. To hell with them anyway. He skinned the animal on the spot, throwing the entrails and hide out for the scavengers, and then hiked back to the cabin. It was nearly fully dark now, and he could smell the heady scent of the smoke trailing from the stone chimney. Dangling the rabbit, he pushed open the door. He been gone about an hour but Arianne was still there warming by the fire, the mud beginning to stand out in pale streaks on her clothes and skin as it dried. Her long hair curled wildly around her face and down her back. “I told you I'd find dinner,” he said, retrieving his battered frying pan from their now meager store of belongings. He used a bit of precious salt to season the animal, then set it carefully near the coals to allow it to roast. He glanced over at the very still woman next to him. “Are you hungry?" No answer. A twinge of alarm curled in his stomach. Her lack of response was not a good sign. Her euphoria over being safe and warm had obviously passed. She now looked like someone in delayed shock, pale and shivering once more, her absent gaze locked on the glowing coals as her teeth chattered. Her frozen features did not move. “Annie?” he prodded gently, and reached over to touch her arm. “I asked you if you were hungry." “I don't think so.” A mutter. “You're shivering. The blanket is a little damp but it still might help. Are you cold?" “No." Her profile was very still, her pallor alarming. He slid his fingers down and took her hand, feeling the cold, limp fingers with some alarm. “Jesus, you're freezing." “I'm ... fine." She was not fine. Warming her was paramount. He got swiftly to his feet and fetched the blanket, wrapping it around her trembling shoulders. Then, a thought coming to him, he went to the corner by the bed, dragging out a large metal tub that doubled as a table when it was turned upside down. He flipped it over and chased away a few disgruntled spiders. “I haven't known a woman yet who wasn't crazy over a warm bath,” he murmured soothingly. “Just give me a few minutes to heat some water, angel." The hint of a pale moon filled the night sky as he went outside to fetch the metal pail he had used to

water Dante. The dripping trees were bathed in a somber darkness, the distant ridges dark and laced with silver and bands of green. The air smelled keenly of tangy pine and damp earth. It smelled like home. He'd come a long way from the venerable halls of Boston. This was where he belonged, in the wild, in the mountains, with nothing but his own resourcefulness to keep himself alive. He bent and filled the pail from the icy spring, carrying it back to the cabin. It took three trips before he had enough steaming water in the tub, each time the water seeming to take forever to get hot. He came in with the fourth pail and set it on the sizzling coals, then turned toward where Arianne still sat and shivered by the fire. “Come on, Annie,” he coaxed, taking her arm and tugging her to her feet. She rose unsteadily, looking at him with wide shadowed eyes. Her skin was still an ashen hue, but the blanket did seem to help for she had roused enough to take interest in what he was doing and was no longer shivering quite so violently. He eased the blanket from her shoulders. “The water is warm and wonderful. Undress and get in,” he ordered firmly, “you'll feel better, I promise." To his relief, she nodded woodenly, her fingers going clumsily to the buttons on her blouse. He turned his back, moving to the fire and poking at the rabbit, now sizzling in a satisfying way in the pan. He was damned hungry and normally the enticing aroma would have his mouth watering but all he was aware of was the woman undressing behind him. The rustle of damp fabric hitting the floor, the sound of the slight splash as she slid into the tub, her gasp as the warm water closed over her chilled flesh. It all smote like a fist into his gut. Into his groin. His reaction was predictable, his erection swelling at the same pace as the images flashing into his mind. Maybe the idea hadn't been such a good one. The rabbit was coming along nicely, he thought to himself, poking it lightly. Anything to ignore the tightening in his lower body. Of course, it was no use denying it. The very idea of Arianne, naked and within reach, tied his muscles into knots. The fact that she knew about that desire made things even worse. Saying something had been a mistake. He should have left that barrier of innocence between them. “This is so wonderful, Ross.” A sweet sigh from behind him. “Thank you." “Is it?” His voice sounded hoarse. His hands fisted into knots. Breathing rapidly, he stared at the dancing flames in front of him. “Could ... could I have the soap, please? You said we still had some." The soft question was like a test of pure fire. Ross simply nodded, standing with his back still to the tub, and turned sideways to walk stiffly to where his pack lay by the wall of the tiny room. Gritting his teeth at the sound of splashing water, he thrust his hand into his pack and fumbled for the soap. Holding it in his hand, he turned around. Hell. The tub was big enough to let a man sit in water to his waist. Arianne was angled backwards, knees bent, her white shoulders showing above the rim. He could see the mounds of her breasts, damp and slick with water, partially covered by her long hair, which she had tried to use as a concealing drape. Her outstretched hand quivered slightly the longer he stood there staring. Good God, he was sweating. Soaked to the skin on a cold Colorado evening and still sweating. “Ross,” she urged him quietly.

Woodenly he walked forward until he could place the soap in her hand. There was simply no way he could force his gaze from her reclining figure in the tub, he just didn't have the will to do it. Pale slim legs, graceful smooth arms, the quiver of her breasts as she moved to take his offering ... he somehow managed to place the bar of soap in her hand and turn away. Still breathing erratically, he went over to the door and opened it, letting cool air waft over his heated face. More splashing. Jesus. At least she was feeling better, coming out of her semi-stupor. With some food inside her she would be fine. That was some small consolation. He felt like he was going to die from sexual frustration and repressed desire, but she would be fine. “Ross?” Her soft voice beckoned. He jerked convulsively at the sound. “What?" “Could you ... that is, the other pail of water, is it warm now?" He stalked over to the fireplace and tested the water with his finger. “Yes,” he practically snarled. Finely-tuned to her every movement, to every arousing sound, he could hear her take a hesitant breath. “Do you suppose you would help me?" “Help you?” His voice was raspy, his eyes riveted on the glowing coals of the fire. “Well, yes." “What the hell do you want me to do, wash your back?” His laugh was short, incredulous. “No, well ... could you rinse my hair?" “Rinse your hair?” he repeated in a tight voice, pivoting around. “Let me get this straight. You want me to stand over you while you are naked—stark naked—and rinse the soap out of your hair?" Sudsy locks of hair tumbled over her neck and shoulders. She was bent at the waist, her crossed arms covering her breasts, staring at him. Her soft mouth was parted in alarm at his savage tone and the change in his demeanor. She stammered, “I'm afraid I cannot do it without pouring water all over the floor." “And since I was being so tame and accommodating you just thought it would be safe to ask me.” It wasn't anger so much as pure sexual tension that drove him. Her naiveté was killing him. He was on a short leash as it was. Did she see nothing? Her chin lifted and her eyes suddenly flashed. “Obviously I was wrong. I thought that since we managed so well in close quarters for so long now, you..." “Had been castrated?” he supplied. “No.” Color flooded upward into her face, staining her smooth cheeks. “Maybe you weren't listening when I spelled things out for you, Annie, but I could swear you were. Nothing has changed, maybe things are even worse." “Ross ... I ... forget it. I'm sorry." He felt a certain, unreasonable recklessness flow into his mind. He said silkily, “Forget it? No way. You asked, honey. So you'll pay the price." “Price?” Her voice was edged with panic, her eyes apprehensive at his sudden declaration. “What do

you mean?" “I mean I'll be more than happy to perform the service, my lady." Ross swung around and grabbed the pail, slopping some of the water on his boot, not that it mattered, he was wet enough as it was. He stalked over and lifted it over her head, drinking in the sight of her smooth back. He began to tilt the bucket, pouring a thin stream of warm water over the wet silk of hair lying on her shoulders. “Tilt your head back,” he ordered. “Ross, I don't think..." “Tilt your head back, Annie. Now.” His command was lethally soft. She did so, exposing the delicate arch of her throat. He let the water trickle slowly across her scalp, his heated gaze roaming over her body. Her small hands did little to conceal anything and he drank in the perfection of softness and shadow, of grace and form. Her pale thighs were clenched together and he moved a little so that he could see the intriguing darkness between her legs. Her eyes were wide and half-frightened as she stared up at him, her mouth parted and vulnerable. He could still remember how she tasted from that one stolen kiss. Like honey and sunshine. Like woman and forbidden paradise. He continued to pour slowly until all of the water was gone, tipping the bucket upside down deliberately and tapping out the last drop with a bang of his hand, all the while examining her body with heated, open interest. “Thank you,” she whispered, swallowing hard, blushing profusely. “Now, if you would please turn around, I would appreciate it." “No.” He lifted a brow and tossed the bucket aside. The metal clang as it hit the floor rang loudly in the small room. “Ross. Please." He shook his head and smiled. “This is the price, sweetheart. I was doing my best to play the gentleman, a role you know I don't perform well, but you wouldn't let it be." “I simply asked a small favor!” she cried. “Small? I disagree. Apparently you know even less about men than I thought. Now, get out of the tub, Annie." “You're being deliberately mean." “Perhaps.” He shrugged and smiled. His hands went to the buttons on his shirt as he looked at her. “Now, unless you hurry, I'm going to join you in there. I think you've had the bath long enough. It's my turn." “You wouldn't.” She looked instantly the outraged English aristocratic lady, even buck naked, her mouth setting in a haughty line, her eyes flashing disdain. “Oh, sweetheart, I would.” He eased the damp, filthy shirt off his shoulders and tossed it aside. “And the truth is, you know I'd like nothing better.” He began to unfasten his pants. Arianne had to uncross her arms and grab the sides of the tub to rise. He had several heart-stopping seconds to see her stand up, nude and glorious in front of him, soapy water sliding down her slender torso and legs and glistening in the damp golden triangle between her thighs. She clambered out and ran to retrieve the clean shirt he'd left out by his pack, pulling it on with jerky movements and whirling around to glare at him.

She was furious, embarrassed, and astoundingly lovely with her wild tangle of hair and trembling body encased in his shirt. He undid the buttons on his jeans one by one, letting his gaze lock with hers. “Turnabout is fair play, Annie, so if you want to watch me, I don't mind.” He added softly, “But I have to warn you, right at this moment, you might just get an eye-full. If you've looked at me at all, you'll have noticed a certain ... er ... physical enthusiasm for you bathing in my presence." Her gaze slipped to the very visible bulge in his pants. She swallowed and looked away quickly. “To think I thought you considerate,” she spat out, trying to button the shirt. It fell past her thighs, but still left enough exposed skin to keep him hard and heavy all night. “Your mistake, sweetheart.” He eased his pants down over his straining erection, stifling a groan. The only problem with the game he had just played, he thought wryly, was that he paid himself and paid dearly. Then he eased himself gratefully into the tepid water and reached for the soap, not bothering to see if she was watching. Chapter 9 Mother Lamby and her buffalo steak had to move to second place. The rabbit was the most delicious thing Arianne had ever eaten. Without white tablecloths, without forks or knives or gleaming crystal, it was hands down the finest meal she remembered in a long time. She found herself licking her fingers in the most un-lady-like manner possible, the pile of bones on her plate nearly as big as the one in front of Ross. He grinned, watching her and she felt slightly embarrassed at the way she had devoured her food. He said, “Enjoy?" “I would never have thought I would say this after all those endless plates of beans, but if you lived in London,” she replied with a sigh, “you could easily make your living as a chef, Ross. Every fashionable hostess would be squabbling over your services." Naked to the waist and sitting cross-legged by the fire, he suggestively lifted a dark brow. “Services? Really, Annie? I believe I like the sound of that." His torso gleamed in the firelight, muscular and exquisitely male. Wide shoulders and a broad chest tapered to a flat stomach and slim waist. Every lift of his arm defined the strength of his upper arms and breadth of his shoulders. He was as beautiful as any ancient statue and infinitely more disturbing to her peace of mind. Come to think of it, the women she remembered back in England probably would want his ‘services'. “Cooking,” she corrected quickly, glancing away. Did the infernal man have to twist everything she said into a sexual innuendo? Clearing her throat, she amended, “I am simply trying to say that dinner was delicious." “I think your hunger probably enhanced your enjoyment, but I'm glad you're feeling better.” He smiled lazily and with unsettling charm, lifting a flask to his lips. He'd produced it out of the pocket of his coat, but she had declined, drinking instead the ice cold, almost sweet water from the spring from a tin cup. He proffered it again, but she quickly shook her head. Dear God, that was the last thing she needed. Something else to muddle her thinking. Ross half-dressed

was unsettling enough. Ross and she together half-dressed was positively a threat to her sanity. Liquor would just further the madness. “I'll clear this away and wash the dishes,” she offered, indicating their plates. “It's the least I can do after you fixed dinner." “By all means.” His dark eyes were amused. “That sounds wonderful. I can't wait." The moment she scrambled to her feet, she knew why. His shirt, though huge on her, only covered her to mid-thigh, and when she bent over to retrieve his plate, the neck gaped open, undoubtedly exposing her breasts. Ross chuckled appreciatively and didn't bother to hide his interested stare. Face flushed with the memory of their earlier bath debacle, she practically ran outside. It was dark, the clouds having cleared away to reveal a starlit sky, black and smooth as velvet. The moon hung very high and full, washing the pines with pale light. Normally she might be frightened outside all alone in such a wild and isolated place, but the threat inside seemed much more immediate than anything encountered in those dark woods. She fumbled her way to the spring, tossing the bones into the night and kneeling to plunge the plates into the cold water, gathering handfuls of sand to scrub and clean. She worked for several minutes, her wrists and hands going numb in the icy water, until, satisfied that she had done an acceptable job, she shook off the excess droplets and turned back toward the cabin. She'd never felt so nervous, so torn. Her heart was beating fast and light and she felt her stomach tighten. What was she going to do? The notion stopped her cold, shivering in his thin shirt, the woods surrounding her, dark and foreign. Ross was an unpredictable entity at anytime, but tonight he was downright dangerous. If you've looked at me at all... She wasn't sure at all what lay ahead. There was no denying that she was very aware of him as a man, probably every bit as much as he was aware of her as a woman. The fascination was there and had been almost since the first time they'd met. She'd learned a lot about him in the past few weeks. He wanted her. He'd told her flat out and she had been able to see it so very clearly in his face earlier, and in the blatant arousal of his body. He was torn by loyalty to her brother and a sense of honor he would deny he had, but how fast would both those things hold him? She wasn't sure he knew himself. Her own feelings were no less confused. She wanted him too. An unfathomable yearning to touch him, to be held and loved by him, assailed her whenever she looked at him. And it made her afraid. Ross was like a wild animal in many ways under that educated exterior. Wary, hard to approach, primal and difficult to control. The kind of man who killed a human being right in front of her and plunged into a raging river without thought to save her life. He might not be a gentleman in the sense she had known all her life, but he was brave, resourceful, and willing to lay down his life if necessary to keep her safe. Yet if she started something, she sensed it would quickly pass out of her control. A slow sultry shiver went up her spine. She knew nothing about taming someone like him. Look at what had happened that afternoon during her bath. She had never thought such a simple request would turn into a stubborn contest of wills. With her the loser.

With trepidation, she walked back to the cabin. Her mouth felt dry as she cautiously pushed open the door. He was still there, in that same position by the fire, watching the doorway. She self-consciously took the plates inside and carefully dried them, putting them back in the pack. And then, avoiding his dark intent gaze, she walked stiffly back and sank down, pulling the shirt over her bare knees and wrapping her arms protectively around her legs. Many times she had sat by a fire with Ross but never had the air sizzled with such tension. By God, she wasn't sure she could stand it. She took a timid glance over at him. His profile was clean and sharp, his gaze thankfully shifted from her face to the fire. The flickering light showed the line of his lean jaw, the straightness of his nose, the well-modeled curve of his sensual mouth. His hair trailed over his neck in careless curls, dark as midnight. She wanted inexpressively to touch it, to run her fingers through the thick mass of it, to draw him to her... “I suggest you not look at me that way, sweetheart.” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable underlying edginess to it. “What way?” she managed to ask. Her own voice sounded odd, off-key and hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Like you might be considering it." “It?” A squeak. He turned his head and looked at her then. A shocking challenging gaze clashed hotly with hers and held. “Come on, Annie, you are not a stupid woman and not talking about it won't make it go away." “I...” A falter. She had no idea what to say. His eyes were direct and held such a frankly sexual promise that she felt almost dizzy. “You ... what?" “I don't know.” It was a confession. Her face felt on fire, even worse than the awful moment the prairie inferno had swept upon them. She could do nothing but stare. There was little question of it. She was out of her depth and drowning. **** When Arianne looked at him with those beautiful eyes, Ross felt as if his whole body was going to explode. Her lush lashes left shadows on her cheeks, her hands twisted nervously in his over-sized shirt. The firelight made her tumbled curls a river of molten red-gold down her back, framing her perfect face. She was beyond question the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. From the first time he had set eyes on her at his mother's party, he had wondered what it would be like to possess a woman so utterly feminine and lovely. And since then he had wondered it often. Very often. She was Will's sister, he had constantly reminded himself. The daughter of an English aristocrat, spoiled and completely unsuited for the rough life of the American west. He shouldn't touch her, not for a red-hot moment. But nothing mattered suddenly except the shy, half-curious look in her eyes, or the way her teeth

worried her soft bottom lip as she stared at him. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it rushing in his ears. He said softly, “I do know. Let me venture an educated guess. You are thinking about the two of us and the night ahead. You're worried about what just might happen. And you should be, sweetheart, because I know there is no way I could possibly share that blanket with you and not be tempted to just take what I want." “You would never force me,” Arianne vowed instantly, her voice as soft as his. “You said so." He explained unemotionally, “But I want this very badly." “Not badly enough to dishonor me against my will.” She gazed at him with wide, trusting eyes. “I'm not as sure of that anymore." “I am.” She smiled. “Your conviction happens to be a small comfort at this moment, my lady.” Getting to his feet, Ross stalked restlessly across the room. Lord, his lower body actually hurt, he was so aroused and unfulfilled. Picking up a chunk of firewood, he walked back and tossed it into the fire. “That should hold for while. I'd better go for a walk and cool off.” He turned toward the door. “I'll be back in a while. Perhaps you should just go to sleep. I'll try not to wake you when I return." Her soft voice stopped him cold. “Ross, don't go." Don't go. Perhaps she was frightened to be alone... “Stay here. With me." Stay here? He said hoarsely, “I won't go far, angel, I promise." “That's not what I mean. I mean ... stay." He was suddenly frozen, his muscles locking like stone. “What?" “I want you to stay. I ... I invite you to stay." “You ... invite me?” He turned woodenly around until he could see her huddled form by the fire. His heartbeat had quickened. He rasped out, “You know what you're saying, Annie?" Her eyes were huge in her pale face but her nod was firm. “I know." Elation shot through his body, a fierce joy of anticipation and triumph that banished all good sense. Walking slowly forward toward her, he said tersely, “It scares the hell out me to admit that I don't know if I've ever wanted anything as much as I want you at this minute." Shakily, she said, “You're scared? What about me? I feel a fair confidence that you've at least done this before." He held out his hand to her and smiled tenderly. “I won't hurt you, Annie, you know that. I'm sure the devil not perfect, but I don't hurt those people that I care for. In fact, I can pretty much promise just the opposite." She hesitated. Her eyes were wide as she stared at his outstretched hand. He wondered if she would, after all, change her mind. The moment went on forever. She placed her slim fingers in his. His eyes closed in emotion at that gesture of open trust. He urged her to her feet and eased her at last against his hardened body, opening his eyes and inhaling the scent of

her. He buried his face in her hair, reveling in the silky texture, his hands exploring the graceful curve of her back, pressing her closer. Slow, he had to remind himself fiercely. Go slow. She sighed against his neck, slipping her arms around his waist and leaning against him. That act of surrender was fuel to the fire. He lowered his head and took her mouth, touching his lips to hers in a slow, sensual contact, promising himself fiercely that he would be gentle with her or die trying. Content in his elation with holding her in his arms and tasting the sweetness of her lips at first, he made allowance for her innocence by simply feathering his lips on hers and lightly rubbing her back. His reward was a sigh of pleasure and the tightening of her arms around him. Tracing the elegant line of her jaw with his mouth, he sought her lips again and again, kissing her gently, softly, nibbling at the corners of her mouth. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured after what seemed an eternity, “open up and let me taste you again. I remember that one kiss back in Missouri and it has been killing me ever since." Her lips parted willingly under his, allowing him into her heat and softness. He began to explore with abandon, stroking, teasing, coaxing a response. She jerked in reaction as he touched her tongue with his own, but he simply tightened his arms and deepened the kiss, toying, touching, caressing her until she was pressing back against him in enjoyment, timidly mimicking his actions. He had always sensed passion behind her lady-like demeanor and perfect manners, and he was determined to have it. He would have it. They were both breathless when he lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “Ross.” She lifted her hand to touch his jaw. Her aqua eyes were misted in soft glow from the fire. She rubbed her fingers gently over the stubble of his late day beard, saying shyly, “I always wanted to do that, to touch you and see how it felt.” She traced the line of his lower lip with one smooth finger. “Touch me anywhere you'd like.” His smile was dark with promise. “Because, sweetheart, I sure as hell am going to touch you. Everywhere. And the best way to do that is with nothing between us, Annie. Let me undress you. I've always wanted to do that." His fingers went to the top button of her overlarge shirt. As he slipped it free, he could see the slow rise of a blush climb up her neck and her gaze dropped from his. Another button undone and he could see the top swell of her breasts, the creamy skin rosy in the firelight. Sliding his hand inside the parted folds of his shirt, he cupped the soft weight of her breast in his hand, making her gasp as he slid his thumb sensuously over the pink nipple. He laughed softly into her hair. “That feels good, doesn't it? And it's only the beginning, my prim English lady. I have more to show you. So much more." Burying her face against his shoulder, she trembled as he continued to stroke and fondle. With his other hand he freed the rest of the buttons and gently pushed the garment off her shoulders so that it slid to the floor. Firelight gleamed off her curves and smooth skin, making him catch his breath. True, he'd seen it before and marveled at her pure beauty. But now she was his. He caught her in his arms and lifted her, carrying her to the bed and setting her down on the bare mattress. Face pink, Arianne averted her gaze as he stared down at her. She was so perfect that the fact she could feel embarrassment was a wonder to him. “You take my breath away.” He said it in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone else. Indeed, he sounded half-strangled. “I'm finding it a little hard to breathe, too,” she admitted shyly, still looking at the wall. Both her hands had flown to the apex of her slim thighs as she tried to cover herself from his hot gaze.

“Here.” He unfolded the discarded blanket from earlier and spread it on the bed. Bending over, he lifted her and settled her on the clean wool. Ross unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them off, easing down next to her on his side of the blanket. Propped on one elbow, he cupped her chin and urged her face toward his. Leaning over to kiss her hungrily, he at first just ran his fingers lightly down the curves of her body, touching the rounded smoothness of her hip, the satin of her breast, the clean and elegant line of shoulder and neck. Again and again, his hand skimmed up and down, not demanding, just ... worshiping. Arianne began to gradually relax at his gentle touch, finally sighing and turning toward him. Until she felt the unmistakable hardness of his erection against the softness of her stomach. She jerked in obvious alarm, but he wouldn't let her pull away, instead soothing her by stroking her back and whispering in her ear, “I want you so much, Annie, can you feel it? I'm on fire for you and knowing you want it too is the most exciting thing in the world." “Oh, Ross.” She clasped his shoulders with trembling hands. Her lashes drifted to touch her cheeks. “I'm ... afraid I don't know what to do." His laugh was low, torn from his throat. “Just leave it all to me, angel. Rolling her to her back, he laid himself above her and began a tender, urgent assault on her senses. He kissed her time and again, tasting, licking, savoring. Running his tongue along her collarbone, the hollow of her slender throat, he sought her right breast and found the hardened peak, taking the nipple deeply into his mouth as he suckled. She gasped and her hands flew to his hair, clutching at him. Smiling at her response, he licked and teased, first one breast and then the other, giving attention to the valley between them and the soft, tempting undersides until she was moving beneath him. Incoherent and inaudible protests fell from her lips, but she arched against him and he could feel small tremors rock her body as he pleasured her. Her hips lifted and pressed against his, making him groan out loud. He caressed every curve; breast, hip, thigh, carefully touching, holding back the wild need building inside him with rigid control. “Angel, you are so incredibly beautiful.” He traced small circles on her stomach with his tongue, going lower and lower. Gently parting her thighs, his fingers slid between her legs. Velvet softness and warmth greeted him. Arianne stiffened in resistance, her hands tugging at his hair “Ross..." He eased upward and kissed her, a different kiss this time, all heat and passion and the erotic mating of their tongues. When he lifted his head and stared into her eyes, she looked almost dazed. “Relax, Annie,” he ordered in a husky voice, not withdrawing his hand, “let me in and I promise I have something wonderful to show you." “Wonderful?” Her glorious fair hair was fanned across the blankets, framing her flushed face. “You said you trusted me. Prove it.” He gently pushed her legs farther apart with his knee and at the same time bent his head to capture the peak of one quivering breast in his mouth. She arched beneath him, her hands sliding into his hair, and when his insistent fingers again sought her heat and softness, she parted her thighs to let him touch her. He felt he was touching the promise of heaven on earth. The least he could do is share the magic. She moaned as he found his goal, her hips lifting against his questing fingers. Transferring his attention to her other tempting breast, he continued to touch and caress, feeling the betraying dampness with deep inner satisfaction. Her breathing became erratic as he brought her closer to fulfillment and Ross lifted his head so he could watch her face.

She was perfection, ivory and pink, with her halo of golden hair framing a face so lovely that she looked like the angel he called her. Her breathless pants were driving him wild, his body throbbing in time to the rhythm of his hand. “I haven't much experience with virgins,” he murmured as he continued to touch her intimately, “so I think I'd better make sure you enjoy this first time. Does this feel good, sweetheart?" “Oh!” A gasp. “Tell me, Annie." She swallowed, a convulsive movement of her throat. “You ... know it does.” A gulp. “Show me,” he challenged softly, knowing how close she was to her climax. A few seconds later, with a wild cry she arched and shuddered, eyes squeezed shut as she clutched the blankets with both fists. Ross waited until the betraying tremors passed to shift his body over hers and push her unresisting knees apart. Arianne lifted her lashes and looked at him with wonder in her eyes as he settled over her. “What did you do to me?” A whisper. She lifted her hand to lightly touch his cheek. “Exactly what you're going to do for me now.” Ross couldn't wait another second and pressed into her, feeling heat and delicious yielding flesh. He groaned out loud with the intense pleasure of it and muttered, “I wish this wouldn't hurt you, love, but that can't be helped.” He thrust forward, pushing past the barrier of her innocence until he was fully embedded in her body. Beneath him, Arianne cried out in pain, her expression of contentment replaced by a glossing of tears on her lashes. Tense, sweating and fighting for control, Ross went very still. He kissed her lightly, saying against her mouth, “It won't ever hurt again, Annie, I swear it. And the worst is over." “All right.” A brave swallow. “Is it better?” He peered at her face “Maybe a little." He moved, rocking his hips and sinking deeper inside. Heaven. Her expression didn't change and he pulled out a little to move in again. He was ravenous for release but the need to have her join him in this union, to enjoy it as well, was stronger. Trailing delicate kisses along her jaw, across her mouth and down the side of her soft neck, he began to sink into her slowly and withdraw with infinite care, feeling a surge of triumph when her hips began to lift and accept the pattern of love. “Kiss me,” he demanded and she reached up to cup his neck and draw him down to her. Her mouth was sweet and warm and she gasped a little with each movement of their bodies. Before long she was clinging to him, the movement of her hips insisting on a faster pace, her hands urgent on the small of his back. Fire scorched through his veins. He felt her beginning to tighten around him and it was too much. With an inarticulate cry, he exploded in a fury of desire and indescribable pleasure, shuddering into her again and again. **** It was raining again, the patter making a comforting sound on the roof of the cabin. Ross lay next to her on the bed, his lashes lowered over his dark eyes, one long arm flung casually up around his head. His breathing had slowed almost to normal. Arianne could see the gleam of his sweat-sheened skin in the

reddish glow from the hearth. Without his warmth, she was cold and had pulled the blanket over herself, but he lay without cover, oblivious to the temperature. The fire crackled lightly, burning low. The man was totally naked and didn't seem to care a bit. Arianne truly tried to not look at him, but he was so close and her fascinated gaze seemed to have a will of its own. He was magnificent, all sleek bulging muscles and power. She had admired his bare chest earlier and the rest of him was no less impressive. He was so very ... male, from his sculpted features to the portion of him that had been so unknown and forbidden. A small frisson of dismay shook her at her blatant interest. Ladies, she'd been told often enough by her stiff-laced sister-in-law, did not enjoy the intimate attentions of their husbands. What had just happened between her and Ross might just prove her to be not a lady after all. Because there was no doubt she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. His first words echoed that sentiment. “For a cool, refined Englishwoman,” he drawled, “you warm up quite nicely, Annie." Heat climbed into her cheeks. She said defensively, “I didn't mean to." That brought him instantly up on one elbow, his mouth curved in apparent amusement as he looked at her. “It was a compliment, not an insult. You're a woman, sweetheart, made to enjoy sex as much as any man. All I meant was that with all those ridiculous English rules and social taboos, I wasn't sure what to expect." Something, maybe the heavy, possessive look in his mesmerizing dark eyes, made her catch her breath. She clutched the blanket to her chest. “Expect?" “When I thought about what it would be like when I made love to you." Amazed, she demanded, “Are you saying you expected us to do ... what we just did?" “Probably from the first instant I saw you, I imagined we would end up like this.” His sweeping gesture indicated the rumpled bed and their intimate positions on it. Her mouth tightened at that arrogant assumption. “How dare you? Ross, I am not the kind of woman who just tumbles into bed with anyone. I..." His fingers came out swiftly to touch her lips, stilling her tirade. His smile carried an audacity that typically Ross. “Angel, who would know that better than me? Your virginity is still fresh in my mind, believe me, or you would be flat on your back with me inside you again by now. I am simply saying that we have been attracted to each other from the beginning, don't deny it. And, I suppose, in the back of my mind I always hoped it would turn into something more." He looked sincere, Arianne thought suspiciously as she studied him, that trademark faint, mocking smile curving his mouth in a devastating way. Ross was never easy to figure and she felt at a loss. Finally, she said tentatively, “Something more?" He looked boyishly amused. “Sex, Annie. I wanted you from the first time you approached me with your ridiculous request to take you to Colorado." Sex. It sounded awful, Impersonal. She felt her chest tighten. “I see." “No, you don't.” He evidently correctly read her expression for his fingers closed around her wrist and his gentle tug was designed to make her look him in the eyes. “Yes, I wanted you and hoped to take you to bed someday. But not just for lovemaking, don't worry. I realize I left the Bostonian gentleman

behind me some years ago, but I still wouldn't love you and walk away, not even if I could. Whether you were Will's sister or not." Alarm shot through her whole body. She hadn't wanted to think his feelings were simply casual lust, but the alternative was actually worse. She choked, “Ross..." “Annie, I figure we can get married in Trinidad. There's a preacher there." Married, she thought numbly. Oh God. What had she done? “Arianne?” He frowned. “I don't know what to say,” she whispered. An understatement. His long fingers gently stroked her inner arm, caressing the sensitive skin on her wrist. “You don't know what to say? Say you'll be my wife, Annie. Share not just my bed but my life." She swallowed, feeling slightly sick. “Annie?" She'd come to this. In bed with a man who wanted to marry her, the man who was her lover, and unable to tell him the truth. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and said, “I guess I'm just ... surprised. I don't picture you as a tame married man, Ross." He grinned and leaned over to lightly brush his mouth against hers. “Who said I'd be tame, sweetheart?" Chapter 10 The sun was up, bright and shining through the chinks in the logs of the cabin. The only thing left of the rain was the rhythmic trickle of a leak in the corner of the cabin roof and the slow drip of the trees outside. Birds were twittering outside, creating a raucous volume of sound. Arianne stirred lazily and stretched, a languorous movement of her body that brought the rush of realization swimming into her mind. She wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing and fallen asleep that way. And she was in bed with Ross. He was sleeping on his back, his tall body relaxed and half-covered by the blanket, his bare masculine torso powerful in the morning light. She watched his measured breathing, resisting the urge to reach out and smooth her hand over those sleek muscles. In repose his face was serene, the handsome features refined to planes and chiseled bone, thick dark lashes pillowed on arrogant cheekbones, his mouth halfsmiling as if he were having a pleasant dream. As the man of her dreams, she couldn't help but think in wry honesty, he wasn't even close to her girlhood imaginings. Her ideal lover would be charming and polite, writing poems to her beauty, reverently kissing her hand after requesting permission to do so, but not dreaming of taking further liberties. He would be gentle and wise and a consummate gentleman. My goodness, could she have been more wrong? Ross was the farthest thing on earth from a gentle unworldly poet. Instead, he was every inch the predatory male, ruthless and hard and not the least sentimental. No wonder he still slept, considering the exertions of their wild, passionate evening. He had done the most outrageous things to her the night before, again and again touching her, giving

her pleasure she could not imagine existed. She blushed when she remembered how she'd screamed out his name and how shamelessly she'd clung to him. He'd made her experience sensations she hadn't even dreamed even possible. The worse part was she wanted him to do those same things again. Over and over. To her, only her. He wanted to marry her, she thought in despair. If things were different, she could be his wife, bear his children, tend his home ... and she wanted that. When had it happened, this unreasonable longing? Somewhere between Boston and Colorado, she'd fallen in love with him. With wild and reckless Ross Braden, a man who was ostracized by society by virtue of his black reputation. What a disaster. And his reputation had nothing to do with her dismay. Whatever truth might lie behind those rumors about his past, nothing could change the fact that Arianne knew he was honorable in his own way, incredibly brave, undeniably intelligent, and a passionate tender man. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallowed audibly, fighting the sudden bite of tears. They escaped anyway, descending down her cheeks in a rivulet of warmth. She sniffled, swiping at her face with the blanket. Next to her, though deep in slumber, he was vigilant as ever and Ross instantly stirred. “Annie?” His voice was thick with sleep. She felt the bed move as he rose up on one elbow to peer into her face. “What's wrong?" “Nothing.” A whisper. Dampness trickled into the hair at her temples. “What a ridiculous lie. You're crying.” He shoved the hair off his forehead with a careless hand, frowning and looming over her prone form. “Why?" “I don't ... know.” Her voice cracked. He touched her face gently, his expression softening as his fingers brushed a tear off her cheek. “I think it's normal, angel. Women often cry ... afterwards, when it is their first time." “It's not that!” Damn her lost virginity. If only that was the problem. “Then ... what? Tell me." “I'm afraid I love you,” she confessed and hiccupped, swiping at her cheeks with trembling hands. I'm afraid I love you. What an admission. Enough to scare any man. Ross didn't seem to mind. He gave a low triumphant laugh, his dark eyes alight. “That's a good thing, sweetheart." No, she thought miserably, it wasn't. Not at all. Ross didn't fit into her plans in the slot she had slated for him. “Don't laugh at me, Ross,” she said crossly and unfairly. “I wouldn't dream of it." She felt him touch her with that same reverent tenderness that was such a contrast to his passionate nature, his warm hands sliding around her waist to pull her close to his lean body. His breath fanned her cheek and he lightly licked the edge of her jaw. He coaxed, “Let me show you just how good love is. Last night was just the beginning. Everything is better with a little practice. Come on, Annie." Weakly, she shook her head. “I don't think we should." “Why not?” he traced a pattern of warmth with his lips and tongue across her neck to her bare shoulder.

“You just said you love me." “I don't want to love you.” Her protest was swallowed by his kiss. She could feel his body stirring in an alarming and intriguing way against her, growing hard and ready against the curve of her stomach. Her hands went to grasp his shoulders. “It's too late,” he said and laughed. “This is meant to be, darling and you know it. No one is more cynical than I am and yet I think destiny had a hand in our coming together." He was so right. But if she surrendered to him again, she wasn't sure how she could stand to lose him. Poor Ross. If he really cared for her as well.... Yet in spite of knowing this, she turned to him and let him love her again, seeking the pleasure, the closeness, their bodies joining in a fierce burst of physical joy that left her weak and spent. Heaven help her, she thought as she drifted back toward an exhausted sleep in his arms, Ross was never going to understand. “This was your cabin, wasn't it?" Ross's nod was quick and abrupt, his profile averted. Squatting by the hearth, he prodded the glowing embers. Looking at him as he tended the fire, Arianne stirred and tugged the blanket closer around her body. Half-sitting up in the bed, she swallowed. “You lived here before you and Will built the ranch.” It was a guess, but an educated one. “Yes." “Why didn't you just tell me this place was yours?" His dark gaze came up and touched hers. “Did I have to? What's the difference?" “The past is the past?” Her tone was even enough, she hoped. “I think so. Shouldn't it be?" “I'm not sure.” But she lied. There was a reason she should know. Not the least of which was the fact that he had answered her question about whether the owner was a friend with a riddle. Sometimes, he'd said, and sometimes my worst enemy. He meant himself. A curious statement made by a man she finding to be more complicated every day. The man who was her lover. Maybe that was why she needed to understand him. This attraction was so potent, so disturbing. There had to be an explanation for this weakness. “I want to know you,” she said into the sudden silence. “Angel, you most certainly do know me.” He turned and winked. “Better than any man you've ever met. And you're sure to know me again before this day is over." “Not that way, Ross. And don't evade the question by trying to embarrass me.” Stubbornly, she persisted, “Why did you choose to live here, so far away from everyone?" He sighed. “You're determined to have this conversation, aren't you?" “Yes, I am." Straightening in one lithe movement, he leaned negligently against the mantle, saying, “Are you sure? You've heard the rumors; you might not like what I have to say."

Her breath fluttered in her throat. She stared. “Are you saying they are ... true? I thought you said before they weren't ... you were so angry..." “I said they aren't all true." “But ... some are?" “Some are." Arianne swallowed. “Oh." “Look...” His tone was suddenly savage. “I've been in a few fights, Annie. Gunfights. Where men were shot, even killed. By me.” His mouth twisted. “I didn't seek them out, but they still happened. Out here, if you get a reputation for being fast with a gun, it seems to be a challenge to every man who fancies himself a quick draw." She swallowed, clutching the blanket to her chest. “And you have such a reputation?" “To a certain degree, yes. It wasn't something I wanted, it just happened. Some years ago I made the mistake of getting into a quarrel with a man named Rance Chase. Ever hear of him?" “No." His laugh was short, mirthless. “Well, in England, no, I suppose not. But out West he was nearly a legend. Mean as hell and fast with a gun. I didn't really know it, didn't know him for that matter, but we ended up facing each other. I just played the hand I was dealt." “And you killed him." “I'm afraid so. I didn't have a choice. He would have killed me instead. I've always been a pretty crack shot, even growing up. I never supposed a natural ability to be able to point at and hit a target would so affect my life, but it has. It's rough out here, Annie, make no mistake. A man has to be able to defend himself. Unfortunately, a man who can do it well becomes some sort of absurd challenge. Since I killed Chase, I've been face to face with men I've never met, men who I have no possible quarrel with, who just want to try me. Staying out of sight as much as possible seemed to make good sense." Softly, she said, “So you came here? Lived here away from everyone?" He turned away, his face looking remote and shuttered. “It seemed a good idea to let my name and face fade into oblivion. I don't like killing, Annie. Never make the mistake of thinking so. Yes, this country can be rough but all the violence isn't necessary. I have never sought to do anyone harm unless threatened first." “You don't even need to tell me that, Ross." “Don't I?” He looked back and lifted a brow, his eyes wary, speculative. “No." She said it with just enough conviction that he smiled slightly, just a twist of those sensual lips. “Angel, you give me too much credit." “No.” It was a whisper, nearly stuck in her throat. “The world just doesn't give you enough." “This world isn't the same as the stuffy refined places we left behind. It's harsh, yes, but you have a chance to prove yourself. Memories are short and someone else will come along who's faster, who will be more of a challenge to all those foolish young boys with fire in their blood." “I hope so. I hate to think of you being hurt ... or hurting anyone." “The ranch is remote, though the area is being slowly settled. We can live there in peace, Annie, I

promise you that." Arianne said hoarsely, falsely, “It sounds perfect to me, Ross. For both of us." **** That night Arianne tasted wild turkey for the first time. Openly incredulous that anything could taste better than the rabbit of the night before, she practically inhaled her food once again to the extent that when Ross offered her some of the plump blackberries he'd found for dessert, apparently she had to shake her head in refusal. “Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins,” she murmured in dismay. “I have a feeling I'm doomed. I used to have the appetite of a bird." “Now it seems you have the appetite for a bird." She looked indignant. “I didn't eat the whole thing. I believe you had some, Mr. Braden." Sitting across from her, the over-turned bathtub serving as their table, Ross grinned. “Dante has requested I stop feeding you so much before we begin the rest of our journey." The door to the cabin was propped open, letting in the late afternoon sunshine. Her lovely face was framed by wild gold curls, his shirt her only garment. Pale bare legs were curled under her body Indianstyle. Arianne said wistfully, “Do we have to leave? It's peaceful here, so pretty. What more does anyone need than warmth and wonderful food and..." “A bed?” he supplied helpfully. She blushed. “All right, if you will, a bed. It seems to me that two people could live here happily and avoid so many of the problems that plague us and our daily lives." Everything she was said was dead-on with own feelings but a little surprising. He considered her carefully across the remains of their impromptu meal. “Are you, the very cultured, very sophisticated Lady Arianne Brooke, serious? You would want to bury yourself in a remote cabin that is snowed in half the year, without books, without music and parties, without decent clothes?" Her eyelashes dropped slightly. “Well, it does hold a certain appeal. It would be nice if no one could find us." “Is there a particular no one you have in mind?" The question quickly brought her chin up. “No, of course not. I guess I was just dreaming a little, that's all." Ross had to smile. A very wide smile. “Well, sweetheart, it isn't everyday that a man has an incredibly beautiful woman tell him she'd like nothing better than making herself available to him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week..." “I didn't say that!” More color shot into her cheeks. He laughed softly. “Just what is it you'd think we'd do, trapped here inside for six months of the year, without any other entertainment? I, for one, wouldn't mind that scenario at bit, but the problem is, I think Will would. The ranch doesn't run itself. I can't take care of your needs here and do my job at the same time." Arianne shot him a look that would have withered a mighty oak. “Ross, you are being deliberately offensive. I was just expressing my enjoyment of this time. That's all." Laughing, he lunged across the makeshift table and caught her wrist just as she scrambled to her feet

and turned to leave. “Angel, I was joking. And besides,” he smiled into her furious eyes, “uhm, where exactly were you going?" “Out. For a walk." His gaze raked her scanty attire. “Well, I admit I find your outfit very fetching, but it doesn't do much to protect against the elements.” In one swift movement, he leaned over and swept her into his arms, ignoring her gasp of protest. “I have a better suggestion. If you want to work off that enormous dinner with some exercise, I am more than happy to help." “I'm sure you are,” was her tart reply, but her fingers came up to lightly touch his face. Her aqua eyes were luminous as she held his gaze. As he laid her on the bed, he whispered, “Did you mean that? About the two of us, here?" Her one word answer twisted his heart. “Yes." **** The river swept into a valley, the water running green and grey as it frothed and raced between banks lined with tender pale willows that trailed languid fingers into the spate. Beyond, slender pale aspens fluttered golden leaves in the light breeze. Arianne shivered as she raised her gaze to the ridges that rose on the opposite side in an immense vista that climbed in varying shades of pale fawn to black as far as the eye could see, finally culminating in the majesty of great white-topped peaks in the far distance. It was breathtaking and awe-inspiring. She had never imagined anything quite like it. The abstract word ‘mountain’ took on a whole new meaning. The English thought they had mountains. They were wrong. “The Purgatoire,” Ross told her in a matter-of-fact tone, gesturing to the river. “River of lost souls. And don't worry, we're going to follow her, not cross her." Thank heaven, she told herself fervently. She'd had enough of river crossings for a lifetime. He nudged Dante along and she tightened her arms around his waist, leaning gratefully against his solid warmth and strength. The day had dawned clear and crisply cold, with an arch of pale blue sky above and a stinging breeze that promised even colder temperatures. They had left the tiny cabin the day before, Arianne giving it one last regretful glance as they rode away. The hours spent there had changed her life indelibly and if she regretted anything, it wasn't giving herself to Ross. But there was trouble ahead. She didn't want to hurt him. There was something so guarded about him that told her he'd been hurt enough in his life. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as she imagined, she told herself wretchedly. He had never said he loved her. He wanted her, true, maybe even offered marriage, but the word love had never crossed his lips. She had been the idiot to bare her soul. It was selfish of her to want him to say it. More than selfish, almost cruel. He was better off if he didn't love her. Lust could be sated on someone else, but love ... hurt. That she knew too well. The lesson was a harsh one, but she deserved it. And still, she kept her silence. Throat aching, she leaned against him and blinked away the tears. **** “There it is.” Ross found it impossible to keep the pride out of his voice. He pointed to where the valley widened ahead and below them as they topped a low ridge. The ranch house was a one-story wooden

building, long and low, with a wide railed porch running the length of the front. Corrals, barns, and fenced pasture surrounded it in a jumble of buildings that signaled prosperity, the whole scene dotted picturesquely by huge cottonwoods. Cattle, he saw with familiar deep satisfaction, filled the north pasture, grazing serenely in the late afternoon sun. “Ross, it's lovely,” Arianne breathed from behind him. “You and Will own this?" “The B and B Ranch. Brooke and Braden. We built the house and bunkhouse pretty much with our own hands and started with a few cows. Cattle is going to be big someday, Annie. You can't tell me that the telegraph isn't just the predecessor of the railroad. Once the East and West are connected, we could ship back to the markets in Chicago and St. Louis." “How wonderful." Urging Dante to pick his way carefully down the trail, he felt absurdly pleased with her reaction to the first view of her new home. It was nothing like the grand townhouses and stately mansions of her past life but she seemed to appreciate the raw beauty of the place. “Will as a cattle rancher,” she murmured. “It is a little hard to imagine, although he always loved horses." Ross twisted slightly so he could see her face. She was pale, the bright spots in her cheeks from the cold standing out sharply. He said softly, “So, this is it, Annie. You made it to Colorado, to your new life. Are you still sure it's what you want? It's wild here; I haven't lied to you about that. The weather can be inhospitable, the Indians are still a problem, not to mention that there are no fancy stores to buy clothes, or maids to bring you tea in bed in the morning..." “Ross,” she interrupted, gazing at him with huge eyes, “I made it halfway around the world to get here. I have already survived fire and flood and at least one Indian, and really, this isn't the time to point out everything bad.” A shaky laugh. “I am nervous enough." She had been game; he couldn't deny it. There was steel under that silken exterior and it was probably his own fears about exposing her to such a hard life that worried him, not whether she could stand it. Because she was his now, body and soul. And he was bound to this land and life as surely as if he were chained there. Every trip back to Boston further convinced him his future lay in this wild home in Colorado. With Arianne by his side. He kicked a restive Dante to a trot, the stallion responding with eagerness. Not too long after, they rode past the south corral, empty at this time day. The smell of cooking food wafted from the bunkhouse, where half a dozen hands were undoubtedly having their evening meal. He was home. He urged his horse to a gallop. Arianne was clinging to him from behind, her arms signaling a tension that she admitted. “Hello the house,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Pulling up before the hitching post beside the porch, he slid off Dante, turning to lift Arianne from the saddle just as a young woman emerged from the front door, wiping her hands hastily on the calico apron tied around a waist that had once been slim, but now bulged with the unmistakable swell of a coming child. “Ross!” Long brown hair flying, the woman hurried down the steps and flung herself into his arms just as he set Arianne hurriedly on the ground. Arms clinging, she babbled against his chest, “You're back safe, praise God. We were so worried when Junior trailed in, limping and without a rider ... we thought

the worst, you can imagine." “Junior's here?” Joy and relief shot through Ross's body and he carefully lifted the woman in his arms off her feet to plant a brotherly kiss on her forehead. “That's wonderful news. That old wily fellow found his way home. Hello, Mary. How's the mama of the house?" Mary blushed, her hand going to the roundness of her stomach as he set her back on her feet. “Fine.” Her curious gaze went to Arianne, still standing rather stiffly beside him. Her brown eyes widened as she obviously recognized Will's sister from the miniature, as well as from Arianne's resemblance to her older brother. Soft mouth parting in surprise, she glanced at back at Ross in confusion and question. When he said nothing, she shyly extended her hand. “Hello, I'm Mary." Arianne said coolly, “Hello." Where the hell was Will? Ross thought darkly. He should be the one dealing with this. Ross turned to Arianne and said dryly, “Miss Brooke, meet Mrs. Brooke." **** Will looked at her from across the table and shook his blond head. “I still can't believe you're here, Arianne. Traveling all the way from Sussex." Arianne had a certain sense of the unreal herself. She said tartly, “I still can't believe you got married and never bothered to write to your family to inform us of the event." The woman who had been introduced as Mary, her sister-in-law, spoke in a soft stammer, “It isn't Will's fault. I ... I asked him to wait and not write to England." Arianne looked at her. She was pretty in a fresh youthful way, with brunette hair full of golden highlights, clear skin, and appealing brown eyes. Arianne asked her slowly, “May I ask why?" Will reached over and swiftly covered his wife's hand with his own. “Mary,” he said deliberately, “has some ridiculous notion that the exaulted Brooke family would not think she was good enough for me because of her humble background. When the truth is, I'm probably not good enough for her." John, with his aristocratic title and snobbish ways, Arianne couldn't help but think cynically, probably wouldn't think Mary was good enough. But the message in her brother's blue eyes was clear. He didn't want Mary to know she was right. Arianne summoned her best smile. “As long as Will loves you, than I shall also. Dinner was very good, thank you." Mary rose awkwardly in her condition, blushing at the compliment. “Just plain home cooking, certainly not the fancy dishes I am sure you are used to. My mother was from the South. Her father was a tenant farmer." Tenant farmer. Mary seemed to be apprehensive about her reaction to that revelation. Arianne murmured, “How nice." “I feel confident,” a slow drawl suddenly came from the doorway, “that Lady Arianne has no idea what that means, Mary. And she was sincere about dinner, I'm sure. She was forced to endure my meager cache of camp recipes through three states. Though there were a few meals she seemed to enjoy." Ross. Arianne turned and shot him a deadly glare that should have burned him to ashes on the spot. He didn't seem the least affected, lounging negligently in the doorway that led into the simple kitchen, still wearing his trail clothes. He'd removed his hat and his dark hair was rumpled, his boots dusty. His

mouth widened into a sardonic smile as he met her gaze. “You clean up nicely, my lady.” He gave her a mocking bow. Arianne glanced down at the homespun dress that Mary had loaned her. It had been heaven to bathe and wash her hair and dress in something beside tight trousers and a man's shirt. She responded coolly, “I'm lucky that Mary is about my size." “Normally.” Will gave his wife a wink. “Will, hush.” Mary blushed again, and moved to start clearing the dishes and Arianne rose to help, knowing that both her brother and Ross were watching her perform the unfamiliar task, making her hands clumsy. Damn them both. “There's chicken and dumplings yet, Ross,” Mary said in her soft voice, “and sugar cream pie. I'm sure you're very hungry and there's plenty." “Sounds wonderful. I'm famished for your cooking, Mary. Somehow beans and biscuits pale after weeks. Ask Arianne.” He strolled into the room and seated himself at the table, deliberately brushing Arianne's arm as she reached for a soiled plate. She drew back as if stung and whirled away. She had traveled with the infernal man for days on end and he had never once mentioned her brother's marriage or the coming child. She was fuming mad at his close-mouthed attitude. She was also furious with him for leaving her standing awkwardly with a sister-in-law she didn't know, in an unfamiliar place and clad in soiled boy's clothes with only one boot on her foot, to go check on his horse. True, she was also elated to know that the faithful Junior had survived their ill-fated crossing of the Cimmaron, but Ross was simply ... an insensitive cad. Considering all that had been between them, couldn't he have offered some sort of preparation for what she would find? She was only too anxious for the opportunity to tell him so. **** Twilight had softened into a velvet black night spotted by glittering stars and a thin scythe of a moon. Arianne had looked exhausted even at dinner and Ross knew Mary retired early these days, so he wasn't surprised to find Will alone on the porch. He'd hoped for it, in fact. Some things were best over as quickly as possible. Booted feet crossed at the ankle, Will Brooke brooded at the darkened range, smoking a thin cheroot that sent up a wisp of smoke like a coiling ghost. He sat in a rough-hewn chair fashioned from fence scraps, his hand lifting and lowering automatically from his mouth. He was very like his sister; Ross could not help but notice. The family good looks showed in thick blond hair springing from a broad forehead, a tall, slim build, a sensitive mouth, and high classic cheekbones. Ross, coming in from checking the livestock pens, walked slowly up the steps and sat down opposite his partner, stretching out his legs. In the past few years, they'd made a habit of sitting out on the porch together after a long hard day and just relaxing in each other's company, enjoying what they had worked so hard to achieve. Tonight was a bit different. Arianne and her precipitous arrival had changed everything. If her brother had questions, it was only natural. Ross just hoped he could answer them honestly without damaging a friendship he valued highly. Silence. The wind whispered past, chill and eerie in the darkness. Will said eventually, “I was hoping you would join me."

Ross sighed in resignation. “Can we have a drink before we do this? I need one sorely." Will turned his head and met his gaze squarely. “Before we do what?" Ross felt a smile ghost his mouth. “You'll want to hear every detail of the trip Will, I know you. By the way, what do you think of the black stallion?" “Are you changing the subject?" “No, just wanted your opinion. I'll answer every concern, I promise." “Dante? What a magnificent animal. You didn't exaggerate and he looks worth every penny." “He should be, the flighty son of a bitch.” Ross spoke with feeling. “A hundred times I wished I was riding Junior instead." “But you put my sister up on him." “Better than break her pretty neck with that damned stallion." Will tossed his smoke over the railing into the night. “Yeah, I guess we could both use that drink. There are a few details pretty fuzzy in my mind. Frankly, Arianne is being a little evasive." Good for her. Grimly, Ross offered, “I'll get it." Going inside, he retrieved the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard in the office, as well as two glasses. He filled both cups and took the bottle with him for good measure. They just might need it, he thought sardonically. Will took the glass with thanks and took a great swallow, his throat moving. Then he leaned back and leveled a questioning look at Ross's face. “Look ... “Ross began awkwardly, not knowing just exactly what Arianne had told her brother. “I can guess what..." “No.” Will took another swig and choked as his drink went down, holding up his hand. “Let me go first, will you?" Warily eyeing his partner's intent face, Ross gave a bare nod. Will hesitated a moment and then plunged ahead, “I know I told you a bit about John and his selfishness and callousness, but I promise you I would not have left Arianne behind if I had known the lengths he would go to save his own skin, Ross.” Shaking his blond head, Will coughed a little and then took another drink. He said savagely, “He's a selfish son of a bitch to make her take such a drastic step. Hell, she could have married just about anyone in London society and lived a life of luxury and privilege. She's turned into a real beauty. She's even prettier than my mother, who, I was told, was all the rage during her season." Since Ross knew intimately every perfect curve of Arianne's lovely body, he thought it prudent to not comment. He said neutrally instead, “She told me John tried to force her into marriage with a man she found distasteful." “Distasteful?” Will spat out the word with force. “Jared Carlisle has apparently deliberately ruined my family. I knew him slightly at Eton and believe everything she says ... he was spoiled then, viciously competitive, and arrogant and cruel when it suited him. I avoided his path whenever I could. I guess I just never imagined him becoming so obsessed with my sister that she would have to flee the country to avoid him."

“It does seem a bit much.” Ross strove to keep any emotion out of his voice. If he could get anywhere near this Carlisle, he would cheerfully wring his neck. Will said harshly,” I hope John is eating gruel and sleeping in the stables since she ran off. I can't really quite imagine what it was like for her, so young and on her own, sailing to a foreign country with nothing but your name to hang her hopes upon." “It was a reckless move, I agree. Apparently she felt she had no choice." Will said with deep inflection, “She told me you took good care of her. I thank you, Ross." Somehow Ross doubted that Will Brooke would still be thanking him if he knew the complete truth. Gruffly, he said, “Well, don't. Maybe she forgot to mention that I refused her at first, quite rudely actually. I was trying to discourage her." “Did you?” A pause. Will laughed out loud. “Knowing you, I don't suppose you were too keen on carting a woman so far across open country." Leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his whiskey, Ross muttered honestly, “That's putting it mildly." “Arianne has always been persistent, even as a child." “Has she?" “What changed your mind?” Will lifted his brows and gave Ross a level glance. “Or shall I guess? It couldn't have hurt her cause that she's grown so lovely. I don't see how any man would refuse her anything, even you." “Apparently I couldn't,” Ross muttered. It was too darned close to the truth. “I've been trying to sit here and tell myself that you would help her just for me, even if she were ugly as fence post." Ross affected a shrug. “Who knows. She isn't." “If she were not utterly ruined by her flight from England, she would be irrevocably so if anyone knew she'd spent weeks alone with you.” The declaration was quiet. Ross met his friend's gaze squarely. “Are you asking me a question, Will?" A second ticked by. Somewhere in the ridge above them a lone wolf howling touched the night, the sound lonely and wild. Will finally ruefully shook his head. “No, I'm not. I'd trust you with my life, Ross, as well as my sister's honor. I just noticed a bit of tension between the two of you this evening." Wincing inwardly, Ross toyed with his drink but couldn't quite think of the right words to say. He wanted to explain to Will his intentions toward Arianne, but tonight he was damned tired and the situation was delicate to say the least. The last thing he wanted was to drive a wedge between himself and his partner. “She's furious with me,” he admitted, “for not telling her about you and Mary." “Why ... er ... didn't you?" Ross shrugged. “She didn't ask." Will grinned. “I would like to have seen how the two of you got along for all those miles between here and Boston. I can't think of two people more different. She can be very headstrong." “Getting along wasn't as much of a problem as staying alive.” Grimly, Ross recounted both of Arianne's close calls, watching as different emotions crossed his friend's face. When he finished, Will was

decidedly pale and reached for the bottle to refill his glass. He said gruffly, “I guess I owe you more than thanks, I owe you my sister's life. Dammit, Ross, how the hell can I ever repay something like that?" A perfect opening. Ross said evenly, “You could give us your blessing, Will, then we'd be square." Will went very still, his hand arrested in the very movement of lifting his glass to his mouth. His eyes were wide with confusion. “Blessing? What kind of blessing?" “What the hell kind is there besides marriage?" “Marriage?” Will thundered, “You and ... Arianne?" Ross surged to his feet, unable to sit still. He paced to the end of the porch and stood to inhale deeply the cool scent of pine and sagebrush. Staring out into the night, he said as unemotionally as possible, “I would understand if you had reservations, believe me. My reputation alone would make any family pause and I certainly can't give her the life she is used to, but I swear to you I will protect her with my last breath and do my best to make her happy." Nothing. Ross turned and felt some unwilling amusement over the astonished look still on his friend's face. “Why so surprised? You yourself pointed out that she's a beautiful woman and I'm no more immune than any other man..." “Let me get this straight,” Will interrupted, finally finding his voice. “You want to get married? You, Ross Braden, want to tie yourself forever to a wife and family?” An incredulous shake of his head tossed a lock of blond hair over his brow. “Apparently,” Ross smiled sardonically, “I'm more human than either of us thought." “Apparently.” Will collapsed back in his chair and shoved lean fingers through his errant hair. He said weakly, “This day has been too much for me, Ross. Maybe I should have let the whiskey alone. My head is spinning. First Arianne shows up out of the blue and then next you want to marry her.” He rubbed his forehead. “I have no idea what to say." “That's very flattering." That dry comment brought Will's head up, an apologetic look crossing his face. “Sorry. I'm just a little off balance here." A growl. “Yeah, well, imagine me. I've been off-balance ever since I met her." A glimmer of a smile finally crossed Will's face. “I can guess. As for the question, hell yes, you have my blessing, why do you even have to ask? I guess of all the women I ever pictured bringing Ross Braden to his knees, I didn't think it would be someone like Arianne." Dryly, Ross agreed, “I didn't know myself that my weakness would be a pampered, well-bred lady with absolutely no housekeeping skills and even less ability to cook. With luck, she'll make a perfect ranch wife in about twenty years or so. She can't even saddle her own horse." “I believe that. She can probably barely dress herself without a maid to button and tie all those female fripperies. It's how we were brought up. Remember me when we first met? I was practically helpless as a babe." “Yeah, I remember."

Will began to grin in earnest, his blue eyes glinting in the uncertain light from the smattering of stars above. He smote his knee with glee. “By God, this is an interesting turn of events. To think I was just telling Mary the other day how quiet things had been around here." “I'm pleased to offer you some amusement." Will grinned. “I take it you and my sister have discussed this?" “It's been mentioned.” Ross crossed to bend over and pick up his drink. He grimaced wryly, “Once I get her speaking to me again, we'll let you know our definite plans." Will grinned broadly, “Want to take a bet on how long that takes? As a married man, I have some experience with this sort of thing." “No, thanks.” Ross muttered darkly. Chapter 11 Arianne slowly sat up and groggily rubbed her cheek. She had no idea what time it was, but late surely, if the bright sun streaming through the window was any indication. She'd slept like a stone. In a real bed, with clean sheets and blankets. No Mother Lamby in sight. Heaven. She frowned, squinting and looking around the room, seeing it in the daylight. The walls were plain rough-hewn wood, softened by a bright blanket that hung opposite the bed woven in hues of red, black, and grey. The pattern was unusual, like nothing she had ever seen, but the effect was nice. There was a plain chest at the foot of the bed, and a simple rocking chair in the corner. Several shirts sat neatly folded on the chest. All of it was very spartan, very economical, but warm and homey at the same time. The night before she had noticed nothing; she'd been so worn out she'd just taken off her clothes and fallen into bed. Somehow, she knew it was Ross's room. Lying there amidst the tumbled blankets, feeling warm and safe, she felt her throat tighten. It would be typical of Ross to give up his room for her. Not, she reminded herself fiercely, that the gesture made her forgive him for not telling the truth about the changes in her brother's life. Where had he slept? In the bunkhouse with the hands? In a cold hard bunk? She would have so much preferred him with her, his arms cradling her while she slept, his breath warm on the nape of her neck as she slowly woke to the caress of his hands... Shoving that thought away, Arianne got out of bed, noticing that at sometime Mary had come in and left her a clean dress of some soft blue material, a well-worn chemise and set of petticoats, and a basin of water. Mary had mentioned the night before that she usually rose at dawn. Guilt washed over Arianne as she splashed water on her face and started to get dressed. Her sister-inlaw was pregnant and shouldn't be waiting on anyone, much less cooking and cleaning and doing who knows what for an entire household. And Arianne was unfortunately the last person on earth to know how to help her. Look what an encumbrance she had been to Ross on the trail. She had learned by the end of the journey to do a few

basic camp chores, but it was usually easier and faster for Ross to do them himself. She was useless, but ... surely she could learn. She wasn't stupid or lazy. There was no mirror so she hurriedly brushed her hair and tied it back with a bit of ribbon before she left the room. The house was roomy but hardly large enough for a person to get lost, with a living area with a fireplace to the front, a kitchen, and two bedrooms in the back. Finding Mary was easy enough, for the delicious smell of coffee and baking bread came from the kitchen. Arianne wandered down the long hallway and peered in the doorway, seeing the other young woman bent over at the cook stove. She cleared her throat. “Good morning." “Oh.” Mary straightened quickly, her fair face pink with heat from the cooking fire. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?" “Too well, I'm afraid,” Arianne confessed with a rueful smile. “I fear it's a bit late. It must be nearly afternoon." “I confess I was beginning to worry a bit about you but it's no wonder you were so tired, traveling all that way. You must be starved. It'll be just a wink." “Can I help you?” At a loss, Arianne surveyed the steaming pots on the stove. “Heavens, no. It's all done, just sit down and I'll get your breakfast." “I refuse to be just a guest. You must let me help. What can I do?" Mary hesitated, and then nodded toward where a metal pot sat on the stone hearth near the glowing coals of the morning fire. “You could pour us each a cup of coffee, if you wouldn't mind so much. I could stand to sit with you while you eat, if you don't object to the company." Arianne said quickly, “Of course not. I would love it.” She had to admit she was curious about this country girl her once sophisticated brother had married. She managed to awkwardly pour the steaming dark liquid into two thick cups with doing no more than burning one finger, and carried them back to the wide, scrubbed plank table without mishap. Mary had given her the inevitable bacon, a thick piece of some sweet cake brimming with corn and soaked in honey, and some fried potatoes. Suddenly ravenous, Arianne sat down and surveyed the feast with something akin to wonder. Ross had been right; the trail fare had been monotonous and bland. Except, of course, those incredible dinners they had shared at the cabin. And that hadn't been the only incredible thing they had shared there. The feel of Ross's hands, his mouth, his body against hers, that memory was seared into her very soul. She felt her cheeks warm as she recalled their lovemaking. Banishing that disquieting thought from her mind, Arianne began to eat. Mary, looking a little wan in the bright morning sunshine streaming in through the large window by the table, sank down opposite. She wore a shapeless grey dress with a modest collar, long sleeves, and a skirt that hung loosely around her bulging stomach. Her hands went again and again to soothe the mound of her growing child in an almost absent movement. Arianne took a sip of her coffee and asked delicately, “How soon until the child is born?” It was still disturbing to think that her brother would become a father any day and she knew nothing of the mother of his child. A faint blush crept into her sister-in-law's cheeks. “Soon. In a few weeks, I would guess. Will and I

have been married nearly nine months. I don't think either of us counted on starting our family so very soon, but it happened and we're both very anxious for this child to be with us." “I see.” How much could one ask, Arianne had to wonder, and not be considered gauche? Timidly, Mary shot her a glance. “I hope you aren't too terribly upset?" “Upset?” Fork arrested halfway to her mouth, Arianne frowned. “What do you mean?" “I doubt you expected to come here and find Will married. To someone like me." “Well, actually, no. But he's a grown man and can do as he wishes." “Yes, but I could see why you, a Brooke, would think he made a poor match." With some amusement, Arianne shook her head. “Mary, I hate to shatter your illusion, but the Brookes are far from perfect, quite the opposite. Our great-grandmother was a famous courtesan, from what I understand bedding every Member of Parliament until my great-grandfather had the ill-luck to get her pregnant. Incidentally, they were very happy together. We have among our relatives former maids, stable boys, a convicted felon or two, and one very infamous ancestor who died most unhappily at Culloden Moor as a traitor to the crown. So, please, stop feeling humble and just enjoy the fact that Will obviously loves you.” Taking a sip of coffee, Arianne murmured, “You must tell me, how did you meet? Will is typically male; he wouldn't say anything except mutter something vague. And Ross,” she added grimly, “is even more exasperating. You would think he would have at least mentioned my brother's marriage and this impending birth." Mary smiled and shook her head. “Perhaps he should have. But I can forgive Ross most anything. He is why I have a home. He's why I have Will." “Is he? Somehow I find it hard to cast him in the role of Cupid.” Arianne cocked a skeptical brow. “My parents died about a year and a half ago. It was terrible, some kind of virulent fever that swept them both away in a matter of days. We had started a small farm a ways from here a few years ago, up toward Las Animas. I was there, all alone, trying to bury the bodies when Ross came riding through our place.” Eyes half-closed as she remembered, Mary caressed her stomach with restless fingers. “I was so frightened ... and so alone. I was scared of him at first when he rode right up to me, worried he was a drifter. A woman alone can be very vulnerable out here." Remembering her own brush with near disaster while naked and bathing in that distant stream in Kansas, Arianne felt an involuntary shudder creep up her spine. She murmured, “Yes, I know." “And when he stopped his horse, it was even worse. Ross has that way of looking straight through you with those dark eyes. I felt a little paralyzed. He looked ... dangerous." Arianne could not help but recall her first meeting with Ross Braden and the shock of meeting that intense gaze. She prompted grimly, “I know just what you mean. What happened next?" “Without saying a word, he dismounted and took the shovel from me. I could have turned and ran, I guess, my pa had a shotgun in the cabin, but somehow I didn't feel frightened anymore. It was something in the way he held himself, just a feeling about the man. I sat and watched him dig those two graves and felt dead myself. There had only been the three of us and what would I do? My nearest kin were back in Georgia ... though I don't know if I was even thinking that clearly in my grief.” Mary's brown eyes filled with tears at the memory and she blinked rapidly. Arianne reached over touched the other woman's hand lightly in sympathy. “I can imagine some of your pain, though I was younger when my parents were killed in an accident. However, I wasn't alone. I had Will, and John, who took care of me in his own fashion."

“I had my parents longer, so perhaps we're equally lucky and unlucky.” A sniffle. “Anyway, Ross buried my parents and stood there with me while I tried to pray over the graves, but I couldn't because I was weeping so. He ended up doing it himself, and I remember very clearly, even in my fit of grief, how amazed I was by his manner of speaking. Despite his jeans and boots and the gun he wore in a business-like way I'd only seen a few times before on a cowboy, it was obvious he was from some different world." “Boston is quite a contrast to Colorado,” Arianne agreed faintly. It was hard to analyze the emotion evoked inside her by her sister-in-law's story. Jealousy? How ridiculous. Yet there was a twinge of something that Mary should speak with such fondness of Ross. Mary smiled, one hand going to the handle of her coffee cup to toy lightly with it, smoothing the crude porcelain. “When he was done, he made two crosses, tended to the chickens and goats I'd forgotten to feed, and forced me to eat something. When I told him I didn't know what I was going to do, he asked me if I could cook. I said, yes, and sew as well. Then he brought me back here to the ranch, announcing to Will that he'd found a housekeeper.” A small dimple appeared in her smooth cheek. “Your brother was so surprised, he didn't know what to say but Ross just gave him one of those deadly glares and he shut his mouth pronto." Dryly, Arianne said, “I've seen that glare a time or two. Anyway,” her gaze dropped to Mary's rotund belly, “I take it that Will warmed quickly to the idea of you staying here?" A light laugh. “Very quickly. We were married within a few months. And I've been so happy. I wish my mother could be with me when the child comes, but some things are beyond our reach.” A swallow. “She'll be smiling down from heaven, I know it." Arianne frowned, spearing a piece of potato from her forgotten breakfast. “The ranch is so remote. Is there a midwife or doctor nearby? Mary shook her head. “The next place is miles away but Mrs. Reichert said she'd come and stay when it was near my time. She's had four babies." “Then I suppose she'll know what she's doing, won't she?” Arianne stifled a frisson of dismay. Her brother loved this girl. She'd seen that well enough the night before. It was frightening to think she'd give birth out in the wilderness without any kind of professional medical care. Ross would remind her, of course, that this was the West and it was rough. “I'll be here to help you too.” Even as she made the announcement, Arianne wondered what comfort Mary would find in it. She would be less adept at delivering a child than she was at whipping up a gourmet feast. Yet Mary's face lit up, relief creeping into her soft brown eyes. “Thank you. Will is wonderful and Ross too, but sometimes I wish I had a woman to talk to. I ... I feel as if I have a sister. And even more so since Will told me that you and Ross are going to be married." Nearly choking on a piece of corn cake, Arianne grabbed her cup and washed the offending morsel down with a huge gulp of coffee, taking her time before responding and dabbing at her lips with her napkin. “Did he?” A croak. Her sister-in-law smiled slightly. “He did. I wasn't surprised when he told me ... I felt there was something between the two of you from the minute you walked in the door. Ross is hard to read usually, but last night he seemed different." Trying to deflect the direction of the conversation, Arianne murmured, “What you felt between us last night was pure irritation. I know you think highly of him and he was kind to you, but Ross Braden

might just be the most annoying man on this earth." Mary wrapped her hands around her cup and contemplated the steaming contents with that same small smile. “Ross is ... Ross. He's very much his own man and keeps to himself. The cowboys respect him for both his reputation as a good man in a fight and his ability to run this ranch. But he isn't easy to talk to, I'll give you that. I think his past haunts him, both back East and here. Will is nothing like him at all. They balance each other well." “Ross not easy to talk to?” Arianne interjected blackly, setting aside her fork. “You don't have to tell me. Try going halfway across the country with him. We went days with hardly speaking a word to each other, especially at first. I thought I would scream." “And he fell in love with you.” Mary gazed at her with wide eyes. “I guess I'm not surprised ... you're so very lovely. It's odd, but I cannot picture Ross on his knees because of a woman, even one like you. He guards himself so well." Arianne wasn't hungry anymore. She whispered, “Mary, he isn't in love with me." The other woman shook her head. “He must be, if he wants to wed you, Arianne. Ross left obligation and social acceptance behind a long time ago. And besides,” her mouth curved in a wry smile, “none of that matters here anyway. Women are scarce as hen's teeth and there are no women here like you. I think you should be glad of Ross and his protection. The boys out here would be wild for you." Arianne lifted her brows. “Boys?" “Ranch hands. Cowboys. Wranglers. Whatever you call them they are mostly lawless young men who have no families and no ties to their past. If you were free, you would have them coming from a hundred miles around to court you. Will would be crazy trying to keep his boys working." Arianne felt the betraying tightening of her throat that came every time she contemplating telling Ross the truth. In a hoarse voice, she said, “I guess it is a good thing I'm not free." **** The day was clear and though the air was cool, Ross had removed his jacket and tossed it over the fence. He watched the corral with critical eyes as a young man advanced on a sweat-sheened creamcolored mare that tossed her head in agitation and whinnied in a peal of protest. Calling advice from the perimeter of the fence, most of the B and B cowhands gleefully waited to see who would win the contest of wills. “My money's on the hawse,” shouted Lane Wilson, a lanky Texan boy who couldn't be more than nineteen. “Females always get the best of Charlie." Ribald laughter followed and more bets were exchanged. Egged along by the byplay, Charlie lifted his rope and crept forward a few more feet. He lifted the noose, perspiration shining on his forehead and ruddy cheeks... And he stopped dead, staring past the interested group toward the house with his mouth gaping open. His arms went lax. The noose drooped in his hands, swirling loosely on the ground. Necks craning, every man there turned around to see what had him so fascinated. Arianne was coming down the path, clad in a blue dress that Ross had seen Mary wear many times. Somehow, on Arianne, it looked different. The material clung sensuously to the full curve of her bosom and tapered to her narrow waist. Her lustrous golden hair was held back from her face and her longlashed eyes reflected the perfect blue of the sky above. As she walked slowly and gracefully toward the corral fence where he was leaning, he could hear the mutter of voices rise around him.

“Lawd, please hold me up, boss, I must be daid. I think an angel is coming.” A lean hand shot out to grab his arm. Ross shot the cowboy standing next to him a glance of pure irritation. “For your information, Wilson, that angel,” he said distinctly, making sure his voice carried for all to hear, “is going to be my wife." “Wha ... at?” The boy gaped, shoving his hat backwards on his head. Staring at Ross, he seemed stunned speechless. “Boss, did you say wife?" “Yes, I said wife.” Ross smiled sardonically and strode forward to meet her. He'd known all along what kind of effect someone like Arianne would have on the simple cowboys who rode for the B and B. Most of them were decent and polite enough, raised by mothers not quite forgotten. But all of them were lonely and starved for the love of any woman, much less a beautiful girl like Arianne. His wife. Odd, how he savored that thought, relished it. He'd always pictured tying himself into marriage like hanging himself from a cottonwood tree. Strangling, smothering, a horrible, constricting end to the life he'd fought to make his. But that's not what he thought his world would be like with Arianne. She looked uncertain and very conscious of the sea of staring eyes and arrested activity as she approached. Lifting her chin and giving him a cool gaze that said she hadn't forgotten her anger from the evening before, she was every inch the aristocratic lady in spite of her plain clothing. “Good morning.” Ross took off his hat in a polite gesture. “Mary said you wanted me to come out here.” Her reply was frosty and she stopped a few feet away, folding her hands primly in front of her. “So here I am." “Yes, here you are." Holding her gaze deliberately, he walked toward her, his boots sending up dusty puffs on the dirt path. Her eyes widened slightly but he had counted on her stubbornly standing her ground. She didn't disappoint. He stopped just inches away. Arianne's breathing had quickened and she had to tilt her head backwards to look defiantly into his face. Her breasts were nearly touching his chest. Behind him, six pairs of interested eyes watched as he tossed his hat on the ground and reached out to take her by the waist and pull her into the circle of his arms. Her arms came up in instant outrage, shoving against his chest but he held tight. He said softly, so only she could hear, “Look, sweetheart, this is Colorado, where possession is the law. The easiest way to show these women-hungry ruffians that you are off limits is to demonstrate it. Like this." He cut off her furious mutter of protest by covering her mouth in a wild kiss. She struggled, but he held her still, tasting her, savoring her softness and warmth until the fight seemed to spill out her and she sagged against him. The men watching broke out in wild whoops when he lifted his head and smiled into her dazed eyes. He brushed his lips across her temple and whispered in her ear, “Now they know you belong to me." A fierce blush climbed into Arianne's face at the sound of the cheering and laughter. She stiffened, managing to jerk one hand free. “Go to the devil, Ross."

He caught her wrist just before her palm connected with his cheek. “I wouldn't,” he warned, his eyes narrowing, holding her firmly. “Not unless you're willing to risk retaliation, angel. The men would enjoy the sight of you perched over my knee with your lovely backside in the air. I swear it would provide them conversation for the next month." “Ross!” Her blue eyes flashed fire. “What is it, my love?" “You ... you..." “Yes?" “Oh, you wretched man.” She buried her face against his shirt in embarrassment, mumbling, “I hate you, Ross." “No, you don't,” he disagreed tenderly, letting go of his grip on her wrist and lightly touching her hair. “You probably should, but you don't, Annie. Now, smile and prepare yourself to meet six of the wildest fellows to ever fork a horse." **** “Whatever kind of name is Mudface?” Arianne could not keep the amusement out of her voice. “Or for that matter, Pecos? Still, they seemed like nice mild-mannered boys to me. I think Ross has been exaggerating things just to frighten me." Will shook his blond head and slapped the reins, making the horses drawing the wagon go faster. “Ross is trying to protect you, Arianne. You simply cannot fathom how removed we are from the life we knew back in England. It took me a long time to adjust, believe me. We have ingrained in us certain expectations of how civilized human beings should act. Never forget that half these people are not civilized. Some are, like Ross and myself, from good families and affluent backgrounds, with reasons of their own for ending up in such a wild place. Others are hunted by the law, ostracized by their families, and generally no good. You learn quickly to trust your instincts and how to defend yourself if necessary." Perched next to her brother on the seat of the careening vehicle, Arianne grasped her bonnet with one hand and the seat with her other. They were traveling down a rough track, through stands of fluttering aspen trees and tall grass. Will hadn't told her where they were going when he drove away from the ranch, just that he wanted to show her something special. Enjoying the time with her brother and the beautiful landscape, she inhaled the clean, sharp air and held on for dear life. He wasn't lying about defending himself. The gunbelt strapped to his lean waist attested to how her brother had changed. With Ross for a partner, somehow she felt sure he knew how to use the weapon. Ross would have it no other way. Ross ... the infernal man could be so high-handed. She still cringed when she thought about that very public kiss. Swallowing and lifting her face to the breeze, Arianne said, “Will, do you know why Ross left Boston? I mean, I do know that he felt his father was pushing him into law, but I've seen his home and know from the Martins just how wealthy and powerful the Bradens are. It seems like he gave up so much." Her brother frowned, his fine face tightening. “You could be at this moment a duchess, living in a huge mansion, with servants bowing at your feet. What is the difference? He felt he couldn't live with himself if he sold out his principles for mere comfort. I would think that you, of all people, would understand."

You could be a duchess... “I guess I do.” A murmur. “It was simpler for me. I had nothing left for me in England once father died. John made no secret of that fact that he expected me to provide for myself. The colonies seemed such a good idea at the time, yet I was utterly unprepared for the reality. Never,” his mouth curved ruefully, “has such a innocent fool got himself into such trouble." Arianne said tentatively, “Ross told me you met in jail." “Over a game of cards, no less,” her brother said with resignation. “He made the mistake of stepping in on my behalf when I accused the wrong man of cheating. Not that he wasn't cheating, mind you, but he was the wrong man to accuse. Ross saved my life but we both ended up in jail for public brawling." “I believe he left out that part.” A faint observation. “About him saving my life?” Will shot her a quick look. “It doesn't surprise me. Ross is hardly perfect but he doesn't put himself forward." “No.” Arianne swallowed. “He told me you are to be married." An inarticulate sound stuck in her throat. Will continued in a rush, “He asked my blessing and believe me, I gave it.” It was a fervent declaration. “Will, I..." “Honestly, I couldn't be happier for you. He's hard and complex, but if you can bring out the lighter side, he will make a good husband and caring father. And no one will keep you safer in this wild place." Arianne felt as if her face was frozen. Luckily, Will was busy guiding the horses and watching the thin line of beaten grass ahead of them, weaving the wagon between a clump of sapling trees. She swallowed hard and tried again, “Will, I don't know how to say this ... maybe we should talk about..." “There it is. This is what I wanted you to see." His announcement stopped her cold and she saw with some surprise that their destination appeared to be a partially finished structure, two-stories high and gleaming with new wood. Only part of the roof was completed and the windows and doors gaped open holes, but it was going to be twice the size of the ranch house and sat on the bank of a tiny brook that ran in silver waves past the front porch. Will pulled the horses up and smiled as he caught the stunned expression on her face. He said softly, “This will be your new home, Arianne. Ross has been working on it since spring. It might be habitable by the time the snow flies, now that he's back." She was ... speechless. Will laughed lightly. “It's wonderful, isn't it? The stream has trout too. Ross found this spot and knew he had to have a house here, which works so well for Mary and me with the baby coming. It was one thing when Ross and I were struggling to get the ranch started and didn't have wives and families, but now we need separate spaces. The good thing is that you'll just be a short ways away. It's not an hour to the house by horseback." Her mouth was utterly dry with suppressed emotion. Blinking back tears, she felt despair rise up and clog her throat. Will saw her face and looked instantly concerned, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Arianne, what's wrong?"

She leaned against her brother and gave a small sob. “Oh, Will." “What is it?” He sounded alarmed. “I guess maybe I should have asked more questions, but Ross seemed so sure of himself. Don't you want to marry him?" “Yes.” A hushed whisper. “More than anything." He relaxed slightly. “Then what is it? The house? I know it is a little remote but..." “I love the house.” Another sob. “And Ross?" “I love him too." “Then?" Her choices were clear as cut glass. She could tell her brother the truth, but then Will would go to Ross. It couldn't be that way. She didn't know how she would confess the truth yet, but she needed to be the one to tell it. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I'm just ... overwhelmed. Everything has changed so fast." Will patted her hand and murmured, “I know just how you feel." Unfortunately, no, he didn't. Chapter 12 Arianne kneaded the dough with aching fingers. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, she frowned in concentration as Mary moved behind her shoulder. Flour was scattered everywhere, including over most of her person. She groaned, “What am I doing wrong?" “You're doing fine,” her sister-in-law assured her. “Really? This is what the dough is supposed to be like?" “Well, perhaps not.” It was a reluctant admission. “But I'm sure it will taste fine." “Mary, don't even bother to try and make me feel better. I'm hopeless and you know it.” Arianne gazed at the pallid lump between her hands with disgust. “Not hopeless exactly..." Arianne shot her sister-in-law a skeptical look. Mary had the grace to laugh out loud. “I admit that I've been making biscuits since I could walk. I can't remember if it was hard to learn or not. Apparently it was." “Wonderful. Now a child can cook better than I can." “You don't have any experience, Arianne. Your upbringing was very ... different. Don't be so hard on yourself." “Hard on myself? How can I not be hard on myself when every time I touch a pan or pot inedible disaster follows? I mean, even Ross can make an edible biscuit. What's wrong with me?" “Did I hear my name?" The cool interruption made Arianne jerk, her gaze skewing quickly toward the doorway. She said sharply, “How long have you been standing there?"

Ross sauntered in, holding her attention with his dark stare. “Just an edible biscuit, my lady? I think I'm insulted. You seemed to consume a great deal of them with relish over the course of our journey here." She consciously fought the urge to look away, to avoid that probing gaze. “I happen to like biscuits better than beans, that's all." “How humbling. And here I thought my biscuits were just particularly delicious." “Well,” a swallow, “think again." “Oh, angel, I have been. Thinking that is. Can you guess what about?" She could. He had come for her. It was there in his eyes, a certain edge of deep question, of confrontation and perhaps a glint of anger as their gazes met and locked. She'd been avoiding him as much as possible in this past week as she settled into her new life and she might have guessed he would only put up with it for so long. Summoning all her poise, she murmured, “I haven't the slightest idea." One dark brow winged up rakishly. “You're a poor liar, Lady Arianne." She had the grace to flush. He was dressed for the range in jeans, chaps, a open leather vest, and a red flannel shirt. Hatless, his dark hair shone in the afternoon sun slanting through the kitchen window. He was handsome at any time, but after barely catching a glimpse of him these past days, he was more devastating than ever to Arianne's peace of mind. She said unsteadily, “I think you'd better excuse me, Mr. Braden. I am just about ready to put this dough on the fire." With seeming attention, he strolled forward and peered at the grayish mass under her hands with interest. His expression was bland as he surveyed her failure. “On the fire? Might I suggest in the fire instead. Burning it might make an improvement." “I thank you for your vote of confidence." “I sense a certain sarcasm in your reply.” One dark brow arched. “I'll tell you what, I'll make you a bargain, Miss Brooke. We'll both have a biscuit, and if we live through the experience, we'll then go for a late afternoon ride." She instantly shook her head. “I have to help Mary with dinner." His lips quirked faintly. “Is that so? Thank you for telling me. The warning is heeded. I think Pecos has some beans going down at the bunkhouse." Mary jumped instantly to her defense, putting her hands on her hips. She scolded, “Ross Braden! She's trying very hard. Why, I'll have know she made the gravy last night." “And very useful it was, too. I used it to repair my boots.” His mouth twitched in amusement. He stood just behind her shoulder and Arianne felt his very nearness acutely. She could smell his scent, a mixture of cloth warmed by his body, sage, and something his alone. The gravy had been a bit gluey, Arianne had to acknowledge gloomily, but she turned and gave him a frosty stare anyway. She needed any defense possible against the quickening of her heart. The less time she spent with him, the better. She'd told herself that over and over. For both of them. He would only press her and she didn't want to be pressed. Right now she was happy for the first time in a long while. Or at least she maintained a facade of happiness, trying to fool even herself.

“Annie?” The word was said quietly, but with command. She swallowed. “Ross, look..." His response was implacable. “I think the biscuits can wait. Go change or prepare to go as you are. I've two horses saddled outside and we're going for a little ride together, understand? Don't even dream of arguing with me." “You can't come in here and order me around like I'm some housemaid,” she sputtered, summoning anger like a cloak she could wrap around herself. “Yes, I can." That tone of authority was unmistakable. She shot Mary an imploring look but her sister-in-law only ruefully shook her head and offered helpfully, “I've a skirt you can wear, Arianne. It's made for riding." “I am not interested in riding anywhere..." “She accepts,” Ross said blandly, “and she has about two minutes to change or I'll drag her out as she is, naked or half-dressed, it doesn't matter to me, I'll just toss her on her horse." “You wouldn't!” She whirled around. “Oh lady, I think we both know I would.” His expression held a dark promise. “I urge you to not test me." Unfortunately, he was crazy enough to do such a thing. With an irritated gesture, Arianne swept off her floury apron and tossed it at him. He was laughing as he caught it in mid-air in a shower of white powder. She said haughtily, “Your high-handed tactics are not necessary. A simple invitation, couched in other than such demanding and insulting terms would have sufficed." His eyes narrowed. “I'm no wide-eyed besotted fool, falling at your dainty feet, Annie. You know that better than anyone. And, if I can remind you, this is not the formal parlor in your fancy London townhouse. Now get going because the clock is ticking. I said two minutes." She thought she heard another infuriating chuckle as she flounced out of the room. **** It would be impossible for her not to be moved by it all; that was why he'd brought her to this place. He wanted to stir her soul. There was the cool, clean breeze that swept off the high distant ridges. Nor could anyone with an ounce of feeling ignore the sun-warmed glow of the spruces that climbed and crowded a ravine bottomed by a gurgling brook. The meadow that skirted it was laden with autumn grasses and late-blooming flowers, and the view was one of the most incredible in a country of incredible views. Mountains piled high on the horizon, one great range on the other, snow-capped and majestic, veined with bands of trees and deep purple shadows. She appeared struck mute, reining in Junior and just simply drinking in the view with wide, beautiful eyes. “Oh.” A gasp. “Wonderful, isn't it?" She swallowed, her face turned toward those glorious distant heights. “Yes." It eased some of the tightness that had been forming in his chest for these long past days. A tightness

born of the knowledge that Arianne was deliberately avoiding his company, especially any moments they might steal together alone. Will had noticed his sister's actions, he was sure Mary had as well, and he was puzzled as hell himself. Why? He needed to know. What had happened between them at the cabin had been the most incredible experience of his life. She'd been so warm, so willing, and so wonderfully passionate. And her declaration of love had been very real; he'd been so sure of that until she refused to come near him these past days. Her response to his touch, the pleasure exchanged between their bodies, her tearful confession of love ... it could not have been acting on her part, he was certain, and why would she pretend something she didn't feel? Doubt was a powerful adversary he'd been battling for days. If she did love him, why had she taken such pains to keep away from him? The question plagued his mind, driving him crazy. He intended to have his answer. Swinging a long leg over Dante's back, he slid off and gestured to the view. “This is Colorado, Annie. The real thing. This is why I'm here." “It's beautiful, Ross.” Her voice was hushed. “So are you." Silence. The breeze moved fitfully over the grasses with a light rustling sound. She still studied the distance, her perfect profile lit by the late afternoon sun. She was gold and dying sunlight, wearing a simple white blouse and tan split-skirt, her hair tied back with a pale ribbon and spilling down her back in a tumble of curls. His observation might not have been. Her expression did not change at the compliment. Dammit. “Arianne?" Her gaze shifted from those distant mountains down to meet his. “Yes?" “Get off your horse and come here.” He wasn't so sure why it was important that she come to him, but it was. Maybe it was the past days of being treated like plague-carrying rat. She hesitated. He continued to hold her stare with his own. His expression no doubt reflected the current turmoil that was festering inside him, he meant it to, and she did eventually slip gracefully from the saddle and faced him. He watched as she settled her shoulders in a gesture of open resignation that told him she knew why he was so furious. The breeze was unusually warm for this time of year. It ruffled the long grasses around her skirt and lifted her bright hair. Junior immediately lowered his head and began to graze as Ross waited, booted feet apart, to see what she would do. She came toward him, but stopped a few feet away, eyeing his face warily. Her tongue came out to touch her soft lips in a nervous manner he found completely erotic. “Ross, what's wrong? You seem angry." “Do I? I can't imagine why, I'll ask you again, can you?" “No ... no." “Really. I find that hard to believe. You're an intelligent girl, sweetheart, think about it."

“I..." “You're not close enough, Annie.” There was a warning in his voice that would be hard to miss. Her blue eyes widened slightly. She took another small step forward. And when he didn't speak or move, another. She cleared her throat as she edged closer. “Ross, what is it you want from me?" She was now close enough that he could have reached out and grasped her slender shoulders in his hands. And he so wanted to. To crush her in his arms, to taste her sweetness. But he didn't, watching her instead with a tension that was both brooding and dark. He said evenly, “What do I want? Not much, angel. A kiss, that's all." “A ... kiss?” It was a stammer. Her aquamarine eyes were uncertain. “You do love me, right, Annie? That is what you told me, isn't it? It wasn't a lie, I hope." She swallowed, her throat rippling. “No. Of course not." “And you still feel that way?" “Yes.” Her lashes fluttered. Relief rushed over him in a palatable wave. Something was wrong but that wasn't it. He said hoarsely, “I haven't touched you in days." “I ... know." “Then?” He lifted a brow and stood with his arms casually at his sides. Perhaps it was wrong, this test, or whatever he was doing, but he felt a fierce sense of insecurity that was at once humbling and frightening, and, dammit, she was responsible and going to pay. He had never loved a woman before and could not imagine loving one more than this swirling intensity he felt for her. He didn't understand what was going on between them ever since they'd arrived at the ranch. It was as if she'd shut some door and was hiding behind it. He wanted it opened. “Annie?" There could be little doubt that she sensed his volatile mood. When she stepped forward and put her hands lightly on his shoulders, they trembled. Tilting her face upward, she offered her mouth and it was all he could do to not crush her to him and accept that invitation. But he didn't move. It took all the willpower he possessed. Her long lashes drifted lower, and then lifted in surprise when he still didn't touch her. Her blue eyes were filled with confusion for a split second before he saw she understood. Then she lifted on tiptoe so she could press her lips to his. The pressure was light, a featherbrush of promised delight, and over way too quickly. He murmured sardonically, “You call that a kiss?" Her hands left his shoulders and she stepped back, the uncertainty in her face being replaced with irritation. “What do you mean?" “Listen to the question. I want to know if you consider that to be an actual kiss." She tossed back her hair and snapped, “Yes, I do." “Then your memory must be faulty because that sure as hell isn't how I kiss you, angel." She flinched at that, and glanced away, across once again at those wild and faraway ridges that loomed

in the distance. An eagle or a hawk screamed somewhere, a haunting and solitary sound. “I have to ask again, what exactly is it you want from me, Ross?” The question was hushed and calm. She looked, he thought, almost pensive. “Just a kiss, like I told you. You've told you love me, then kiss me like you love me." **** He wouldn't budge. Arianne felt as if she were going either start to cry or scream. Now that they were together and alone, it should be the perfect opportunity to talk. But she could hardly blurt out something she knew was going to both hurt and anger him when he was like this. Ross was being his most difficult and arrogant self, ordering her around, obviously determined to make her humiliate herself in retaliation for the neglect of this past week. If he only knew how hard it had been for her to keep away from him. That sure as hell isn't how I kiss you... Squaring her shoulders, she met his glittering, challenging gaze with her own straightforward one. “Well, for starters, you're too tall. Maybe you haven't noticed but I'm a good deal smaller. I can't really reach you, Ross." “No problem." She gasped as he moved like lightning, scooping her up into his arms and striding toward the edge of the ravine. It was rocky as the land fell away from the meadow, and he sat down on a broad flat outcropping, arranging her on his lap so that she faced him with her booted feet outstretched to the side. She could feel the iron strength of his thighs under her backside. His hands stayed lightly at her waist and his ebony brows were arched expectantly. “Better?" Their faces were nearly on a level and she lifted her chin. Her voice wobbled infuriatingly as she said, “I suppose it's better. Is this your idea of some ridiculous sort of lesson in male dominance? because if it is ... I am not participating." “Be quiet, Arianne." Her protest died in her throat. Test or not, Ross was looking at her as if he expected something very important to happen next. He wanted her to kiss him in the same outrageous and sexy way he had kissed her back at the cabin. All right, fine, she thought as her gaze dropped his mouth. His lips were curved in a half-mocking smile, as if he were daring her to go ahead and do it. Maybe she would just show him. She slowly lifted her right hand and let her fingers drift lightly across his cheek and into the hair at his nape. Her reward was the answering flash in those mesmerizing dark eyes. Clasping his neck she tugged him down toward her while leaning forward. Their mouths met in slow, sensuous contact and she looped her other hand around his broad shoulder. He was warm and firm and infinitely exciting. She could feel the satisfying tensing of his muscles under her fingers. That sense of power was what made her touch her tongue to his lips, pushing past them to the inner depths of his mouth. She teased and tasted and shyly brushed against him, wondering if he was getting what it was he wanted so much that he had to drag her to this lovely place.

Apparently her answer was yes. With a sudden groan, her control was all gone. It was Ross who was crushing her mouth, invading it with his insistent and sweeping kiss, his hands who were running up and down her arms in feverish exploration, his hardened body close against hers. Everything seemed to blur into sensation after sensation. His taste, his hard body under her hands, his ragged breath across her cheek as he nibbled at her ear, brushed her jawline with his lips, and then took mouth again. Somewhere in the tempest she lost whatever anger she had toward him and wound her arms tight around his neck, answering his unmistakable passion with equal fervor. When he finally lifted his head, she was trembling. He cleared his throat hoarsely. “I guess that answers my question." Unsteadily, she asked, “What question?" “If everything I imagined back at the cabin was simply self-delusion." Self-delusion? She stared at him with surprised reproach and whispered, “How could you even say such a thing?" “The minute we arrived here and I announced to everyone we're to marry, you started treating me like some loathsome disease. What was I to think?"His mouth quirked in wry inquiry. She had known he was angry, but hadn't ever imagined Ross uncertain of himself. Little did he know, her feelings were not at all the problem. Actually, her feelings were the problem. He deserved an explanation. But when she gave it, things would change forever between them and she would lose him. She buried her face against the strong column of his throat, her breasts resting on his chest, clinging to him. She mumbled, “I'm sorry, Ross, but ... it's so new, so different. I guess I need to get to know Mary, to be with Will a little, and to just ... adjust."She felt miserable with the lie. And worse when his mouth brushed her hair in a feather-light caress. “As long as you can promise me you haven't changed your mind, I'll forgive you close to anything, beautiful Annie." “Then remember that I love you and want nothing in the world more than to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, Ross. No matter what happens." His hands tightened, bringing her closer. “No matter what happens? What does that mean? Nothing is going to happen, angel." She laughed, a small hiccup of sound. “You're the one who keeps reminding me how uncertain life can be, especially out West." “Is that what this is all about?"He pulled back and lifted her chin with a long fingers, his gaze piercing and direct. “Now that you are here, are you afraid of the future?" She swallowed hard. No. I'm afraid of the past. **** The evening had started to settle with a warm golden glow over the pastures, the mountains like dark huge sentinels in the distance. The hands were playing cards inside as they walked the horses past the bunkhouse, the sound of ribald laughter floating into the cool air. Ross always played his hunches. Until now.

Arianne was hiding something, he was damned sure of it. But ... he could be wrong. Usually he trusted himself above everything but women were damned tricky to figure and he could, so, so easily be wrong. The hell of it was, he wanted to be wrong. One look into those beautiful eyes and he believed anything she said. Like, for instance, the fact she loved him. Reining in, he dismounted swiftly and turned to lift her from the saddle. Arianne came into his arms and turned her face away, glancing at anything but him. He relinquished his grip on her slender waist as soon as he set her down, stepping backwards. She said quietly, “I'm sure that Will and Mary will have missed us." “I'm sure that Will and Mary know perfectly well that we needed to be alone. Have you looked at Mary lately?" “Ross.” A furious whisper. Her cheeks went pink. “Sorry, sweetheart, I'm still trying to reconcile the wild woman who moaned in my arms as I made love to her and the girl standing before me." “Don't.” It was a gulp of despair that made his heart freeze. Her eyes were downcast. “Don't ... what?"He shoved his hand through his hair in frustration. “Talk about it." “Talk about it?"Ross gave an incredulous laugh. “Angel, it happened. How can we not talk about it? I want to talk about it. I want to do it again. So now what?" Turning away with her face averted, Arianne murmured, “I just need time." Time, he thought bleakly. Hell. Chapter 13 A plume of dust flowed upward into the background of a piercingly blue horizon like a high plume of thin smoke. Ross straightened and got to his feet, squinting out the window and recognizing the buckboard and team of trim bays with relief. Will was back from Trinidad and appeared to be in somewhat of a hurry. He had gone for some much-needed supplies and hopefully the two trunks that Ross had arranged for Arianne to ship West from Boston. He knew she would be delighted to not have to share Mary's simple wardrobe any longer. What effect, he thought wryly, she would have on the ranch hands dressed in one of her elegant gowns, he didn't want to imagine. Even in plain, drab dresses, she rendered them speechless and staring. She pretty much had that same effect on him as well. Frowning, he watched as the wagon approached, the horses still whipped to a reckless pace. His partner must really be in a hurry. Will drew up the horses and jumped out of the wagon. Not bothering to do more than fling the reins over the hitching rail, he took the porch steps two at a time. Curious, Ross took one last glance at the ledgers spread out in front of him on the desk, and walked

over to greet him. “Arianne!” Will's shout was uncharacteristically loud and had an edge to it that Ross didn't like. Blond hair rumpled, he was dusty and dirty from the long drive, his fair face red with sunburn. His mouth was unnaturally tight and his boots thudded loudly on the floor as he stalked across the room. “Arianne! Where are you?" “She and Mary are down at the barns looking at the new foal that dropped this morning."As Ross spoke, Will swung around, his glittering blue gaze betraying a depth of agitation Ross had rarely seen in his partner. “Ross." “None other than.” Ross looked at his partner curiously. “Is something wrong?" “What are you doing here?” Will demanded. His brows shooting up in surprise, Ross said slowly, “I live here, remember? I'm doing the payroll and going over the accounts. What in the hell is the matter with you, Will?" “What the hell is the matter with me? A lot.” It was a snarl. “Did something happen on your trip?" “Hell yes, something happened." Tensing, Ross said tersely, “Do you mind telling me what?" “Yeah, I do mind. But I guess I have to, even if I don't like it much. You're like a brother to me.” Will strode over to the cupboard in the corner and jerked open the door. Taking out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, he poured with a generous hand that trembled slightly, filling both glasses to the rim. Turning around he held out one and said hoarsely, “Take this, Ross. You're not going to like the next few minutes." A cold dread seemed to settle in Ross's stomach. He said harshly, “Goddammit, Will, spit it out, will you? Is it my parents? Robert?" Will took a gulp and shook his head. “No, your family is fine, at least as far as I know." Ross relaxed a fraction and then took the proffered glass, lifting it to his mouth. “If my family is well, and you, Mary, and Arianne are safe, nothing else matters too much." “You might want to keep that sentiment in mind.” A dark mutter. Will reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out a torn and rumpled envelope and tossed it across the room. “Here, Ross, read this. When I collected the mail, this was there for me. I would have liked to talk to Arianne first, but there's no use putting this off. Though she obviously has." Ross caught the missive in mid-air, looking at the foreign mark with a puzzled frown. “Arianne? What's she got to do with it?" “Everything, pard. Sorry. Just read the letter." Setting aside his drink on a small carved oak table, Ross took out two sheets of elegant paper and began to read: Dear brother William: I know that sentiment between us is lukewarm at best, and our distance apart is not entirely measured just in miles, but I am appealing to you as not only your older brother, but the head of the Brooke family.

I feel sure that Arianne has fled to your adopted country and will seek to come to you for refuge, if she hasn't done so already. Had I known that she would be so rash and foolish, believe me, I would have taken steps to prevent her from doing something so scandalous and devastating to her family. I don't think I even need to mention the damage done to her marriage. Though her husband, the duke of Shaw, has used all of his social power to quell the gossip over her absence, the situation will only grow worse with each passing day. Please, William, I appeal to you to be the voice of reason and convince Arianne to come home as quickly as possible. Her place is here, at Jared Carlisle's side as his duchess. The sooner she returns and honors her vows, the sooner the scandal will pass away for us all. I hope this finds you well, Your brother, John Brooke Marriage. A reddish haze seemed to obscure his vision. Marriage. Surely not. Incredulous, Ross lifted his head. He found he couldn't speak, and his hands, usually so steady that he could shoot a fly off the back of a steer at a hundred paces, were trembling much worse than Will's. Arianne was married. She had a husband somewhere back in England. The infamous duke she professed to dislike, no less. It couldn't be. She was his. Will was pale under his tan, pacing across the room with his drink in his hand. He burst out, “She married him! I don't know who I want to get my hands on more, John for forcing her into such a situation, or her, for not telling me the truth. By God, she's a married woman." “It isn't true." Will whirled around. “Damnation, I know you don't want it to be true, Ross, but..." “No, it's more than that. It isn't true. She can't be married.” Ross found his voice was as wobbly as his shaking fingers. “John certainly seems assured enough." “It's not possible." Will's fair, goodlooking face was set. “I've had time to digest this, you haven't. Look, Ross, I know how you feel, or at least can imagine it, but..." “Dammit it all, Will, listen to me.” Ross surged furiously to his feet, tossing the letter on the floor as if it singed his fingers. “I'm telling you flat out I know it isn't true. I know it and can prove it." “What do you mean? How in the hell can you prove such a thing?" “Think about it, Will." Will stopped his restless pacing, his throat working. He stared and his blue gaze slowly hardened as they looked at each other. “Maybe you should tell me, Ross,” his voice was tight and hard, “just how you know it isn't true." “Because Arianne was innocent, a virgin." Will made a choked sound. “Was?"

Ross raggedly ran his hand through his hair, his head spinning, Will's outrage being the least of his problems. “You know I want to marry her. Don't give me that look." “She's my sister, damn you,” Will flared. “I would think that you, of all people, my best friend, would keep your hands to yourself." “My hands were hardly the problem." “This isn't funny, Ross.” Will's face was pinched with anger, his mouth white around the corners. “No, it isn't. And for the record, I tried to ignore her, ignore how I was feeling, Will.” A harsh mutter. “Believe me, I tried." “Maybe you should have tried a little harder." “Harder?” Ross gave an incredulous laugh and picked up his drink. The liquor stung his throat going down as he drank it all in one long swill. He rasped out, “I didn't want her along on the long trip here, I've told you that. All the practical reasons aside, I knew my attraction to her was powerful, even from our first brief meeting at my mother's house. But she insisted and I was afraid if I refused her, she would try to come West anyway. So I gave in.” His smile was grim. “Try to imagine it, Will. We rode the trail together for weeks. Every minute of every day I was with her, watching for danger, petrified that something was going to happen. I cooked for her, slept next to her, kept her safe. I discovered over that time that she's not only lovely but also compassionate and incredibly brave. If I were made of stone I would have fallen for her. Even if she wasn't the most beautiful woman I've ever met, I think I would still be deeply in love with her. I would die for her, dammit. If there is more of a committment than that, I want you to tell me what it is. When I took her to bed, it was with the intention of making her my wife at the earliest possible opportunity." His partner appeared speechless, the anger slowly fading from his fair face. Eventually, he said, “Hell, Ross. I guess I'm just ... shaken up. Why would John lie?" Feminine laughter drifted in from outside. Both men froze, Ross turning toward the door. “I guess,” he said grimly, “we can find out in the next few minutes." **** The evening was soft as supple leather, the close of an unusually mild autumn day with a sky of deepening indigo and the smell of pine in the air. Walking at a deliberately slow pace because of Mary's ungainly condition, Arianne admired the mountains in the distance as they strolled back to the house. Mary smiled deeply, her eyes shining as she pointed. “Look! Will is back safe, Arianne. I see the buckboard with your trunks in the back." “Thank God,” Ariannne murmured, slightly envious of her sister-in-law's evident happiness. She'd still been avoiding Ross as much as possible in the past days, though taking care to not make it so obvious. She was deathly afraid she would lose him forever if he knew the truth. “I'm sure you'll be grateful to get your clothes." Arianne shot Mary a quick look. “Actually, I think I like the simplicity of your gowns. I can get dressed and undressed without a maid." Mary laughed. “A maid. The idea is so odd. I've dressed myself my whole life. My goodness, growing up in Georgia, half the time I didn't even own a pair of shoes." “And I have a pair to go with nearly every gown.” A sigh. “I never realized how spoiled I was until my brother almost lost everything."

“It isn't so bad being poor, you know.” Mary arched a brunette eyebrow. “As long as we had enough to eat and a roof over our heads, we were happy enough." Arianne follwed her up the steps and across the wide porch to the door. “Apparently there are advantages to both lifestyles..." She broke off as Mary gave a small cry and rushed forward through the doorway to fling herself awkwardly into Will's arms. Arianne could see that her brother was covered in dust from head to toe but his wife didn't seem to mind in the least. He bent over her, enfolding her in his embrace and brushed a soft kiss across her brown curls. Mary murmured inarticulate cries into his shirt and clung to him. Will lifted his head and looked at Arianne where she stood, smiling in greeting. There was something in his expression that made her smile fade away. His stare looked almost ... accusing. His normally good-natured smile was absent, replaced by a grim frown even as he embraced his wife. “Hello, sweetheart.” A soft silky mumur. She turned, tearing her gaze away from her brother, and saw Ross standing by the pine cabniet that flanked the great stone fireplace which dominated the room and chased away the chill of the Colorado evenings. He wasn't wearing the usual working vest and chaps, but was instead clad in a soft, tan flannel shirt that flattered his dark coloring, faded trousers that hugged his long, lean legs, and wellworn boots. He looked tense as a bowstring. And undeinably furious. The other day had been nothing compared to the fury she saw etched in his classic features. Oh no. His dark gaze held hers with an intensity that made her gasp and take a backward step. His sensual mouth was thin and compressed, and his nostrils flared white, as if he was holding himself barely in check. He said in a lethal tone, “How was your trip to the barn?" “Fine,"she stammered. “Ross, is something wrong? You seem very..." He coolly elevated a brow as she searched for the right word. Mary had caught the tension in the atmosphere as well, for Arianne saw out of the corner of her eye that she had lifted her head and was looking at Will in wide-eyed unspoken question. Her brother just shook his head. “You seem angry,” she finally finished, awkwardly. She smoothed her suddenly damp palms on her skirts. “Not angry, love.” He shook his head slowly, his dark hair brushing his collar. “Just impatient. Will and I were just discussing how pointless it is for us to wait to get married, Annie. I'm sure you agree, don't you? We both want it, right?" Her heart was hammering, her mouth dry. Arianne whispered, “Yes, you know I do. Ross, I..." “Pack a bag then, sweetheart, we're leaving tonight for Trinidad. Pick out one of your fancy dresses that Will brought back as your wedding gown. I can't wait another day to make you my wife." Oh God. He was watching her, they all were watching her. “Ross...” she felt panic rise and the audience didn't help. She could fairly feel their interest and confusion. “Can we go somewhere ... talk about this? Please?"

He simply shook his dark head in denial, his mouth curving in a humorless smile. “I've asked you to be my wife. You say you love me. What else is there?" Oh God. She briefly shut her eyes. She should have told him before, she'd known she should have told him... “Unless,” Ross said coldly, taking a slow threatening step toward her, and narrowing his eyes, “there's some reason we can't be married?" She froze, horrified. Too late. He already knew. It explained everything. His hostile stance, his furious expression. She could read it in his glittering gaze, in the taut lines of his body, in his shuttered face. Somehow, he knew. Then she saw it. The sheets of paper lying on the floor, her brother John's elegant script even recognizable from a distance. A low cry of distress escaped her lips against her will. She felt her body begin to tremble and her throat close, hot and tight. She wasn't even aware that Ross had moved until she felt his fierce grip on her upper arms. He pulled her roughly against his body and said hoarsely, “I want the truth. I need the truth. Tell me, Annie, is there some reason we can't get married?" She buried her face against his shirt but he wouldn't have it. His long fingers caught her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his challenging gaze. “Tell me.” A furious command. She could feel dampness on her cheeks as tears slipped unheeded out of her eyes. She whispered, “I think you already know there is. I can see the letter." He jerked in reaction to her words. She could feel the convulsive movement of his tall body as he held her. “I hoped ... “A shuddering breath. He shook her slightly. “I want to hear it from you."It was a brutal statement. “Please, I..." His fingers tightened on her arms. “By God, you owe me this much. Tell me, Annie." She swallowed and said brokenly, “We cannot marry because I am already married." In the background, Arianne could hear Mary murmur in horror, “Oh, dear heavens." Ross let her go suddenly, like she were on fire. He stepped back, his face cold as stone. His arms dropped to his sides and he smiled bleakly. “It's true then. God, I feel like a fool." Then he turned and walked to the front door, slamming it open with the palm of his hand. Her numbed mind registered the fact that he was leaving. All of it was her worst nightmare come true. Heedless of Mary and Will still standing there in shocked audience, Arianne somehow found the strength to move, to run after him. “Ross, wait!" She had no idea what she was going to say, just that he couldn't leave when things were like this between them. Lifting her skirts in both hands, she hurried out the door and across the porch. Her chest felt as if someone had fastened a vice around it. He went down the steps fast and turned in the direction of the stables. His long strides kept her from catching up. Arianne cried, “Ross, please, where are you going?"

He stopped then, and turned around. In the dying light of the day, he looked like a handsome statue, stripped of all emotion, expressionless and unfeeling. “I'm not sure. Maybe I'm going to get drunk, Annie. Does that surprise you?" She rushed off the porch and stopped, breathless, in front of him. Her chest heaved. She swallowed and said huskily, “Please..." “Please?” One brow went up in an achingly familiar movement. “Please what, angel?" “Please let me explain." “Explain?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Explain away a marriage? I don't see how that is possible. What is there to explain? That you lied to me, loved me, lay with me, when all the while you belonged to another?" “It's complicated, and I..." “No, don't even try. I'll make it very simple for you. Tell me, Annie,” he interrupted harshly, “are you married to another man? Did you stand before God and witnesses and give yourself to someone else?" She flinched before his hot gaze. “Did you?" She squared her shoulders, fresh tears stinging her eyes. “Yes." He said tonelessly, “Then it isn't complicated, it is simple. You belong to someone else. End of story, sweetheart." She stood, still and stricken, as he stalked away. A few minutes later, he rode out of the stables on Dante, the two of them silhouetted against the dusk as they plunged down the road at a pace that made Arianne clench her fists and swallow against the lump in her throat. And then she was alone. **** The air rushed past his ears and cooled his hot face but nothing could ease the sickness crawling around in his stomach like ants on a hill. Ross spurred Dante recklessly over a small brush-covered hill, narrowly missing an unexpexcted ravine on the other side and jerking the horse instead into a thicket of tiny, half-grown trees before they plunged over the side. Branches snapped and Dante stumbled, barely regaining his feet. What the hell was he doing? He'd probably ridden ten miles in that same break-neck fashion. Ross reined in, bringing the stallion to a heaving halt. The black danced and threw his head, snorting his displeasure. Ross could hardly blame him. He was pretty displeased himself. Night had fallen, the slow inexorable creep of inky blackness beginning to thicken the countryside. There was no way he'd make it to any town with a decent-sized gambling hell before it became impossible to ride on. That meant no self-pitying bout with booze in the near future, no painted dance hall girl who would gladly lift her skirts for a few dollars, no obliteration of this knowledge that he wanted to blot from his brain. It didn't matter, he suddenly realized with weary resignation. He didn't want any of those things anyway. Turning the horse around, he nudged him with his heel back toward home. Tossing his head, Dante responded.

He had to sort this out somehow. So many contradictions crowded his thoughts, making his head whirl, not the least of them being Arianne with her wide, pleading eyes as he'd left her standing in the dust. She swore she loved him. She was married to another man. So many things fell into place now that he knew the truth. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. He had never imagined love entering his life, especially this way. The thought of never being able to love her, to touch her soft skin, to taste her sweet silky mouth, was intolerable. Weighing the situation dispassionately was impossible but he tried anyway. Yes, the woman he loved with all his heart and soul was married. To someone else. But... The finest point of the matter was that she had never wanted to marry Carlisle in the first place. The second point was that though she had gone through with the ceremony, no one knew better than Ross that she had not truly become his bride. Perhaps, he thought with a glimmer of hope in the darkness, there could be a solution to this damnable dilemna after all. Chapter 14 Arianne pushed the meat around on her plate listlessly with her fork. It had begun to rain, a thin October drizzle that tapped lightly at the windows and made the fire in the huge hearth pop and sizzle. From across the room, Mary gave her a sympathetic look and took a quick sip of coffee. Her smooth brow furrowed in concern as she lowered her cup. She said soothingly, “For what is it worth, Will says to stop worrying. Ross is just licking his wounds. He'll be back soon enough. He needs time to work through this. He isn't a man to easily acknowledge his feelings." “Maybe not, but it's been three days. Has Will thought about that?" “Three days is nothing in the life of a cowboy. Trust me, I know. I've lived out here since I was fifteen years old. They think nothing of riding off for weeks, even months at a time. Ross may not be a drifter at heart, but he knows well that there's plenty of space to lose himself if that's what he wants. And apparently it is. This is a tough situation for any man to accept." “I didn't tell him myself because I knew Ross would react so ... impetuously. It was so awful. I keep picturing the look on his face before he walked away.” Arianne closed eyes sore from weeping and gave up trying to eat. She lay back limply in her chair. “Oh, Mary, what have I done to him? I hurt him, I didn't want to but I did anyway." “Yes, I believe you did. So what? Ross is a grown man. He's heard worse things in his life." “I can't bear to think of losing him, but that's selfish isn't it? I never really could have him and I have only myself to blame.” A choked sob shook Arianne's shoulders. Lord, she was tired of crying. Having heard the whole story in the past few days, Mary said stoutly, “You did what you had to do, Arianne. Why, I think you've been amazingly brave and resourceful. If someone told me I had to take a ship to England by myself, I would faint dead away." Unwilling amusement made Arianne open her eyes and look at the young woman who had so quickly become her friend. “Mary, you've faced blizzards, Indian attacks, outlaws, and deprivation beyond my

wildest imagination. Good heavens, you had to care for your parents were they were ill and bury them when they died. You can sew, cook, and manage this house without a blink. Compared to you I am a useless child." Her sister-in-law colored becomingly at the compliment. She said shyly, “You're so beautiful, Arianne, why should you ever have to do those things? And not only are you a lady, you're a duchess as well.” There was wonder in her tone. “Don't remind me.” Arianne shuddered. “How could you know you would meet someone like Ross and fall in love? You thought you were saving your family by sacrificing yourself." Arianne shook her head. “Looking back, I wonder if there couldn't have been another way. It felt like there wasn't, but ... I also thought I had everything worked through. I thought I would come here, safely away from Jared Carlisle and live a simple life. Now everything is far from simple, isn't it?" “Doesn't seem to me that many things are." The door opened, sending in a blast of damp chilly air. Will came in, stamping his feet, accompanied by the young cowboy named Lane Wilson. They were both soaked to the skin, water dripping from the hats they quickly removed. Water began to puddle on the handwoven cotton rug on the floor. Arianne looked at them in silent, pleading question. Will shook his head and Lane drawled in his quaint way, “He's not haided to any of our normal watering spots. We checked every little town from here to Las Animas. He ain't been seen." Mary heaved herself to her feet. “You boys sit by the fire and dry off, both of you. I'll get your supper." Will took off his sodden coat and tossed it on the steaming hearth. He said wearily, “It's nasty out there. Anyone with an ounce of sense is under a roof. I'm done looking, Arianne. He doesn't want to be found, and that's plain enough. Life has to go on around here until he decides to come home." If he decides to come home. That statement hung in the air, unsaid. Lane stood awkwardly, his earnest gaze sliding to where Arianne still sat in slumped despair. He said, “I'm sorry, Miss. Ross tends to go his own way. Who knows where he took off to.” His lean face was intense, damp and ruddy with cold. “The whole ootfit is a little worried about him." Arianne was more than a little worried. She was afraid she would never see Ross Braden again. And she was just as much afraid she would. Summoning a painful smile, she said, “I thank you so very much for trying." The boy smiled suddenly as if the sun had come out. He blushed. “It was nothin'. I'd be looking for Ross, shore, no matter what, Miss. But knowing that you're heah, so worried, well, it jest made me and Will ride twice as hard." Maybe doing something would help ease the incessant ache in her chest. Arianne rose. “Then you must be famished. I'll help Mary get your dinner." **** At least the cold hard rain had stopped. Ross nudged Dante forward into the shadows by the side of the house and slid quietly from the saddle. Above, the moon was peeping through thin lines of streaming clouds, giving the yard and house a ghostly glow. Everything was still with the silence of deep, dark night, except for the yip of a pack of distant coyotes.

The window to his room was dark. He crept along the side of the house and pushed on the wooden frame, knowing the tricky catch was probably loose. Sure enough, it lifted easily and without more than a slight squeak. Seconds later he was sliding over the sill into the room. It was too darned easy. Arianne was asleep on her side, her face a pale oval against the sheets, one hand tucked, child-like, beneath her cheek. Her golden hair tumbled in magnificent disarray across the bedclothes and the ivory smoothness of her shoulders. She looked so serene and lovely that he was arrested there for several precious seconds while he simply stood and drank in the sight of her. An angel, brave and beautiful. His angel, dammit. Despite everything, he would have it no other way. Maybe in the eyes of the law, even in the eyes of God, she was pledged to another man, but deep, deep in his soul, he knew she belonged to him. And tonight he intended to remind her of that fact. Silently, he moved to the side of the bed and quickly put one hand over her mouth, using the other to press her back into the mattress. The muscles of her smooth shoulder bunched under his gloved fingers. Her eyes flew open in alarm as she gurgled out the scream he suppressed. One arm flailed wildly but he didn't let her go. He could tell the instant she recognized him. Her body went limp, the fight ebbing away, and she simply stared upward at him with great, dark eyes. “Don't scream, sweetheart, we don't want Will coming in here and shooting me in the dark, now do we?"Slowly, he eased his hand away from her mouth and let go of her shoulder. She whispered poignantly, “Ross." “Shhh."He put his finger to his lips. “Get out of bed,” he said in a low tone. Confusion crossed her delicate features. She shrank back, clutching at the blankets. “Why?" “Don't argue, woman, I'm not in the mood for it. Just do it."He shook his head and grabbed the coverlet, giving it a firm tug. She let go with surprising trust and sat up to throw her legs over the side of the bed. Clad only in a thin pale nightdress that bared her shoulders enticingly, she was gold and white in the vague moonlight, making his pulse race with instant desire. God, he wanted her. Just the sight of her had an incredible effect on his senses. He took one of the blankets with him as he led her to the window. Slipping out and landing with a soft thud in the sodden soil, he turned and held out his arms. Arianne hesitated only a second before lifting up her long shift and straddling the window sill. He had a glimpse of long, bare slender legs before she fell in a flurry of satin and silky hair, into his arms. Dante was grazing on a nearby patch of grass. Ross strode over and lifted her into the saddle, vaulting in behind to wrap the warm woolen blanket around her and adjust her position so that she sat with her back against him, in the circle of his arms as he held the reins. Still not speaking, he urged the stallion forward out of the yard and down the long lane. The tug of the wind, the clouds moving overhead like weary ghosts, the scent of roses that drifted from her hair. Arianne twisted to look up at him. Her expression was strained, her whisper hoarse with emotion. “Ross, I've been so worried, I..." “We'll talk later,” he interrupted curtly.

“But...” Her eyes were huge and dark with question. “I have so much to say..." “Annie, be quiet, will you?" She subsided at his abrupt tone and he could feel the tension in her slender body as he held her. Once they were well away from the house, he gave the restive horse his head, taking them from a walk to a fast trot and then to a full-out gallop. Arianne turned and clung to him, her arms slipping around his waist, her face pressed against his chest as her loose hair streamed over his shoulders and teased his lips. The night thundered past and he relished both the power of the animal under him and the feel of her soft body pressed against him. The pace perfectly suited his mood; wild, reckless, and free. He had to slow once they reached the first grove of aspens, pulling back Dante with effort, for the stallion seemed to have caught his master's spirit and wanted to run. Fighting the horse a bit, he heard the river moving languorously to his left and could smell the woodsmoke from the fire he'd lit before he'd left on his impulsive quest. Home. Arianne stirred and lifted her head. He knew that Will had brought her over to show her the place and she obviously recognized their destination, even in the dark. Dante snorted and pranced as they rode up to the partially-finished building. Ross had to walk him around the grassy patch in front of the house to calm him enough so that he could dismount. Her slim body still wrapped in the blanket against the cold, Arianne's face was pale and lovely, and when he lifted her from the saddle, she murmured softly, “This is where you've been." “Yes." “Working on your house." “Our house. Yes." She blanched. “So close, and we never guessed. Will has been all over southern Colorado looking for you." “I needed a little time to think. This seemed a good way to do it." She bit her lip. “I'm so sorry." “I told you, we'll talk later."He led Dante toward a small corral several yards from the house. “Go inside, Annie. I'll be there in a few minutes." “A few minutes?" “I have to deal with Dante." “Oh." She hesitated, standing there in the dim light that sifted from above and turned her into a magical creature of his deepest fantasy, staring at him. He repeated softly, “Go inside." She went. **** Arianne stood just inside the house, surveying the changes. There was glass now in some of the windows, and a front door. A blazing fire burned in the great stone hearth of the fireplace, giving the walls a rosy glow. Other than the wide vista of night sky visible above her head, the house looked very close to being habitable. It was easy to see what Ross had been doing these past days.

He had come for her. That realization had her mind whirling and her stomach tied into knots. “I expect the entire roof to be on in a week or two." The sound of his deep voice behind her made her jump. Arianne whirled around to see Ross leaning in the doorway, one broad shoulder against the frame. He was dressed as he had been for the trail—dark shirt, worn jeans, dusty boots. He looked every inch the broodingly handsome cowboy she remembered from that cabin in the mountians. She caught her breath at the intense expression on his face. Desire simmered in his dark eyes. Ross straightened and lazily moved forward, pulling the door shut behind him. “Why don't you warm yourself by the fire, Annie." Her gaze flew to where someone had fashioned a bed of sorts out of soft blankets in front of the hearth. Her heart began to pound in her chest and she swallowed, clenching her hands into fists. “I'm not cold.” A stammer. “Then drop the blanket and let me look at you." The soft suggestion brought the blood to her face. Her heart began to pound with a soft rhythm she could feel against the wall of her chest. A small curl of excitement formed in her stomach. “Yes,” he said, still moving forward with that lithe grace, his gaze holding hers. “I see that you've realized that when I said we'd talk, I meant afterwards. Now, drop the blanket, sweetheart. I need to see you." He was everything she'd thought about in the past days. Dangerously male, dark and handsome, vitality and leashed power. He was Ross. And she loved him. And despite everything, she wanted him to love her. There was nothing she wanted more in the world. Slowly loosening her grip, she felt the enveloping blanket slide off her shoulders to pool on the floor. Cool air struck her bare shoulders and made her shiver. Ross advanced until he was right in front of her and reached out a hand, touching her cheek in a featherlight caress. His fingers were warm against her skin. “I want you,” he said with typical frank honesty, his voice husky and light. “You have no idea how much." The firelight licked along the edge of his lean jaw and made his hair dance with reddish glints. Arianne could see the faint lines by the side of his mouth, the gleam of his dark eyes under the fringe of thick lashes, and she could sense the restraint with which he held his tall body. She said in a low voice, “I want you too." His light touch slid down the sensitive skin of her throat, brushing her collarbone, then tracing the curve of her shoulder. He smiled. “Is this normal sleeping attire for fashionable English ladies?” His hand skimmed the bared skin exposed by the bodice of her satin nightdress. Arianne inhaled deeply at the caress. Her breasts tingled, wanting more than just that passing touch. “Yes." “Not very practical for cold Colorado nights but it pleases me." Why on earth were they discussing her wardrobe? She said, “I'm glad. I like pleasing you. Very much.” Remembering the afternoon when they'd ridden out toward the mountains and he had demanded a kiss,

she stepped forward and put her hands on his wide shoulders, going up on the tips of her toes and tugging him toward her. With a small groan, he caught her and crushed her to him, banishing any chill she might have felt. His hands roamed frantically across her back as his lips captured hers and she responded with the same wild abandon, twining her arms around his neck and opening her mouth to the invasion of his tongue. Heat, taste, fiery passion. She wanted it all. He cupped the back of her head with his hand, molding his lips to hers, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, tracing the line of her throat in a warm, tantalizing trail. Arianne pressed against him without reserve, her breasts soft on his hard chest, her hips thrust against the iron of his thighs. Desire immediately flooded every pore until she felt weak and shaken. She hardly realized it when he swept her up to carry her the few feet to the blankets. He set her on her feet, and to her disappointment, let her go and took a step back. Without his arms around her, it suddenly did seem cold and she shivered in protest. “Ross?" In a low voice, he ordered, “Undress for me, Annie. Show me you want me as much as I want you." The challenge in his glittering gaze was unmistakable. Whatever he'd suffered, it had been his pride that was injured as well as his emotions. She wanted to give him what he needed, to heal the hurt if she could. Her trembling fingers went to the thin straps at her shoulders. She began to ease each one slowly down her arms, so very aware of his heavy-lidded gaze. When she'd slid the material past her breasts, she let her nightdress fall in a pool of cloth at her feet. His deep breath was audible. He let his gaze roam deliberately over her naked body as she stood there, statue-still. Her cheeks flamed at his open perusal, but she lifted her chin and stood her ground. “Perfect,” he murmured, his fingers going to the buttons on his shirt. “Don't move. I want to look at you while I undress." It was her turn to watch him. He eased the shirt off his body and dropped to the floor, revealing his muscular torso and trim, flat stomach. His boots were jerked off and tossed aside, and when his hands went to unfasten his jeans, she stared in fascination as he slipped them down his lean hips and kicked them away. He was fully aroused, slick and hard and magnificent in the flickering light. “Come here,” he said thickly. She took a hesitant step forward, and then another until her breasts were nearly touching his chest. “Touch me,” he ordered. Reaching out a hand, she felt the rock hard muscles of his shoulder, smoothing her fingers over his heated skin, exploring the breadth of his chest. He felt wonderful. Ross smiled, a dark smile of sexual promise. “Not there, sweetheart. I mean touch me." He meant... Arianne swallowed and obeyed, her hand closing over that part of him she found both intriguing and a bit frightening. Ross gasped as her fingers encircled his rigid flesh. His response evoked a heady sense of power and she clasped him tighter, wondering at the smooth unyielding flesh in her hand. He shuddered against

her, his hands going out to capture her arms and jerk her close. He kissed her again, a passionate, wild, open-mouthed kiss that weakened her knees and left her breathless. Lifting his head, he said hoarsely, “Now, I'm going to touch you." The blankets were soft and warm against her flesh as he lowered her down, following to cover her with his long body. He scorched her skin with his breath, nuzzling the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, kissing the gentle swell of her stomach. His hands kneaded her flesh with expert care, his thumbs circling her nipples, arousing them to hardness. Licking the inner side of her thigh, he gently parted her legs and began to stroke her intimately with his long fingers. Remembered pleasure shot through her body. She arched involuntarily and gave a low cry as he continued the tender torture with merciless expertise. Her entire world swirled down to one thing, and that was Ross touching her with his mouth and hands. Rapture, delight, hazy enchantment. But something was missing. She felt the ache of it deep inside. Summoning the will to speak, she whispered, “Ross, I need you." “I'm here, Annie.” A low laugh. “Can't you feel me?" “No, I mean ... you. Inside me." He mumbled something she didn't hear, but suddenly he was over her and pressing against her. She lifted her hips to accept him and was grateful when there was no pain, just the wonderful sensation of fullness and delicious completion as he entered her body. Her hands at the small of his back, she lifted to meet him in every movement as he began to love her in smooth, hard strokes, tiny gasps of pleasure escaping her lips. It was heaven. After several days of hell, she was finally with him again and he was making love to her. He thrust in increasing momentum, his breath rasping between his lips as their bodies melded together. Excitement spiraling through her veins, she clutched his shoulders and let herself be swept into a maelstrom of ecstasy and exquisite sensation just as Ross groaned and trembled, flooding her with a liquid warmth. **** Ross crouched naked in front of the fire and carefully thrust another log on the embers. Once satisfied that the wood was catching, he turned and looked at Arianne. She was lying on the tumbled blankets, her hair in glorious disarray, the flaring light gliding her soft skin to pink highlights. Naked, she was perfection, from the full mounds of her breasts to her long slim legs. As he watched, she reached for the blanket to tug it self-consciously to her chin, and blushed. He couldn't help but grin. A few moments before she'd been a wildcat in his arms, everything he could have dreamed of in a lover. A lover, yes. And more. For he wanted her, he loved her, and was determined to keep her by his side for the rest of their lives. Dropping down on the makeshift bed next to her, he rolled over to his side and reached to lightly touch her face. “Now we can talk. Annie." She nodded and swallowed, the muscles working in her slim throat. “This won't be easy,” she admitted, looking away. Her cheeks were still flushed from their impetuous lovemaking. “I want to hear about it, all of it, from the beginning. Not the glossed-over version you gave me before, but the whole truth. I need to know why you did what you did."

Her lashes lowered, guarding her eyes. “Married him, you mean?" Married him. By God, it was so hard to hear her say it. His answer was grim. “Yes." Not meeting his gaze, she convulsively held on to the blanket covering her. “It's hard to decide where to start." Ross leaned on his elbow and looked at her. “I know some of it but not enough to really understand. Carlisle ruined your brother and tried to blackmail you into marrying him. That's the truth, isn't it?" She nodded. “Like I told you before, I wanted no part of Jared Carlisle. I know it's a sin, but I ... hate him. From the first moment we met he made my skin crawl. John was thrilled at his interest and couldn't understand my aversion. At first, that is. He pressured me to accept Jared's attentions. I refused. He told me I was insane, that I could be a duchess and have everything in the world.” Her mouth twisted. “And to John, he was making perfect sense. John believes the whole world revolves around money, social status and power. However, he learned the hard way about Jared." “Will told me that Carlisle ruined your brother on purpose. That the whole ugly episode was not a mistake; it was geared toward hanging a sword over your older brother's head." “To make me change my mind." “I'm surprised it did." Arianne whispered, “I would have never agreed to marry Jared except for my sister-in-law and my three nephews. Honestly, I didn't know what any of us would do with no home and no money. I felt trapped. And somewhat responsible. After all, if Jared hadn't become so interested in me, John would not be ruined. So,” her tongue stole out to touch her lower lip, “I came up with a plan." Quietly, Ross said, “Plan?" She nodded. “I consulted my brother's solicitors. They reviewed the contracts and told me they said nothing about the marriage being consummated. As long as I went through with the ceremony, everything was perfectly legal and valid. The estate would revert back to John and his debts to Jared would be absolved. So, I ... I did it. I married him and during the reception, I escaped out the window. I had everything planned, right down to drugging the guards Jared had hired to watch me." Ross felt his mouth tighten. “Are you telling me he hired guards?" “I suppose he suspected that I might try to run." Looking at her, with her cloud of spun gold hair and perfect features, Ross didn't have to ask why Jared Carlisle had become so obsessed. The answer was simply too obvious and as captivated as he was himself, he knew full well the depth of her attraction. But still, the man had to be unbalanced to go so far to possess a woman who didn't want any part of him. He said slowly, “So you willingly tied yourself for life to a man you despised for your family?" “I didn't think I had a choice.” Arianne looked stricken. “And besides, I had no desire to marry anyway." Ross's smile was tight. “Why not? Did you never entertain the possibility that you might meet someone and want to share their life, be their mate?" Her reply was hushed. “No. Please remember my opinion of men, other than my memories of Will, were based mainly on John and Jared." Not very flattering examples of the gender.

“Ross, please understand. I ... I had no idea someone like you even existed." Someone like you... He caught her chin in his fingers and tipped it upward. “Someone like me?" A tiny frown creased her forehead. “You're ... different, Ross. Hard sometimes, but also considerate. I ... I trust you. I think almost as soon as I met you I knew you were someone...” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Yes?” A gentle prompt. “Someone I could love.” It was a whisper, no more. “And I do love you, Ross. So very much." He felt as if she'd stabbed him in the chest. Maybe all of it, the trial by fire of these past few days, was worth it just to have this incredible woman love him. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss of infinite tenderness. Breaking away, he murmured, “I've been doing nothing but thinking about this awkward situation since I read that letter three days ago." “Awkward?"A half-hysterical laugh bubbled from Arianne's throat. “It's a bit more than that, don't you think?" He reached out and took a lock of her silky hair, twining it idly around his fingers. “My father is a very powerful man. As much as I hate to ask him for anything, he could move to get your marriage annulled. It was never consummated and I don't know what the Church of England thinks of that, but in most instances, that is good grounds for dissolving an unhappy union." Arianne looked doubtful. “Jared would never allow it." “Threatened with the right weapons, he would." “Right weapons?" “Social humilation, for one.” Ross smiled without mirth. “I grew up in the exalted Braden household and know how much stock the rich and noble put on their reputations. If I swore I would testify in court that you were a virgin when I bedded you, I bet he would give in." “Ross!” Her gasp of horror was very real. “You would label me publicly a ... a ... fallen woman?" “Who would really know? Your reputation in wild Colorado is of little consequence,” he informed Arianne dryly. “However, I believe bigamy is still a crime, even here." “I..." “There's something else to consider. I'm sure you've thought of it." She stared at him. “Annie, you do realize that right now you could be carrying my child? How would your noble duke react to the fact that his wife has given birth without him ever touching her in an intimate way? Presented with the facts of our relationship and a possible pregnancy, I think he would gladly give way to our point of view. I doubt any public disclosure would shame you as much as it would shame him." Blindly, she shook her head. “I don't think you know this man, Ross. Dragging my name through the mud would probably please him. He isn't ... right." Ross had to stifle the surge of anger he felt over her obvious fear of the distant Jared Carlisle. “What isn't right is that he's been allowed to manipulate you and your family to this point. I think his grace may find I am not so easily pushed around. He isn't dealing with polite dandies or helpless women any longer."

Arianne said nothing, just looking at him with those beautiful eyes. “You said you trust me,” he said gently. “Trust me in this also, Annie. I am going to free you and then I am going to marry you, understand?" “I wish I could dare dream it to be true, Ross." She sounded so forlorn that he smiled and pulled her into his arms. He was ready for her again, for the intense pleasure of her body, the sweetness of her kiss. He actually looked forward to the day when he could tell Jared Carlisle that he'd had what Arianne would never give her English husband. Never, he thought as he lowered his mouth to hers. Over his dead body. Chapter 15 The sun was high and bright and Ross found himself whistling as he strode along. He'd gotten very little sleep in the past three days, worked like a dog on his house, and the woman he loved with all his heart and soul was another man's wife. In spite of all of that, he felt absurdly happy. Arianne had spent the night in all her naked splendor in his arms. And as he was determined to find a solution to their devil's dilemma, how could he not be happy? “Boss!” A whoop. He saw that several riders were coming out of the barn, leading their horses. Lane Wilson was in front and it was he who had yelled. Grinning, the young cowboy lifted his hat and tossed it in a expert loop before catching it and slamming it back down on his fair head. “Look boys, the boss is back, safe with nary a scratch on him. I told you pessimistic cowpokes he'd turn up." “I see you missed me,” Ross drawled as he walked forward. “I'm flattered." “Naw, not us so much, but Miss Arianne was worrin’ her pretty haid off. Will had us in every greasy dive from here to Las Animas looking for you, jest shore you were drinkin’ yourself into an early grave.” Lane laughed. He was dressed for the range, in chaps, gloves, and there was a rifle slung to his saddle. The smile faded from his young face. “Doggone, but since this is how it's played out, I reckon your timin’ couldn't be better, boss. I'm glad you're heah. There's hell to pay, and that's for sure." “Is that so?” Ross eyed the young man's face with a hint of misgiving. “Well, here I am. What have I missed? You boys look ready for a fight." “Damn right, I'm ready. More than ready. And you will be too when you heah what's gone on.” The young cowboy had a dangerous glint in his eye. “What's going on?" “Hoss thieves.” Pecos Jones, a wizened cowhand who could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty spoke up and then spat in the dirt. “We've been hit twice in as many days. Their stealin’ our stock right from under our noses." “Horse thieves?” Ross ejaculated in surprise. “Shore, they're the worst vermin out there. Takin’ a cow thet's not yours, well, that's stealin’ and no mistake. But takin’ a man's hoss, thet's more than a crime, as I see it." “How many head missing?” Ross felt anger rise inside, replacing his earlier euphoria. He and Will had invested a great deal of money in good horseflesh, banking on the growing population needing good riding animals in the future. They were just establishing a sound breeding herd. Dante alone had been a

huge investment. “Reckon we've lost twenty haid. Mebbe more.” Lane scratched his jaw. “Twenty head?” Ross exploded furiously, his hands clenching into fists. Then he swallowed and asked with dread, “Junior?" “He's in the stable. After the first raid, Will had us bring him in where we could keep an eye on him." Ross relaxed slightly. It still wasn't good news but after all they'd been through together and his miraculous escape from disaster, losing Junior to horse thieves would be a devastating blow. He asked briskly, “Can we track them? It's been raining, the ground should be nice and soft." “We're figgerin’ it'll be easy as pie; thet's where we're haided. Since you were gone, Will wasn't sure what to do, but told us to go ahaid and follow them and get back our stock if we could. He's afraid to leave Miss Mary because of the baby comin’ so soon, so we thought we'd strike out on our own. Pecos heah can track a woodmouse halfway across the territory.” Lane lifted his brows. “You coming with us, boss? We could shore use a crack shot." Grimly, Ross said, “I wouldn't miss it for the world." **** She was deliciously tired. Arianne stretched her arms above her head and sighed. Ross had delivered her back to her room just at dawn and she had fallen into a deep, full sleep of contentment, both physical and emotional. Rolling over, she snuggled into the blankets and smiled. The memory of the night before was almost intolerably sweet. Ross, abducting her from her bed, loving her with his mouth, his hands, his body, offering the future. He wanted to arrange an anullment, dissolve forever the heinous union she had never wanted. She had no idea if what he proposed was possible, but it was a relief to put herself in his hands, to let him assume the responsibility. She was so tired of being pushed, of being threatened and coerced and downright bullied. She was tired of the fate of her family being on her head, and more than happy to transfer the burden to his broad shoulders. Her marriage might be annulled. Then she would be free. To marry Ross. He was right about one thing, he was, in his own way, as ruthless as Jared Carlisle. Maybe even more. For he had some notion of right on his side and Jared acted only selfishly. Still smiling, she drifted to sleep again. **** It was a scene of horror. They'd cut the fences and poisoned the water hole. Ross pulled Dante up and gazed in silent repulsion and fury at the carnage before him. The gate hung limply, gaping open, and what stock hadn't been rustled lay dead around the perimeter of the spring, their bellies bloated and swollen with the beginnings of decay. “One helluva of a deal,” Lane declared in aghast amazement, reining in his restless mount, his lean face working with emotion. “Jeez, boss, what kind of cowboy would kill perfectly good hossflesh? Stealing them, yeah, I can understand thet, even if I don't agree with it, but to just do ‘em in for nuthin? It makes no sense."

Wilson was only too right. In a place that measured a man by the caliber of the horse he rode, his mount was his most valuable possession. Horse thieves were dealt with swiftly and brutally. Ross found his voice with effort. “This must have been done a least a day ago. How many head does this make?" “About thirty, all told, I'd guess. Mebbe more. Who knows if they went to the north pasture where all the recent foals are." The recent foals. Ross shut his eyes briefly. “God dammit, whoever did this better make sure I don't ever catch up with their sorry carcasses.” It was a low vow. Ross felt the ferocity of his need for revenge and tried to stifle and control it as best he could. Cold anger was a weapon, but mindless rage a folly. He added icily, “I'll rip them apart and take pleasure in the act." Pecos rode up, his thin wrinkled face serious. “I count five men, maybe even six, by their tracks. They drove the stock north but I lost them not far from here, which doesn't make much sense, unless they are headed for Las Animas." “How many hours away?" “A day. At least. Might be more." The scent of pine, the moan of the wind through the trees, the vague stench of rotting flesh. Ross hunched his shoulders and straightened. “Let's follow them. I'm not taking this sort of thing lying down. I want my horses back, I want to meet the son-of-a-bitch who did this and I promise you, he won't forget me. We're going to hunt them down like dogs." Lane grinned recklessly. “Good call, boss." **** Arianne clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling an open laugh. “If only,"she mumbled against her fingers, “Lady Jessica could see you now." Will grimaced, plucking at his filthy shirt. “I was digging post holes for a new fence, I'll have you know. It's hard work. The rest of the men are out trying to round up some missing stock." “You look like a chimney sweep.” A giggle escaped despite her efforts. Besides his dirty shirt, Will had streaks of grime down his cheeks and forehead, his sodden hair was plastered to his skull, and his jeans and boots were covered with dust. Mary lifted her head from her sewing. The tiny garment she was making dropped to her lap. “Who in the world is Lady Jessica?" Will's fair brows snapped into a frown. He growled, “No one." Arianne gave her brother an innocent look. “Lady Jessica Randolph is most certainly someone, Will. Her father is an earl and the most important member of..." “I don't think Mary has any interest in the Randolph family, Arianne.” Her brother sounded very curt. His glare would have cut ice. Mary's pretty face creased into a frown. Her brown eyes widened uncertainly. “Yes, I do, that's why I asked. Why would this Jessica care if you were dirty from fencing building or not?" Will muttered, “Thanks a lot."Then he turned toward his wife and shoved his hand roughly through his sodden blond hair. “Jessica Randolph and I were ... well ... at one time, we..."

“They were engaged.” Arianne supplied the answer, lifting her brow. “Oh.” Mary averted her face quickly and the muscles in her throat twitched as she swallowed. “I suppose she was beautiful and cultured and..." “And the nastiest little prig you could imagine,” Ariannne finished for her in a crisp tone. “Talk about a pinch-faced, conceited spoiled brat. I couldn't stomach being in the same room with her for five minutes. Luckily for Will, she decided she was too good for a second son and jilted him. I don't know who was more relieved, him, because he wouldn't have to marry her, or myself, because she wouldn't be my sister-in-law." Mary looked placated, a small smile creeping to touch her mouth. Sitting in her chair by the fire, with her rounded figure and sewing on her ample lap, she was the very picture of womanhood; glowing with health, life, and youth. She said timidly, “Truly? You didn't want to marry her Will?" “Of course not, my dear. Arianne is only too right about Lady Jessica. The whole thing was another of John's ill-fated attempts to strengthen the family position. I always thought I would marry for love.” He crossed the room and knelt at his wife's feet. Taking Mary's hand, he added softly, “And I did." Throat tightening, Arianne turned away, wanting to give them privacy. She walked over to the window and stared outside, wondering where on earth Ross was and what he was doing. With a quickened heart she saw a line of riders coming up the long lane past the corrals. She called out, “Will, someone's coming. I think the men are back." “Already?" “Look.” She pointed toward the window. Will joined her, peering at the approaching horsemen with narrowed eyes. “Those aren't our riders,” he said abruptly. “Who could they be?" Her brother's face was suddenly frighteningly grim. “I don't know but I don't like it. Not with the whole outfit away." “Neighbors?"Arianne suggested, watching as the men approached. “On all dark horses and so many? Not likely. Besides,” Will said in a taut voice, “there's almost no such thing as neighbors out here. You've been here a few weeks. Arianne, has anyone just dropped by? The nearest ranch is a half-day ride and I can tell you, those aren't Reichert's men." “What could they want?” Even as she asked, Arianne felt the first vague tremor of apprehension touch her body. “I'll go find out. The two of you stay out of sight, inside. Mary, you go get the rifle. You know where it is and how to use it." The rifle. Arianne swallowed hard. She would feel so much better if Ross were nearby. “Will!"His wife came to her feet, alarm creasing her gentle features. “Be careful." “I'm not armed.” He turned and smiled reassuringly. Still standing by the window, Arianne watched the men come closer, their horses trotting at a sedate pace. She murmured, “There's at least eight of them, Will. Maybe you should be." “There's an unspoken law out here, baby sister. You don't gun down an unarmed man. It's an act of cowardice and cowards don't live long in Colorado. With so many, I am better off without my gun.

Arianne, get away from the window so no one sees you. If they think I'm here alone, so much the better." For the first time since she had fled London, as she watched her brother stalk out of the room, Arianne missed the safety and security of her pampered youth. True, she'd been frightened before on her long journey, but Ross had been there. Maybe even he, with his tough competence, would not be a match for eight men. Yet somehow she knew he wouldn't flinch from confronting their visitors. Will lacked that steely edge, that fearsome confidence. Unable to resist, she crouched by the edge of the window and peeked outside one more time. And froze. They were close enough now for her to make out their faces. The breath seemed to leave her body in one great expulsion. Her fingers curled into her palms, scoring the flesh. There was a sudden pounding in her ears, a rushing roar. She felt faint. With numb lips, she murmured, “Oh my God." “What is it?"Mary demanded in a thin voice. “Arianne, what do you see? You've gone white as a ghost. I'm getting frightened." She was unable to answer. Her whole body was paralyzed, immobile. Mary cried hysterically, “Arianne? Talk to me. What's wrong, what is happening out there?" **** “That's four of ‘em.” Lane trotted forward, leading a roan mare. She looked unharmed, which was good, and tossed her head continuously against the rope around her neck. “Out of thirty, it's small consolation.” Ross whirled Dante and gave the horizon a quick, grim study. Nothing showed but undulating ridges and the late fall glow of the aspens. Once they found the first horse, loose and grazing, his men had spread out, looking for the others. Already they had recovered several. “Pecos says there's more out there but they've scattered and will be hard to find. This whole thing is kinda puzzlin'." Who, he mused, would rustle good horses and take them up into the foothills, just to set them loose? Lane had declared it didn't make sense and he was only too right. And more than who, why? He didn't like it. A churning sensation in his gut made him feel uneasy about the entire thing. Instinct had kept him alive more than once or twice. He'd be a fool to ignore the uneasy feeling that had him strung tight as a wire. The murdered stock were a travesty, no doubt about it. But the loose horses were a sign. An ominous sign. It gave Ross an awful premonition. “Lane, pard,” he asked suddenly in a terse voice, “how the hell would you empty a ranch of its hands? And I mean all of them." Lane scratched his fair head, frowning in confusion. “Boss, I ain't sure I follow yer thinkin'." “Just humor me here. What would you do to get every hand riding hell-bent for leather up into the mountains?" Comprehension seemed to come into the young man's pale blue eyes. His mouth tightened. “I guess I'd

get the outfit riled up enough to follow my trail." Silkily, Ross rejoined, “And what would rile any outfit more than having their stock rustled? Especially their horses?" “Nuthin. Hell, boss, air you joking with me? Do you really think those hosses were stolen to lead us away from the B and B?” Eyes wide, Lane sat his horse with lithe ease, absently holding the rope he'd used to capture the roan. His earnest young face was grim in the fading light of the afternoon. “It's a hunch.” Swallowing, Ross sent another raking gaze across the vista. “Lane, tell the men to round up as many of the missing stock as they can find and drive them back to the ranch. Use the lower corrals and post a guard. I'm heading back." **** The nightmare feeling had returned. Arianne moved like she was held in a trance. Her feet dragged across the floor and her stomach felt like an iron weight had settled into it. She paid little attention to Mary, clutching at her arm. “Will said to stay here, out of sight,” her sister-in-law wailed. “Listen to me, Arianne, don't go out there." “These men are here for me.” Arianne tried to tug free. Desperately, Mary whispered from behind her, “All the more reason to stay in like he told us. Arianne ... he's not going to let them take you anywhere. Stay here." Desperation and fear made her voice thick. “Mary, please, don't you understand, he isn't going to be able to stop them. I don't want him to get hurt trying.” She turned and pulled forcefully away from her sister-in-law's imploring fingers. “Is that what you want, Will to die because of my folly?" A gasp of protest. Mary's face was white a chalk. Her frantic fingers clutched her apron in agitation. “How could you say such a thing? Of course not." “Then just let me go." Shoving open the door, Arianne stepped out on the porch. It took more courage than she thought she had. Eight men sat their horses, lined up with the straight edge of the ranch house. Six of them she did not recognize. They appeared to be ordinary cowhands, maybe a little more ragged than the ranch hands she knew from the B and B. The other two made her stomach knot in a gruesome surge of unwanted emotion and recognition. She was oblivious to the interested stares of any of them except one. Summoning all her courage, she lifted her chin and steadfastly met the ice blue gaze of the man who had sent her across an ocean and a country in flight. Jared Carlisle, the eighth duke of Shaw, gazed at her with unrelenting eyes. Sitting a magnificent dark bay, he was dressed without regard to his wild surroundings in an exquisitely tailored coat, fitted breeches, and polished boots. Hatless, his blond hair waved back perfectly from a wide brow, his nose was an arrogant straight line, his lips thin and sensual. The rough men surrounding him were a decided contrast, except for the almost equal elegance of his loyal valet, Farnham. “It seems,” her husband said in his deep, cultured voice, “that Arianne has just made a liar out of you, Brooke, and wants to see me after all. Hello, Madame. As you can see, I've come for you." Across a continent. And, looking into his implacable face, she wasn't surprised. She had always feared

down deep that Colorado would not be far enough. Any response to his cold greeting was impossible. Her throat muscles felt locked and useless. There was no warmth in the chill blue gaze that held hers. Jared laughed low in his throat. “I see you were not expecting me, my sweet. I rather thought you would be taken unaware." Will was standing in a posture of defiance. Legs spread, hands on hips, he radiated ill-will. “Carlisle, my sister wants no part of you. I don't care how far you've come. Get off our spread now." “Our spread?” Jared jerked his cold stare from Arianne and gave the plain house and simple corrals a sweeping, scathing glance. “How quaint, Brooke. Is that what you call this hovel and those run down mud holes?" Will didn't blink an eye. “What I call it is my property. Get off, the lot of you.” Turning slightly, he said tautly, “Arianne, get back inside. Now. I'll handle this." Once again Jared's glittering gaze transferred to her face. The promise of revenge she saw in that seething look made her knees feel weak. Outwardly, his face was an unrevealing handsome mask, but cold vengeance that shone in his eyes made her want to turn and run. The impulse was very nearly overpowering. If she did, he'd only catch her. That promise was there too. That she had run once and that was enough and he would not tolerate another chase. God help her. It had been bad enough when he had simply desired her, like a child wanting a coveted toy. Now he hated her. “Yes, Arianne, do go back inside,” Jared said evenly, still boring her with that devastating awful look. “Pack a small bag as we will be traveling light."His horse moved restively and he jerked expertly on the reins. “And do not, my dear wife, make me wait more than five minutes. We'll be leaving then whether I have to tie and gag you, understand? My patience ran out weeks ago." Will stepped forward. He said hotly, “She's not going anywhere, Carlisle. Not with you." Jared smiled. It sent a chill down Arianne's spine. Her brother was unarmed but Jared Carlisle would care nothing about some unspoken code of the West. She'd seen him lash an elderly servant with his quirt for an infraction so minor that no one in their right mind would react in such a way. She said quickly, putting out an imporing hand on her brother's arm, “Will, maybe I should just go with him." He turned his head and the look in his eyes was a mixture of fury and protectiveness. “Arianne, I am not going to let you sacrifice yourself again for the Brooke family. I'm going to do what John should have done ages ago and stand up to this bastard, get it?" Her fingers tightened and she shook her head blindly. “But ... Mary is inside, and..." He shook her off, standing defiant in his dusty clothes, tall and fair in the slanting afternoon light. “No, absolutely not, you aren't going anywhere. Now, Carlisle, for the last time, get off this property." The other men sitting their horses simply watched silently, interested in the confrontation as Jared laughed carelessly. “Brooke, I am most willing to leave this dusty patch of land as soon as possible. But not without my errant little wife, who is mine both legally and in the eyes of God." “Say what you will, you're not taking her."

With a smirk of his lips, Jared responded, “I am not sure which amuses me more, her defiance or yours. Yet I am certain that I grow weary of both. There is no question, Brooke. Arianne, or shall I say, the duchess, will be coming with me. She has no choice and neither do you." “I won't allow it." “You can't stop me. Last I checked, man, you are vastly outnumbered. I took pains to make sure it would be that way. Your men are all out somewhere in this Godforsaken wilderness, chasing some rather scrubby-looking horses." “I'm not moving aside. And if you try to touch her, as much as a lock of her hair, I'll kill you.” Will sounded chillingly sincere. Next to him, Arianne felt a small moan of horror escape her lips. Finally, through that cool, polished exterior, came a glimpse of the real man. Jared Carlisle straightened in the saddle, his mouth curling in a furious snarl. He said simply one word, “Farnham." Arianne had one split second to register what that meant before the Duke of Shaw's valet pulled a pistol out from under his frock coat and leveled it at her brother. “No!” she gasped. “If you'll listen, Brooke, you'll live." “I am not armed,” Will announced. “All the better. Now tell her to her move along and pack her things." “You've lost your mind if you think I'd do such a thing." “You've lost yours if you think I'll tolerate anything less." Will inclined his head. “It appears we're at a stalemate, sir." “No, we're not.” Jared looked bored, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Shoot him Farnham. Please take care to not hit the duchess. I've traveled too far to claim my bride." “Will...” Arianne turned desperately, even as the sound of the shot reverberated through the late evening air. As she watched in horror, her brother jerked and cried out, his right hand going to his chest. Blood instantly began to soak the fabric under his splayed fingers. She screamed, flinging her arms around Will's waist to keep him from crumpling to the floor of the wooden porch. His weight was too much for her and they reeled back together, hitting the side of the house with a sickening thump. His knees buckled and she could do little more than try to ease his descent, seeing the smear of blood behind him on the wall with the appalling realization that bullet must have gone clear through him. “Oh, Will.” Arianne sobbed. Her brother's face had gone a rather nasty pasty shade and his mouth was compressed tightly in pain. He said thinly, “Don't you let Mary come out here, understand. I want her safe." The least she could do was promise him that. “I won't.” Her gaze was riveted on the spreading stain soaking his shirt. “I'm going to go in to get something to bandage your wound..." “You'll do no such thing.” The cold voice behind her made her freeze. A hand fell on her shoulder and jerked her to her feet. Arianne was vaguely aware that she had already failed in her promise, for the door opened and footsteps flew past. With a soft cry, Mary fell awkwardly to her knees beside her husband. Jared was touching her, his long fingers digging into her flesh through the thin material of her dress.

She tried to pull away, but he simply pulled her around and leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. All of it faded away; her sister-in-law's sobbing, the smell of fresh blood, the watching men on their dark horses. Everything except the ice blue of her husband's eyes, the tight hateful line of his mouth, the heighth and breadth of him as he towered over her. He said coldly, “You will go inside and change into something suitable for riding. You will pack a few necessities. And you will do all of this in a matter of minutes. Farnham will accompany you to insure your cooperation, dear wife." Arianne felt as if she were turned to stone. She could hardly breathe, much less move. He added softly, “If you do not please me in this request, you will not like my reaction." Arianne could see Mary out of the corner of her eye, swollen with her coming child, so vulenrable and shaken, trying to stem the blood leaking from Will's wound with the hem of her dress while tears streamed down her face. Mary. The baby. Both of them so fragile. A small shudder racked her body. She turned woodenly and felt Jared let her go. Farnham, portly and elegant, incongruously held the door for her into the house. As she passed by with leaden feet, he bowed and said in a macabre unemotional tone, “It's wonderful to see you again, your grace." Chapter 16 The first thing Ross saw as he rode up to the house was the blood all over the front porch. An ominous dark puddle was punctuated by a smeared track on the floor. Droplets stained the rough wooden boards in splatters that were too familiar in pattern. There was blood on the outside wall as well, a spray of color against the weathered wood that made his heart freeze. Damn his instincts for being only too right. He flung himself from Dante and just left the reins trailing, something he would never dream of normally doing with the unpredictable black, but a lump had come up to lodge in his throat like a strangling rock. Taking the steps two at a time, he had one hand on his gun as he shoved open the door into the house and raked the interior with a lightning glance. The trail of blood led from the main room toward the kitchen. What the hell ... ? He froze. Slow sobbing and moaning. The sound reverberated throughout the house. It was the sound of someone in pain, an agonizing cry that smote the heart. Then, silence. Arianne. Oh God, no. His boots thudded loudly as he crossed the floor, his own breathing harsh in his ears. It was easy enough to follow the grim damp, dark trail even without that gut-wrenching sound drawing him like a magnet. A shriek made him jump, his gun flying out of the holster on hip as he crouched and tensed. “Oh God. Oh ... Will!” A woman's scream. Not Arianne, but Mary. Without thought, Ross plunged forward toward the kitchen at that anguished cry, skidding into the room with gun in hand. His breath went in with a sickening rush, whistling in his throat. Both Will and Mary were on the floor of the kitchen in an appalling welter of blood. His partner lay on his back, eyes closed, his face an alarming ashen hue. Next to him, Mary was wide awake and half-sitting, panting, both hands clutching

her rounded stomach as she braced herself against the floor. There was no one else in the room. Where the hell was Arianne? Mary saw him. “Ross!” He'd never heard his name uttered with such reverent relief. “Oh praise God." He said harshly, “What's going on?” Will was the source of all the blood. Realizing that, Ross shoved his gun back in the holster and crossed to sink onto one knee next to the prostrate man. His shirt was soaked with it and he appeared barely conscious. With unsteady hands Ross jerked open his partner's filthy shirt. “Thought ... you'd never get here, Ross.” It was a low whisper. Will's face was streaked with grime and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. “I think I really could have used you earlier. We ran into a little ... trouble." “How are you doing?” he asked as he viewed the damage with trepidation. The question didn't need answering. There was a good-sized hole in his upper body. “Been ... better.” The reply was weak. Upon exploration the wound was high in the shoulder, thankfully so. Bleeding copiously, it looked worse than it was. Even as Ross probed with gentle fingers, Will's eyelids fluttered and he groaned. The bullet had gone straight through, Ross found with relief. It made for more bleeding, but less skill was needed to tend it. He said as reassuringly as possbile, “It's not bad. High up and probably hurts like hell, but I've seen worse. In fact, I've seen a lot worse in men that are still walking around. Let's get this thing bound up and stop the bleeding. You're going to be fine, just fine." Will shook his head slightly, one bloodied hand coming up to limply grasp Ross's shirt. “Never mind me. Mary ... it's been going on for a while now and ... I can't help her..." She moaned in return. The moan then turned into a wail, and the wail an outright scream. “Nooooo..." “A while?” he demanded, turning his head to stare at the woman lying on the floor next to her husband. Surely she wasn't injured as well. “Since ... the pains began,” Will supplied. Good Lord, Ross thought in shock, she was in labor. The gunshot wound he could deal with fairly easily. He'd done that before, too many times. Delivering a babe into this world was another matter. He swallowed hard. Think. Get a hold of yourself, get a hold of the situation. Labor goes on for hours and is a perfectly natural process. Will had to come first. Will was bleeding. Gaining his feet, he crossed the room to grab a handful of clean towels that were kept for wiping dishes, dampening one from the bucket by the dry sink. Running back and dropping to his knees, he cleaned away most of the blood and folded one towel on the back of Will's wound, and one on the front, binding them both with a third towel and fashioning a tight knot of sorts to stop the flow of blood. Mary cried out again as he worked and he shifted his attention to her immediately. “Breathe,” he muttered. “Come on, honey, please breathe easy, in and out. I have to admit I'm no expert, but I've heard it helps the pain."

Mary was flushed, her eyes tightly shut. Her parted lips emitted tiny pants. She now lay on her back in the same position as her husband, but instead of being barely in this world, she was very much alive, clutching her swollen belly with both hands and creasing her face in agony. She gasped out, “Oh, Ross, it's so terrible." “Breathe, remember to breathe." “No ... need to tell you ... about Arianne." “What?” His entire body seemed to freeze, to focus. “He ... ahhh ... he took her. That awful man.” A sob and a gasp. “Took her?” His hands were beginning to shake as he tended the wound and he gritted his teeth and steadied himself. “Tell me what happened, Mary. As much as you can." “He shot Will. I helped Will inside ... practically drug him ... and the pain started.” Mary arched, her swollen body lifting from the floor. Her eyes opened, sheened with moisture, the soft brown depths pleading. “Oh Ross, help me. Help me.” Her small hand circled his wrist in a surprisingly strong viselike grip. Help her. Of course, he had to help her, there was no one else. As gently as possible, he pushed at a damp lock of hair on her forehead. “Listen to me, Mary. Will is going to be all right. You and the baby will be fine, too. I'm going to take care of everything. He said a while? Do you have any idea how long since the pains started?" “Don't ... know, seems like forever. Please...” A whimper. Her eyes implored him, hazy with pain. Next to him, Will tried to move, mumbling, “Ross, help her, for God's sakes, help her." For the first time Ross noticed there was a puddle of clear liquid beneath her thighs on the floor, the same thing soaking her skirt. Considering the frequency of her pains and the loss of her waters, it didn't take a genius to decipher the imminent signs of the coming child. Ross had helped with enough foalings in his time to know enough to go rinse the blood off his hands and gather a blanket. Mary's cries dogged his every moment away. Will lay back next to her, ominously still and white, eyes barely open, as if he were holding on to consciousness by sheer willpower. Ross awkwardly pushed Mary's skirts up and fumbled with her petticoats and pantalets, removing both with trembling fingers. Arianne. He took her... He had to think about that later. To shove it from his mind. Right now, Mary needed him so much. She screamed. He winced, feeling inadequate. He peered between her parted legs, amazed to see the bulge of the coming baby's head and some bloody matted hair. “Almost here,"he said in hopeful encouragement. “Hold on, Mary." “Will!” It was a scream of despair. Ross urged, “I told you, he's going to be fine. Let's get this baby born. You've got to help, Mary, come on." She suddenly shouted, “I ... can't, Ross. Go ... go away.” Lying there on the kitchen floor with her plain wet dress, she shook her head violently.

As she'd just asked for help, he frowned. He said persuasively, “Mary ... come on, the baby is here now, almost born. The hard part is nearly over. I think you need to..." “Shut up, Ross. You don't know anything, you're not a woman. It hurts ... I can't stand it, and just go away and leave me be.” Mild-mannered Mary had turned into a screaming wild woman with glaring eyes and clutching hands. But her baby was determined to enter this world. “It's coming.” It was a bellow of pain, torn from her throat. “Oh, God! Ross!" “I'm here, Mary. Hold on." “I can't!" “Yes, you can.” He braced himself as her body heaved. Incredibly, the head emeged into Ross's waiting hands and then one tiny shoulder. Only half born, the newest Brooke began a thin keening wail that filled the room. It was a miraculous and beautiful thing, even coated in fluids and red-faced with fury. He was holding a human life in his hands. Incredible. Ross said coaxingly, “One push, mama, one more push." After what seemed like forever, baby slid out smoothly. Carefully, Ross lifted the infant and said triumphantly, “Mr. and Mrs. Brooke, you have a daughter.” He peered at the squalling infant. “Everything seems to be where it should." Will said weakly, “Thank God.” His eyes closed. Limp as a rag doll, lying flat, Mary smiled in exhausted delight, a completely different woman than the harridan of a few minutes before. Her hair was soaked with sweat, her dress still bunched around her waist, but she didn't seem to care in the least about comfort or modesty at this point. Her voice was a croak. “A girl? Really? Let me hold her, Ross. I need to see my daughter." He frowned. “I have to do something. Cut the cord, I guess." “I'll hold her while you go get some string. Mrs. Reichert has had four children and she told me that we need to tie off the cord before we cut it. The afterbirth will take a few minutes to deliver." “I am vastly relieved you know what to do.” He carefully handed the crying child into her waiting arms and hurried to find the string and a clean knife. Mary's former agonized cries were replaced with delighted whispers as she examined her child. Even in the midst of such a miracle, he could not keep his thoughts from Arianne. Kneeling to accomplish the task of cutting the cord, he glanced up and caught Mary's eyes gravely on him, even as she cradled her newborn child. She whispered, “Thank you, Ross. Somehow, I knew you'd come. I kept telling Will you would come." “I had a bad feeling,” he admitted. “Is Will really going to be fine?” She glanced fearfully over at her husband's pale face and bloodstained clothes. “You weren't lying to me just to make me feel better, were you?" “He's lost quite a bit of blood and will need to take it easy, but yes, I think he'll be up and restless as a caged coyote before you know it. I wouldn't lie about that, Mary." He hesitated, then said, “Can you tell me what happened? I'm sorry, I know you're exhausted, but I have to know."

A nod. Mary cradled her child protectively against her breast. She said haltingly, tearfully, “It was him, her husband, the duke. He took her. Will tried to stop him, but ... they shot him and then he took her." **** Arianne rode woodenly, the reins slack in her hands. She had never felt so numb, so utterly blank and dead inside. The events of the past hours hung over her head like a poised axe. She had set these awful events in motion. Her brother was shot, badly hurt, perhaps dead, because of her. She couldn't bear it. Will, the port in the storm she had sought as refuge, he had paid her price. And Mary, sweet gentle Mary, had watched in horror from the window while a man had gunned down her husband and father of her coming child, in cold blood. Arianne knew she had been naive and foolish in the assumption she could escape her unwanted marriage. Even realizing the depth of Jared Carlisle's obsession, she had imagined herself equal to outwitting him. Will had suffered for her lack of foresight and she couldn't bear to think of it. She was sure that Jared would collect in full measure from her, as well. He rode beside her, easy and graceful in the saddle, with Farnham on the other side on a huge roan, flanking her horse. Three rough men rode in front, three in back. She was effectively hemmed in, an unmistakable prisoner. The horses moved at a moderate pace, as if pursuit were not something to be expected. That roused her hopes a little. All the better for her if these men had never heard of Ross Braden. He might be off tracking some lost ponies, but he when he returned to the ranch and found her gone, he would come after her as relentlessly as Jared Carlisle had. But until that moment came... The sun had lowered, gilding the treetops with a mystic, golden light. They were riding toward the mountains, which rose up in the distance in fierce splendor. The breeze swept down from those primitive ridges, icy fingers brushing her face and clothes. The river gushed somewhere to their left, the water whispering and chanting an ancient rhythm answered only by the lonely scream of some unseen bird of prey. She shivered involuntarily. “Would your grace like my coat?" The question, spoken in very correct even tones from beside her, made Arianne incredulously turn her head. Farnham looked at her in inquiry, his thin brows arched over very light eyes. Middle-aged and almost bald, he was somewhat stout and sat his saddle like a sack of meal, but he handled the reins with surprising competence. Both repulsed and amazed by the offer, she abruptly shook her head. “Absolutely not." “You wouldn't want to catch a chill, my lady.” The man sounded absurdly in earnest. “The air is getting quite cold." The man who had shot her brother was offering her his coat to warm her. She turned away, her face tightening in revulsion. Next to her, Jared murmured smoothly with a nasty undertone in his voice, “The lady wishes to shiver, Farnham, so let her." “Of course, your grace.” Farnham bowed his head. “I only meant to serve the duchess." The lady wishes to shiver. Certainly, she did. Arianne thought that if she had to accept the coat of the man who attacked her brother so callously, she would be sick. She'd rather freeze to her death. It might spare her whatever waited in the future.

Farnham, with his obsequious ways had always made her skin crawl. Now she knew why. Any man who would level his devotion on an individual like Jared Carlisle was as sick and twisted as his master was cruel and inhuman. And she was at their mercy of them both. God help her. **** Ross checked his pack automatically, his hands moving without thought, going through the motions of inventorying food, ammunition, and other supplies while he consciously forced himself to be methodical. Yet the necessities of packing grated on his nerves like a cat's tongue across his skin. He couldn't help Arianne if he were unprepared. Mary had told him there were eight riders including Carlisle, some of them obviously hired guns whose loyalty might be dissuaded by a deadly confrontation. The odds didn't bother him so much as did the setting sun. Arianne was terrified of her husband. He could almost feel her fear and desperation like a finger reaching out to touch him. Remembering the expression on her face when she confessed the truth of her forced marriage made his gut churn with fury and tension. He didn't want Arianne have to have to spend one night with Carlisle, not mention a band of outlaws and thugs. The mere thought of it was enough to absolutely drive him out of his mind. And he needed a level head. “Ready, boss?” Lane was already mounted, his horse dancing restively as his rider sat him with lithe ease. Dressed in jeans, a dark shirt and leather vest, he had his coat thrown over the pommel of his saddle. Without the pain of Ross's personal involvement, Lane looked instead like he was enjoying himself, a flare of excitement for the hunt in his light blue eyes. Ross nodded curtly and swung himself onto Junior. Never had he been so glad than when Lane Wilson had shown up an hour or so after the baby had arrived, acting on the same uneasy hunch that had driven Ross back to the ranch. Two against eight might not sound like a perfect situation, but being the hunter was preferable to being the hunted and Wilson was a crack shot, as well as a fearless and reckless young man. He felt a little reckless himself. “Reckon they're haided for the pass?” Lane urged his mount to a gallop, matching Junior's long, steady stride, his question a shout. “Mary says they started out this way. With eight of them, nine if you include Arianne, we should have no problem tracking their horses." Lane nodded his fair head, his face intent. “This is one helluva rum deal, boss. Kidnapping a pretty lady like Miss Arianne." “Yes, it is.” To say the least, a rum deal. Fear pulsed in Ross’ veins. It was that and so much more. Only the most determined of men would come from across an ocean to capture the woman who had so publicly scorned both their marriage and his bed. Such a man would be full of anger and revenge. Arianne had not exaggerated about Jared Carlisle. Her fears had been well-founded. She'd told him that her husband was persistent and determined, and she'd been only too right. It was only too easy to remember the slender fragile feel of her body in his arms, the soft vulnerability

of her skin. If Carlisle hurt her, Ross vowed, fighting down the surge of ferocious anger that swamped his entire body, the man would die a slow lingering death. It was a dark, unholy promise made with every fiber of his being. The evening had begun to thicken with shadows, touching the ridges with reddish light and giving the sky and eerie cast. They were hours behind the group they pursued. Though it chafed, it couldn't be helped. Mary, Will, and the child had to be settled and safe before Ross or Lane could leave the ranch. His partner's injuries and the hurried birth of Will and Mary's daughter had delayed any action he possibly take. He shouted, “Let's ride hard while there's light." Lane grinned, catching his urgency and mirroring it by spurring his own horse. I'm with you, boss, all the way." Spurring Junior, Ross thundered on, squinting at the darkening horizon and cursing steadily under his breath. **** They made camp in a glen surrounded by stubby spruce and towering Ponderosa pines with huge trunks that reflected the fire like the legs of some unseen giant. The wind was picking up, moaning softly as it moved through the branches above, making the shadows thicken and change in each passing moment like some spectral show. She was cold, she was frightened, and very much the object of eight pairs of unrelenting male eyes. Arianne wasn't sure what frightened her more, the unwanted attention from the unkempt strangers that Jared had hired like so much kitchen help, or his unwavering regard everytime she so much as moved an inch. She refused any offer of food and only took a sip or two of water. She couldn't possibly eat when the memory of her brother's bloody body laying prostrate on the front porch stayed so hauntingly in her mind. The wind sighed overhead, a low shrieking wail that made her shudder. It was dark, very dark, and she was so absolutely, shatteringly alone. Ross, it was an unreasonable yearning, where are you? “His grace requests that you join him by the fire, my lady. I've prepared a bed for you both and think you'll be quite comfortable." Arianne glanced up, noting that Farnham looked more stolid and repulsive than ever in the wild surroundings. He wore tailored clothes completely unsuitable to the situation, and had a pistol of some kind strapped incongruously to his hip. “His grace may request all he likes,” Arianne said plainly. “And he may go straight to the devil. Which,” she added under breath, “is where he belongs." “My lady.” A reproachful sigh. “I will not join him, Farnham." “Would your grace prefer to sleep in the circle of these ruffians, unprotected?"A smooth question. “It does not seem a wise idea. I advise against it." An unwanted quiver shook her body. The six men her husband had found to help abduct her were little more than outlaws, she'd already gathered that from their crude comments and lax conversation. They seemed a gun-toting and undisciplined group, easily convinced so far to follow Jared's lead and the offer of money, but not exactly trustworthy.

Of course, joining her husband was out of the question. She said haughtily, “The duke may sleep with his horse instead." Farnham bowed his head respectfully, though his gaze was heavy and disapproving. “I will deliver your message, Duchess." She sat, with her arms wrapped around her knees and her dress carefully tucked around her, trying to ignore the staring eyes. She felt, unfortunately, like a sheep being eyed by a pack of hungry wolves. It was an awful sensation. Until a hard hand fell upon her shoulder. She looked up, dread pooling in her stomach. Jared stared down at her in icy derision, his face implacable. He hissed, “My horse does not suit me.” His whisper was very low. “Now get up and join me at once. I will not tolerate anything else, my dear, trust me.” His fingers dug in. “I do not wish to sleep next to you.” Her voice shook with unfortunate weakness, betraying her fear. “Your wishes do not matter in the least to me. Understanding that is the first step in your acceptance of your new life.” It was said through his teeth. She could fairly feel the hate radiating from his body. “Now, get up and come with me at once or I will drag you by your hair. It matters not to me." Lying next to him, wrapped in the same blankets? The idea was abhorrent. She said slowly, “And if I refuse? Then what, your grace?" “I will snap your slender neck with my bare hands. Don't doubt me. You have already been more trouble than you will be worth when I finally take you." When I finally take you... His voice dropped a notch. “You had better pleasure me well, my sweet." Not a man there was not watching their exchange. Arianne was acutely aware of the interested stares, the slack mouths and glittering eyes. One of them, a heavy-shouldered bearded man with a livid scar across his right cheek, laughed loudly and leered at her, winking. “Maybe the little lady would prefer someone else's company tonight, your worship. I'd be happy to keep you warm, sweetheart." The fingers holding her became nearly brutal. Leaning forward, Jared hissed in her ear, “Is that what you wish, my dear? To be violated by one of these unwashed cretins? If so, please say the word. You know your happiness is my first concern." Arianne felt physically sick. Jared might not be the worst the evening had to offer. Please, she prayed desperately, Ross, where are you? Chapter 17 They camped late, next to a small gurgling stream where they'd infuriatingly lost the tracks due to the encroaching darkness. It was a quiet spot, flat and open, with a clean breeze sweeping down from the mountains to move the nearby trees in a flutter of sound, and nothing but the glowering image of the distant mountain ranges on the horizon. Ross could not stay calm or curb his restless imagination. It was simply impossible.

He helped light the fire and cook their supper, eating the food on his plate mechanically but not tasting a thing. When they were finished he washed dishes and packed up the food, the same as he had a thousand times. “I'm going for a walk, Lane." “Shore. I'll be turnin’ in soon.” Settled by the fire, Wilson sipped coffee from a battered tin cup and brooded at the leaping flames. Ross walked out into the darkness of the surrounding forest, feeling the shadows close over him in thankful solitude. The air was very crisp and tangy, keenly clean with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Shoving trembling fingers through his hair, he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, lifting his face to where the thin light of a scythe moon was visible through the ceiling of the towering trees. He hadn't prayed in a very long time. Since he was a boy. But then again, he had never loved someone as fiercely as he loved Arianne. Dear God, he thought as he stood there for what seemed an eternity. Don't let him harm her. Keep her safe until I can take over. Amen. The wind tugged restlessly at his hair. He could smell the earthy scent of the breeze, feel the mountain chill from those far, unattainable peaks. This was, he knew, the Colorado that he so loved. A wild and untamed land. It was what he had showed her that day they had taken their afternoon ride. So vast. So very empty. And she was out there somewhere, trapped in a hell he could only imagine. The woman he loved beyond his own life. If need be, he would exchange his for hers. Maybe it was a cursed bargain, but he was willing to make it. The fire had burned low when he strode back into camp and dropped wearily on his bedroll. Lane was still up and sitting there, cross-legged, staring at the fire. Glancing up, he narrowed his pale gaze on Ross's face. “Hey, boss, you doin’ all right?" Ross felt an unwilling smile tug at his mouth. “I'm not sure." “I think I can understand thet." “Can you, cowboy?" Wilson looked solemnly into the fire. “Yeah, I do. You're all torn up and worried as hell about Miss Arianne and what's happening somewhere out there. This love thing. It's a powerful force, ain't it?" “I'm not an expert since I never thought it would happen to me, but it sure seems to be, Lane.” Ross stifled an unwanted but welcome chuckle at his young friend's seriousness. “Yeah, it sure as hell does. It's struck me a bit, all this. I've been thinkin'." “Better watch that, it could become a habit." Lane shook his curly head. “Reckon this ain't easy fer you. Settin’ heah, doin’ nothin'." “No.” It was said in short agreement. Not easy, what an understatement. “You told us you were going to marry her." Ross felt his throat tighten. He said deliberately, “Actually, cowboy, I am going to marry her." Wilson scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Will told me this fancy English fella already forced Miss Arianne to marry him back in England."

“That's a fact I'm well-aware of, Lane.” He gritted the words out between his teeth. “But it changes nothing. She is going to be my wife." “Hey, I'm not tryin’ to rub salt in a wound.” Lane flushed slightly in the meager firelight. “I guess I'm tryin’ to figger what come off. Miss Arianne gets married and then runs off so she doesn't have to be a real wife, comin’ heah to hide out. But this fancy greenhorn comes right across the ocean to kidnap a pretty lady that wants nuthin’ to do with him, is that it?" “That does appear to be the situation.” Carelessly tossing a stick on the fire, Ross frowned and tried to banish the image of Arianne trapped with Carlisle in the hours until dawn. Not to mention the other seven men who might be having predictable thoughts. Dammit, why did he have to be so helpless? “Why would he? This duke fella ... he's rich, right? Has a big house? Pots of coin? He has women over there, doesn't he? Hell, women usually waller all over a fella with money." “I guess the one he really wants is here. I suspect a good deal of why he's here has to do with the fact she left him." Lane tipped his hat back and said gloomily, “Why are women sich outright trouble, boss? And pretty women, well they're jest the worst! I mean, doggone, Miss Arianne doesn't have to do anything but look at a man with those big eyes and he loses his haid. Half the boys can't string two words together for staring when she's around. And look at you. Haid over heels." “Yes.” In grim agreement, Ross laughed. “Look at me. I didn't know she was already married when I fell in love with her, but I somehow doubt it would have mattered." The other man said in a wondering tone, “I have to say, who would have thunk it, boss, you in love?" “Who would have?” Ross briefly closed his eyes, wondering if any man could resist the feel of her silken skin, the glorious color of her blue eyes, not to mention the soft delicious sounds she made when he made love to her... He had to stop thinking about it. “Not thet I blame you, if you'll forgive me bein’ so forward. Miss Arianne is a right beauty, and there's no mistaking it. She's ... she's like the sun in the mawning." “A good comparison, Wilson." “Boss?" “Yes?" The young cowboy looked earnest in the flickering light. “We'll catch up to them tomorrow, count on it. I'm a fair tracker ... not the best mebbe, but damn good jest the same, and we've got the best hosses in this country, I know thet. Besides, we're travelin’ light." “I hope you're right, Lane.” He had to be right. Ross knew he couldn't endure another night of Arianne in the clutches of her ruthless husband. “I am right, I swear it. And then, you know what?" Ross opened his eyes and stared at the man across from the fire. “What?" A frank blue gaze met his squarely. “I owe you a lot for the chance you took on me. Givin’ me a job when no one else would, keeping me straight instead of lettin’ me go right to hell like I was haided." “Cowboy, you don't owe me anything. You've been a good hand, no one is better with horses, and you've earned your place. Look at you, here with me now. I appreciate it, Lane."

The younger man smiled brilliantly, his face creasing. “I'll kill him for you, boss. Thet will solve your problems and Miss Arianne's too. And, I figger, square things between us." That wild declaration made Ross wince inside. Human life, and the taking of it, should have more value. Lane hadn't been born callous; his rough wild life had done it to him. Grimly, Ross shook his head. He said quietly, “No, he's mine." **** She stumbled, forced forward by a powerful shove. Barely keeping her balance, Arianne whirled around and faced her husband across the pile of blankets that would be their bed. Her heart was pounding, her fists clenched in resistance. It was incredible, she thought obliquely, that such physical beauty in a man could conceal such heartless evil. “Don't touch me." Jared bared his teeth in the parody of a smile. His blond hair was slightly rumpled, falling over his broad brow. His blue eyes were blazing, his mouth sensually modeled, his shoulders wide under the buff of his tailored coat. He grated out, “You needn't worry, madam. I have no intention of providing lewd entertainment for this group of ignorant peasants. The consummation of those vows you so honor,” the word was a sneer, “can wait for a decent bed and some privacy." “The consummation of our false vows,” she found herself responding coldly, “can wait forever as far as I am concerned." “Ah...” He lifted a brow. “But I am so looking forward to our ... union. It is my duty to ensure an heir for the title." Bearing his child? Arianne swallowed the bile that climbed into her throat. She whispered, “I would rather die than lie with you." “Unfortunately for you, the decision is mine." “Perhaps." “Perhaps?” An awful gloating smile transformed his handsome face. “Your optimism is touching, my sweet, but really so naive. America is not so different from England. Think of it. Possession is everything, here and there. I married you. I believe you were there, repeating the same vows. You have my name. I own you, completely. Every inch of your delectable body, my love. No one can stop me in anything I choose to do with you." “Don't be so sure.” The declaration was made with quiet confidence as she thought of Ross. Ross, so passionate and so deadly, would come after her. There was evidently too much confidence in her declaration. Jared's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What does that mean?" Arianne swallowed, seeing the mad glitter in his blue eyes. The last thing she needed was to make him wary. She stammered quickly, “I'm a person, Jared, not some object that you now own. Just remember that." “We'll see, shall we? Now, lie down.” He laughed. “Just think, my sweet, you can spend the whole night safe in my arms." Even the notion that he would touch her made her stomach churn. She lifted her chin defiantly. “Don't even think to irritate me further with resistance.” The threat was said in such a way that brooked no argument. “I'm telling you for the last time, lie down."

It chafed to have to obey, to be subservient to that autocratic order, but she lay down warily and quickly rolled to her side with her back to him. She felt him drop down beside her and a blanket was pulled over them both. Certain he was staring at her in the dark, she hunched her shoulders in defense and denial. The night sky above the clearing was serene and very clear. Uncaring stars winked at her from the heavens. Arianne held herself stiffly, her muscles rigid and tight, her breathing shallow. Something moved in the copse of trees just a few yards away, crackling the underbrush loudly above the thin sigh of the breeze through the branches around them. And while normally the unseen creature might have frightened her, Arianne was much more aware of the predators directly around her. Farnham, apparently, never slept. He sat just a few feet away, with a very real looking rifle across his knees. She should have felt comforted, but instead the notion of such danger made her shiver inside. What a far cry from the stately home where she had grown up, surrounded by a civilized society that sheltered and protected, at least from physical harm. Ross would remind her where she was. Out west. Here she was a prize to be seized by the strongest and boldest. Or the most cruel. An arm of steel encircled her waist and jerked her backwards against the hardness of a male body. She nearly cried out as Jared pressed his mouth hotly to the side of her neck. He said harshly, “Good night, my sweet." **** The coming dawn was nothing but the slightest kiss of a reddish glow behind the hedging trees. Having hardly slept, Ross was up and tending the fire, brewing coffee before shaking Lane awake. The young cowboy rolled obligingly out of his blankets. “I want us riding the minute we can pick up their trail." “Shore, boss,” was the laconic reply. Not able to face anything more than a few sips of coffee, Ross saddled the horses while Lane ate breakfast. He moved with tense precision, driven by the knowledge that by nightfall it was possible they would catch up to Arianne and her abductors. The night had passed. There had been nothing he could do to spare her that nightmare and the guilt and fury that possessed him made his hands shake as he tightened the girth on Junior's saddle. Both men swung into their saddles with grim determination just as the grayish shadows thinned and the trees around them took on distinct shapes. Lane picked up signs of the passage of a group of shod horses without much trouble. “Don't appear to me they're much worried about being followed,” he observed in his dry drawl. “Which is jest fine with us." “They'll be worried enough when we catch up to them,” Ross muttered darkly. “Ain't thet the truth.” Lane grinned as he guided his horse across a stone outcropping. Falling to silence, each man concentrated on pursuing the trail. While Lane concentrated on the ground and the clues left by Arianne's abductors, Ross kept his vigilant eye on the horizon and urged all speed. It was before midday when they stopped. “They made camp heah.” Lane gleefully leapt off his horse and knelt down. He ripped a glove off his left hand and cautiously sifted through the remains of a campfire that was left in a small clearing. He

glanced up and drawled, “Still warm but not smokin'. I'd say we're three ... mebbe four hours behind them. No more. Could even be less." Ross gave a grunt of satisfaction, reading in the details of his surroundings with a keen, observant eye. There still seemed no suspicion of anyone following. The camp had been abandoned carelessly, footprints very visible in the damp earth, especially by the tiny stream. One light shape, half the size of the others and obviously female, made his mouth tighten. Arianne had been here. She'd knelt by the spring to drink and maybe wash her face. At least she was alive, he told himself. Ignore the red-hot beat of anger moving in your brain, ignore the thirst for revenge that parches your soul. Concentrate on Arianne and forget everything except getting her back, safe and sound. Everything but that. **** Clouds had come in by noon and the air was getting a distinctly crisp edge. The man who appeared to be the leader of the hired gang, a lean weathered sallow-faced man they called Jansen, kept glancing uneasily at the sky. Even to Arianne's untrained eye, the dark clouds scuttling across the horizon looked ominous. They were climbing a wide ridge punctuated by scattered spruce and fir. Gaining the top, it seemed like an icy blast swirled around them suddenly, making her shiver violently in her thin riding habit. What was fashionable back in England, she thought miserably as she clutched the reins and fought the stinging in her eyes from the whip of the wind, was hardly suitable for being kidnapped and dragged through the wild and rocky mountains. Of course, Jared was oblivious to her misery. She couldn't tell if he was cold as well, as she avoided looking at him as much as possible. Their conversation from the night before still rang in her head. When I take you... Every time she remembered the sheer beauty of the intimacies she had shared with Ross, she felt disgust and horror at the thought of Jared touching her in a similar way. “Rain's coming, sure as hell, maybe even snow,” Jansen shouted, standing in his stirrups and addressing the group at large. Several of his men wagged their heads in agreement. “We better hope it slides north or we may have to make camp before we reach the border." “That was not our agreement.” Jared appeared unmoved by the cold. His blond hair waved wildly in the wind but his eyes were remote and unfeeling. The bearded man, whom Arianne had heard referred to as Ace, spoke up insolently. “He's the boss of this outfit, your worship, so listen to him. These mountains don't take kindly to travelers during storms." The look on the face of the duke of Shaw might have frozen a river of lava. His head turned slowly as he leveled an icy stare on the unkempt man. Not one of the rough, hardened crew said a word as Jared nudged his horse forward, his eyes glittering with malice. Behind him, the valet sat stolidly, already holding a drawn pistol to defend his master's back. Jared hissed, “My gold makes me the boss, as you say it, of this motley crew. Do you forget how eagerly you signed on this trip when I offered so generously for your assistance? I say we move forward toward Kansas. So what if it rains? I thought you were grown men, not schoolboys to shirk at a little discomfort. Besides,” his mouth curved derisively, “a wash won't hurt any of you, in my opinion." One of the men muttered something at the deliberate taunt, and Arianne felt her body tighten in fear.

Jared considered these men beneath him, and therefore felt nothing but contempt for them. With Ross pounding it into her head across miles and miles and days of travel that the dangers of the West were very real, she wondered what would prevent any or all of these rough men from simply shooting Jared and Farnham out of hand if he pushed them hard enough. Which would leave her at the mercy of a band of lawless men. On the other hand, she'd also been on the other side of that ruthless, demonic gaze. It had the power to make a normal person question just how far the duke might go. The bearded man swallowed and then spat in the grass, backing down. He said gruffly, “Suit yourself. I was just thinkin’ of the lady." “The lady,” Jared glanced back at her, pinning her with his cold glare, “is my concern, gentlemen.” He turned back to address Jansen. “Now then, you said we could camp on the other side of the Cimarron by nightfall. That is what I expect." The Cimarron. Oh God. With rain coming. Through the long, awful night, laying beside her loathesome husband and surrounded by ruffians, Arianne was sure it wasn't possible to feel more frightened and alone. But it was. She was going to have to cross the Cimarron. Jansen rubbed his jaw hard but his lean face showed no emotion. He said testily, “There's no need to get riled, Carlisle. We helped you get the girl and we all want our money. We'll get you back to where your fancy coach is waiting, make no mistake." Jared Carlisle smiled thinly. “I thought our agreement would stand if I simply pointed it out to you." “Still, you need us to get you there,” the man warned, his eyes narrowing. “An’ if the weather keeps us from making good time, that ain't my fault, as I see it." “Then, let's hope it doesn't, shall we?” The threat was chillingly polite, but unmistakable. Jansen's mouth worked at the implicit order and he gave a heavy curse, whirling his horse and nudging him forward. As he swung away, he muttered, “I don't like this deal." The group followed and once again, Arianne found herself trapped in the middle. Clutching the reins with shaking hands, she tried to ignore the misery of both her situation and the hostile weather. Her teeth began to chatter. They rode on. Chapter 18 The rain had started at mid-day and lasted for hours. It was cool, bone-deep autumn rain and the wind picked it up and sent it slashing sideways in relentless sheets. The only good thing about the miserable weather, Ross thought as he wiped his eyes and squinted ahead, was that it made tracking an easy task. The passage of nine horses in the mud was something an infant could decipher. They were passing up a long line of dark trees that lined a ravine when Lane gave a low hiss. “There they are, boss, straight dead ahaid. See that flash of color beyond those cedars?" Sure enough, Ross could see a movement of something dark through the trees. “I see it.” Grim elation shot through his body. Though his quarry were several hundred yards away, the need for action that had haunted every moment since he found out about Arianne's abduction would soon be satisfied.

More than anything on earth, he wanted to come face to face with Jared Carlisle. Lane turned to him, his young face alight under the dripping brim of his hat. His blue eyes flashed. “Look, this is how I figger it, right? There's eight of them counting the fancy Englishmen, an’ jest two of us. Not good odds if it were any two ordinary cowpunchers, but you an’ I, we got a good chance of bravin’ that whole ootfit ... hell, you're Ross Braden, fast as lightnin’ and I'm no slouch with a gun, if I say so myself..." “Lane, hold it, slow down.” Ross said firmly, both moved and a little alarmed by his companion's youthful confidence. “We can't handle it that way. I can't risk Arianne. Whatever we do has to be thought-out and careful. As obsessed as this man is, don't you see we can't go charging in there with bullets flying? I have no idea what he might do. He's acted pretty unreasonably so far and might kill her himself rather than lose her." It was hard to say those words out loud, but Ross was afraid of that very thing. He'd tried not to think about it because it was such an unsettling thought when Ross needed to be very, very settled. A cool head often made the difference between living and dying and he had no intention of dying. If something happened to him, Arianne would be lost forever, left in the grasp of a madman. The equation being that simple, he was going to take safety over risk. The young cowboy's face fell. Spirits dampened as much as his person, Lane said gloomily, “Yeah, I guess I do see the sense in thet.” He didn't need to say that in his reckless exuberance for the chase and upcoming battle, he had given no thought for his own safety either. “What are we going to do, then?" Ross gritted his teeth and squinted at the grey-streaked horizon. “Wait until dark. Let's see how much she's guarded once they make camp. So far, it doesn't look like they'll be expecting our company. If I can't get in and take Arianne, we'll pick them off, one by one until she's safe. I doubt those men riding with him have any loyalty to Carlisle. If we can spook them, all the better for us." “Spook ‘em?" “They'll have to stop, sooner or later. We'll wait to make our move until then.” Through the long excruciating night, Ross had plenty of time to think. He'd lain awake and stared at the thickening midnight sky, tortured by an imagination that just seemed inexorable. And he'd formed a plan of sorts. “As we ride,” Ross informed his companion with a slow smile, “I'll fill you in." **** Her horse stumbled in a hole and went down to one knee. Arianne was taken so unawares, she fell slowly from the saddle in a dazed sprawl, hitting the ground heavily with her shoulder and rolling onto her back. Luckily the spot was carpeted with springy pine needles and wet fallen leaves, shielding her clothing and hair somewhat from the sodden ground, and she was so numbed from the cold that she felt no pain. Arianne was so chilled, so wringing wet, so exhausted that riding had become gradually a chore as the hours wore on, then an immense effort, and finally, a nightmare. She'd reached her limit, physically and emotionally. She lay there on the muddy ground and wanted to sob her heart out. A disembodied voice said curtly, “Get up." She managed to sit up. A miracle. One hand braced on the ground and propped up her aching body. She was quivering and shaking, head to toe. Her heavy hair hung around her face and shoulders, long since

escaping the pins. “On your feet, Madame.” Jared snapped the words. She muttered incoherently, “I'm afraid ... I can't." “Get up!” A thunderous order. At what point had she ceased to care what happened to her? Sometime during the long, dreadful afternoon, perhaps. At the point when she became so numb that physical discomfort took up every thought, every waking moment. Whether Ross was coming for her or not, she cared very little what happened to her at this point. She hurt from head to toe. Jared swung himself from his horse. She could see the movement in the periphery of her vision. His hand fell hard against her arm and he jerked cruelly, wringing an inadvertent cry of pain as she came unwillingly to her feet. Her knees buckled. She hadn't eaten or slept in two days. It was insidiously cold, awfully damp, and she was even beyond being terrified. “Look,” a voice spoke uncomfortably from somewhere behind her, “it's damned cold, it's damned wet, and we could make camp and light a fire. It's clear the lady needs a rest." “The lady needs a rest?” Jared repeated the statement, staring down at her. His mouth was pinched with anger. Not one ounce of compassion shone in his pitiless blue eyes. “I shall be the judge of that." The man called Jansen urged his horse forward, into view. He said persuasively, “Aw, now, it won't cost us much to stop now and she'll just drag us down if we try to go on. You'll sure have come a long ways for nothin’ if she dies on you. Have some sense, man. She's worn out." Sense? Jared Carlisle? Arianne wanted to weep right there, either with mirth or derision. She still hung limply in his grasp, hating the feel of him next to her. Right at the moment, she had no strength to fight him. Jared's pale gaze was narrowed suspiciously on her face. His handsome face was streaked with moisture, his clothes almost as wet as her own, though at least he had a coat. He asked harshly, shaking her, “Is this some ruse for the benefit of my pity, my lady? If so, be sure I'll discern it and retaliate in the worst way possible." Arianne managed to rasp out, “Your pity ... be damned, my lord. Does it even exist?" His blond eyebrows went up furiously. “Are you mocking me, little wife? Perhaps you need to learn something about respect." Such a mistake to challenge him. Had she learned nothing? His hand whipped out and struck her hard across the face, making her gasp and reel backwards. Only his implacable grip kept her from sprawling flat on the ground. She could instantly taste blood and her free hand flew to her stinging cheek while unwanted tears filled her eyes. One of the men around them, maybe even the bearded man she found so repulsive, made some sort of oath of objection. “Hey now, there's no call for that. Where I'm from they don't cotton to manhandling womenfolk." “Your sordid upbringing isn't the least concern to me. And where I'm from,” Jared said unemotionally, “we keep our females in line. If I wish to raise my hand to my wife, I most certainly will. It is simply not your concern.” He thrust his face toward hers. “Now, mount your horse, my dear." “May I offer a suggestion, your grace?” Farnham's sniveling tone made Arianne turn her head, trying to

ignore the throbbing in her jaw. The look on the man's face was the usual impassive and unreadable mask. He sat his horse stolidly, watching the scene with hooded eyes. “What, Farnham?" “Perhaps the duchess would be more comfortable if she rode with me." Sitting close to the repulsive valet, having their bodies touching? Arianne struggled to hide the revulsion that shot through her. If Jared sensed her aversion, he might force her into obeying that request. She hoped her hand still cupping her injured face hid her expression. She needn't have feared. Jared's eyes narrowed in displeasure. He gave her a shove toward her horse. “No one touches the duchess except myself, Farnham, you know that. Now get in that saddle, Madame, or you will feel my displeasure again." Shaking and miserable, Arianne struggled back on to her horse through sheer willpower, hating the clasp of his hands as he gave her a leg up. Immediately the company moved forward. **** Lane's strong hands came down on Ross's shoulders. He said urgently, “No, boss. Not now, not this way.” He literally dragged him back with pure force behind the cover of a bank of spruce, yanking his drawn gun from his hand. “He hit her, Lane.” Ross was shaking with fury, trying to jerk away. “He actually struck her right in front of me. I can't sit here and do nothing! Give me back my gun." “Yeah, he shore did. I saw it too, and I'm so plumb mad I can't see straight. But you were right before, we can't go charging ‘em, slinging lead. Especially now, with you half-wild. Think about it." Ross tried to take a calming breath, to find his usual cool nonchalance in the face of danger. Persuasively, Lane said, “If we were a little closer, shore, I'd be lining right up beside you, but if you shoot now, they'll know we're heah and it will ruin everything." Wilson was right, Ross knew it, but a murderous urge still thrummed through his blood like wildfire. “I am going to kill that heartless bastard." “Shore you are, jest as sure as Gawd made this green earth. An’ it'll be my pleasure to be there to see it. But with a cool haid.” Earnest blue eyes looked at him with straightforward emotion. “You told me once that my hot-haided ways would get me killed. Now I'm telling you. Wait for nightfall, like you planned. Miss Arianne is pretty game but I saw how she was when you were gone those three days. I'm shore she couldn't stand you gettin’ yourself shot." Ross took another deep shuddering breath. He said slowly, “All right, Lane. We'll wait. But I can't answer for my actions if he strikes her again, understand?" “Yeah,” Wilson nodded somberly. “I understand." “If he raises his hand to her, if he does so much as touch her in any way that I think is hurting her, we're going in right then and that English bastard is going to be dead before he hits the ground." “I'm with you, boss. I shore can't stomach low-down skunks that beat women or children. We'll make shore we take him out first and worry about the rest of them after." “Thanks.” With a small mirthless smile, Ross said, “Give me back my gun. I have a feeling I'm going to need it tonight." “Ain't thet funny,” Wilson relinquished the weapon with a smile, handing it over butt first into Ross's

waiting hands. His blond eyebrows lifted high. “I have thet same wonderful feelin'." **** The afternoon seemed nothing but an eternity of blurred wet forest and meadows. It was lucky that her stamina had been toughened by those weeks in the saddle on her way West or Arianne would have never endured those cold miserable hours until dusk. The rain slackened but remained in a fine mist that sheened the skin and the sullen skies announced nightfall only by a thickening of the shadows under the trees. Reeling in the saddle, she had long since given up guiding her mount and simply hung on for each excruciating mile. They made camp finally in the shelter of a grove of towering pines. Sliding from the back of her dripping horse, she felt her knees give in infuriating weakness as she touched the ground. Gentle, strong hands checked her collapse, helping her stand and holding her there. A cultured voice spoke in her ear. “My lady, this has been a very trying day. Please allow me to see to your comfort. I trust we will have a fire soon to warm you." Farnham. His were the hands clasped around her upper arms, holding her upright. If she had possessed the strength, she would have immediately jerked away. “I'm fine,” she lied. “Let me go." “You are as cold as ice, Duchess, and shaking quite violently. It cannot be beneficial to your health." Arianne almost laughed out loud in incredulous derision. “Dying sounds less dismal at this point than living. My health is the least of my concerns, much less yours." “On the contrary, your well-being is very much my concern. You are the Duchess of Shaw, and as such I serve you." Arianne turned and looked into his pale inscrutable eyes. She said bitterly, “Like you served my husband when you murdered my brother?" The man barely blinked. “That incident was regrettable. However, I have every reason to believe your brother will make a full recovery, your grace." “Every reason? You shot him when he was unarmed." “I had no desire to harm him but also no choice. Trust me, he should not have suffered a fatal wound.” He actually sounded sincere. “Why would I believe you?" “Because,” the valet said gravely, “I am an excellent shot. Now, my lady, if you will let me assist you to a comfortable seat, I need to see to my duties." A little nonplussed, she did allow him to help her to a seat on a fallen log and gratefully accepted the blanket he brought to drape around her shaking shoulders. When the fire was going she moved toward it unsteadily, lifting her hands to the crackling flames. Farnham helped the other men with unsaddling horses and unpacking food and they seemed to regard him, as she had noticed the night before, with a sort of wary tolerance. The valet was hardly a creature from their world and his very correct manner of address, his careful obedience of his master, and his odd mode of dress seemed to be balanced in their eyes by his obvious fearlessness and willingness to obey any order without question. Jared simply dropped indolently on a dry blanket the valet had produced and watched Arianne's every move with glittering eyes. His stare was unsettling. He desired her. She could feel that animal lust like it was a physical touch.

He hated her. That sensation was even more primal and frightening. He was a man without scruples or mercy, a man with wealth and power at his fingertips and she couldn't quite imagine the hell he held in store for her. But he did. He imagined it. The frightening promise was there in his eyes. Her riding habit jacket, though inadequate to protect from the cold, was the only barrier she had against the hungry stares of the men around her. It was soaking and she longed to remove it, but her thin linen shirt underneath was just as wet and she was afraid it would be nearly transparent. The last thing she needed was to be half-naked in front of these men. She inched closer to the fire, trying to banish the bone-deep cold in her body. Her face had swelled from her husband's brutal blow and she could feel a dull throbbing ache in her jaw. “Your grace must eat something this meal.” It was Farnham's voice speaking at her side. The stubby man knelt next to her and held out a plate of food. She eyed the unappetizing stale bread and dried meat and shook her head in refusal. “My lady, you must listen to me. It wouldn't do to lose your strength and further anger the duke.” The admonishment was made in a very low voice. “It is much wiser to simply please him. I speak as one who knows. His temper can be very ... fierce and you have already stirred him further than any I have seen in my long years of service. I fear for you." Their eyes met and for the first time Arianne wondered if Farnham, with his very correct and subservient manner, wasn't also a prisoner of sorts. Jared was very good at bending people to his will, finding their vulnerability and weaknesses and utilizing those traits. She whispered, “Is that why you please him? Because it is easier?" His pallid face reflected no feeling. “I have faithfully fulfilled my duties for many years now." “That does not answer my question, Farnham.” Another violent shiver shook her body. The man slightly bowed his head. “My entire family serves his grace. My wife is a housekeeper, my brother is the head groom, my son is a footman ... it is infinitely preferable that the duke finds my services pleasing." “And if you fail, your family are all tossed aside without references, is that it? Or perhaps even worse?" “I don't care to find out the consequences, your grace." “Is all the whispering something I should be party to, dear wife?” Jared's voice was a mocking interruption. “Eat, Duchess.” The valet shoved the plate into her hands and stood, giving her a small respectful bow before moving away. Eat? Dear God, how could she? But the man was right. She should keep up her strength for battles ahead. Picking up the bread, she took a small bite and winced as pain shot through her jaw as she tried to chew. **** A low wind sighed through the treetops in an eerie, keening melody. Crouching in the cover of darkness, Ross watched the movement of the flickering fire, the men moving about with the usual camp chores, and smiled with satisfaction. The place Arianne's abductors had chosen to stay the night couldn't have been more perfect. Surrounded by a thick grove of trees, the stream that was the only source of water was a decent distance away and cover abounded in the underbrush and hanging branches. He couldn't see Lane, but knew he was several yards away and watching too. They'd split up

on purpose so as to cover more of the perimeter of the camp. His chest tightened as he saw Arianne, looking forlorn and bedraggled by the fire, yet enticingly beautiful at the same time. Her bright hair was drying in tangled curls around her pale face and slumped shoulders, and the position of her body suggested a weariness and misery that smote his soul. Hold on, sweetheart. And when she turned her head, he could see the darkness he thought a shadow was actually a huge bruise on the right side of her face. He'd seen the blow, but hadn't imagined it so harsh. For a moment, rage blinded him again, making the scene dim and grow reddish. He found his hand had moved to his gun without conscious effort and his breathing had grown shallow. He had little doubt of his intended target, for the blond man sitting so close to her watched her with an expression that made clear both his intentions and his sense of possession. Hold on, he warned himself. Don't spoil things now. “Hey, Mose, get some more wood." The request was exactly what Ross had been waiting for. He shook his head to clear it, instantly alert and ready. A weathered-looking young man got obligingly to his feet and walked across the clearing. As the man gained the cover of the trees and crunched through the underbrush looking for more firewood, Ross edged sideways behind him, following with stealthy care. He waited until the unlucky Mose stooped to pick up a fallen branch before he brought the butt of his gun down on the back of his neck in a swift, hard blow. Without a sound, Mose crumpled and fell in a heap. One down, Ross thought with satisfaction, and took the coil of rope from his belt. **** A horse whinnied and the sound of restless stamping rose over the moan of the specter-thin breeze. Arianne lifted her head. The man called Jansen seemed uneasy. He got to his feet and paced forward, peering into the woods. “That's queer. Somethin’ is spooking the horses. And where the hell is Mose?" “It's wet out. Maybe he's having trouble finding dry timber.” One of the other men got up and rubbed his jaw. “I'll go help him." “You do that.” Jansen snapped the words. He tilted his head almost as if he were sniffing the air. “I don't like this much." “Don't like what?” Jared spoke with indifference from his lolling pose by the fire. “Something's out there. Maybe a grizzly, I dunno. Or a cougar. The horses smell things we can't." Next to Arianne, Jared lifted an elegant brow in derision. “Surely if a wild animal attacked this ... Mose ... we would have heard at least a scream? One cannot be silently eaten, can one?” His utter lack of concern for the man himself was obvious. “Maybe, your worship,” the bearded man spoke up belligerently, “would you like to go out there in them woods and find out?" “Them woods?” Jared's reply was caustic. “I don't think so. Cougar or bear, I'm afraid Mose doesn't matter much to me. I trust we're safe enough by the fire." He spoke only the truth. Nothing mattered to Jared Carlisle, as Arianne knew only too well. Except his

pride, his determination to have his way. Jansen seemed to understand this as well, for he sent a dark look their way and kept his mouth tightly shut. The Duke of Shaw must be paying very well for these men to put up with his arrogance. She couldn't help but think that maybe they were starting to feel it still wasn't enough. Since Farnham had thoughtfully brought her the blanket, she had huddled underneath it, keeping her back to her husband as much as possible. Under the folds of cloth, she'd been able to remove her cold, wet jacket and was at least passably warm. The wind had picked up with the fall of darkness. Listening to the restive moaning through the halfbare branches was like hearing a man in pain. “What the hell was that?” She wasn't sure who spoke but the bearded man leaped to his feet and turned around, staring into the darkness. He said hoarsely, “I heard somethin', sure as the devil." Jared muttered, “Supersitious fool. It was nothing. The wind sighing through the trees, no doubt." “Hey Carter,” Jansen called out into the shadowed woods. “You and Mose get back here pronto.” His lean figure was highlighted by the red glow of the roaring campfire. There was no answer. “Hey, Mose! Hey, Carter!" Nothing. Arianne was too far gone to feel any alarm. Less of them meant less staring eyes. That was all she cared about. All of the men left were starting to look alarmed, glancing at their leader and casting uneasy looks behind their shoulders. One of them spoke up, “Could be Indians out there, boss." “Indians? You have a hunch or somethin', Ace?" “Yeah, I do. They probably want the girl." Indians. Arianne blanched as all eyes turned briefly toward her. The ringing whinny of a horse broke the moment and the sound of thudding hooves on damp ground came clearly. “Damnation!” Jansen grabbed his rifle. “Linton, Harve, you come with me. I'm not walking back to Kansas and I'm not sitting here waiting to be scalped either. The rest of you get your guns and sit tight." “I'm goin’ too, Jansen. I ain't just sittin’ here.” The bearded man drew his gun. As they stalked out of the ring of firelight, Arianne felt a hard hand on her arm. “You are not to be alarmed, my sweet. If there are savages out there bent on possessing your lovely person, I will make sure that they never get the chance to lay a finger on you. Alive, that is.” Jared held a pistol very casually, the muzzle pointing right at her. If he felt any fear, he didn't show it. His blue eyes were as indifferent as his expression. Next to him, Farnham crouched with a rifle in his hands. She risked jerking away. Even with fatigue tugging at every muscle in her body, she abhorred him touching her. “That's very comforting, your grace. But you needn't concern yourself with my welfare." His expression darkened predictably but before he could retaliate, a bevy of shots and shouting in the darkness brought both men to their feet. Jared reached for her, pulling her upright, the blanket sliding to her feet. Arianne found her heart was pounding and her mouth dry with this new fear. Someone was out in the darkness. ****

“The way I see this,” Ross's voice was low, as were the guns he held outstretched. “You don't have but two choices, gentlemen. Ride on and don't look back. Leave your packs, leave your guns, and be happy to escape with your lives and horses. That's choice number one." “Looky, we ain't..." “Shut up.” Ross lifted his gun and hissed, “There's not a one of you I wouldn't like to kill right now. I watched you stand by like puny boys and let a grown man hit a slip of a girl and not one of you had the guts to lift a finger. I'm sure all of your mothers would be proud of you today." “Hey, this has been a black deal from the start..." “It sure as hell as has,” Lane snarled. “And we're trying to let you out of it. Not that any of you yellowlivered cowards deserve it." A growl. “I ain't gonna stand for being called a coward..." Lane laughed out loud. “Oh, ain't you? Shore as hell you are. Do you know who you're facin'? Wal, gentlemen, this heah's Ross Braden. Mebbe you've heard mention of his name a time or two. Now then,” with swaggering emphasis, “anybody still wantin’ to argue?" One of the men, a heavy-set burly fellow with a long black beard, clutched his bloody shoulder and shook his head. “We're goin'. Nice an’ easy." Lane fairly quivered menace, both guns drawn, his young face taut. “Git, then." The three remaining men mounted, one of them grabbing the reins of the horse that held the two unconscious men bound over its back. Tense and ready if they gave any indication of warning the two remaining men by the campfire, Ross watched them disappear into the darkness. Nearby, one man lay dead, a tall man with sandy hair, both arms out-flung. He'd made the mistake of trying to draw on Lane Wilson. The last mistake he would ever make. Lane glanced down at the dead man and shook his head. “You poor bastard. Doggone, if you weren't so damn dumb you'd be sloping along with the rest of those bad hombres, my friend." Ross said curtly, “Let's be glad the rest of them didn't put up a fight. Now, let's finish this.” He turned toward where the dim flare of the dying campfire lit the gloomy forest depths. It was now honors even, two to two. His goal was in his grasp. Arianne. **** The men had ridden off. The sound of their departing horses came clearly through the cool night air and the sound of their departing hoof beats faded away. “Very irregular, your grace.” Farnham frowned, still clutching his gun. “I believe we've been left here.” His plump face wore his usual stoic expression. “For heaven's sake man, go find out." “Yes, of course." Farnham moved toward the edge of the clearing, where the sounds of the commotion had ceased. Jared's grasping hands still held her and Arianne tried very hard to keep her body from touching his tall, lean form, even in the most causal of contact. In an act of sheer bravery, or maybe instead the deepest stupidity, she watched the stout valet move out of sight as ordered to investigate the possibility that their horses might still be accessible.

“It seems, my fair and elusive lady, that we are finally alone." That softly said sentence made Arianne glance up sharply. The expression on Jared's face made her blood freeze. She stammered, “Alone? I hardly think so. Out there..." “Indians? I haven't seen any evidence of such. Simple imagination and cowardice? The group that just rode off has both in abundance.” His eyes gleamed in the pale light of the fire. “The point is, if Farnham doesn't return in the next few minutes, I am going to assume the worst. And then I am going to kill you and we will part forever, my love.” Arianne swallowed hard. “Jared..." “No one is going to lay a finger on you but me." “You just said you thought there was no one out there!” Panic surged as she began to struggle against his inexorable hold. “I want to see what I purchased at the expense of my pride and my name." “What?” A gasp as Jared spun her around. He stuffed the pistol into the pocket of his coat and grabbed the edges of her damp blouse with both hands. The sound of tearing material mingled with her cry of protest. Cool air poured over her bare shoulders as he viciously yanked the cloth down her arms. “I swear it,” his words hissed between his teeth, “if either of us is going to die, I am going to have you first." “You're mad!” She struggled to wrench free, tangled in the remains of her blouse, well-aware the thin, damp barrier of her chemise hid little from his avid sweeping stare. He swung her around, catching her flailing arms, uttering a low curse as her booted foot slammed into his ankle. She grabbed for the pistol in his pocket and found it, grasping with trembling fingers on the hard metal, trying to bring it up. He knocked it easily from her hold with one swift blow and it went flying toward the fire. “Bitch." “Let me go!” He was too strong, too much larger. Arianne felt a horrible sense of helplessness flood her mind and weaken her body. One hand delved into the mass of her loose hair and Jared pulled her head back hard, holding her immobile. He was breathing quickly in excitement, staring down at her. Long fingers slid down the arch of her throat and she felt him move lower, to cup the weight of one breast through the material. Eyes wide with fear and disgust, she saw the triumph in his expression and felt another surge of helplessness and despair. “What?” His mocking voice was almost worse than the feel of his fingers moving against her flesh. “No begging for mercy, Arianne?" “No.” She gasped as he tightened his painful hold on her hair. He lowered his head and she twisted frantically away rather than let him kiss her. His mouth was hot on her throat and the bare curve of her shoulder, and pressed so tightly and hatefully against him, she could feel the swell of his arousal. No, she thought with hysterical fear. Her scream was irrational, ripped from her throat. She cried, “Ross!" “Ross?” Jared's mouth twisted as he stared down at her, arrested for the moment. “Who the devil is Ross?" A cool voice made a chill run up Arianne's spine. “I'm Ross."

Chapter 19 The firelight gave the tableau an eerie horrible scarlet glow. Ross advanced very slowly, only too aware of Arianne lying half-naked and ashen in the arms of the tall blond man across the clearing. His voice was as even as he could make it, considering the situation. “Carlisle, let the lady go and let's discuss this, shall we? Man to man." If anything, the man's grip tightened. Arianne, her pale shoulders gleaming in the firelight, let out a soft cry of pain. She was clad only chemise and skirt, and her face was nearly as white as the lace of her undergarment. Ross had seen enough to realize that her sadistic husband was ripping her clothes off and had intended to take her by physical force right there in the clearing on the ground. He was sickened and so furious that he was shaking inside. Outside, he was deadly calm. “You have the advantage of me, sir.” Jared Carlisle politely inclined his blond head, but his eyes held a deadly sheen of madness. “I don't believe we've met." “The name is Braden.” He took another step closer. “Ross Braden." Carlisle shifted Arianne deliberately in his arms so that she was in front of him. He was dressed in tailored clothing; fitted breeches, frock coat, cravat, which made the situation even more surreal. He said, “Ah ... Mr. Braden, is it? May I assume you are the cause of this evening's disturbances?" “Absolutely. I have disarmed your men and they have wisely chosen to cut their losses and ride on.” One more step. Ross was about twenty feet away. He flexed his fingers, his arm dangling at his side near the gun sitting in the holster at his hip. Seeing that Carlisle held Arianne like a shield, there seemed no way to confront the man without endangering her. “May I ask why?” The Englishman seemed only mildly curious or else his self-possession was enormous. Ross lifted a brow, a little surprised. “Why?" Carlisle waved a hand. “Why are you here? It seems to me you have gone to great trouble to find us and dispose of the incompetents I hired to guide us through this barbaric country. It is late, it is cold and wet, and yet you lurk in the dark to attack us. There has to be a reason for your tenacity, Mr. Braden." A subtle warning came to life in Ross's brain. “William Brooke is a friend. You shot him down when he was unarmed." “Vengeance? Is that your story? Somehow I don't think so. It seems to me my wife just called out your name.” Carlisle's face changed in an instant, the cool gentleman gone. Fury twisted his handsome features and gave a brutal yank on Arianne's hair, his hand going to the vulnerable arch of her throat. His long fingers were dark against her pale flesh. He said cruelly, “This is your reason, isn't it? This is why you're here, for her. My lovely wife holds quite an appeal, any man would want her, covet her lovely body. Who should know better than myself? I traveled a long way to recover what I bought so dearly." Ross bit out coldly, “It's too bad your return journey is being cut short." Carlisle lifted his brows in a way that made Ross's flesh creep. “Indeed not. Unless you want to watch me snap her slender neck in front of your eyes." “I'll kill you.” The words came from between Ross's teeth. He was beyond trying to conceal his hatred.

“Then we'll both be dead, won't we? She and I. Lovers united forever." Arianne's eyes were wide and dark in her ivory face, her tangled hair a golden tumble against her husband's dark coat. Out of the corner of his eye, Ross could see Lane Wilson prodding a stout, welldressed older man forward with his gun. The man had his arms raised high and Carlisle gave him one swift, derisive glance. “You're a disgrace and a failure, Farnham." “Yes, your grace." Lane Wilson let out a short hard laugh. Half-crouched behind the plump servant, he had a wild flushed look on his young face. “Look who's talkin’ aboot bein’ a disgrace. This old coot isn't hiding behind a woman last I checked." “Silent!” Carlisle thundered the word and Arianne gasped in pain. Dammit Lane, Ross thought frantically, don't push this man. “Where I hail from, men,” hard emphasis was put on the word, “don't have to prove themselves by chasin’ their women all over the world. Texans recognize that honor is more than how a man is born; it's how a man lives. And one thing we honor is our mothers, sisters, and wives." “Wilson.” Ross spoke softly in warning. But Lane was not to be stopped. His face wore an expression of impish glee and the man called Farnham looked positively green as the cowboy poked him hard in the back with his gun again. “Now, this heah situation is pretty clear-cut, ain't it? Ross is gonna kill you. The only question is how well you're gonna die. That's important out heah; how a man handles death says a heap about him. Take care you don't disgrace your grand name by dying like a snivelin’ coward." “Who the devil are you?” Carlisle snarled. “Me? I'm partner with your wust nightmare. That man facin’ you." Carlisle finally seemed to realize for the first time how dire his position. His gaze swept from Ross, to Lane holding his valet at gunpoint, and then back. Taking advantage of the moment, Ross interjected softly, “We do hold all the cards, as my young friend just pointed out. But I am willing to bargain, Carlisle." The Englishman stiffened. “Bargain? How ludicrous. I have Arianne. You don't. Her life is in my hands. It's that simple." “Nothing is that simple. I have a hard time believing that with all your money and your exalted position, you want to die." “I don't care what you believe.” The response was scathing. Arianne was a like a marble statue against the darkness of his coat, only the swift rise and fall of her breasts betraying her fear. Ross laughed, a low sound torn from his throat. “You will. For instance, I'm willing to bet that you've been in a duel or two, even though English law forbids it as much as American law." The duke's eyes glittered. “The law be damned. I'm Shaw and therefore above it. I'm one of the finest shots in England." Ross tried to squelch the surge of hope in his breast. He spoke swiftly, “Fine, prove it then. I'll trade you a gun for the girl. We'll face each other, standard rules, whatever you want, and whoever is standing afterwards gets to keep her." “I already have her, my uncivilized friend."

“Not for long. And she won't pleasure you much dead, now will she? What do you say? I'm giving you a chance to walk away alive and with the woman. If you kill me, then Lane here will let you take her, your man, horses, and gear, and leave. If I kill you ... well you won't be around to worry about what happens then." “What makes you think he'll keep his word?” Carlisle asked derisively. “I'm not a fool." Lane's face went livid. He choked, “I'm a Texan, you high-falutin’ dandy. My word is like gold. Of all the insultin', lowlife..." “Lane." The fire sputtered, going very low. The uncertain lighting wasn't going to help, but at least, if the Englishman accepted this devil's bargain, it would be a disadvantage to them both. Ross's fingers twitched by his side. He was aching to move, to use action instead of words. “Your grace, I don't recommend...” the stout man started to speak out. “Be quiet, Farnham.” Jared Carlisle squared his shoulders. “You have a deal, Mr. Braden." “Good. Now, let her go." “I want the gun first." “Absolutely not,” Ross said coldly. “Now let the girl go." **** She'd never felt such relief as when Jared had unfurled his long fingers from around her neck and flung her forward to send her sprawling on the ground. Regardless of any dignity, Arianne crawled forward on her hands and knees until out of range and then scrambled to her feet. Whirling around, she saw the two men facing each other and felt almost paralyzed by fear and tension. Ross, so dark and hard, with his saturnine good looks, the gunbelt slung over lean hips, his dark eyes cold and steady, he should have represented all that was evil and harsh in the world. And Jared, so fair and handsome, bareheaded, his slim athletic build a foil for his tailored clothing, he should have stood for light and goodness like some ancient god. But it was so much the other way around. They were both tall men, nearly of a height. Ross smiled with enigmatic satisfaction and kicked the pistol toward where Jared was standing. Jared stooped to pick it up and checked the ammunition in a way that signaled a great familiarity with weapons, clicking the barrel expertly back into place. Farnham cleared his throat. “I shall be honored to count your steps, gentlemen." “An’ I'll be honored to keep you honest,” Lane Wilson chimed in sardonically, giving the valet another poke with his gun. “Move one wrong muscle and I'll put a hole through you." A duel. In some wild mountain camp, they were going to act out a macabre battle of possession. For God's sakes, Arianne thought with her pulse beating erratically in her throat. And she the prize. They were fighting over her in the most primitive of ways. If you kill me... The only thing that made the thing bearable was the realization that if Jared did kill Ross, she wouldn't care what happened to her. Not ever again. Her husband might have her body, but her spirit would be dead. Ross said calmly, “Annie, back away. I want you out of range, understand?"

Jared laughed. “Annie? What an interesting endearment. How ... quaint." She edged backwards a few feet. Her head was swimming, her palms damp. Ross, with his black reputation as a ruthless gunman—he couldn't possibly lose, could he? Ross drawled coolly, “She has never objected to it. Not even at our most ... close moments." Jared snarled, “You'll never have her, Braden." Ross smiled then, a cynical curve of his lips. Hatless, the wind stirred his dark hair. “Oh, but I already have." There was no mistaking the implication. Her husband stiffened. Arianne felt as if she would ever remember that nightmarish scene; the two men facing each other in the faint reddish glow of the dying fire, the moan of the wind above, the smell of damp pine needles and her own heart as it thundered in her chest... Jared's gaze swung to her. The fury and accusation she saw there made her tremble but she did not falter. Her answer lay in the steadiness of her eyes and the lift of her chin. He whitened. His mouth worked demonically. “Whore!" Ross called out in a lethal voice, “Carlisle, shut up. On the count of three, fire your weapon." Behind her, Farnham said, “One." The thin wind whistled through the trees in a low roar. “Two." Jared seemed to smother his anger with great effort. He smiled beautifully. He lifted his gun and aimed, waiting for the final signal. Ross hadn't even drawn his gun yet. No! she thought in trembling fear, Jared was right, he was a very good shot. Her eyes squeezed shut. “Three!" Both shots seemed to ring out together, yet she was conscious of one being marginally before the other. She felt herself sway, and then the strong clasp of someone catching her shoulders and keeping her upright. The grip of those hands was familiar. “Duchess, stand strong. Everything is all right, my lady." Farnham's voice in her ear. “No.” A whisper escaped her lips. “Yes, indeed. He appears to be quite dead." Her answer was a moan. Ross. Lane spoke as if from a great distance. “We gonna bury him, boss?" “Let the buzzards have him." Her lashes slowly lifted at the sound of the deep voice. Ross stood over the sprawled body of her husband. The nightmare was over. ****

She hadn't spoken a word. Ross felt out of his depth, his own uncertainty perhaps more frightening than her silence. Arianne sat in the circle of his arms as they rode, against him yet rigid, her whole body a testament to her shock and the way the abduction had affected her. By God, if Carlisle had actually harmed her ... he couldn't see any damage besides the bruise on her face, but a whole two days had passed with her in grasp of that monster. What more could Ross do? The man was dead. He had questions, but could hardly ask them when she was so obviously traumatized and withdrawn. She wore his coat over her torn clothing. Every so often a shudder racked her slender form, though he was certain she was warm enough. The sun had come up an hour before and it promised to be a fine autumn day. Next to him, Lane rode with his usual lithe grace, every so often taking a shy peek at Arianne's averted profile. Behind, the squat form of Carlisle's valet followed on a lean-rawboned horse. Ross and Lane had agreed to let Will decide the man's fate. When they stopped to light a fire and cook breakfast, Ross lifted Arianne off of the horse with infinite care, as if she were a fragile thing that might shatter at the lightest touch. Face turned away, she immediately withdrew and sank down on fallen log, bowing her head. “May I suggest some brandy, sir?" Ross glanced over. Farnham, the stout little Englishman, was looking at him impassively. He frowned. “Brandy?" “For the duchess. She has appeared to have fallen deep into a state of shock. Brandy is often a good antidote." Duchess. How that word grated on his raw nerves. Ross responded curtly, “That would be nice, if, of course, we actually had any." “We do, naturally. Rest assured, the duke would never travel without it. I have a flask in my bag. Shall I fetch it?” His thin brows rose over deep-set eyes. Dressed in a tailored frock coat, shining boots, and an impeccably-tied cravat, the man was incongruous against the backdrop of sodden autumn leaves and soaring distant mountains. “You don't have a weapon conveniently hidden in that bag, do you?" The valet instantly shook his head. “No, sir. I do not. You confiscated all my firearms and I am not particularly handy with knives.” He smiled slightly. “Besides, sir, I have seen firsthand your skill with a pistol. Normally I consider myself quite handy with a firearm but I don't care to pit myself against you in that sort of contest." Oddly enough, Ross believed him. He nodded curtly and watched as the man fumbled in his pack, producing the promised flask. Farham also removed a small wooden box. Opening it, he retrieved a fine cut-glass snifter and proceeded to pour a good measure of golden liquid inside. Taking it over to Arianne, the stout man knelt by her side and took her hand, pressing the glass firmly into her palm. “Drink this, your grace. It will brace you and ease the horror of this past evening." “No thank you, Farnham.” She dully shook her head. “I insist, Duchess. For your own good." “No.” A whisper. “I'm not thirsty, or hungry." The man sat back on his heels. His cultured voice was smooth. “How his grace would be pleased to see

the effect his passing has had upon you. Your grief is very deep, very moving. I can fair feel his triumph from the grave." The taunt got through. Arianne moved convulsively, lifting her head to stare at the man. “I am hardly grieving; you of all people should know that. I detested him." “Then drink this and regain your strength by eating a decent meal.” He guided her hand and the glass to her mouth. Her smooth throat moved slowly as she swallowed. A fit of coughing shook her shoulders but color came slowly back into her cheeks and Ross felt some of his tension fade. Looking past the kneeling man at her side, Arianne's eyes were dark and shadowed when they met his steady gaze. She whispered achingly, “Oh, Ross, I knew you would come." Regardless of the Englishman, he crossed to stand by her. Reaching down, he took her limp hand and pressed her cold fingers tightly. “Of course, I would. I hope you never doubted it." She shuddered. “It was all so horrible. Will..." “Is going to be just fine." Her pale face lifted and pain-filled blue-green eyes met his. “Are you sure?" “Positive." “Thank God." “Sweetheart?" A swallow. “What?" “Do as the man says. Drink your brandy and then eat something." “Jared is dead, isn't he? It wasn't just a dream.” Her voice quivered. “Yes, angel, he is." Her lashes drifted shut. Farhnam was faster than Ross, or more attuned to her state of mind. As she fainted, he was the first to catch her. Chapter 20 Golden leaves had fallen with the rain, sprinkling the yard with bright color and covering the road up to the house. The contrast with the very blue clean sky, the weathered wood of the house, and the magnificent snow-capped peaks in the distance was stark and beautiful. Never had Arianne seen anything as wonderful as the B and B ranch. She felt she was ... home. Even more so because Ross's strong arms encircled her, lending warmth and comfort. Once she'd snapped out of her horrified trance, she could have ridden her own horse. But Ross had insisted, and truthfully, she preferred it that way, with him holding her close for all those miles back. She liked feeling ... safe. Behind them, Lane Wilson let out a wild whoop of greeting to alert the house of their arrival. She was never so relieved in her life to see her brother hobble out on to the porch, his arm in a sling, looking pale but very much alive. “Will!” She slid off of Junior before Ross could stop her and ran up the steps. Taking care not to jar his injury, she embraced him.

Her brother's good arm went around her and he hugged her tightly. “Arianne, I'm so glad. Mary and I have been so worried, just out of our minds ... are you all right? His anxious gaze searched her face. “You're hurt. What happened?" She'd had a few indications that the bruise on her face was rather startling. She smiled ruefully. “I'm fine." “Thank God." “The same goes for you, Will. Ross said you weren't too badly injured but until I saw you myself, I just couldn't quite believe it.” She let out a relieved sigh. “Well, do.” He smiled. “How's Mary holding up?" “Er ... she's a little busy these days. But otherwise..." A sound drifted out the open door into the house. Arianne heard it with a small shock, pulling away from her brother. “What is that?” she asked blankly. “It ... it sounds like a baby crying. Oh, Will ... don't tell me..." “Didn't Ross tell you?” Will smiled wider, unmistakable pride in his blue-green eyes. “Mary and I have a daughter." “No,” a swallow, “Ross didn't tell me. How could he know?" Will laughed softly. “No one could know more than Ross. He walked in on the birth and ended up being midwife. We named her Rose, after him." “What?” Arianne swung around accusingly. “Ross? I have a niece and you didn't bother to mention it? You delivered my niece and you didn't mention it?" For once Ross didn't look tough or competent. For once he looked off-balance and chagrined. Standing there holding Junior's rein, he cleared his throat. “Actually, I ... forgot." “You forgot? You must be joking, Ross Braden.” Arianne stared at him and couldn't decide if she should laugh, or cry. “Of all the stubborn, close-mouthed men I've ever met, you are the worst. You're impossible." That accusation brought his dark gaze to hers. His chin went up and those dark eyes flashed with fire. Unshaven and rumpled, with dust on his boots and dried mud on his clothes, he squared his shoulders and tossed Junior's reins over the hitching rail. “What did you call me?" Arianne felt suddenly as if she'd stepped over some line. She squeaked, “Impossible." “Impossible?” He stalked up the porch steps, holding her gaze. “Yes, I am. Impossibly dirty, impossibly tired, impossibly in love with a woman who seems to draw trouble like flies to honey. If anything is impossible, try riding herd on one very beautiful, very stubborn English lady." “Ross, I...” Arianne stepped back on his slow advance. There was a promise in the sensual curve of his mouth that she wasn't sure she liked. She was dimly aware of Lane Wilson, still mounted and grinning ear to ear as he watched them. Farnham, next to him, looked as unreadable as ever. Her back bumped the wall. She swallowed as Ross came closer and gasped when he swept her up into his arms. He turned his head and gave her brother a cool look. “Sorry, Will, but this has been one long journey and Arianne and I haven't had a chance to talk. Now that I know you're fine, and the Mary and

the baby are doing well, we're going to take a few minutes alone. Lane here will fill you in on the details and introduce our guest, whom you may well remember." Will seemed torn between outrage and amusement. “Ross, I can't stop you, but..." “No, you sure can't." “But..." Ross was already walking away, through the house. Arianne gave a muffled cry of both fury and outrage but he paid no attention. The solicitous man who had been so gentle with her on the ride home had been replaced with the arrogant man she remembered only too well. The door to her room, formerly his room, was open. He shouldered his way in and dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, and turned to slam it shut. The simple latch was dropped in place. He turned around. Those compelling dark eyes were penetrating, unnerving. “Now, angel,” he said slowly, “we're alone, just you and me. I know you need a hot bath, hot food, and a long rest, so do I. But you weren't the only one who suffered these past few days, not by a long shot.” He walked the few paces to the bed and leaned over her, bracing an arm on either side of her body. “I have never been so worried in my life." His gaze captured hers and held it. His face was just inches away. Arianne reached upward to lightly touch the rigid line of his mouth, the fine arch of one of his dark brows, the tense angle of jaw and cheek. She said unsteadily, “I guess I haven't thanked you yet for coming after me. I hoped, no ... I knew you would. I was frightened but that thought kept me from complete despair." His lashes lowered slightly. “I would hardly leave you in the clutches of that brutal bastard. Tell me, other than what I can easily see, did he ... hurt you?" She smiled tremulously. “No, although ... if you hadn't come when you did ... he would have and I would have wanted to die." “Don't think about it, Annie.” His mouth lowered a fraction, touching hers lightly. He whispered against her lips, “It's over and he is out of your life forever. The future is all ours, yours and mine." **** Will was sitting on the front porch, holding his infant daughter. Ross, freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes, found him there, the sleeping baby snuggled in the crook of his good arm. From the kitchen came the smell of baking bread and frying potatoes. Mrs. Reichert, true to her word, had arrived, too late to deliver the baby but able to help out just the same. “Arianne's asleep,” Ross announced as he dropped into a chair. It was cool outside, but not so much as to need a fire, and he felt the bone-deep weariness in his body ease as he gazed at his friend and the child nestled against him. “She needs it." “I'm sure she does." “In a day or two she'll be fine." “Lane told me what happened with Carlisle." “Yes.” Ross smiled grimly. “I suppose that bastard is responsible for the bruise on her face.” Will shifted slightly. “None other. He'll be paying for it in hell as we speak.” Ross stretched out his legs.

“No one deserves it more." Ross looked at his friend, his gaze lingering on the face of the sleeping child in his arms. “Speaking of such things, what about Farnham? It isn't like we can turn him over to the local sheriff.” A low laugh escaped his lips. “He shot you, yet I swear he genuinely tried to take care of Arianne. She says so and I saw it myself. You English and your convoluted notions of honor will never cease to amaze me.” A shake of his head. “He claims he still serves the Carlisle family, and therefore, since Arianne is still the duchess, she is his mistress." Will frowned, his fair face troubled. “I think the best solution is to let him go back to England. He was witness to Carlisle's death and as such can set things straight with the proper authorities. That will only help Arianne shed herself of her late husband's estate and any legal entanglements." “You bear him no ill will?” Ross was curious. In his world, things were a little more black and white, tooth for tooth. A laugh, mirthless. “I'm not ungrateful for his lack of marksmanship. I could be dead now, instead of a happy father.” Will glanced at the sleeping babe in his arms. He looked up. “Ross ... social convention and mourning be damned, when will you marry her?" “As soon as she'll have me." Arianne's brother smiled coolly. “Since she's had you already, I would guess the sooner the better." **** “My lady." Arianne looked up. She was trying yet another attempt at making biscuits, up to her elbows in flour. Some things, she had decided in the past minutes, were just not meant to be. Not even the expert Mrs. Reichert could teach her the elusive secret. She said, “Farnham." He inclined his nearly bald head. Dressed for the ride across country, he looked as elegant as if ready for a formal ball, especially set against the rough home-fashioned furniture of the ranch kitchen. “My departure is set." She shook her fingers impatiently, sending small balls of dough everywhere. “I am glad things turned out as they did. I will wish you Godspeed." “I would beg a few words first, if quite possible.” The man looked serious. “Uh, well ... certainly." “I have taken the liberty of asking Mr. Braden to join us." Her brows rose in surprise. “Oh?" “The explanation will be self-evident very soon, Duchess." She winced at that form of address but knew better than trying to dissuade him. That formality was so ingrained she felt it would pain him to try to put it aside. “Very well, Farnham. Have a seat.” She gestured at the table. He shook his head and looked affronted. “Please, Duchess. I would not dream of sitting when a lady such as yourself is standing." Hiding a smile, Arianne turned away and moved to rinse her hands in a pan of warm water, drying them on the apron she had donned over her morning dress. Then she went and sat down primly on one of the

wooden chairs at the long plank kitchen table. She had no doubt that in her gown of pale blue silk with embroidered white flowers, she looked almost as ridiculous in that plain room as did Farnham with his frock coat and immaculate cravat. But Mary had few enough clothes as it was without having to share them and it seemed a waste to let her own lovely dresses sit in the trunk, unworn. The sound of a quick step outside made them both turn toward the doorway. Ross, as always, seemed to fill the room with his presence as he walked in, not just with his height and the width of his shoulders, but with that aura of confidence and intelligence that surrounded him. He removed his hat and ran his fingers quickly through his dark hair, his penetrating gaze going first to her and then coming to rest on Farnham. “What's this about?” he asked bluntly. Arianne lightly lifted her shoulders to signal her own curiosity. Farnham had remained standing, and if possible, he looked blander than ever. He cleared his throat. “It is a rather delicate matter, but for the sake of the duchess, I could not in good conscience go back to England and resume my duties to the Carlisle family without addressing this issue." “Issue?" Farnham's expressionless gaze went to Arianne. He said slowly, “As matters now stand, when the news of his grace's death reaches England, his younger brother, Matthew, will inherit the estate and the title of duke." Arianne frowned. “Yes, of course. The Carlisle family no longer concerns me, Farnham. What's your point?" “Please excuse the personal nature of this discussion, duchess, but I'm afraid I heard only too clearly the words exchanged between Mr. Braden and the duke right before their fatal confrontation." Ross lifted a dark brow in a sardonic gesture. “And what exactly did you hear, man?" “Er ... the implication was that you and the duchess were lovers, sir.” The stout valet held himself very upright and correct as he spoke. He seemed almost embarrassed to say the words. Almost. Farnham, as ever, showed nothing in his expression. Ross looked amused and Arianne felt heat build into her cheeks. She didn't regret anything that had happened between her and Ross, but neither was she anxious to have the world know about it. Leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb and casually crossing his arms over his broad chest, Ross said dryly, “I know your dedication to your duties is extreme, Farnham, but surely you aren't thinking of challenging me over the lady's honor? She won't be a Carlisle for very much longer, she'll be a Braden." “No, sir. I wouldn't dream of challenging you, it isn't my place. I am simply wondering if it is possible the duchess could be carrying a child." Both men looked at her. If possible her cheeks became even warmer. Arianne said in a choked voice, “I don't see why you are concerned with this, Farnham. If I were ... er ... with child, it would not belong to the duke, you know this. You were with us almost every moment.” Except, she didn't add, those last fateful moments when Jared had decided he had waited long enough. Lucky for her, Ross had been there instead. The valet said quietly, “Any male child born to you within the nine months after the duke's death could easily claim both the title and the Carlisle fortune. You are his wife and he is not here to refute the child. I do not believe the family would have any recourse." “Farnham, you would know the truth.” She was surprised and did not hide it.

The valet actually smiled slightly, something she'd never seen before. “You were ill-used enough, your grace. I would see your child benefit from the wrongs done you and your family. Just because I served the duke, does not mean I approved of him or his actions. He was a cruel man." Ross said nothing. His silence was more poignant than any expression of outrage, yet she knew he had to be opposed to allowing any child of his to be put forward as another man's son. She said quickly, “There's is no way I could possibly..." Farnham interjected just as fast, “We are talking about a very great fortune, my lady. An old and impressive peerage with all the honors and privileges it merits. A seat in the House of Lords, land, power, everything any man could want. And your child could have it all. How many would pass it by?" Taken aback, she was momentarily speechless. “Perhaps you should consider his words.” That quiet statement was made without inflection. “I would not like it, but it is something to think about, Annie." She came to her feet, staring at him. “Ross, how could you possibly agree to such a thing?" He didn't smile but looked at her steadily from his nonchalant pose. “You know I don't hold much with titles or grand fortunes, but in your world, actually, in most of the world, it is important." “But..." He frowned. “If a child is born that soon, there are some who might think it to be Carlisle's anyway. A decision like this should be yours. Farnham is right. You suffered greatly at the hands of that man." Arianne shook her head, knowing from the distant look in his dark eyes that he was sacrificing a great deal of pride to even think of such a thing. She said softly, “Ross, I thank you for your willingness and selflessness, but the idea is so repugnant to me, you'll never know. I want any child I bear to be yours, and known as yours. And as for the worldly goods and titles he could bear, I think not. Look what they did for Jared. Made him into a selfish, cruel, and grasping man with no care for others. I would not wish that on any child, much less my own." There was brief silence. Farnham inclined his head. “Very well, your grace, I respect both your wishes and integrity. I suppose I wanted to offer my loyalty one last time, if that was what you wished." “Thank you, Farnham." Ross said curtly, “Your horse is saddled and outside. There are enough supplies to get you through a few days, maybe even more. With a map and some good luck, you should make it." “Thank you, sir." “Be careful.” Arianne wasn't sure why she cared in the least about this man she once loathed. Farnham bowed deeply. “I will, Duchess, rest assured. I am an excellent marksman and not unintelligent, if I may say so." Ross lifted his brows, still leaning against the door. “An excellent marksman?" “Yes indeed, sir.” Farnham smoothed his coat in a fussy gesture. “Please tell Mr. Brooke that if I had aimed anywhere other than his shoulder, the duke would have been suspicious and ordered me to finish the job. As it was, he was satisfied to think I had hit him in the chest." Ross straightened abruptly. “Is that so?" Farnham looked him in the eyes. “Yes, sir. It is so." Under his breath, Arianne heard Ross mutter, “Damned if I don't believe you."

With a small choked laugh, she yielded to impulse and went to give the man who had spared her brother a good-bye hug. His departure would close a chapter in her life. She couldn't wait to turn the page. Epilogue Boston April 1866 “Why are we stopping?" The question was said with such a palatable air of irritation that Ross had to smother an outright laugh. He said blandly, “Because we have reached our destination." Next to him, the small dark-haired boy craned his neck to stare out the window, scrambling up on the seat of the carriage. “But I don't see the ocean. You promised me the ocean, Papa." Ross took his hand and laid it on his son's shoulder in a restraining gesture. “And so you will get to see the ocean. But do you mind first if we stop so you can meet your grandmother and grandfather? Not to mention your uncle. They are very anxious to see you." “But,” an earnest face was turned up to his, and wide imploring blue eyes gazed at him, “see, I do mind. Maybe after we see the ocean ... and I touch it, then we could go see those people." Ross arched his brows. “Touch it? I see. Isn't that a new request?" A nod. “I think that I should have to touch it and know how it feels." Dear Lord, Ross thought with resignation, his child had the bargaining instincts of a politician. Robert would be pleased. “Jonathan.” Arianne voice was sharp with horrified admonishment. “Please stop with this insistence and mind your manners. You will love your grandparents, I am sure of it. The ocean can wait. It's been there for time out of mind. A few hours won't hurt." Ross glanced at his wife. The look on her lovely face was a mixture of exasperation and apprehension. She adjusted the sleeping infant girl in her arms in a restless movement and her free hand went to her perfectly smooth hair for the hundredth time. “And my family,” he said in reassurance, “will love all three of you." She gave him a wan smile. “I have no idea why I am so nervous about this meeting." “Neither do I, angel.” He smiled. “My family certainly isn't perfect, but they won't bite." The door swung open and Ross climbed out, feeling an odd twinge in the pit of his stomach as he glanced at the facade of the huge house he'd once called home. Home now, he thought as he helped each member if his family alight the carriage, was these three precious people in his life and wherever they happened to be. Everything else was just a place. Hours later, after all the tearful joyous greetings were over, dinner eaten, and his mother and Arianne were upstairs tending the children, Ross finally found himself alone in the parlor with his brother. Reaching for the brandy decanter, he said, “It's been a long while since we've shared a drink, Robert." Little changed except for the thickening of silver hair at his temples, Robert smiled. “Too long, brother.” His dark eyes glimmered as he accepted the proffered glass.

“What a damned ugly war.” Ross took a gulp. “That is an understatement. And Reconstruction isn't much better." “Father tells me you have every chance of being elected to a new term." Robert contemplated the liquid in his glass. “I think so. Once we get past our wounds, the cities will begin to rebuild, both South and North. We lost a lot of young men but I want us to move forward.” His eyes lifted. “As you have, brother. I think I can see why you've stayed buried in your distant wilderness. Congratulations, Ross, on your beautiful wife and equally lovely children." “Thank you.” Ross sank into an elegant wing chair. Robert lifted his brows and swirled the liquid in his glass with long fingers. His mouth twitched. “Though, I do think I am entitled to say that I was certainly right about Lady Arianne, wasn't I? I believe I warned you." Ross gave a choked laugh. “All right, if you insist I admit it, you were right. I think I was already captivated before we even left Boston." “Not exactly a horrible fate." “The best fate possible, in my opinion." “Then she has acclimated to your somewhat ... rugged lifestyle with ease? I am surprised on that score." Chuckling, Ross shook his head. “Well, let me see. She cannot cook, her housekeeping skills are marginal but improving, she has never exhibited any skill whatsoever with a needle ... and she has the somewhat alarming habit of becoming distracted and misplacing the children at times." Robert's brows shot up. Ross smiled. He said softly, “But she is the perfect wife." His brother looked bemused. “Oh?" “She's perfect because I love her with all my heart and I am the happiest man on earth." After a moment of silence, Robert lifted his glass. “I'll drink to that." ABOUT THE AUTHOR The author of six novels and numerous short stories, Katherine Smith loves both mysteries and romance. An avid reader, she feels the only thing better than curling up with a good book, is the privilege of aspiring to write one. She lives in rural Indiana with her three children, her husband Chris, and her precious cat, Chloe.

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