Amelia. Diana Palmer
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my father agrees, I should enjoy receiving you,” she said demurely.
His hand around her waist contracted and pulled her almost imperceptibly closer. “No more than I shall, Miss Howard,” he replied. He smiled down at her, and across the room, a tall, silver-eyed man had to fight down a sudden murderous impulse.
Chapter Four
KING DIDN’T ASK AMELIA TO DANCE. HIS MOTHER APPROACHED him just as the party was winding down and bluntly asked why.
He was sipping punch, watching her dance again with Ted Simpson. “I have no desire to dance with Miss Howard,” he said. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“You make it so obvious that the other guests are speculating about the cause,” Enid said shortly. Her dark eyes narrowed. “You might bow to tradition long enough to give the appearance of civility toward her.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I strike you as a man who gives a damn about tradition?” he asked with some of her own bluntness. “I have no affection for or interest in your guest,” he added coldly. “I came here to spend some time with Darcy, whom I shall most likely marry one day soon.”
Enid had to bite her tongue not to say anything. “She will be a match for you,” she said finally.
“Indeed she will. She has spirit, and she is fearless.”
“She is also cold-hearted and an utter … witch!” she added fiercely. “And you are blind.”
She turned and walked back to the other side of the room to renew an acquaintance with some of the other women present.
King glared after her. He wasn’t about to be swayed by his mother. Perhaps she liked that docility that clung to Amelia. He did not. In fact, it infuriated him. So did the look of her, radiant in Ted’s arms, laughing up at him as she danced.
A picture of her in a green gingham dress, dancing under the mesquite trees with a bouquet of wildflowers, flashed unwelcome into his mind. Amelia, her blond hair flying in the wind, her brown eyes laughing, as they were now….
His hand contracted in his pocket, and he felt his anger grow as he watched the way Ted handled her. She should not allow such familiarity to a man whom she had only met, he told himself. She was silly and stupid to let his flattery affect her so!
He almost walked over and took her away from the other man. It was an impulse so unlike him that he deliberately turned away from the temptation and went back to dance with Darcy.
She walked out onto the shadowed end of the moonlit porch with him, noticing his preoccupation.
“What troubles you, King?” she asked.
“Roundup,” he muttered. He lit a cigar without asking her permission and hooked his boot on the lower rail of the porch to smoke it.
“I hate the taste of cigars,” she said haughtily.
He glanced down at her with an amused smile. “Shouldn’t I kiss you, then?” he chided.
She moved closer, almost purring. “If you like.”
He threw the cigar down with little appreciation for its age and cost and drew Darcy roughly against him. He noticed the flicker of her eyelids and her fixed smile, and he wanted to curse her. Darcy pretended to be enslaved by him, but her distaste of intimacy with him was all too visible. Darcy’s people had been well to-do, but that was no longer the case. Darcy liked high living, and with her father facing bankruptcy, King was her best bet. How he hated knowing that she barely tolerated his embraces for the security marriage to him would offer!
He kissed her roughly and felt her hands go against his chest, pushing, almost at once.
“King!” she laughed, drawing back. “How impetuous! We aren’t even engaged,” she added suggestively.
He let her go and calmly lit another cigar. She wasn’t the first woman who suffered him for gain. He could only remember one woman in his life who’d welcomed him in intimacy. But she’d only been hoping to marry him for his fortune. When she thought he was at risk of losing it, she’d run away with a tinker. Ironically, the two of them had been killed by a band of renegades led by a Mexican devil who made a habit of raiding up into Texas. The Rangers were after him even now, although he was like a will-o’-the-wisp to catch. One day, he promised himself, he’d see Rodriguez swing from a rope or stand in front of a firing squad. He was sure that Alice would have come back to him, that she had truly loved him. She had panicked at the thought of being poor, that was all. She would have married him. But Rodriguez had killed her before she could see her mistake in running away. Alice had welcomed him into her bed time and time again, and he still woke sweating, remembering her quicksilver response. He had mourned her deeply, just after her death. But over the years, the sting had faded somewhat. Not that he forgave Rodriguez. Oh, no.
He smoked his cigar quietly, lost in his thoughts, and decided that Darcy’s reluctance didn’t affect him. Perhaps if he had cared about her as he had cared about Alice it would have.
* * *
Quinn Howard had settled himself down for the night in a small canyon of the Guadalupe Mountains in New Mexico. He had a smokeless fire and over it he was roasting a rabbit. The critter was mostly skin and bones, but it would fill empty space. He was sick to death of hardtack and jerky.
He settled back against his saddle with his rifle loaded and ready on the colorful but faded serape beside him. His blond hair was sweaty and full of dust from the day’s hard ride, tracking the outlaw Rodriguez. The man had actually robbed a second bank while Quinn was trailing him, down in El Paso. He’d struck down a bank president and badly wounded a young employee. Quinn had doubled back, almost to the city, and then caught the trail back up into New Mexico again. He felt as if he were going in circles.
As he chewed the tough, sinewy rabbit meat, he wished he had a good tracker with him. It wasn’t his best skill. His expertise with a pistol and rifle was that. But he did well enough, he supposed.
He hoped Amelia was all right. Their father drank too much these days, and he could be violent. Quinn had tried to find a way to get Amelia away from him, but it wasn’t possible just yet. He slept in the Ranger barracks when he was in town, which wasn’t often, and he was stationed at Alpine, not El Paso. It would take a better rank and a better posting before he could offer her any alternative.
Poor Amelia. Her life had certainly been no bed of roses. Quinn grieved for her. Only he knew the agonies she suffered and the danger she faced. He had to do something soon, he determined. The drinking was worse, and so was its aftermath. One day Hartwell Howard would go too far. His blood pressure would shoot high enough to kill him during one of his outbursts, or he would hurt Amelia. Quinn knew that he could never live with a tragedy if he’d done nothing to try and prevent it. The problem of Amelia had to be solved, and soon. He wished he knew what had made his father change so drastically, and he decided that it was probably grief for the loss of his wife and two little sons.
If only Amelia felt a tenderness for Alan Culhane, he decided. A marriage between them would be a good idea, and it would put Amelia under King’s protection.
King disliked her, but he wouldn’t allow her to be harmed. King was always controlled, and he would never lay a brutal hand on her.
Now there would have been a match. If Amelia had been her old self she would have been perfect for King. Quinn was sorry that she’d changed so.
He laughed at his own folly in entertaining such thoughts of matchmaking. They were enemies, and it was better so. Better to let King cling to his misconceptions about Amelia and steer her toward Alan, who would be kind to her even if she never reached any great and passionate heights with him. He finished his rabbit, and without having solved the problem of Amelia, finally leaned back and drifted off to sleep to the crackle of the fire and the distant wailing of coyotes.
* * *
Amelia had seen King go out on the dark porch with Darcy, and something inside her grew small and withdrew. Nevertheless,