Amelia. Diana Palmer
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said quietly and with faint surprise. “It was a privilege to hear you.”
“Yes, indeed,” Enid enthused. “I had no idea you were so talented, my dear!”
Other praise fell on deaf ears. Amelia had heard nothing past the soft words King had spoken. But beyond that was the darkness growing again in her father’s eyes as he finished his drink and his host rose to refill his glass. Her heart raced with fear.
“May I be excused, do you think?” Amelia asked Enid quickly.
“Nonsense,” Hartwell said coldly. “You’ll stay and be sociable, my girl.”
“Papa, if you please,” she tried again, her dark eyes wide with apprehension.
“I do not please,” he replied. His eyes were growing glassier. “Remember your promise to obey me, Amelia,” he added with a soft warning, and his face tautened.
She could hardly forget when the promise had been made and the fierce blow that had prompted it. But now, Quinn was nearby. She had to remember that. If she were careful, and smart, she could circumvent her father’s violent outburst. She’d done it before, many times. She knew of only one way.
“Alan, you promised to show me the roses, did you not?” she improvised with a shy smile in the younger man’s direction. No one could see, in her position, the desperation in her eyes.
“Indeed,” Alan replied. “Shall we, my dear?” And he proffered his arm.
She took it with cold, numb fingers, smiling as she followed him blindly from the room, dreading the impact of her father’s voice if he objected. But she was betting that he would not. This was what he wanted.
And miraculously, he did not object. He turned and began discussing the weather with his host. He wanted Amelia to become involved with Alan. He had in mind a merger of families. Naturally he didn’t protest.
“I’ll join you, if you don’t mind,” King said lazily, and fell into step beside them.
He pulled an imported cigar from his pocket and struck a match to light it. In the glow, his face had a hardness that Amelia had never encountered in any other man. But patently, he didn’t approve of her friendship with Alan. Perhaps he sensed her father’s plan and intended to put a quick end to it. Certainly, his opinion of her was made evident at every turn.
“Where did you learn to play like that, Amelia?” Alan asked gently, glaring at his brother.
“I had a private tutor,” she replied. “Papa feels that young women should be artistic.”
“And mindlessly obedient, obviously,” King added carelessly.
“King!” Alan snapped. “Pray keep your opinions to yourself.”
“Since Miss Howard is so obviously the obedient slave of her parent, suitors must be in short supply.” He took a draw from the cigar and in the semi-darkness of the patio with its surrounding rose gardens, there was a cold glint in his silver eyes. “Not so, Miss Howard?”
Amelia despised him. The two small confrontations with him this evening had softened her toward him, and now when he sensed she was vulnerable, he decided to attack. How could she have forgotten his opinion of her?
“You must think what you like, Mr. Culhane,” she said with quiet dignity.
“Really, King, hasn’t she endured enough tonight?” Alan asked impatiently.
“If she hasn’t, then I certainly have,” King replied with faint contempt. He made her a brief bow. “Good evening, Miss Howard.”
She stared after him with bloodless lips, so tightly compressed that she thought she might never again be able to open them.
“He is impossible at times,” Alan said gently. “Don’t let him upset you, Amelia. He likes to bully people. It appeals to his sense of humor,” he added coldly.
Amelia glanced at him covertly, reading the resentment and dislike in his expression. Alan was the youngest son and the last to be considered. King was the eldest, and the middle brother, Callaway, was off prospecting in east Texas. Alan stood in King’s shadow and knew that he always would. Amelia felt a kind of kinship with him, because certainly she would always stand in her father’s. She would never have a moment’s peace or independence or freedom while her father drew breath. Not, she thought, that she would wish him dead. She only wished that things were as they had been when her little brothers were alive. Had her father been in a better condition, or absent, she was certain that she’d have lobbed a big rock right at King’s arrogant head.
She forced her busy mind back to Alan and listened with every appearance of interest to his stories about the ranch. But inside she was dreading the end of this visit when she would have to return to town. Right now they were living in a boardinghouse where the presence of other people protected her. But her father had been talking of buying a house for himself and Amelia. If he did that Amelia would have no protection. Quinn lived in the Ranger barracks. There must, she thought frantically, be something that she could do to prevent such a move. She had to keep calm and think!
A desperate solution to her predicament came creeping into her mind. If she married, she thought, her father’s hold on her would be broken. She would be free, and surely Alan would be kind to her. But then her father would be alone, and he might hurt himself or someone else. Could she live with her conscience if tragedy resulted from her urge to get away? He had been the best father in the whole world. Had their situations been reversed, he would certainly not have deserted her in her time of need.
She looked up at Alan with soft brown eyes and smiled sadly. No. She could not run from her responsibility. And even if she did, it would not be fair to use Alan in such a way. He was much too nice.
Alan forgot what he’d been saying and smiled back. Odd, he thought as they continued along the path between the fragrant roses, that he hadn’t noticed how pretty Amelia was in the moonlight!
Chapter Two
AMELIA HAD MANAGED TO GET TO BED THE NIGHT BEFORE without having to confront her father. He hadn’t appeared when she came to the breakfast table.
Surprisingly King was there, dressed for work, and so was his father, Brant, and his mother, Enid. Alan wasn’t. Neither were Marie and the children.
“Am I too early?” she asked, halting in the doorway. Her hair was in an upswept hairdo, pulled into a loose topknot on her head, and she was wearing a neat blue-striped pinafore over her gray dress. Her button-up gray shoes were just barely visible below her skirt as she hung there, uneasy. For all her shyness and lack of sophistication, she was the very picture of innocence and beauty in glorious bud.
King looked at her with cool disdain. He was used to women fawning over him. His wealth and family name made him desirable to women, a fact he had long accepted. He was cultured and well-bred and had all the right connections. But this woman got under his skin. Perhaps it was because he knew that she disliked him. Or perhaps it was because her cowardice made her contemptible in his eyes. Nevertheless, she was delightful to look at. If only there was more to her than beauty. She played the piano well, and she spoke a few simple words of French, but she had no real intellect and no backbone.
King was not a genteel city man. He was rough and he could be cruel, and this child-woman would need a very gentle man. No, she was not for him. Besides that, she thought he was an animal. That thought amused him and his lips curved. It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone with the fervor he felt for Amelia. How ironic that he had to pretend distaste for her to hide it.
“Of course you’re not early,” Enid was telling Amelia with a laugh. “Sit down, child. The others are sleeping in.”
“Including your poor father.” Brant chuckled. “We had a rather late evening. I’ve insisted that he not be awakened, because I’m taking him out on the hunt today, he and Alan. We may be gone for several days. I have my eye on a nasty customer who’s been bringing down cattle hereabouts—a rogue mountain