Never Marry a Cowboy (27 page)

He walked out of the room and down the stairs
with a sense of well-being. He glanced at the door that led into his father's room. Hopefully by now, his father understood Kit's reasoning and forgave him.

He entered the foyer just as Elizabeth Fairfield strolled through the front door. She came to an abrupt halt and stared at him.

He smiled warmly. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

She shoved a quilt at him. “I brought this for you.”

He stepped nearer and examined the intricate stitching. “It's lovely.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “A wedding gift?”

She nodded quickly and looked as though she were fighting back tears. “You can call it that if you want. I just thought it might help to keep your bed warm.”

Her generosity caught him off guard as he took her gift. “Thank you. All this time I never thought you cared much for me.”

“Why would you think that?”

He heard a door open and watched her gaze shift toward the sound.

“Elizabeth, what in the world are you doing here?” Christopher asked.

Elizabeth jerked her gaze back to Kit's, her cheeks flaming red. She snatched the quilt from his arms. “You varmint, I should have realized it was you.”

Kit chuckled. “So you're the one who mistook Christopher for me. That must have been an interesting encounter.”

“Indeed it was,” Christopher said quietly, amusement reflected in his voice as he approached Elizabeth.

She thrust the quilt at him. “I brought this to keep you warm at nights. Made it myself. It's a lone star
pattern, and since Texas has a lone star on its flag, I thought you might think of me whenever you used it.”

Kit knew a pang of guilt when he saw the wistfulness in his brother's eyes as he took the gift.

“I'll need no reminders of you, but thank you for the gift.”

Elizabeth jerked her head up and down. “The girls are in the wagon, so I gotta go.”

“I'd like to say goodbye to your daughters,” Christopher said quietly.

“They'd like that. I'll meet you outside.”

She turned and scurried out, but not before Kit saw the tears welling in her eyes. Christopher set the quilt down on a nearby chair and strode toward the door. Kit grabbed his arm and spun him around. “You neglected to mention that you had a reason why you no longer wanted to be heir.”

“The reason didn't exist until I came here.”

Kit studied his brother. “Last night I felt that you were in love, but I thought it was with someone in England. It's Elizabeth, isn't it? You love her.”

“My feelings and whom I love are of no consequence regarding your decision.”

“The hell they aren't.”

“Father has made arrangements for a wedding to take place at Christmas. You are quite right that Ashton will die if you take her to England, and you cannot serve as master of the estate from here. You sacrificed your love for a woman once before—a woman who rightfully belonged to you, I might point out—so now it is my turn to make a sacrifice.”

“To hell with Father's arrangements. If you love Elizabeth, marry her and take her to England with you,” Kit suggested.

“Marshal?”

Kit turned at the sound of Mrs. Gurney's voice. “Yes, Mr. Gurney?”

She held an envelope toward him. “I was told to give you this.”

Kit opened the envelope, withdrew its contents, and felt all the blood drain from his face and his knees grow weak. His chest ached, tears stung his eyes, and his entire world ceased to exist. His fingers went limp, and the papers fluttered to the floor.

“What is it?” Christopher asked, concern clearly reflected in his voice. “What's happened?”

His voice strangled with emotion, Kit forced out the words. “Ashton is dead.”

I
gnoring the elderly couple sitting across from her, Ashton stared out the window of the stagecoach, the countryside a blur of green leaves, brown soil, and blue sky. She felt as hollow, as dead, as the certificate she'd paid the physician to draw up for her.

The actual date of her death was unimportant. Today. The end of the year. It didn't matter because she knew death's arrival was imminent.

What mattered was that Kit was free to return to England, to take his rightful place at the home of his birth, the estate that he loved and had watched over even from afar. He needed to return with his father and establish his right to inherit.

His father's time was as limited as hers was. Once he died, the new Earl of Ravenleigh would take his place. She wanted that man to be Kit, and her actions had ensured that dream's reality.

True, her record of death was false, but no more false than Kit's record of birth. How could his father have tampered with fate?

A gunshot sounded. The woman sitting across from
Ashton squealed and burrowed her face into her husband's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her and drew her near. Ashton clenched her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Another robbery!

Was there no law beyond the boundaries of any towns?

She felt the stagecoach begin to slow and didn't know whether to be relieved that they weren't going to try to outpace the outlaws or fearful for what the thieves might do. She'd had one experience and it was enough to make her fear all lawless men.

The stagecoach rolled to a stop. Ashton's heart beat unmercifully in her chest. She swore that given the opportunity she would never again ride in a stagecoach. She heard the pounding hooves and a horse's neigh.

Then silence that was more frightening, because it left no hint as to what she should expect.

The door burst open. Ashton screeched at the foreboding figure blocking the sunlight. Her fellow female passenger fainted.

“We have no money,” the woman's husband blurted out.

“I have no interest in money.” The shadowy figure extended his hand toward Ashton. “Mrs. Montgomery.”

Relief warred with anger as Ashton stared at her husband. “Didn't you get the letter I left for you?”

“Indeed I did, once my heart returned to normal. Might I suggest that the next time you decide to pull such a fool stunt that you place the letter on
top
of the death certificate instead of beneath it.”

“I don't see that it matters where I placed the letter. It explained everything.”

“Now I have some things to explain to you.” He reached farther into the coach. “Please, come with me.”

Reluctantly, she slipped her hand into his, relishing the strength and warmth she'd never thought to feel again. With his assistance, she stepped into the sunlight. She released her hold on him and straightened her skirts before angling her chin.

Bearded stubble shadowed his face and his eyes were red rimmed and swollen. She desperately wanted to touch him and relieve his suffering, but she could not give in to temptation. She had to remain strong. “You'd better talk quickly. These people are in a hurry.”

“I intend to take my time in explaining.” He glanced up at the driver. “Is my wife's valise up top?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said as he grabbed it and tossed it down.

Kit caught it easily. “Thank you, Mr. Jordan.”

“You're welcome, Marshal Montgomery. Good thing I recognized you. Wouldn't have stopped otherwise. Been too many robberies lately.”

“What do you think you're doing?” Ashton asked with equal frustration and anger. She'd finally managed to find the gumption to do something on her own and Kit was thwarting her plans.

“Give me a week, and if at the end of that time, you still feel your actions are warranted, then I shall honor the record of your death and return you to Dallas myself.”

“And you promise to go back to Ravenleigh?”

“Yes.”

The sadness in his eyes tore into her heart, and against her better judgment, she found herself nodding.

 

“Why would Ashton have her own death certificate drawn up?” Elizabeth asked Christopher as he leaned against the porch railing, one hand stuffed in his pocket, his head bent.

He slowly shook his head. “I can only presume that she thought she was giving Kit what he wanted.” He lifted his gaze. “Theirs is a complicated relationship, not unlike ours.”

Elizabeth furrowed her brow, pressed her shoulder against the beam that supported the roof over the porch, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I don't see our friendship as being complicated.”

Christopher shifted his stance. “It's not complicated here, no, but it would be in England. I am nobility, you aren't. I am well educated, whereas life more than schools educated you. I am expected to project a certain mien, and you are refreshingly adept at revealing your true self.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like I'm being insulted?”

“Believe me, it is not my intent to insult you. I'm merely striving to realistically and tactfully identify obstacles that we might have to overcome if we were in England.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, wondering why he was
pursuing this path of conversation. “I don't see the point in identifying anything. We're not in England.”

“No, we're not.” He held her gaze, and she saw uncertainty reflected in his pale blue eyes. “But we could be.”

She furrowed her brow. “I don't see how.”

“If we wished it to be so.” He took a step closer. “My father arranged both my marriages. The first one worked out splendidly. Clarisse and I were well suited, and until she took ill, I was extremely happy. I have immense doubts regarding the second one. I cannot envision that I shall be content.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I know you're feeling guilty because you don't remember her name—”

“My misgivings regarding this second marriage have nothing to do with my inability to remember my intended's name. They reside in the fact that I shall be unable to forget you.”

She felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her, and all she could manage to his flattering declaration was a soft, “Oh.”

She turned and looked toward the fields that had lain fallow since Daniel had left to fight for the Confederacy.

“I realize that we have not known each other long,” he continued, “and perhaps my feelings are premature but I must confess that I've fallen in love with you. I was hoping that you might consent to marry me.”

Tears burned her eyes, blurring the fields that her husband had planted and harvested. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips. It had been a good many
years since she'd captured a man's fancy, a good many years since she'd wanted to. But lately, the wind whispering through the leaves, her daughters' voices and their laughter, weren't enough to ease the loneliness. “Everything here reminds me of Daniel,” she rasped. “It would be like leaving him.” The tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned and looked at Christopher. “I know I told you that I haven't thought of him lately…and I haven't, but I can't
leave
here, leave what I know.” An unexpected sob escaped her.

He drew her into his embrace and pressed her face against his chest. He didn't smell of sweat, horses, soil, or crops. He smelled like lemon, crisp and clean.

“I'm so sorry,” she croaked, hating this weakness that made her feel incredibly young and vulnerable.

He closed his arms more securely around her. Oh, Lord, he was sturdy. He would have made a fine farmer.

“The apology is mine to give,” he said quietly. “I should not have placed you in this awkward position of having to reject me. My earlier blathering was an attempt to get an idea of how you might feel on the matter. I handled it poorly.”

She snapped her head back to meet his sorrowful gaze. Her heart tightened into a painful knot. She didn't want to hurt him, but the thought of leaving what she'd known her entire life scared the living daylights out of her. “It's not you,” she reassured him. “I just—”

He shook his head slightly. “It's all right. You don't have to explain. I realize that what I was proposing was selfish on my part. I've enjoyed being with you,
and I wanted to prolong our time together, for the remainder of our lives, actually.” He smiled warmly, his gaze traveling over her face as though he wanted to memorize every curve and hollow. “I'd even planned to have a porch built around the manor so we could watch the sunset.”

She felt more tears surface. Gently he wiped them away.

“Don't weep,” he ordered softly. “I don't want my last memory of you to be with tears dampening your lovely face.”

She clutched his shirt and pressed her face against his chest. Why was this parting so hard? She twisted her head slightly, and her gaze fell on the long stretch of road, a dirt path she looked down every morning when she woke up. Of late, she hadn't been looking for Daniel. She'd been looking for the man who now held her, and she'd still be looking for him when he left. “I love you,” she said quietly.

“Then accept my proposal. I know it won't be easy, and I know it must be as frightening to consider being my wife as it was for me to contemplate being a farmer.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and bent her head back until their gazes met. “But I promise that you'll never come to regret your decision if you agree to be my wife. I can't deny that your life will change drastically, and the demands will be many, but I'll gladly teach you all that you need to know, and I rather think you'll enjoy the challenge.” He kissed her cheek, her temple, her brow. “Say yes, Elizabeth.”

The plea, spoken with such tenderness, melted her
heart. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned away from him slightly, and looked into his pale blue eyes. “Yes.”

A beautiful, joyous smile eased across his face before he lowered his mouth to hers, his passionate kiss easing aside the doubts until she could readily admit that no other answer had been possible.

 

Nestled between Kit's thighs as he sat astride Lancelot and guided the horse, Ashton heard the thunder of the waterfalls long before they reached them. Their time here had been short, and in spite of the circumstances that had caused them to discover this small Eden, she'd thought it beautiful and peaceful.

But she had not expected Kit to bring her here.

With the lush green surrounding her so unlike the flatness of Dallas, for a fleeting moment, she felt as though they had returned to paradise. But it was only a beautiful illusion, an elaborate unforgettable tapestry in which explanations could be rendered, understanding could be reached, and a final farewell be exchanged.

She would not allow Kit to return to Dallas with her. She would go alone, for she had no desire to taint Dallas with a memory that she felt certain would break her heart.

This place was appropriate, for its majesty would sustain the most painful moment of her life. Why had Kit not been content with her letter of explanation? What could he possibly say to change her mind?

She knew he loved her, knew she loved him. Love
required sacrifices, and he had made them all for her. Now she wanted to return the favor. How could he not understand?

She saw the falls in which she'd bathed when he'd been injured. The current was not strong as it hit the rocks below and journeyed through cracks and crevices toward destinations she could only imagine.

Kit drew Lancelot to a halt and dismounted. Reaching up, he wrapped his hands on either side of her waist and brought her slowly to the ground, her body brushing against his, causing warm tendrils of pleasure to curl through her. She refused to give into the temptation to wrap her arms around his neck and draw his head down for a kiss.

She must remain dispassionate and project a false image of strength when all she truly wanted was to remain in his embrace forever. She wanted to die within his arms, and for a brief moment, she envied Clarisse.

Perhaps if his father were stronger, Kit could stay with her until the end, but she knew in her heart that if he did not return to Ravenleigh now, he would never return. He would be the one who placed the solitary rose on her grave. He would lead the lonely life he'd always envisioned for himself.

She stepped back. “Is this where we intend to talk?”

He smiled lazily. “I said nothing of talking.”

“But you wanted to convince me—”

“With actions, not with words. Let me see to Lancelot's comfort, and then I shall see to yours.”

He led the horse away, and she walked to the babbling water. What did he have in mind?

Whatever it was, he would not sway her from her decision or the path she knew she must follow.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he pressed his warm mouth against the nape of her neck. If it were not for the coolness of the mist caused by the cascading water, she thought she might melt on the spot. She felt his tongue tease her flesh just before he whispered, “'Tis a wise dead woman who packs her valise.”

She spun around. He had spread a blanket over the ground and her case rested near it. She looked up into his light blue eyes. “Kit—”

“Shh.” He cradled her chin and touched his thumb to her lips. “No words, not yet.”

He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

“Kit, passion isn't the answer.”

“I know that now, but it's a splendid substitute,” he rasped, before capturing her mouth totally with his, his tongue seeking entry she could not deny him.

Like a vine seeking purchase, she entwined her arms around his neck and pressed her body flush against his. Regardless of the pleasure he brought her, she would not stay with him; she loved him too much. She'd tried to show him the last night they'd shared a bed. Perhaps that had been her mistake, pleasuring him as he had pleasured her.