Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (3 page)

"You are presumptuous, arrogant and altogether too glib..." She allowed her voice to fade away, placing one slender finger to her cheek, making him wait. "In spite of that, yes, Maxwell Stanhope, I'll marry you." The moment she spoke the words and saw a triumphant gleam in those hard green eyes, Sky wondered if she had just made the worst mistake of her life.

* * * *

St. George's Episcopal Church, Bismarck

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest said solemnly. "You may kiss the bride." The latter was added with a gentle smile as the elderly clergyman looked from Sky to her husband.

My husband, Maxwell Livingston Stanhope, Baron Ruxton.
Sky felt her throat tighten with uncertainty as she looked up at his face, trying to read any emotion. There was none discernable. At least he wasn't gloating, thank heavens, but at the prodding of Father Granton, he did lower his head and give her lips a chaste brush. She felt an odd frisson of...something pass over her fleetingly. Then, before she could identify the feeling, it evaporated. She resisted the urge to touch her lips with her lace-gloved fingertips.

Looking around the ornate brick church with its gold-trimmed altar, she considered how different this was from her first marriage to Will in a tiny wooden chapel on the Ehanktonwon reservation. She had worn a white buckskin tunic lovingly embroidered with beads and quills, made for her by the women of her tribe. Her whole family was there...and so was love. Now she had just wed a dangerous stranger after making a frighteningly cold-blooded bargain.

As they left the church, Max sensed her restiveness and knew she was having second thoughts. "Repenting our bargain so soon?" he asked.

"No...that is, it seemed wrong to make vows before a priest that we don't intend to keep—not that I want a real marriage," she quickly amended.

Max chuckled. "If I thought for one moment you did, I'd be the one having second thoughts. But I explained why it had to be a Church of England marriage."

"A civil ceremony wouldn't be sufficient to satisfy the requirements of your uncle's will," she replied, trying to convince herself.

"You're still in love with your dead husband, aren't you?"

The question surprised her. Of course she would always love Will, but what business was it of his? Composing herself, she replied, "I adored Will from the moment I first saw him standing at the foot of the gangplank of my brother's stern-wheeler."

"You have a brother?"

Sky nodded. "Yes, Clint Daniels from St. Louis."

"That's where your white family lives?"

"Yes, just Clint and his wife Delilah and their children. Clint is my adopted brother. He married my sister Teal and became one of us...until she was killed..."

"Sorry to bring up unhappy memories," he said after her voice faded away.

"It was a long time ago. Clint brought me to St. Louis and saw to my education so that I would be able to return to my people and help them in their struggle against the whites."

What a mystery she was. "You speak about the whites as if they're your enemy. Is that why you didn't ask your brother for help when your husband was killed?"

Her face became shuttered. "Clint doesn't know about Will's murder. I never told him. He would have sought vengeance...and that would stain his soul."

Max considered her words.
But mine is so black already, what matters another smudge or two?
For some inexplicable reason the implication hurt.

* * * *

When they reached New York, Max reserved a suite in a fine hotel with a sitting room separating their bedrooms. They had one evening before their ship sailed for London. Sky had mentioned reading about Delmonico's in the heart of New York's "Tenderloin District." He intended to surprise her by taking her to the famous restaurant.

Sky stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, imagining what Max was doing at the moment. No doubt he was dressing, humming tunelessly as he had so often done on the long rail trip from Bismarck. It seemed a lifetime since she had lived with a man. Will had always been thoughtful about simple courtesies, assisting her in and out of carriages or opening doors for her, but his touch had been gentle and familiar...comfortable.

When Max did the same things, she felt completely different. There was a strange tension between them. She almost thought he was angry with her for some fault she did not understand. Now that they were so close to embarking for his homeland, did he regret marrying a woman of mixed blood?

She checked her appearance again in the mirror. The deep rose silk gown dipped low in front, revealing more of her breasts than she would have chosen as the wife of a clergyman, but it was the height of fashion for ladies of quality—or so the saleswoman had assured her. She wore her mother's cameo on a slim gold chain around her neck.

Since childhood, she had carried the treasured memento with her everywhere, but the engraved gold wedding band from Will she had placed in a shabby black velvet pouch. Removing it from her finger when she made her bargain with Max Stanhope had felt like a betrayal. She glanced down at the heavy gold ring that the Englishman had placed on her hand. There were no words of love etched on the inside of the band. It felt heavy...and cold. Like her new husband's eyes.

A tap on the adjoining door interrupted her troubled thoughts. She walked across the room and opened it. Max looked every inch the English lord in a dark blue wool suit, his white shirtfront winking with emerald studs. His tall, lean body was made to wear custom tailoring. He had been to a barber and his curly hair was fashionably tamed, the sideburns palest blond against his bronzed skin. For an unbidden moment, she caught herself wondering if his body was as pale as his hair. Appalled at the thought, she quickly suppressed it.

"You look quite splendid, m'lord," she said with an insouciant curtsey.

"Even more so, you," he managed as his gaze swept from her lush black hair, braided in an intricate crown atop her head, to the soft curves of her hips revealed by the tempting concoction in silk that clung so lovingly to her body. His attention was drawn back to the deep vee of her cleavage where a simple oval of carved ivory nestled. Fortunate cameo! "Is that a family heirloom?" When she reached up and fingered the cameo, he felt his throat tighten, wanting desperately to touch those soft mounds.

"It belonged to my mother. The only thing she managed to hide from her Pawnee captors."

Max struggled to find his voice, then said, "It's as lovely as you."

* * * *

Sky was delighted by Delmonico's. After sharing a bottle of excellent champagne, they both began to relax. He enjoyed watching her study the haughty socialites and powerful Wall Street businessmen surrounding them. "Many of the men and women you see here are as powerful as any earl or duke in England."

Sky made a moue of distaste. "They exploit Indian land and prey on the poor of every race."

He smiled at her. "You would be a daunting reformer. Even the likes of Gould and Fisk might back down if you jabbed your Winchester in their fat guts."

"A thought worthy of consideration," she said dryly. "But not in such a lovely place. The meal was incredible. Thank you, Max, for bringing me here."

"My pleasure," he said, and it was, indeed. He signaled a waiter for the check.

Outside, the night was warm and the moon full when they stood on the street awaiting a hack. When an open carriage approached, he hailed it.

The driver, a small fellow with slicked-back dark hair and an ingratiating smile, asked, "Would you folks enjoy a ride through Central Park? Perfect night for it."

"I'd appreciate some fresh air," she said to Max. "It's been seven years since I lived in a large city and I don't like the smell or closed-in feeling of being surrounded by so much brick and stone."

"The park it is, then," Max said, then asked, "Are you homesick?"

She shook her head. "No. I need time away from the memories back in Dakota lands. But eventually I'll return there to live out my life."

And find a real husband.
The thought rankled. He pushed it aside. "No interest in St. Louis?"

"It was a good place to learn what I needed to know."

"Yes, how to outwit the wily white-eyes," he said wryly. "Tell me more about what you studied in St. Louis. Healing arts? Teaching?"

"We have a doctor and several missionaries who care for our ill and teach our young. No, I read law with one of the most successful attorneys in the city." She watched that silvery eyebrow rise just as she'd expected it would.

"I might have to let go our family solicitor. Poor Jerome…"

"You'd be unwise to dismiss him," she said with the hint of a smile. "I know nothing of English law."

"That's a relief. Jerome Bartlett's been with the Stanhopes for decades. Quite a decent chap."

Suddenly, their carriage came to an abrupt halt in a tree-shrouded grove. Sky was thrown against Max's shoulder. She could feel his arm reaching inside his jacket for the .32-caliber Hopkins & Allen pocket revolver she knew he carried.

"Stay down," he commanded as the driver jumped from his perch and vanished into the darkness.

Sky had learned her lesson well the day Will died in her arms. She never again went anywhere unarmed. As Max looked from side to side for an approaching thief, she plunged her hand into her small beaded reticule and extracted her Colt Derringer just as a shot rang out and her husband cursed.

"Are you hit?" she whispered.

"No," he muttered, sliding from the carriage when he detected a figure emerging from the bushes. He palmed the .32 so that it would be invisible in the gloom, and raised what appeared to be empty hands. "Don't shoot. I'll give you my money—"

A harsh guttural laugh echoed in the darkness. "More'n that, I'm thinkin'," the thief said as he raised his pistol and took aim.

Max's arm came down lightning fast and he rolled to the ground. From a prone position he fired as the startled thief's finger closed on the trigger of his gun. He missed. The Limey did not.

Sky held her Derringer level, watching their assailant crumple. Max stood up and walked over to the man on the ground, kicking his weapon away. Suddenly, a slight movement caught her eye from the side of a large tree. "Max, watch out!" she shouted, firing at the man taking aim. She knew she was out of range, but the shot did the trick. The thudding of footsteps pounded away from them as he crashed through the undergrowth.

"Are you all right?" she asked, struggling to alight from the carriage in her slim skirt.

"No. Blasted suit's ruined," he replied calmly, holding up his left arm to reveal a tear in the sleeve from a bullet.

"You can afford a new suit. New arms are difficult to come by, even for a baron. Consider yourself very lucky," she said in a chiding voice.

"I always have been...so far." There was a darkness in his voice before he shifted his attention to the unconscious man, who moaned softly. "Bastard was a frightful shot."

"Why would he try to kill you when he thought you were willing to give him your money?" she asked, looking down at the man lying on the ground. A rough customer, probably from New York's infamous slums. "Our driver was part of the robbery setup."

"Most certainly—and I was stupid, not suspecting it."
Stupid because all I was thinking about was a carriage ride in the moonlight with my beautiful wife.
Sighing, he knelt and checked the injured man for weapons, pulling a knife from his belt and slipping it into his pocket. Then he hoisted the man over his shoulder. "Maybe the police can break up a ring of thieves if this chap starts talking."

Sky watched him carry the thug to the carriage and deposit him beneath the driver's seat. The fellow had to outweigh him by a good twenty pounds. This was a feat Will could have easily accomplished, but she would never have believed it possible for the lithe, slim Englishman. He turned to her then with a harsh smile.

"I didn't thank you for shooting at the second thief." He looked at her reticule as she dropped the Derringer into it. "Do you always go to dinner armed, Lady Ruxton?"

"Always," Sky replied in a flat voice. She did not smile.

Chapter Two

London daunted Sky from the moment they arrived. New York was large and bustling, but raw and new, filled with the frenetic energy of a young nation. This magnificent ancient city was far larger, the very center of the greatest empire the world had yet seen.

"Nervous?" Max asked as the driver drew in the reins and stopped the carriage at the front entrance of the Ruxton City house, a lovely three-story edifice constructed of pale aged brick replete with ivy tendrils trailing like green lace across the front. "The servants will adore you, especially Baldwin, the butler. He's the one who's really in charge of the household."

Sky swallowed for courage. "Yes, to be honest, I'm more frightened now than I've ever been—even when I walked into Miss Jefferson's Academy my first day at age fourteen."

"No one here bites," he said with a grin.

She smiled. "Lucretia Mottly did, quite viciously, as a matter of fact."

"Why is it that I suspect you gave as good as you received at Miss Jefferson's?" he asked dryly.