Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (7 page)

He studied her, then nodded. "No, I believe you didn't. I assumed there must have been a good reason you feared for Daniels. Perhaps he simply isn't capable of killing, like your first husband. Or not proficient with firearms. I'm certain you'd not risk his life—"

"Clint is more than proficient with guns, knives, war lances, any weapon you can name," she said abruptly. "I was surprised you didn't make the connection with his other name...upriver they called him the White Sioux."

"Lightning Hand?" he asked as Clint Daniels' name finally clicked into place in his mind. "Good lord, the Pawnee Killer!"

"Don't ever use those names," she snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry, but that part of his life ended long before he met Delilah. Now they have a family and a prosperous life in St. Louis. When Will died, Delilah had just had a miscarriage. So they didn't travel upriver after the funeral as they otherwise would have. Then, I fobbed them off with a series of excuses, saying I was traveling to get away from reminders of Will, things of that sort, which were true in a way. They never learned the circumstances of his death. I've written and wired a lot, but I haven't seen them since six months before Deuce shot Will.

"I'll do anything to keep my brother from returning up-river where he earned his reputation. He..." She appeared to grope for words. "He changes...reverts to the man who slaughtered all those men indiscriminately. I don't ever want him to know why I came looking for you in Bismarck...about our bargain. Please."

A man who slaughtered other men indiscriminately. Max shuddered. What would she think of him if she knew how he'd won that damned Victoria Cross? "Your reasons for marrying me will remain our secret, Sky. But that does present a problem if we're to visit them in St. Louis."

Her hand closed around the telegram, crumpling it into a tight ball of paper. "You mean, we'll have to pretend to be...to have...to..."

He forced a chuckle. "Yes, we'll have to pretend this is a real marriage. I fear I'll be sleeping on the floor during our family visit, thanks to your charmingly American custom of single bedrooms for husbands and wives. Never fear, we'll pull it off handily, then be on our way to Denver."

In spite of his good-humored reply to her floundering, Sky detected a flash of alarm...or was it pain in his eyes? Surely it was just the light from the porthole playing tricks. She was becoming frighteningly attuned to his moods. "We must agree upon a story about how we met. Clint wouldn't for a moment believe I married you for a title or for your money."

"Then it must be for love...love," he replied as that same haunted expression passed quickly over his face once more and vanished.

Sky was too preoccupied to notice his disquiet. They had argued furiously when he'd told her he'd had Jerome Bartlett draw up a will leaving the Stanhope fortune to her. She told him firmly that she didn't want any part of his money—and that they would soon no longer be husband and wife. It was irresponsible of him. But he'd replied that he cared nothing for the money, only that Cletus did not get it. Then he'd blithely suggested she could donate it to charity. The debate had ended in a stalemate.

* * * *

St. Louis was a bustling river city at the nexus of the mighty Mississippi and Missouri, with railroads and warehouses crowding its urban core. Clint and Delilah Daniels lived outside the hectic center of commercial activity in a lovely new residential district called Lafayette Square, facing on a large park filled with strolling pedestrians. Luxurious carriages moved around the park, picking up and dropping off well-dressed passengers.

The Daniels home was one of the newest and most elegant, a three-story frame row house with mansard windows on the top floor peering down like eyes on the picturesque scene below. The house was painted a deep cream-gold color with various shades of chocolate brown trim on the elaborate window sashes and doorway. To the side, a wrought-iron fence and arched gate covered with ivy led to a formal garden, complete with gazebo.

Sky could see Delilah's rich brown hair glint red in the sunlight as she pushed a swing with a squealing little girl in it. Her heart clutched, watching mother and child lost in a moment of joy. Then a piping young voice called out, "Look, it's Aunt Sky!" Young Rob, the eldest of the three Daniels children, came dashing from behind a lilac bush and through the gate. He practically barreled into her as Max helped her from the hack they'd hired at Union Station.

Sky knelt and hugged young Robert Horace Daniels with a pang of joy. She and Will had tried in vain to have children. Rob was named after Delilah's beloved uncle Horace Robert Mathers, who had insisted they reverse his given names so as to prevent "the odious appellation of Horace from being inflicted upon yet another generation of our estimable family."

"Father said you were coming, but we didn't expect you so soon," Rob babbled excitedly.

"The trains now are quite fast," Max said.

The towheaded boy looked up abruptly at the imposing man with the distinctive accent. "Are you Aunt Sky's new husband? Why do you talk so funny?"

"Robert! Mind your manners," Delilah admonished. She was a striking woman with deep reddish brown hair and cat green eyes, tall and slender as Sky, but with the fair complexion of a city lady. While she embraced her dearest friend, her eyes were not on her son. Rather they studied the tall, pale-haired man standing beside Sky. "You must be Maxwell Stanhope," she said after she and Sky had hugged fiercely. A maid stood a discreet distance away, holding little Dorcas in her arms while a second boy hid behind her skirts, peeping out at the Englishman.

Max bowed over Delilah's hand gallantly, but he had caught the guarded expression on her face before she smiled. "Guilty as charged, Mrs. Daniels. I do hope you forgive me for whisking your husband's baby sister away to England before we paid our respects to you."

"Well spoken," Clint said as he walked down the steps from the front stoop. The shallow yard facing the street allowed him to reach the rest of the group in a few long-legged strides. He was of an equal height with Max, lean and hawkish looking with pale blue eyes and straw-colored hair. "When we received my sister's wire saying she'd remarried in May, we were somewhat surprised. It was rather sudden."

"There's a lot I couldn't explain in a telegram, Clint," Sky interjected, reaching up to hug her brother.

"Well, we certainly aren't going to hear it standing in the middle of the street," Delilah said as the hack clopped away. "Come inside and we'll have a cool libation. St. Louis may not be London, but we are civilized here...well, mostly." She gave Max a polite smile and added, "Please, call me Delilah. We are family now, aren't we?"

He detected an undertone, not exactly of mistrust, but certainly of caution. "Yes, we are, and I'm Max to family and friends."

"And the Limey to folks out West," Clint said, his pale gambler's eyes fixed on his new brother-in-law. In spite of his sardonic comment, he extended his hand.

Now Max understood their guarded reaction to him. "I hope you won't hold my past against me," he replied, shaking Clint's hand. "Sky has changed my life since the day we met." Nothing could have been more true!

As they entered the foyer of the lovely house, Sky said, "What my husband means is that he's a peer of the Queen's vast realm now. And I am officially a lady—and don't you dare snort, Clinton Daniels," she added with mock severity.

"Wouldn't dare. You'd take a scalping knife to me," he deadpanned, studying her, then returning his gaze to Max.

"Yes, I would. I said 'officially,' not truly, Clint," Sky retorted with a sassy grin.

Delilah led them into the front parlor and rang for refreshments. When everyone was settled, she instructed the maid to take her daughter and the two boys upstairs for afternoon naps. Rob and his younger brother Jacques protested, but were quickly overruled. They trotted obediently up the steep steps in the long hallway outside the wide parlor door, peeking from between the wooden rails at the fascinating stranger their aunt had married.

Below, their father and uncle continued to take each other's measure. "So, you've come into a title," Clint said as they faced each other, seated in two elegant wing-back chairs while the women occupied the green brocade sofa. "That the reason for the quick trip to London? I was rather curious when Sky sent her cryptic telegram," Clint said.

"So, like any good brother, you had me investigated," Max replied good-naturedly. "I'd do the same in your place. We did have some papers to sign in London to make me officially a baron. The uncle who raised me died without heirs."

"Oh, please accept our condolences," Delilah interjected.

Max nodded. "Harry detested mourning clothes. We only wore them in England. He wouldn't have wanted to see Sky draped in black, even though the color favors her."

Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
Sky felt her cheeks heat beneath his warm gaze. She knew they had to convince Clint and Delilah that they were truly married, but the ruse was painful for her. She had always had a difficult time concealing anything from either of them.

Max explained how he'd become heir to the title and that his uncle had bequeathed him an unentailed fortune besides, hoping the knowledge of Sky's being well provided for would quell some of the Danielses' concerns about his shady past. Heaven forbid they should ever learn of the cold-blooded proposition she had broached to him that day in Bismarck...or his counterproposal.

As they had anticipated, Sky and Max were given a spacious guest bedroom—with one large bed as its focal point. After Delilah had left them to rest and freshen up for dinner that evening, Max walked around the room, inspecting the accommodations. "Well, that chaise by the window might work tolerably well," he said doubtfully.

Imagining his feet hanging over the edge, Sky shook her head as a far more disturbing image flashed into her mind—his lean muscular body stretched out on that big bed, covered by nothing more than a sheet. There would be neither walls nor locked doors between them tonight. Her voice took on a breathless quality that she tried to cover with a slight cough as she replied, "You're too tall. I'll take the chaise. You sleep in the bed."

Max studied her flushed cheeks with interest. He had learned that despite her complexion, when his wife was perturbed, a faint hint of peach-pink tinged her skin. "Rather unchivalrous if I were to allow that, don't you think, love?" he asked with a grin. "Never fear, Sky. We shall deal with each other's sensibilities. Be grateful your brother's new home has a private water closet adjoining our room."

"Frankly, I'd prefer a good screen of sagebrush to squat behind," she said, trying to match his light tone. "Would you consider sleeping in a nightshirt?" The last thing she needed was to watch him stride naked across the room to the WC in the middle of the night!

Max threw his hands in the air. "Now that is pushing English chivalry to its utmost limits. I hate the bloody things. I don't even own one. Besides, you know how hot and sticky the nights are in this river valley in summer."

"Well, since Delilah has confided that my brother does not use them either, I suppose you will just have to keep your robe close at hand during the night."

"I could wrap a sheet about myself like a Roman toga," he suggested, amused by her odd mixture of primness and earthy practicality.

Ignoring the absurd idea, Sky said, "I'll work out a schedule for our baths."

"Won't that make your sister-in-law a bit suspicious? She seems quite keen-witted, as does Daniels."

"She was a professional gambler before she married Clint." She loved the way his narrow eyes widened at that sally. "She won Clint's stern-wheeler from him in a poker game, and then the clothes right off his back. He turned the tables on her by stripping right in front of her and a crowd of people aboard the boat."

Max threw back his head and laughed. "I stand warned. A most formidable pair."

"Oh, and you'll meet Uncle Horace tonight at dinner. He was the one who taught her to play cards. He's adopted me, too. Best shot I've ever seen with either long or short arms."

"Good grief, a white Sioux, a lady gambler and now a deadly shootist. I can scarcely wait," Max replied with a resigned sigh. "It doesn't seem fair, love. You only had to face lizard-lipped Cletus."

Sky's husky laughter filled the room.

* * * *

Juggling bathing schedules proved easier than anticipated. The family had added a second tub room at the end of the hall since Sky's last visit. She returned to their room, swaddled in a long robe and flushed from a refreshing bath in tepid, scented water. Trying not to look at him, she fussed with the gown lying spread across the bed. "The new maid is refilling the tub for you," she said.

Max could smell the essence of herbal fragrance that was her unique signature. Her waist-length mass of damp hair fell like spilled ink over her shoulders, as if inviting a man to bury his fingers in it. He fought the impulse to tear the soft cotton cloth open and pull her against him in a fierce, passionate embrace.
How the hell am I going to get through a week in this room with her?
But sanity prevailed and he replied, "I'm on my way."

Her husband wore that same black brocade robe he'd purchased in England, still gaping open to reveal his pale, muscular chest with the thick pattern of gold hair enticing a woman's hands. His feet were long and narrow with high arches. She'd never seen them bare before. His beard stubble, glowing silver-gold in the evening light, she already knew. She began to fantasize about how scratchy it would feel if he kissed her, brushed his lips over her body...
Stop it!