Schulze, Dallas (9 page)

A curve in the track put the station—and Douglas—out of sight.
Lowering her head to conceal the sudden moisture in her eyes, Lila tugged at
the reticule in her lap but the strings were twisted together and resisted her
efforts to open the small bag. She fumbled with them, blinded by tears. A large
hand came into her line of vision. She blinked and stared at the snowy white
handkerchief being offered.

Bishop. She’d been so wrapped up in her grief at saying good-bye
to her brother that she’d almost managed to forget that she wasn’t alone.
Stupid, really, considering the fact that, if it hadn’t been for the man seated
across from her, she wouldn’t have had to say good-bye at all.

“It won’t bite,” he said. The hint of dry amusement in his voice
made Lila realize that she was staring at the handkerchief as if she didn’t
recognize its purpose. Flushing, she took it from him.

“Thank you,” she muttered without lifting her head. She’d never in
her life met a man who could annoy her so easily. It was her misfortune to find
herself married to him. The thought was enough to bring on a new rush of tears.
She buried her nose in his handkerchief and let the tears fall.

***

She slept. And as she slept, she dreamed.

The ballroom was a glittering rainbow of color and laughter.
Planning and organizing her brother’s wedding reception had been Lila’s final
task as Douglas’s hostess. After tonight, entertainment at River Walk would be
Susan’s responsibility. As she watched the guests swirl around the dance floor,
Lila was pardonably proud of the results of her efforts. Everything had turned
out just right. The flower arrangements were exquisite, the food was delicious,
and the champagne was marvelous. Lila knew the latter for a fact since she’d
consumed two glasses of it herself. Everyone looked as if they were having a
wonderful time.

Everyone but him.

Lila’s eyes settled on the tall, broad-shouldered figure across
the ballroom from her. Her smile faded slightly.

He
didn’t look as if he was having a wonderful time. Bishop McKenzie
surveyed the ballroom with a detached air that could have signified boredom or
simply a total lack of interest in the scene before him.

Her mouth tightened a little. It wasn’t the first time she’d
gotten the impression that Douglas’s western friend was unimpressed with the
civilized East. In fact, she was starting to wonder if anything ever impressed
Mr. McKenzie at all.

Lila continued to study him, her eyes taking on a stormy tint as
she considered Bishop’s tall figure. She couldn’t put her finger on just what
it was about him that annoyed her so. He was polite certainly. She couldn’t
fault his manners.

And it wasn’t as if he was hard to look at. Far from it. In fact,
if she were to be completely honest, she’d be forced to admit that the man was
much too handsome for her peace of mind. Hair the color of a raven’s wing,
strong, even features, and a thick black mustache that gave him a vaguely
dangerous air and sent an annoying little shiver of awareness up her spine. His
shoulders were broad, his legs long and lean—though no lady would ever notice a
man’s lower limbs. All in all, he was handsome enough to set a girl’s heart to
beating just a little faster.

Not that her own heart had done anything so foolish. And even if
it had, Mr. McKenzie had made it quite clear that the feeling was
not
mutual. He hardly seemed to know she existed. Lila’s fingers tightened on her
fan, endangering the delicate ivory sticks. She didn’t think she was particularly
vain, but, having been courted and flattered from the time she was old enough
to let her skirts down and put her hair up, she would have been very foolish
indeed to remain unaware of her own attractiveness to the opposite sex. It was
more than a little annoying to find Bishop McKenzie so completely indifferent
to her charms.

His opinion did not matter a whit. Still, there was something
about being so completely ignored that pricked her pride. Particularly tonight,
when she knew, without vanity, that she was looking her best. Her dress was of
sea-foam green silk that draped low across her bosom and left her shoulders
nearly bare. The pointed bodice dipped into a skirt cut slim across the front
before gathering in luxurious folds in the back. Silk roses in ivory and green
decorated the sides of the gathers. Long gloves covered her arms to the elbow.
Silk stockings and satin slippers dyed to match the dress completed the
ensemble. It wasn’t conceit to see that the gown complemented her pale skin and
made the most of her thick auburn hair.

Not that
he’d
seemed to notice.

As the orchestra paused between songs, Lila made her way across
the ballroom. Her progress was delayed by the necessity of pausing to speak to
friends and acquaintances; to nod and smile and agree that Susan was a
delightful young woman and Douglas was lucky to have found such a charming
bride. She liked her new sister-in-law very much, but her thoughts were turned
in another direction entirely.

“You’re not dancing, Mr. McKenzie.”

Bishop turned to look at her and Lila felt a little breathless
from the impact of those cool blue eyes. She’d never met a man who could make
her feel breathless with just a look.

“I assume you do have music out West,” she continued when he
didn’t speak.

“We do. Though not many full orchestras.” He nodded to the
formally attired musicians who sat on a raised dais at the far end of the room.
“Our dances tend to be a little more informal than this.”

“But you do dance,” she pursued.

“Sometimes.”

“You’re not dancing now.”

“Should I be?”

“As your hostess, I’m concerned that all of the guests have a good
time. You neither dance nor mingle, Mr. McKenzie. It gives a hostess some
concern.” She opened her fan and waved it idly in front of her, aware that the
motion drew attention to her low décolletage.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to give you any concern, Miss Adams,”
Bishop said solemnly. His eyes flickered downward and then back up to meet
hers, and Lila felt her skin flush with sudden heat.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mean to do so,” she said, aware of an
almost imperceptible breathlessness in her voice.

“Tell me what I can do to ease your mind,” he asked.

Lila pretended to consider, allowing her brows to draw together in
a delicate frown. She was flirting with him. The very idea should have shocked
her into more sober behavior. Behavior more befitting of Lila Adams of River
Walk, grieving fiancee of Billy Sinclair. The thought of Billy brought with it
a twinge of guilt, followed by a champagne-assisted flare of defiance. She had loved
Billy but she hadn’t died with him, despite what everyone else seemed to think.
Billy had been known and loved by everyone in Beaton, and for three years she’d
been treated with the circumspection usually reserved for widows of great war
heroes. Though she would always mourn Billy’s death, lately she’d begun to feel
as if she were suffocating beneath the weight of his memory.

But Bishop McKenzie neither knew nor cared that she’d once been
engaged to Billy Sinclair. When he looked at her, he saw only her, not her fiancé's
ghost.

There was something dangerously appealing about that thought.

“Perhaps, if you asked a lady to dance, I might be reassured that
you’re enjoying our hospitality,” she said finally.

One corner of Bishop’s mouth quirked upward but his tone remained
solemn. “What if she were to refuse? Think how humiliated I’d be.”

“I doubt a lady would refuse if you asked politely, Mr. McKenzie.”
She peeked up at him from under her lashes, feeling like a girl of seventeen
again. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed a gentle flirtation with a man.
Behind her, she heard the scratchy sound of violins being tuned and knew the
orchestra was about to start the next tune. Bishop glanced over her shoulder at
the dance floor, his expression considering. Lila knew, as clearly as if he’d
spoken out loud, that he was debating whether to ask her to dance. And she
suddenly wanted, more than anything in the world, to dance with him.

“Miss Adams, will you do me the honor of granting me this dance?”

“Perhaps this dance is already taken. I’ll have to check my dance
card.” She widened her eyes innocently and fluttered her fan a bit.

“If it’s already taken, then why are you trying to get me to ask
you to dance?” Bishop asked coolly, one black brow raised in question.

Lila gasped as if someone had just tossed cold water in her face.
He wasn’t suggesting that she... Never mind that she’d intended... He couldn’t
think...

Before she could decide whether to slap him for his gross
impertinence or simply turn and walk away, Lila's eyes met Bishop’s. In his
look, she read both humor and a challenge. He was waiting to see how she’d
react to his baiting question, daring her to surprise him. She felt excitement
flutter in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed a bubble of laughter and
formed her mouth into a prim line.

“Really, Mr. McKenzie. It’s most impolite to suggest that a lady
would try to manipulate a gentleman into an invitation to dance. Not to mention
the implication that she’d need to resort to such measures.”

“My apologies, Miss Adams.” He gave her a shallow bow. “I
certainly didn’t mean to imply that a lady as beautiful as yourself would have
to browbeat a guest into dancing with you.”

“Browbeat! Really, Mr. McKenzie, you have the most appalling
manners.”

“You’re not the first to mention it, Miss Adams,” he admitted
without concern. “May I have this dance?”

“How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?” Lila set her
gloved hand on his arm as the orchestra struck up another waltz.

Though she’d spoken in jest when she asked if they had dances in
the West, she wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find that Bishop’s skill
on the dance floor was rudimentary. She’d been willing to have her toes trod
upon in order to get a closer look at her brother’s enigmatic friend. But she realized
almost immediately that her toes were in no danger. Bishop moved with a grace
at odds with both his size and his rough appearance.

He whirled her around the floor, making her feel as light and
dainty as thistledown. The hand clasping hers was firm and strong. Where he
touched her waist, his fingers seemed to burn through the layers of clothing,
making her skin tingle with awareness.

For the first time in her life, Lila was vividly aware of the more
erotic aspects of the dance. The rhythmic dip and swirl of the movements; the
way her skirt swung out to brush against his legs as they turned. Though she’d
danced with dozens of men over the years, she’d never before been so aware of
being close to a man. When she inhaled, she could smell the sharp tang of soap
on his skin, the smooth bite of bourbon on his breath.

She looked up, ready to say something light and amusing, something
to ease the odd tension that seemed to have sprung up between them. But
whatever she’d intended to say died unspoken. He was watching her and the look
in his eyes stole her breath. Hunger.

She’d always thought of blue eyes as being cool, but Bishop’s eyes
were pure heat. With nothing more than a look, he made her vividly aware of her
femininity, of an emptiness somewhere inside her that ached to be filled, of a
loneliness that went soul deep. In a heartbeat, she was made aware of the
differences between man and woman. They moved in rhythm to the waltz, dip and
sway and turn, but Lila no longer heard the music.

There was a sudden tightness in her stomach and heat washed under
her skin, making her feel flushed and feverish. It was suddenly hard to breathe
and her lips parted as if to draw in more air. The movement brought Bishop’s
eyes to her mouth, and it was as if he’d touched her. As if he’d kissed her.

She’d never felt such a connection to another person in her life,
as if she breathed only in rhythm with him. His hand tightened over hers. He
drew her an inch closer, his fingers shifting against the curve of her waist.
Lila swayed toward him, their surroundings forgotten, everything forgotten but
the need to be closer to him, to find out if what she felt was truth or
illusion.

And then the dance was ending. He brought them to a halt, his hand
lingering against her waist in a way that had nothing to do with propriety and
everything to do with the awareness that still swirled between them. Lila kept
her eyes on his face, waiting for something, though she couldn’t have said just
what. Something had just happened between them, something too deep, too
profound to go unacknowledged. He’d felt it too. She knew he had. It was in his
eyes. It was—

“I believe this is my dance.” The vaguely plaintive comment
shattered the tension between Bishop and Lila like a hammer striking a pane of
glass.

Lila blinked and turned her head to look at the speaker. Though
she’d known Eustace Smith all her life, it took her a moment to attach a name
to his thin, pockmarked face. It was as if she’d been somewhere very far away
and was having a hard time returning to the here and now.

“I’m not—” She started to tell Eustace that he was mistaken in
thinking this was his dance, though she knew perfectly well that he was right.
But she couldn’t possibly dance with him, not when she and Bishop—