Tarnished Angel (11 page)

    The mouth so close to hers tightened into an angry line. The rheumy eyes narrowed into slits. "And I'm
thinkin
' what I do is none of your damned business, Doc."

    Relief swept Devina's senses. Charles Carter! He would make this filthy cowboy release her! But Devina's jubilation was short-lived as the cowboy's grip shifted to encircle her waist and he hauled her to his side. Held roughly in the crook of his arm, Devina saw that the cowboy's other hand was hovering near the gun hanging low on his hip.

    "I'm not armed, Bart, and I don't expect you'd want our little talk to come to that in any case." Her eyes darting to Charles Carter's face, Devina was incredulous to see the hint of a smile that flicked across his well-shaped lips as he continued, "Bart, that young woman you've got tucked under your arm isn't what you think she is. She's new in town. I'm sure she didn't realize a respectable lady doesn't walk on this side of the street."

    "Respectable lady?" The cowboy slanted a short glance out of the corner of his eye toward Devina's flushed face. "Hell, there
ain't
no lady I ever seen that dresses like this here girl. And
ain't
no lady I know who looks at a man like she does, and wiggles her sweet little behind like this one."

    Incensed at the cowboy's remarks, Devina lashed out at him furiously. "How would you know how a lady acts? You've probably never met a real lady in your life!"

    "Devina, please…"

    Snapping her furious gaze back to Charles Carter, Devina felt her anger flare anew at the amusement growing more apparent on his face with each passing moment. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and when she replied, her voice was little more than a growl. "I do not find this situation amusing, Charles."

    Beginning to appear confused, the cowboy gradually relaxed his gun hand. He shook his head, still refusing to loosen his grip around Devina's waist. "You know this girl, Doc?"

    "Yes, I know her, Bart. This young lady is Devina Dale, Harvey Dale's daughter."

    Devina felt the shock of Charles's statement echo through the cowboy's wiry frame.

    "Harvey Dale's daughter!" Releasing her with a suddenness that almost upset her balance, the cowboy stepped back. "Hell, I done some work for Mr. Dale a while back, and I don't want no trouble with him." His astonishment turning to anger, the cowboy turned an accusing gaze on Devina. ''Seems to me a man like Harvey Dale would have more sense than to turn his daughter loose on the streets
lookin
' and
actin
' for all the world like one of Blond Marie's girls."

    Her gaze snapping to Charles once more, Devina inquired with barely controlled anger, "Who is this Blond Marie?"

    Extending his arm, Charles drew Devina to his side. His lips twitching suspiciously, he looked down briefly into her flushed face. "Never mind, Devina."

    "What do you mean, 'never mind'? This man has accosted me, insulted me!"

    "It was all a misunderstanding, wasn't it, Bart?"

    Bart's horrified expression responded with silent eloquence, but Charles pressed insistently, "Wasn't it, Bart?"

    Bart nodded his head. "It sure as hell was." Turning abruptly, he pushed his way back into the saloon, exiting the scene as quickly as he had appeared.

    Doing her best to ignore the snickers of witnesses to her humiliating encounter, Devina pulled herself rigidly erect. Suddenly realizing the abbreviated brim of her saucy little hat was sitting almost on her brow, she raised her hand with great dignity and gave it an effective shove. Refusing to acknowledge its uncertain sway as she turned once more in Charles's direction, Devina raised her chin a notch higher.

    "I am most grateful for your timely assistance, Charles. I cannot comprehend how
thatthat
foul character could have been so confused as to think that I… that he…" She paused, at a loss for words, only to continue a moment later with greater emphasis, "That ignoramus wouldn't know a lady if he tripped over one… and he almost did!"

    Devina's annoyance flared anew at the deepening of the lines at the corners of Charles's mouth, and her eyes narrowed into   angry slits. "Charles, I repeat: I do not find this situation at all amusing."

    Making an admirable attempt at solemnity, Charles nodded.

    "You're right, Devina, of course. But now I suggest that we"

    "We?" Her brows rising with haughty disdain, Devina shook her head imperiously. "I don't know what
you
intend doing, but
I'm
going to the Wells Fargo office."

    "I don't think that's a good idea, Devina."

    Devina's smile turned to pure acid. "Does it surprise you to hear me say I don't care what you think, Charles?"

    Charles's lips stretched into a smile. "No, it honestly doesn't, Devina. But in any case, it would be a mistake."

    "Mistake?" Pushed beyond the limits of her control, Devina walked stiffly toward her original destination. Her head high, she ignored the stares that followed her. She lifted her chin higher as Charles's step sounded beside her, then turned with a haughty stare as Charles politely took her arm.

    "If you please, Charles. I like to make my own mistakes. And now that I realize what I'm up against in this uncivilized outpost, you may rest assured I will be more careful in the future."

    Refusing to relinquish her arm, Charles conformed to her pace while carefully tucking her arm under his. His expression sober at last, he responded, "All the care in the world won't protect you from a similar situation if you stay on this side of the street, Devina."

    Devina hesitated.

    "Of course, you couldn't be expected to know," Charles went on, "but respectable women don't walk on this side of the street."

    A small sound of agreement came from Lai Hua, who was a few steps behind them. Devina shot a glance at her obviously shaken young maid.

    "You must be joking, Charles."

    "I couldn't be more serious, Devina." A hint of his previous humor returning, Charles shook his head. "Poor Bart, I suppose he walked out of the Alhambra and thought he had stepped into paradise when he saw you waiting for him."

    "I was not waiting for him!"

    "I think he thought you were. You really should have some   sympathy for the poor fellow, Devina. Consider how disappointed he must be."

    "Sympathy! He insulted me! He said I dressed like a… like a… He said I wiggled my sweet little"

    "You can't fault the man for his taste."

    "Charles!"

    Shock bringing her to an abrupt halt, Devina stared at Charles Carter for long moments before the humor of the situation began to take hold. Oh, Lord, could this whole humiliating situation truly have happened to her? The broadening of Charles's smile was infectious, and Devina was suddenly laughing. Charles's low laughter joined hers, effectively relieving both her embarrassment and her tension.

    Sober at last, Devina turned toward Lai Hua. "I apologize, Lai Hua. I should have given you a chance to explain. You may rest assured I will never make so foolish a mistake again. And I'll offer a proper explanation to my
fatherif
he finds out what happened."

    "You may rest assured he'll hear about it, Devina. That was too good a show not to bear repeating."

    Charles's soft comment turned Devina back in his direction. Her expression was pained. "You think so?"

    "I know so."

    "Oh, dear."

    Charles's face creased with concern. "If you're afraid your father will be angry, I'll be happy to"

    "Me? Afraid of my father?" Devina took a deep breath and attempted to retain her smile. "Charles, I do most sincerely appreciate your help today, but please, don't say another word about that."

    His smile suddenly returning, Charles nodded. "In that case, since you seem determined to visit the Wells Fargo office, would you mind my accompanying you? I would feel much safer…"

    Devina's smile softened. "Actually, now that I understand the circumstances, I would feel much safer, too, Charles. I would be happy to have you accompany me, even though I intend to speak to John Henry Thomas in any case."

    "I'm sure you do."

    Tucking her arm more firmly under his, Charles urged Devina along at his side. Leaning toward her confidentially, he whispered in a tone meant for her ears alone, "Actually, I disagree with Bart, Devina. I rather like your ensemble. I don't think you look like a"

    "Charles!"

    Realizing her cheeks were just a shade short of the color of her gown, Devina avoided Charles's amused smile and maintained a wise silence.

    A moment later she entered the Wells Fargo office and approached the fellow at the desk.

    "I would like to speak to John Henry Thomas."

    Devina accepted Charles's
proferred
arm once more as she emerged from the Wells Fargo office a short time later. Although she was dissatisfied with the outcome of her errand, she made no comment as he guided her across the busy intersection of Fifth and Allen. When she finally spoke, her voice was as dejected as her thoughts: "Well, that was a complete waste of time."

    "I'm sorry, Devina, but it's obvious John Henry hasn't the slightest idea who the men were who robbed the stage."

    "I was so sure he would be able to remember something about the man that might furnish a clue to his identity."

    His expression devoid of its previous mirth, Charles directed a strangely intense gaze into her eyes. "What about you, Devina?"

    "Me?"

    "You're the one who was closest to the fellow. You gave the marshal a description, but was there anything special about the man that might set him apart or something that might ring a bell in someone's mind? What do you remember most about him?"

    Charles's dark eyes were searching her face, and Devina felt herself pale. What did she remember about the man? She remembered everything, the husky timbre of his voice and the threat it contained, the relentless strength of his arm as it crushed her ribs, the hard wall of his chest against her back, the sweet scent of his breath against her cheek. But most of all she remembered his eyes, their darkly mysterious, penetrating quality. They were menacing, merciless, impossible to dismiss from her mind.

    
You wouldn't be worth the trouble
…

    "Devina?"

    Snapping back to the present, Devina attempted a smile.

    "What do I remember most? He was filthy. He smelled of whiskey and the trail. His clothes were old and baggy, giving the impression that the fellow was nothing but a drunkard and a derelict. I later realized he was neither of those things, Charles. It was all an act, but his disguise was too complete for me to tell you what he actually looked like. He had a full straggly beard and long hair that curled inside the collar of his shirt. He wore his hat pulled down over his face so I had no opportunity to scrutinize his features, even if I'd been inclined to do so. All I can tell you is what I've told others before, that he was tall and that his hair and eyes were black. And he was strong, Charles, very strong. His arm was like steel when he held me prisoner, and he lifted me out of the coach without the slightest effort. And he was ruthless. I… I have no doubt he would have killed me if I had challenged him."

    A shudder moved down her spine as Devina uttered last words. She immediately regretted having allowed her fear to regain control when she saw concern replace the intensity in Charles Carter's eyes. Wondering how she could ever have thought Charle's eyes similar to those that haunted her, she gave a short laugh. "I'm not much more help than John Henry, am I?"

    Smiling without comment, Charles wisely changed the subject. "Well, it seems you've seen the worst of Tombstone since your arrival, Devina. I'd say it's time for you to be introduced to the more civilized aspects of town. If you have no other plans, I'd like to take you to lunch."

    Surprised at the genuine regret that accompanied her refusal, Devina shook her head. "I'm sorry, Charles. I'm meeting Father for lunch at the Can-Can at twelve."

    Charles checked his watch. "In that case we'd better walk faster. If I remember correctly, Harvey Dale doesn't like to be kept waiting."

    Startled that the hours of the morning had passed so quickly, Devina followed Charle's lead. At the door of the restaurant a few minutes later, Devina turned to face Charles. "I'm truly sorry I can't accept your invitation this afternoon. I find your company very enjoyable, Charles."

    "So enjoyable that you'll agree to accompany me to Schieffelin Hall for the performance of"

    "of Sardou's
Divorçons
?" Devina gave a short laugh. "I'd be delighted."

    The warmth of Charle's smile lingered as Devina made her way through the crowded restaurant toward her father's table, and she experienced the surprising realization that she liked Charles Carter. She liked him immensely.

    His gaze lingering on Devina's slender, curved figure as she made her way between the tables, Charles waited at the doorway until she had joined her father. With a smile he acknowledged Harvey Dale's wave and turned away.

    His expression suddenly intense, Charles started back in the direction from which he had come. He was disappointed. He had begun to hope more would come of Devina's unexpected predicament that morning, but it appeared Devina could give him no more information about the men who had stolen the payroll than she had already given the marshal. Damn! He had been hoping that once she had overcome her initial fright, she would remember something more helpful about the man in the coach, the unacknowledged leader of the thieves.

    Feeling discouraged, Charles took a deep breath. Well, one good thing had come about from their meeting. He would see Devina tomorrow night on a social level. That was a step in the right direction. He had been intrigued with Devina Dale from the moment he had seen her standing in his office doorway. Their unexpected meeting today had only served to heighten that fascination. Devina Dale was a beautiful young woman who grew more interesting with each encounter.

    His expression still intensely serious, Charles increased his pace. He definitely enjoyed Devina's company, and he believed she enjoyed his. A closer association with her would be beneficial in more ways than one.

    Hudson's Drugstore was only a few feet away when Charles again checked his watch. Old Maggie Whitmore would be arriving at his office soon, expecting more of her powders to be ready and waiting. She didn't trust the pharmacist. She would take medication only if Charles gave it to her personally, but he didn't mind making that small concession to the woman's eccentricity. He could do little else to relieve the incurable disease that swelled her joints. He had just enough time to pick up the powders and return.

    As soon as Charles disappeared into Hudson's Drugstore, Camille
DuPree
stepped out of the doorway in which she had concealed herself. She ran a quick hand over the upward sweep of her fiery tresses and straightened her back as she stepped out onto the board sidewalk. She was well aware that she was unusually tall compared with the rest of Blond Marie's girls, but she was proud of her height. She was also conscious of the fact that her height offset the rather generous proportions of her voluptuous body.

    Camille had never gone through the scrawny phase most women experienced in adolescence. She had always been full-breasted. At the age of twelve she had reached her present height of eight inches over the mark of five feet, and was fully developed to almost her present size. It had been that early maturity which had set her on the road she had eventually taken to relieve the poverty of a home with an ailing mother, too many children, and a father who worked relentlessly to support them on a small farm on the outskirts of Paris until it put him in his grave.

    When there had been no food in the house to feed her brothers and sisters, and when Mama no longer had the strength to pull herself out of bed, Camille had taken to a bed of another kind. It had not been difficult to find men who would pay to make love to her, despite the fact that she was not truly beautiful. The brilliance of her red hair and laughing brown eyes had always caught the male eye. The advent of physical maturity had changed the tenor of those glances, but Camille knew that men found her interesting in more ways than the most obvious. She supposed it was her outlook on life that drew them to her; at least, that was what she had been told countless times.

    "Camille, you're always ready with a smile… Camille, you never let anything get you down." And what was it Charles had said to her countless times?" Camille, you can make me smile when I think I haven't a smile left in me. You're good for me, lady. You make me feel good, real good."

    And that was what she wanted to do, make Charles feel good. She wanted that more than anything else in the world, and she had been satisfied knowing that she was the only one who performed that service for the handsome doctor.

    She remembered well the first time Charles had come to Blond   Marie's house. Not at all the common brothel, Blond Marie's was one of two houses in Tombstone that were run by the French syndicate which had brought Camille from her homeland to this new country. Having become bored with Paris she had been only too happy to begin an adventure in a new land, especially since her contract with the syndicate included a generous payment with which she was able to provide
doweries
for sisters. Camille herself had cast aside the thought of marriage. Her life had taken a different route, and she was not one to bemoan the force of circumstance.

    She had had little fear of coming to this new land, for she had spoken to several of Le Comte's girls who had since returned. A procedure had been established in which the girls were, transported to a house in the American West and returned to Paris after two years to have others take their place. It was a system Le Comte had devised and with which no one argued, not even Blond Marie.

    Camille was justly proud to be the one exception to that procedure. She stayed in Tombstone far beyond the normal term, because she was unusually popular. As the mistress of the house of pleasure for Tombstone's gentry, Blond Marie refused to have an open bar on the premises so as to avoid the drunken brawls that were so common in the other houses, and she set a price so high as to eliminate the common men of the town from her clientele. But although the house was filled with beautiful Frenchwomen, many of whom were far lovelier than she, Camille
DuPree
was everyone's favorite. When the had come for her to return to Paris, the protests of Blond Marie's wealthy clients had been so vociferous that Le Comte had decided to allow Camille to remain in Tombstone indefinitely.

    Maintaining her brisk step down the busy sidewalk, Camille nodded in reply to the effusive greetings of the men she passed. Her broad smile, revealing well-shaped, perfect teeth, flashed as a host of memories assaulted her mind.

    Camille had been pleased beyond words when Charles Carter had entered her life. She remembered the first time he had come to Blond Marie's. He had been called to examine Simone, who had fallen downstairs. The moment he walked through the door, Camille had reacted to his male presence. Her own unusual height had always led her to prefer tall, well-built men whose   size made her feel feminine and small. She preferred dark-haired men as well, and she had warmed spontaneously to the concern in his gaze, his gentleness and capability in treating Simone's injury.

    Comfortable with no one other than her, Simone had insisted that Camille remain in the room while Charles treated her. She had worked closely at his side, her concern for Simone tempered by her extreme physical reaction to Charles's masculinity. Her response to his soft-spoken air of command and competency had been overwhelming.

    Charles had returned several times to check Simone's progress, and when his obligation to her was done he had continued to come to see Camille. Simone had since returned to Paris, but Charles's visits had only in frequency.

    Although Camille had never spoken aloud her feelings, Charles's entrance into her life had changed it beyond measure. For the very first time, Camille was in love.

    With a long history of varied experience with men behind her, Camille had not thought that the act of love could hold any more surprises. But she had been wrong. In Charles's arms, passions never before experienced had come to life inside her. While still maintaining the interest of her other regular customers, she had found there was a part of her that belonged to Charles alone. That he requested her exclusively, no matter the arrival of newer, prettier girls who occasionally drew her other customers, if only temporarily, made her heart sing. It was only she who satisfied Charles's deep and moving passion. That was just, for it was only he who satisfied hers.

    Swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat, Camille took a deep breath and crossed the hustle of Fifth Street with caution. Yes, she had given Charles all she could, but there was one thing she could never give him. Respectability had been beyond her reach since she was a child, and she was only too aware that when the time came for Charles to choose the woman with whom he would share his life, it would not be she.

    It was for that reason her heart had stopped when she saw Charles face the gun of Bart Wheeler to protect Harvey Dale's beautiful daughter. She had watched the play of emotions on his
facehis
concern, his deference to the young woman's wishes, his eventual amusement. She had seen the interest in his eyes.

    She had seen him accompany the beautiful young woman into an office farther up the street, and she had dallied as long as possible in the small boutique in which she had been shopping, waiting for them to emerge. Having finally given up, she had stepped out onto the street at the same moment as Charles and the lovely Mademoiselle Dale. They had not seen her, and she had been relieved. She knew her were reflected only too clearly in her eyes for Charles not to read them.

    She had drawn back into a nearby doorway, unable to look away from the sight of Charles's protective posture and Devina Dale's thoughtless acceptance of it. Camille's pain had increased when Charles leaned down to speak to the young woman in a confidential manner, his eyes searching her upturned face. Camille had seen Charles with other women on the street before, but this time there was a subtle difference in his
mannera
heartbreakingly revealing difference. The knowledge that she could not compete with Devina Dale's beauty and respectability was a bitter pill indeed.

    As she neared Sixth and the neat structure of Blond Marie's house came into view, Camille paused. A familiar figure was emerging from the front door.

    The man paused as he saw her approach. His lined aristocratic face creased into a smile, and his well-groomed white mustache moved expressively as he spoke. "Camille, I had given up on you. Marie tried to talk me into allowing Danielle to entertain me, but I told her I'd come back later when you had returned."

    Accepting the hand Willard Kingston held out to her, Camille responded to the wealthy rancher with a smile. "So you waited for me, my dear Willie, when Danielle, who is so much prettier than I, was willing to serve you. Why is that, my dear fellow?"

    Tucking her hand under his arm, Willard Kingston whispered softly into her ear as he drew her to his side and urged her through the doorway from which he had just emerged. "I waited for you because Danielle's beauty is only on the surface. I enjoy talking to you as much as I like occupying your bed. You warm me in more ways than one, Camille, and I don't mind admitting I've become very attached to you. Neither do I mind waiting or paying the high price for your favors. You're worth it."