The Endless Sky (Cheyenne Series) (9 page)

      
The groom! Chase heard his plaintive call, both aggravated and timorous. Cursing, he pulled his hand from inside her jacket and quickly began to refasten the buttons.

      
Stephanie felt him pull away abruptly and a faint cry of protest bubbled up as she continued to hold onto his neck. If she had let go, she knew she would have fallen to the ground, blinded and breathless. Her eyes opened and fell to where he was straightening her disheveled clothes with such practiced ease. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she withdrew her arms from around his neck and stepped back, brushing against the side of her horse. Burning heat stung her cheeks and it no longer had to do with passion.

      
“This is the second time I've thrown myself at you quite shamelessly. Now you must think I'm truly wanton.”

      
“A truly wonderful wanton,” he replied, his own voice betraying none of the fierce angry frustration his body was feeling as the groom approached.

      
Only when Stephanie caught sight of the poor servant did she realize what had almost happened. What she would have allowed to happen!

      
“I’m that sorry, Miss Summerfield, but me horse come up lame,” he said nervously as the tall half-breed's night-black eyes bored into him. In spite of Remington's expressionless face, the groom felt the tension and cleared his throat nervously, awaiting instructions. His employer's daughter looked flushed and guilty as if the breed had been taking liberties, but she only nodded to his remarks.

      
“We were just resting the horses until you caught up,” Chase said, noting the way the surly youth was looking at Stephanie.
Damn, I'll ruin her reputation yet!

      
The groom noticed that her hand continued to rest on Remington's arm. Whatever had been going on, old Josiah's prim bluestocking daughter had liked it well enough. No accounting for tastes, he thought sourly. Rich folks, who could figure them out? As the breed helped her remount, the groom waited an appropriate distance, curious about the soft murmurs of conversation exchanged between them, yet unable to hear.

      
‘‘I apologize for my actions, Stevie. I didn't intend to let things go so far,” he said as they turned their horses back toward the city.

      
She looked at him with defiance blazing in her eyes. “Well, I'm not sorry. I enjoyed it...immensely.”

      
His breath caught, then erupted in a laugh. “You always say what you mean. Don't ever change, Stevie.”

      
“I can't seem to help it,” she replied ruefully.

      
“Good.” He smiled at her.

      
“Then...you're truly not scandalized by my behavior. I'm not trying to trap you, Chase.”

      
He studied her earnest expression as they rode in silence for a moment. “Maybe I'm trying to trap myself,” he replied enigmatically as they approached the outskirts of Boston.

* * * *

      
After her disturbing ride with Chase, Stephanie was too excited to eat her lonely supper that evening. As usual Josiah worked late. She slept restlessly that night, dreaming of the wicked pleasures of Chase Remington's mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts. Awakening at dawn with the covers tangled about her legs, she arose, knowing it was useless to try going back to sleep. Perhaps Chase would call today!

      
With that thought in mind, she performed her morning toilette quickly and headed downstairs, surprised to find Josiah at the dining room table. Normally her father did not eat breakfast but headed directly to his office.

      
“Good morning, Father,” she said pleasantly, easing onto a chair as a servant held it for her, then poured a cup of steaming coffee. “I'm surprised to see you at home for breakfast.”

      
Josiah Summerfield was a small man with perpetually stooped shoulders which came from a lifetime spent pouring over account books. His thinning tan hair was cut short by the personal barber who shaved him every morning in his office while he reviewed the day's calendar of appointments. He peered at his daughter from behind heavy bifocals that magnified colorless light eyes. His thin lips were turned down in a scowl that, like the shoulders, had been acquired by years of habit.

      
“We have a matter of some importance to discuss,” he began in his usual preemptory manner, waiting for a maid to serve their omelets and tinned fruit compote, then leave the room.

      
Josiah seldom took the time to discuss anything with her. A flutter of apprehension washed over Stephanie as she thought of her most unseemly behavior with Chase Remington. When he resumed speaking she almost dropped the napkin she was spreading across her lap.

      
“Jeremiah Remington paid a call at my office yesterday. It seems he's looking for a wife for that hellion grandson of his and you are one of the candidates.” He studied her face, which went from pale to rosy as he spoke. He supposed the chit was passably good-looking if a bit tall for a female, but she had inherited his late wife's delicate features and heavy shining hair. Of course Paulina had filled her head with a lot of nonsense but that was unavoidable and would probably not mean much if he took a hand in matters now.

      
“Oh, and what does Chase have to say about all this?”

      
“Chase, is it now? He's called on you less than half a dozen times and I suppose you've already given leave for him to call you Stephanie.”

      
“Stevie,” she corrected, then wished she could call back the word. “It's an old nickname from when we were children.”

      
Josiah cleared his throat, dismissing any mention of her lonely childhood. “Be that as it may, I suppose you find the boy to your liking, even if he has...er, questionable parentage?” He raised one pale eyebrow and gazed myopically at her.

      
“Chase has every right to be proud of his Cheyenne father,” she defended hotly.

      
Josiah allowed himself one thin laugh, as if he rationed them. “Even if that makes him—to put it crudely—a bastard? Lots of gels' mamas wouldn't let a man like him near their daughters. I pointed that out to old Jeremiah, don't think I didn't. Of course, he knew the boy'd already caught your scent. The Remington name is prestigious and as the heir, the boy will be worth a fortune one day. As will you, since you're my only child. Now my question to you, Missy, is will you marry him?”

      
Stephanie twisted her napkin until it was almost shredded in her lap while her father spoke his piece. “So you and Reverend Remington have decided to arrange our betrothal—without consulting Chase, I'm certain. I won't marry a man who won't speak up for himself. If Chase wants to marry me, he can ask me himself,” she said, throwing the napkin onto her plate and rushing from the room.

      
Josiah called after her, then shook his head in vexation. Silly romantic dribble. Marriages in their class were made for sensible fiscal reasons, not on the whim of callow youths or flighty girls. It appeared she was smitten with the Remington boy, half-breed bastard that he was, not to mention his crazy mother. Well, if Stephanie threw up no vaporing objections to Chase Remington, the matter was settled as far as Josiah was concerned. He would tell Jeremiah that his grandson had better press his suit quickly so the serious business of a settlement could be worked out.

* * * *

      
That afternoon a note arrived from Chase requesting the pleasure of Stephanie's company to attend the opera the following evening. By the time he called to pick her up, she had changed her gown three times, nearly driving her little Irish maid to distraction. She finally settled on the gold silk with cream lace trim, deciding it was the most sophisticated thing she owned and would make her look more mature. Fussing with one errant strand of hair which kept slipping from the heavy knot atop her head, Stephanie gave herself one final inspection in the mirror.

      
Do I look as frightened as I feel? What will happen?
She gnawed her lips, afraid that he was only going to ask her to marry him because it was what his family wanted. No, Chase would not be swayed by the reverend. But he might propose because of some absurd notion about compromising her honor. It seemed they could not spend even a few moments alone without her ending up unclothed, letting him take appalling liberties. Was she so transparently in love with him? What if he pitied her?
Stop it!
she scolded, then forced herself to go and face him.

      
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in black evening clothes. The snowy whiteness of his silk shirt contrasted with his swarthy skin and night-black hair. The blood-red satin lining of his opera cape added an almost savage aura as he waited, so tall and handsome. She could not read anything in his face.

      
Lord above, she was stunning, his Stevie! Chase held his breath as she floated down the stairs, a glittering vision, spun of soft golden sunbeams. The faint scent of apple blossoms filled his nostrils as she approached. At once he could detect a wariness to her that had not been there before. She was always so impulsive, spontaneous and honest.

      
Old Josiah's told her.
He swore to himself, knowing how much tact the sour old merchant had probably used. About as much as Jeremiah had. He should have thrown the whole dynastic merger back in the old man's face just to spite him. But he could not do it.

      
I want her
, he admitted to himself now that he was face-to-face with her again. Oh, he'd told Jeremiah that he would consider the marriage just to rattle Burke. But even then he'd known saying that was only a sham. He desired her as he had desired no other woman, even though he knew it meant his dreams of returning home would end irrevocably the day he wed her.
Am I crazy as Mother?
At that moment he honestly didn't know.

      
Chase reached for her hands, ensconced in elbow-length cream kid gloves. Taking both, he raised them to his lips for a chaste salute that somehow became something far more charged and erotic when he felt her pulse leap through the thin soft leather. “You're beautiful,” he said simply, then asked, “Where is our chaperone?”

      
“Mrs. Wright is waiting for us in the study. Anthony was to ask you to wait there with her while he informed me of your arrival.”

      
“He did, but I decided I'd rather watch you come down the stairs. Every head in the opera hall will turn when I enter the box with you.”

      
She blushed with pleasure and murmured, “I wish we could leave Mrs. Wright behind.”

      
“What would people say?” he asked with mock indignation, always caught off balance by her combination of pristine innocence and free-spirited lack of concern for convention.

      
“What indeed?” she echoed.

      
“Do you like Salieri?”

      
“No,” she replied honestly. “Do you?”

      
“No. He's a boring composer but the opera was an excuse to ask you out for a late dinner.”

      
“I have an idea. Father won't return until around midnight. He spends every Thursday evening at his club and it never varies. If I know Mrs. Wright, she's already been tippling his sherry.”

      
He raised one dark eyebrow speculatively, unable to stop the grin spreading across his lips. “What do you have in mind, vixen?”

      
“An earlier dinner without Signor Salieri's pompous arias—unless you must hear the divine Sara sing?” she couldn't resist adding.

      
Unbelievably, Chase felt himself blush beneath his swarthy skin. “Sara and I parted ways some weeks ago.”
After I found you again.
“How did a sheltered miss like you hear about such a thing?”

      
“Society misses gossip worse than fishwives,” she said dismissively, unwilling to let him know how much the rumor had pained her when first she heard it. “Now let me introduce you to Mrs. Wright. We'll take a few moments for sherry. I guarantee you by the time our carriage reaches the opera, she'll be snoring fit to frighten the horses!”

      
They entered the study and Stephanie very properly introduced Mrs. Wright to Chase. The chaperone was delighted to join them in a bit more sherry.

      
The older woman was a distant cousin of Josiah's father, paid to fulfill the duty of chaperoning his headstrong daughter. While Stephanie hated having no real family to rely on for social occasions, Mrs. Wright's fondness for sherry could be useful. The day of her disastrous sled ride with Oliver Standish, the chaperone had been left behind at the last moment due to an “indisposition.” Josiah had not been present to say her nay, so Stephanie had done what Paulina would have let her do—left without benefit of a chaperone. She prayed her plan to “indispose” the old harridan tonight worked.

      
When it was time to leave, Chase offered an arm to each lady and they walked through the open walnut door and out into the cool spring evening. Once they were securely ensconced inside the coach, the fumes of sherry on the plump old woman's breath were almost as noticeable as had been her stiff reaction to Chase.

      
She's worried I might scalp her charge,
he thought in grim amusement, then ignored her as she stared out the carriage window at the gaslit streets, making no pretense at being anything other than a paid employee. He was desperate to speak with Stephanie alone, but all they could do was make polite small talk in route.