Nobody's Darling

All this talk of matrimony must be making him sick.

He felt suddenly compelled to blurt out, “Drew and I are the only men in town above seventeen and under eighty who aren’t looking for a wife.”

If the news disappointed her, she hid it well. “The rest of them were even willing to court a woman accused of attempted murder?”

“Unless you’d been convicted of poisoning your last five husbands, they’d court you. And a few of them might overlook even that minor transgression.”

She studied the droopy little bouquet for a moment before murmuring, “How sweet.”

Aw, hell, Billy thought, slanting her a disgusted look. The last thing he needed was a romantic on his hands. Sugar melted too easily in the blazing New Mexico sun, but vinegar kept its tart tang even under the most brutal circumstances.

He deliberately hardened both his voice and his face. “It’s always sweet when a man can get a poke he doesn’t have to pay for.”

She shot him a shocked look, blushed, then stiffened. For a brief moment, Billy regretted disillusioning her. It had been too easy. Like swiping a peppermint stick from a baby.

She was too incensed to notice that they’d reached their destination. “Perhaps those gentlemen possess purer motives than your own, Mr. Darling.”

He just barely resisted the urge to snort. “I’m sure you’re right, ma’am. That would explain why they hoard their earnings all week so they can donate them to this charitable establishment every Saturday night.”

That said, he pushed open the door of the two-story clapboard house that sat on the most prominent corner of Calamity’s only street and ushered her inside. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windowpanes Miss Mellie had imported from San Francisco to prevent potential customers from peeking without paying.

Billy glanced down at his companion, gratified to discover the loquacious Miss Fine had finally been struck dumb.

Everything about the parlor, from its plush Oriental carpets to its brass-studded leather furniture, had been chosen to please a man. But the women sprawled about the room in graduating states of undress were savoring the precious afternoon hours in which they were allowed to please only themselves. Although their faces still bore traces of the rouge they’d worn the night before, their smiles were sincere and their giggles almost girlish.

Maude napped on a high-backed divan, her dimpled knees in a shameless sprawl. Caroline, clad only in a scanty wrapper, dabbed scarlet paint on Esther’s toenails. Eliza, Bea, and Dorothea clustered around an occasional table, trading last night’s earnings back and forth in a riotous poker game. All three of the women puffed gamely on cigars pilfered from their clients.

Miss Fine’s delicate nostrils twitched. The cigar smoke mingled with the fragrance of cheap lilac water and the stale musk of sex, creating a cloying aroma Billy had never noticed before. As overpowering as it was, the tantalizing fragrance of fresh peaches wafted to his nose, making it twitch with curiosity.

It was only then that he realized Esmerelda had inched even closer to him. He swept his gaze across the parlor, seeing the women through her widened eyes—the spill of pale flesh over half-unlaced corsets, black lace garters peeping out from gaping wrappers, mussed sausage curls, ruby lips still swollen from the kisses of strangers.

Esmerelda’s affronted innocence should have amused him, but it made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time—shame. Although he enjoyed needling the prim Miss Fine, he should never have brought a lady to this place.

Since it was too late to rectify his mistake, he grabbed her hand and drew her toward the back stairwell. The abrupt movement had the opposite effect of what he’d intended. Every eye in the parlor turned to stare at them.

Billy scowled fiercely, hoping to discourage comment. When it came to teasing, the girls could be more merciless than a bevy of older sisters. But his murderous expression was to no avail.

A sultry giggle sounded behind them, warning him that Maude had awakened from her nap. “She the gal that tried to shoot you, Billy? I do hope your aim is better than hers.”

Esther shook a finger at him. “Now, Billy, you know Miss Mellie said no more bringing home strays unless they sleep in the barn.”

Caroline gave one of Esther’s newly painted toenails a suggestive blow. “Oh, I dare say he’ll find a place for this one to sleep.”

The girls erupted into gales of laughter. Almost wishing he were the sort of man who could shoot a woman, Billy quickened his steps.

Dorothea winked at Esmerelda over her hand of cards. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He may be in a rush now, but our Billy always takes his time when it counts the most.”

Foreign prickles of heat surged up the back of his neck. Fortunately, they’d already ducked into the shadows of the stairwell. When they reached the first landing, Esmerelda began to drag her feet. By the time they arrived at the top of the stairs, she was practically dead weight.

He drew her into the largest of the two attic rooms and slammed the door behind them as if they were being pursued by a cloud of harpies. Before he turned around, he braced himself to receive another well-deserved lecture on his morals. Or lack of them.

But when he faced his guest, he discovered that she’d backed halfway across the room. All the color had bled from her cheeks, revealing a faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Please…” she whispered. She backed into the bedpost, then flinched as if a monster had grabbed her from behind.

I sure hope your aim is better than hers.

Our Billy always takes his time when it counts the most.

As he gazed into her tear-glazed eyes, he realized exactly who she thought that monster was.

She actually believed he’d brought her to this place to… that he intended to punish her for nearly shooting him by…

He rested his hands on his hips, incredulous. “Just what kind of man do you think I am?”

Her convulsive swallow was answer enough.

Billy couldn’t have said why her reaction stung so deeply. People had believed the worst of him most of his life. Everyone knew bad blood ran in his veins. Darling blood. The same blood that was even now pooling hot and heavy in his groin and making him wish he was every bit as bad as she thought he was.

He had no defense except to do what he’d always done—try not to disappoint. Folding his arms over his chest, he drawled, “I realize you’re mine, Miss Fine, bought and paid for. But I don’t intend to take a pound of your pretty flesh as penance for your crime. There’s more flesh in this whorehouse than even a man of my voracious appetites requires. You must have a pretty inflated opinion of yourself if you think I’d spend fifteen dollars on you when I could have any one of those girls downstairs for a dollar.”

Esmerelda didn’t bluster or bristle as he’d hoped. She simply dragged off her bonnet, the tremble in her hands more pronounced than before. Her rapid blinking warned him that she was still dangerously near tears. Seeing her try so valiantly not to cry was almost worse than seeing her cry.

“Forgive me, Mr. Darling. It’s been a rather trying day. I thought—”

Billy had no use for her apologies. “When’s the last time you ate, Miss Fine?”

“This morning,” she replied, just a shade too hastily.

“Give me your reticule,” he said gruffly. When she only clutched it tighter, he sighed. “I’m not going to rob you. I try to confine myself to stealing family heirlooms from little old ladies and candy from babies.”