"A moment, Colt, if you please!"
Jocelyn immediately flushed, having thoughtlessly drawn every eye toward her. She had had to raise her voice for Colt to hear her, and even to her own ears she had sounded imperious. She wouldn't have blamed him if he embarrassed her further by ignoring her, but he didn't. He whipped his horse back around and waited, with obvious impatience. That he didn't dismount and come to her as would be expected of one's employee was noted, particularly by her guard, even by Miles, whose arm she could feel tense beneath her hand. But Jocelyn wasn't pressing her luck any further. Excusing herself from Miles, she quickly stepped off the porch.
For an imprudent impulse, however, it went from bad to worse, as she found out when she reached Colt. Billy had moved off to accord them a measure of privacy, but it didn't matter. Looking up at Colt, she knew without a doubt she had made a serious mistake. Although he usually kept his emotions so well hidden you never knew what he was thinking, those emotions were crystal clear right now, and they were anything but placid. She even took a step back, his look was so hostile.
Jocelyn stiffened her resolve, or tried to. So she shouldn't have approached him this soon. It was done.
She was there. And although she hadn't the faintest notion of what she had intended to say, perhaps something would come to her that might at least take the edge off his obvious anger.
"Would you get down. please?" she asked. "I want to talk to you."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I-"
"No. you don't, Duchess."
She wasn't sure of his meaning, whether he simply refused to hear what she had to say or whether he was warning her that she wouldn't care to hear what he had to say in return. Likely the latter, which was why she didn't try to detain him again when he turned about and rode off.
She turned away herself to find all of her people suddenly busy in some unnecessary activity or conversation, which told her plainly that until that mo-ment they had been avidly watching her and Colt.
It didn't embarrass her this time, though. Instead her temper flared up, especially when she noticed Miss Dry den's rather smug expression. The woman couldn't have heard Colt's refusal to speak with her, but his disrespect and animosity were unmistakable. Jocelyn could almost read Maura's thoughts: that no man would ever treat her so shabbily.
"I — ah, didn't realize he was one of your guards."
That Miles Dryden was there to assist her into her coach did not pacify Jocelyn's now simmering emo-tions in the least. Nor did she need a reminder of yesterday's foolishness.
But not for the world would she let anyone know how easily Colt could upset her, so she managed a smile, no matter that her lips felt like they would crack, they were so stiff. "He's not. He's our guide."
"A gunfighter for a guide?"
Miles seemed determined to provide an outlet for her temper, but she didn't want a substitute. Colt de-served every bit of it himself.
"His versatility makes him an excellent guide, Mr. Dryden, despite his lack of manners and wretched disposition. But if it bothers you to have such a man leading you through the wilderness—"
"Not at all," he quickly assured her.
"Then I will see you later in the day, sir."
She stepped into her coach to wait impatiently for Vanessa to join her. If Miles had thought he would be sharing her coach, she had just disabused him of that notion. Even if she had intended to give up her privacy, which she hadn't, she would have just changed her mind. Under no circumstances could she spend this day in idle conversation with virtual strangers. She would go mad if she tried.
Vanessa sensed her mood and wisely kept quiet once they were on their way. But the silence merely allowed Jocelyn's awakened ire to feed upon itself. Where she had previously been understanding of Colt's feelings, she now resented his resentment. She wasn't sorry for what had happened between them.
She wasn't about to apologize for having wanted him. True, he had resisted her at every turn, but had she held a gun on him and forced him into her bed? No, she certainly had not. So he had no business being angry with her, and she intended to tell him so at the very next opportunity.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Every instinct had warned Colt to stay away from camp that night. Already acquainted with the duch-ess's stubborn streak, he had little doubt that, having decided on a confrontation, she wouldn't be satisfied until she had it. But he wasn't ready, not by a long shot. The conclusions he had drawn about her might have enraged him enough to send him out looking for trouble, but to have those conclusions confirmed was going to be ten times worse. And if mere suspicions could ride him this hard, what would the truth do to him?
Of course, if he was wrong about her, that would be an entirely different problem, in some ways an even bigger one. It was what had made him take what she offered, despite the feet that he'd sworn never to touch a white woman again. And it would happen again — if he was wrong about her. If it did, he was afraid that he could very easily end up wanting to make her his permanently, when he knew damn well that wasn't possible.
Either way, it was better not to know the truth just yet, at least not until he was certain he could control his reaction to it. Yet knowing that, and also that the redhead would push it as she always did, he still rode into camp that night.
And that was her fault too, for allowing a stranger into their midst at this particular time, when Colt hap-pened to be so pissed off he hadn't been paying attention to any newcomers arriving in town after they had. Even with the precautions he had taken, it wasn't inconceivable that her enemy could have caught up to them in the two days they had wasted in Silver City. With the way danger followed that woman around like a homeless pup, the stranger could, in fact, be one of the Englishman's men. Even if it wasn't at all likely, the merest chance was enough to cause Colt worry. For all his protestations that he wasn't going to pro-tect her, he couldn't bear it if something happened and he wasn't there to prevent it because he was afraid tp have a confrontation with the woman.
But when the confrontation came, it came from an unexpected quarter.
As late as it was when Colt rode in, more than half the camp was still up, and it was just his luck that the duchess was one of them. He could feel her eyes fol-low him as he made his way to Billy's campfire after bedding his horse down with the others. She sat before another fire with a group of her men, her maid—
and the stranger.
Billy, who had left that group when he noticed Colt by the horses, handed him the tin plate of food he regularly kept wanned near the fire. Colt had stopped complaining that it was always the fare served up by the duchess's cook. Half the time he was too tired to know what he was eating.
"Didn't think you were going to bed down with us tonight."
With a glance at all the other fires still occupied, Colt replied. "Doesn't look like anyone's got a han-kering for sleep."
Billy shrugged. "The new fellow was spinning some pretty gruesome tales. He probably spooked some of them." Remembering those stories, and that Colt wouldn't find them entertaining, Billy quickly added, "Did you see the blonde this morning? She's his sister."
Colt ignored the question, his eyes stopping on the stranger. The duchess sat next to him, too close to him.
"Who is that guy anyway?"
"Name's Dryden, Miles Dryden."
Colt's brow knitted in thought. "He remind you of anyone, kid?"
"Can't say that he does. Why?"