"And you didn't use me? I wasn't there that night, beneath you, filled with your flesh?"
He wanted to hit her for that, for making him burn to get inside her again with the vivid image her words created in his mind, even more than he already burned from holding her. And she wasn't finished.
"Is that what you're trying to tell me, Thunder? That you found no pleasure in my bed?"
"Shut up, damn you!"
"Then what exactly do you resent? That I chose you to be my first lover? Or that I took advantage of your moment of weakness?" And then she went for blood. "That's what's really bothering you, isn't it? I know you didn't want me. You made that abundantly clear every time I got near you. But I managed to seduce you into losing control anyway, and you can't stand that, can you?"
He drew back his hand, but when she didn't flinch from it, he clenched his fist and lowered it. "Answer me one question, Duchess. When did you decide to use me, before or after you forced this damn job down my throat?" When she didn't answer him immediately, he sneered, "Just as I thought. When a man buys a whore, he makes sure he gets his money's worth. Did you?"
She was furious enough to reply, "Of course. You are, after all, a prime specimen of manhood, quite the most handsome I’ve ever encountered." There was enough sarcasm in her tone to make him doubt there was any truth in her words. And then she added just for spite, "But it was a trifling sum, if you must know. So you needn't worry that you cost me dearly. You didn't. Besides, you have so many other uses, I really did make a splendid bargain, didn't I?"
His answer was to snarl, "I suspected you were a spoiled bitch!"
"And I knew you were an arrogant bastard. So what does that prove? How blind lust can be?"
It was the last taunt Colt could stand without giving in to his urges, and at the moment his greatest urge was to cut out that razor-sharp tongue of hers. The only other thing he could do was leave, which he did.
She misunderstood, however, and shouted after him, "Don't mistake me, Thunder! I have no inten-tion of releasing you from my service until you've finished the job you agreed to. Do you hear me? Don't you dare quit on me!"
He stopped, but only after putting enough distance between them. With the brightly lit camp behind him, she could only see his silhouette, which was just as well, since his expression was now murderous.
"I don't quit, but I give you fair warning, woman. For the last time, stay the hell away from me."
"With pleasure!" she retorted, but his long strides had already increased the distance between them, so she wasn't sure he'd heard her.
She watched until he disappeared behind one of the wagons, then turned about to stare blindly at the far-off mountains. For her ears only she mumbled, "Hateful beast," and then promptly burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jocelyn set her plate aside and then stretched before leaning back against the pillows scattered under the silken lean-to, which was set up for her luncheon each day. It was one of the luxuries she wouldn't need much longer. With the days as cool as they now were in late November, a shaded area in which to eat the noon meal wasn't necessary anymore, was only still being erected at Vanessa's insistence, since she was of the old school that believed a lady's skin should never be touched by the sun, even if it was a cold sun. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly over the slight golden tan Jocelyn had acquired by riding every day now that the torrid southern heat was bowing to winter.
Two weeks had passed since leaving Silver City. They'd dipped south briefly to get around the southern mountains, then ridden almost straight east, until they crossed the Rio Grande River and turned to follow it north. It was much easier traveling after that because they encountered the ancient El Camino Real, or Royal Highway, that stretched from Santa Fe, which they were heading toward, clear down to Mexico City. In fact, they could have used this old road, which had first served as a trade route more than three hundred years ago, if they hadn't originally planned on going to California.
According to Billy, the El Camino Real met up with the Santa Fe Trail, another old trade route. It had been established only some sixty years ago and would lead them out of the mountains, east again, and straight onto the Great Plains, which were the flat grasslands that reached clear into Canada. They'd also found out from Billy just how far away this Wyoming was. If they had known to begin with that it would take nearly two months to reach. but that was a moot point now, considering how far they had already come-.
The road, however, made for a less bumpy ride, and the scenery was lovely, with the San Andres Mountains on the right, the river on the left with more mountain ranges beyond it, trees now in abundance in magnificent fall colors, and even, for several days, the wideopen Jornada del Muerto valley to ex-ercise the horses in.
The desertlike quality of the land had not disappeared entirely, however. There was still cactus to be seen, white and purple sage and creosote bushes, long stretches of parched ground or even white sands, and very little grass other than grama, but they were accustomed to such after traveling so long in these southern regions.
Now, as they neared the Rocky Mountains and Santa Fe, which was only three days away, there were even more ranges on every side, and more lovely val-leys to explore. But Jocelyn didn't feel like exploring today. Her sigh must have suggested the same to Vanessa.
"It's not the heat, and the lunch was light enough," the countess remarked beside her. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"
"As well as usual," Jocelyn replied, which wasn't admitting much, since Vanessa was unaware of the many bad nights she'd been having recently.
She knew the cause, though that did nothing to alleviate the problem. She was simply suffering a long-drawn-out case of severe embarrassment over her conduct during the last encounter with Colt.
That blasted fight. She couldn't get it out of her mind, even two weeks later.
The very next day she had begun her monthly time, which she had eagerly used to excuse her uncalled-for tears that night, as well as her horrid behavior. But she still burned with shame every time she re-called how she had allowed Colt to reduce her to the role of a screaming shrew, complete with spite, de-rision, and malice. She hadn't known she had it in her. Well, how could she have, when she had never in her life acted like that before? But it would never happen again, by God. That she had promised her-self, a promise she would keep no matter what that heartless man did to provoke her — if he ever talked to her again.
She had seen him no more than twice in all this time, and then only from a distance when she was exercising Sir George. He had stopped coming into camp at all, not even to sleep. Where he bedded down at night was anyone's guess, though she suspected it wasn't that far away, since Billy rode out before dawn to meet him each morning to confer on the arrangements for the day, and he was never gone long.
She had missed Vanessa's next question. "What?"
"I asked if you were too tired for your ride today. I believe Sir George has already been saddled."
Jocelyn didn't budge from the pillow, nor did she open her eyes to answer. "Not too tired, Vana, but I don't really feel like it. One of the grooms can take him out."
"And what about Miles? You know how much he enjoys your rides together."
With a prickle of irritation, Jocelyn wondered when her friend was going to stop matchmaking. It simply wasn't working.
A very short while ago Jocelyn's interest would have been quite snared by such a man. In personality and looks he outshone Charles Abington, and she had seriously considered marrying Charles. But now there was another man she couldn't help comparing Miles Dryden with, and in her doing so, Miles wasn't quite as fascinating. He became too pale, too charming, too ingratiating. Even his misfortune could be picked apart to reveal a touch of cowardice. Colt wouldn't have run from failure to start over somewhere else. He wouldn't have stranded himself in a town, either, because of a close touch with death. And she couldn't imagine Colt standing by and doing nothing while someone robbed him. Indeed, no.