"Dear me, no. He was too young when we left. But his sire. what are you doing, Miles?"
He had placed his arm around her shoulder as they were walking. Now he turned her to face him.
"Don't be shy," he said gently. "It's natural for a man to want to touch the woman he loves."
"I suppose it is."
That answer confounded him, especially since it was said without the least inflection in her voice. "Didn't you hear me? I've fallen in love with you."
"I'm sorry."
Sorry about what? That she hadn't heard him, or that he loved her? Jesus, it was bad enough he had to propose at all. Did she have to make it even more difficult?
"I suppose you've had many declarations of love."
He wasn't even aware that sarcasm dripped from his words, but Jocelyn was, and it annoyed her. She had intended to treat this anticipated proposal as if it were sincere, to simply refuse gently, without letting on that she knew the only thing he was attracted to was her money. She still wouldn't come right out and call him a liar, but after that sneering comment, she decided to make him wonder.
"You would truly be surprised how many fortune hunters there are, Miles, who profess to undying love, and they do it so sweetly. Declarations, proposals of marriage. there have been so many I stopped counting long ago."
"Are you accusing—"
"Certainly not," she cut in with feigned indigna-tion. "A fine, upstanding man like you wouldn't re-sort to such a low, despicable means of acquiring a fortune. I never thought that for a moment," she assured him with a pat on the arm. "If I was a bit tepid in my reaction, it's only that it's become rather tedi-ous, having to explain so often why I never intend to marry again. But of course, you weren't proposing marriage, were you? Heavens, of course you weren't. You've only known me for a few weeks, after all."
She had to turn away before he saw her amusement at the flush his pale skin couldn't hide. His hand on her shoulder kept her from walking away, however.
"What do you mean, you never intend to marry again?" he demanded rather sharply.
"What? Oh, that." She managed a heavy sigh in preparation for the whopping lie she was about to tell.
"There's simply nothing I can do about it. It was my husband's way of assuring I would always honor his memory. I will lose everything I have, you see, should I remarry. And I can't very well risk that, now can I?"
"Everything?" he fairly choked.
"Yes, everything."
"But you're so young! What if you want children? What if you fall in love?"
"My husband's will doesn't deny me children or lovers. Should I want either, I shall simply have them.
Oh, dear, have I shocked you?" His expression cer-tainly said so. It was all she could do not to laugh.
"You must hate his memory," Miles said bitterly. He certainly did.
"Whyever would you think so? He was merely try-ing to protect me, to assure that no one could ever control me or the money he left to me. I see nothing wrong in that."
"You wouldn't," he mumbled.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." With a supreme effort, his winsome smile reappeared. "As you say, it's too soon to speak of marriage. Tell me, I have wondered, with so many guards, why none accompany you on your daily rides."
Jocelyn laughed at the sudden change of subject, but made him think it was his question she found amusing. "But how could they keep up? The purpose of these rides is to exercise Sir George. My own en-joyment of them is secondary. Besides, I never ride beyond the point that a shot couldn't be heard."
She indicated the rifle on her saddle. "And you are along to protect me, after all. If I were alone, I would sim ply stay within sight of my entourage. Now, shall we return?"
"If you're tired, of course," he said smoothly, his fury well under control now. "But there was a lovely meadow I thought you would enjoy seeing. We passed it, oh, not long before we stopped for luncheon, so it isn't very far from here."
He seemed quite eager to show it to her, and to grant his wish was the least she could do after nipping his plans so neatly in the bud. Truth to tell, she was feeling rather guilty about all those lies she had come up with to avoid the distastefulness of accusations and bad feelings.
"By all means," she agreed with a genuine smile. "It sounds delightful."
Chapter Thirty-one
“This is purely a waste of time, if you ask me."
"So who's asking you?"
Pete Saunders glanced sideways at the new man. He was a strange son of a bitch. He went by the name of Angel, just Angel. It was supposed to be his last name and probably was. Who'd pick such a name if they had the choice? But he didn't look like an angel, not by any means. Oh, he was tidy enough in appearance. Shaved every morning, cut his own hair, and neatly too; cleaned his own clothes when there was no laundry around he could take them to. A real stickler about his appearance, Angel was, just like the boss.
But you didn't seem to notice such things about him, not right off anyway. First you'd see that scar he had running from his chin to his ear along the jaw-line, as if someone had tried to cut his throat but missed by a few inches. Then you'd see his eyes, black as sin, cold, ruthless, predatory even. You couldn't look into them for very long and not wonder if your days hadn't come to an end.
He wasn't all that tall, but that was another thing you didn't seem to notice, not right off. He always wore a long mackintosh slicker that nearly scraped the ground, and large silver spurs that warned he was coming and made mincemeat of his horse when he was in a hurry. But he rarely hurried about anything. Slow and easy were his movements, and his patience seemed boundless. You never knew what he was thinking either, for he was disturbingly quiet most of the time and never smiled. Even the cold, steely-eyed Englishman had been known to twitch his lips on oc-casion, but not this Angel.
He'd been picked up in Benson along with two ex-members of the Clanton bunch who didn't want any part of the ongoing feud with the Earps, especially after the Tombstone shoot-out and the new talk of revenge. De-wane had gone to Benson to find a tracker after they'd lost the duchess and her party between there and Tuc-son. They'd ridden all the way to Tucson first, however, before figuring out that they'd been duped somewhere along the way. With four days wasted, the boss had been pissed some, enough to backhand Pete right off his horse as if it were all his fault.
Pete hadn't forgotten that. well, how could he? The bruise on his butt-bone hadn't had a chance to fade with all the hard riding they'd done, and the pink spot on his lip where the scab had only recently fallen off was still tender. He'd almost parted company from this bunch then and there, except Dewane had pointed out where the blame really lay, with that wily half-breed the duchess had hired on. Pete wanted that bastard himself now for making him look bad, and figured the only way he'd get a chance at him was to stick with the Englishman a while more. But with the way things were going, and the boss's new plan— which didn't call for taking out the half-breed just yet, and did call for a helluva lot of patience — it didnt look like he'd get what he wanted.
Patience and revenge didn't mix, leastways not for him. He'd had two clean shots at that breed already, but had been warned off both times. They had to give the new plan a chance first, though Pete was of the opinion the plan had about as much going for it as a snowball in hell.
Revenge wasn't worth all this aggravation, it surely wasn't. He was already regretting not iaking off when he'd had the chance. Now they were in New Mexico, where he didn't know a soul, and it was a long ride back to Arizona. And Angel, whom he was unlucky enough to be riding with today, was getting sarcastic. If he too was losing patience, Pete could anticipate becoming buzzard fodder by sundown.