What was happening, she wondered frantically, too disturbed to even taste the sweet liqueur. There was something far too intimate about this scene.
"You haven't drunk to my toast," he chided gently, his voice pouring over her like warm honey.
"I think that would be immodest of me," she replied, moving quickly away from him toward the relative safety of a nearby sofa. "You can't expect a woman to drink to her own beauty," she added with a smile to lighten the mood as she sank down on the sofa in a billow of skirts.
She was wearing one of Mademoiselle Fabian's creations, a confection of violet silk. Richard paused one moment to admire the picture she made sitting there before joining her. Sensing her skittishness, he did not sit as close as he desired, but left a discreet space between them. "Joshua left rather suddenly, didn't he?" he said as if the thought had just occurred to him, although he had been planning this conversation all evening. "I hope there's nothing wrong."
"Oh, no," Felicity hastily assured him, trying not to think how painful such an admission was. "He… he had to start the spring roundup. That's when they gather up all the calves that have been born over the winter and brand them. Then they separate out the cattle they want to sell this year."
"That doesn't sound very complicated," Richard remarked. "I would think his men could get along without him for a while. But then, he didn't seem to be enjoying his visit here. Perhaps he was glad for an excuse to get back home," he mused.
Alarmed at hearing her own thoughts spoken aloud, Felicity jumped up, responding to some primitive urge to flee. But of course she couldn't actually run away. She settled for walking around the room and changing the subject. "Are you really going to take me to a wild West show tomorrow?" she asked with false enthusiasm.
Richard watched her drain her glass in one gulp and stifled a satisfied grin. She already had doubts about her husband's departure. Logan was a fool for not telling her his real reason for leaving. She was hurt now, but Richard was only too willing to comfort her.
"Yes, Buffalo Bill is putting on a show at the American Theater. It's called 'Scouts of the Plains.' He even has Kit Carson, Jr., in the cast. I hear it's quite exciting. I believe they even have an authentic Indian attack. Do you think it will make you too homesick?" he asked solicitously.
"Homesick?" she scoffed playfully. "My home has never been attacked by Indians." For one instant she remembered the day Joshua had shown her the chinks in the adobe of that home where Comanche arrows had struck during an attack long ago. She could almost feel his strong fingers guiding her hand over the jagged marks. Then, with equal clarity, she recalled the way those strong fingers had moved over her flesh last night, awakening long-dormant passions. The fulfillment he had given her had barely touched the craving he had aroused. And now he was gone. She trembled slightly.
"Felicity? Is something wrong?" Richard asked, genuinely concerned. Her face had gone pale.
"No, of course not," she said, dragging herself back to the present and managing to smile again. "I think the show should be great fun. I can hardly wait."
But Richard knew that her smile was forced. Had he pushed her too hard? He only wanted her to doubt, not to grow morose. "Are you tired? Perhaps I should go now," he offered.
Tired? Yes, she was tired, but the thought of going upstairs to the bed where Joshua had made love to her until almost dawn this morning was appalling. "No, I'm fine. Stay awhile. Would you like some more sherry?"
"Yes, please," he said, rising and following her to the cabinet, where the decanter still sat.
She filled both their glasses. "Another toast," she announced with false gaiety. "To Buffalo Bill and the wild West." She clinked Richard's glass and emptied her own. Maybe if she drank enough of this stuff, her memories would fade and the bed upstairs would not seem so empty.
This time it was Richard who forgot to drink. He studied her face, the strained smile and the pain-filled eyes. For one instant he actually hated Logan for leaving her, for causing her such anguish. But only for an instant. She needed comfort now, and he was the person to give it. He removed the glass from her unresisting fingers and set it and his still-full one back on the cabinet.
"Felicity, I think it's time I went home," he said softly, capturing her puzzled gaze with his own.
She wanted to protest, to ask him to stay, but something in his eyes stopped her. His eyes were brown, the color of the sweet chocolate some thoughtful servant placed on her pillow every night. So engrossed was she in this thought that she hardly noticed when he took her hands in his.
"Sleep well, lovely one," he whispered, and before she knew what was happening, he bent and touched his mouth to hers.
His lips were soft, and warm, and sweet from the sherry, sweet but not chocolate, she noted distractedly in the moment before sanity returned and she jerked away from him.
"Richard!" she cried, lifting the back of her hand to cover her mouth.
She looked aghast, but Richard had expected just such a reaction. He gave her an amazed little laugh, as if he were surprised she had taken offense. "It was just a friendly kiss between cousins. I told you, we're kissing cousins. You remember that, don't you?"
"You mustn't ever do that again, Richard," she said, horrified because for just the barest second she had found the kiss a pleasant comfort against her terrible sense of loss.
He managed to look abashed. "I certainly won't if it disturbs you so much," he promised. "I only thought you might be feeling neglected because Joshua left you and…" He stopped at the sound of her anguished cry, genuinely sorry to have caused her more pain, but knowing he would have to cause her more still if he was to succeed.
"Please, Richard, I… I think you'd better go now," she said, alarmed to discover she was trembling. But she was far too upset to decide whether the trembling was caused by Richard's kiss or by his reminder of Joshua's hasty departure.
"Yes, yes, of course," Richard quickly agreed, but when he tried to take her hand again, she shrank from his touch. He settled for a formal bow as he took his leave.
Felicity allowed herself one more glass of sherry before summoning a maid to help her undress. At least she would not have to enter the bedroom alone, she reasoned. But the girl was much too quick in her ministrations, and too soon Felicity found herself alone in the dark, curled up under the covers of the big bed.
Her heart still seemed to beat too quickly, and she shivered against the silken sheets, every nerve quivering with the need to be touched. How could Richard's kiss have caused such a reaction? she wondered miserably. The very thought was wicked and sinful, especially when it wasn't Richard's touch she longed for at all.
No, she realized sadly, it was Joshua's touch she wanted. Her reaction to Richard was simply a result of her last night with her husband. She shivered again and surrendered at last to the relief of tears. She would have to be very careful. Richard was an attractive man, and he cared for her very much. If she gave him any encouragement at all, something terrible might happen, something terrible that they would both regret.
"Oh, Joshua," she sobbed, "why did you do this to me?"
Josh raised his hand in greeting when he caught sight ol Grady waiting for him in the ranch yard. He kicked his rented mount into a trot to cover more quickly the final distance to his home. He hadn't notified anyone of his arrival, just in case some of Ortega's spies were waiting for that information. When the stage had left him at Prospect this morning, he had gotten a horse from the livery stable and headed home.