Sundancer (Cheyenne Series) (35 page)

      
“I hope you don't mind my cutting in,” Lawrence said after the general excused himself.

      
“Not at all. I'm growing weary of discussing nothing but railroad politics,” she replied as he swept her into a polka.

      
“Then I shall talk only of how lovely you look, how well you dance and how salubrious the autumn weather has been,” he replied with a boyish grin.

      
They danced until they were breathless, then strolled to the refreshment table, where he fetched her a lemonade and himself a whiskey punch.

      
As they walked away, Cain observed Roxanna in her ballroom finery. He'd chosen the color well. The subtle shades of lavender and deeper violet constantly shifted under the gaslights, accenting her unusual hair, turning her turquoise eyes almost smoky. She was so breathtaking that it hurt his heart to look at her.

      
He'd been a fool to answer Jubal's summons. Poor Alexa, the bereft victim of the city's censure. She certainly didn't look bereft to him. He'd watched her dance every dance, laughing and chatting, working her charms on every male who came near her. Until Powell approached her, Cain had stayed hidden, observing like a boy with his nose pressed to the glass window of a candy store. Damn the bastard, he had no right to dance with her! Cain was amazed Larry possessed the temerity to even face her after what he'd let old Andrew do. He agonized about going after her. He would look like a jealous fool. Well, what the hell! He was.

      
The fall evening was warm and the ballroom crowded. Roxanna and Lawrence wended their way through the press and out onto the terrace which encircled the first floor of the big hotel on three sides. Gaslights glowed along the stone balustrade, and well-trimmed boxwood hedges cast deep shadows off several narrow alcoves leading down onto the grounds.

      
“I suppose I should offer my congratulations on your marriage,” he began awkwardly. His tone of voice sounded anything but felicitous.

      
“Thank you,” Roxanna replied, blushing uncomfortably. “I imagine you thought it precipitous. Everyone else did...or worse.”

      
“I don't really have any right to criticize you, considering the circumstances,” he replied gravely. “I only wish you to be happy, Alexa. You are happy...aren't you?”

      
She gave him her most brilliant smile. “Yes, Larry, of course I am.”
Bad acting, Roxy
, she chided herself. Her timing had never been more off.

      
“Cain's always been such a loner. I never thought he would marry.”

      
“You mean you never thought he'd marry a white woman from a good family,” she retorted, still reflexively defending Cain. Then she added bitterly, “Of course my own social standing was little better than that of a half-breed gunman, so perhaps we were always fated to be together.” Utterly out of nowhere, the images from her dream about the lone bull flashed into her mind as she finished speaking.

      
“You're being unfair to yourself—you deserve far better than Cain—or me. Oh, Alexa, I was such a fool to let my father break us apart.”

      
Roxanna sensed the guilt and self-loathing in his voice, familiar emotions to her. Moving away from him, she walked slowly into the shadow of an alcove as he followed her. “There never was an ‘us,’ Larry,” she said gently.

      
“But there could have been...if I hadn't been such a weakling. I've let my father run roughshod over me ever since I was a boy.”

      
“He's a very daunting man,” Roxanna said sympathetically, remembering Andrew Powell's towering presence, the harsh slash of his mouth and most of all his piercing blue gaze.

      
“That's no excuse for me. I've had a lot of time to regret losing you. Seeing you here tonight, looking so breathtaking, only makes the loss seem more painful. You have such fire, Alexa, such courage. Cain should never have let you face these people alone. He—” Lawrence broke off abruptly and turned away from her, swallowing audibly. “Alexa, why did you agree to marry him? You could’ve gone east, left all the ugly gossip behind. You could’ve—”

      
“I didn't want to run away. No, that's not the truth.” She set her glass on the balustrade and placed her hand on his arm. Perhaps it was time to start admitting the real reason she stayed out West. “I have loved Cain from the start...when he came to Leather Shirt's village to rescue me. I was heartbroken that he didn't ask me to marry him then.”

      
“Are you saying that you would never have gone through with our betrothal even if my father hadn't broken it?” He reached out and took her hand, drawing closer to her.

      
Roxanna could see that she'd hurt him, and that had not been her intention. She placed her hand on his chest and confessed, “I tried to tell myself it was all for the best, that you would be better for me than Cain. In light of the way things have turned out, perhaps I should have heeded my own advice. But I could not.”

      
“You love that rotter this much after he's treated you abominably,” he said with startling vehemence, taking her into his arms. “If there's anything I can do, Alexa...I shall always be here for you.... You do believe me, don't you?”

      
His arms felt warm and consoling and she was in such sore need of consolation. She lay her head on his shoulder and said, “Yes, Larry, I do believe you.”

      
“Get your hands off my wife, Powell.” Cain stood silhouetted in the brilliant light streaming through the glass doors to the ballroom. The swell of the music had covered their intimate conversation, but there was no mistaking the way Roxanna was draped over the fop's chest.

      
Roxanna froze as Cain stalked across the terrace and seized her by one wrist. The stark fury etched on his face made him look as savage as his cousin Weasel Bear. She almost backed away from him, but before she could think or speak he had jerked her against his side and held her with one steely arm, glaring at Lawrence.

      
“See here, Cain, you can't treat her—”

      
“I can treat her any damn way I please.” Cain's voice was low and silky, utterly deadly. “I married her, Larry. You didn't.”

      
Lawrence remained motionless as Cain turned away, still holding Roxanna tightly around her waist.

      
She did not want to create a scene or endanger poor Lawrence. In spite of his elegant evening clothes, she could feel the unmistakable shape of the Smith and Wesson concealed inside her husband's suit coat. When they reached the glass doors she stopped, bracing one palm against the frame.

      
“Please, Cain, we have to talk.”

      
“It seems as if you and Larry have already had quite a conversation. Me, I'm not in the mood for talking.”

      
“What are you going to do?” Genuine alarm threaded her voice. She had never seen him this way, so ice-cold, so deliberate.

      
“Why, I'm going to do exactly what Jubal wanted. Dance with my wife.”

      
He jerked open the door and pushed her into the ballroom. As they made their way through the crowd, people stepped aside, staring, whispering. Then Cain swept her into the waltz and they whirled across the floor with everyone watching in fascination. They did make a striking couple, a few would later admit. He was tall and bronzed, she slender and silvery. His understated black evening clothes fit his dark forbidding mien perfectly, contrasting with the pale orchid tones of her billowing silk gown. He seemed to absorb the light which reflected from her.

      
“Forgive me if I tread on your feet, princess, but Enoch's instruction was a little light on social amenities like waltzing.”

      
“I can just imagine who taught you to dance.” He was, in fact, quite naturally adept at it.

      
“You think I learned it around a campfire when I was a kid in Leather Shirt's village?” he asked bitterly.

      
“I was thinking more along the lines of some floozy in a bordello,” she grated out between gritted teeth. Enough was enough! She had done nothing improper with Larry. He refused to come to Denver, then stormed in giving her no chance to defend herself and dragged her onto the dance floor to make a spectacle of them both!

      
“You know as much about floozies as I do...considering your previous line of work.”

      
The barb cut wickedly, but she refused to let him see her shrink from the pain. Instead she tried to slap him, but he seized both her hands just as the music ended and raised them to his lips in a mock salute. Hard black eyes glared down into defiant turquoise.

      
“You don't really want a scene, do you? Jubal would be embarrassed in front of all his colleagues.” He led her from the floor and they wended their way through the press of people toward the hallway to the lobby.

      
“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked when they were clear of the crowd.

      
“To our rooms. Where else? I think it's time we had that long-delayed honeymoon, don't you?” When they reached the curved staircase, he scooped her up into his arms and began to climb.

      
From across the lobby, Jubal MacKenzie had watched the whole scene, from the dance to their stormy exit upstairs. The pair of young fools might be fighting, but at least they were together where they belonged. That was at least a start. He smiled and lit up a cigar.

Chapter Sixteen

      
Roxanna could feel the steely tension radiate from every hard muscle of his body as he carried her into their suite and kicked the door closed with his booted foot. He was furious. What would he do to her?

      
“Ma'am, are ye wantin'—” Eileen's words died on her lips as soon as she saw Cain. Her normally merry hazel eyes widened in fear and she froze at the sight of the dark menacing stranger carrying her mistress.

      
“This is my husband, Eileen,” Roxanna finally managed to get out when Cain set her on her feet, still holding one arm proprietarily around her waist.

      
“Mrs. Cain won't require your services tonight, Eileen,” he said in a silky arrogant voice that rippled with danger.

      
The little maid backed out of the room with a hurriedly mumbled good night while Cain turned to Roxanna. She squared her shoulders and faced him. “You have no cause to be jealous of Larry Powell.”

      
“Don't I? He was the blueblood you set your sights on before you had to settle for me.”

      
“That's a lie and you know it,” she cried.

      
“Is it? I wonder, Roxy. Hell, I even wonder if we're legally married,” he muttered half to himself, raking his fingers through his hair as he tugged at his silk tie.

      
That very thought had occurred to her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of replying. When she made no answer, he continued, “I suppose we are. If that damn preacher pronounced us man and wife after kicking up such a ruckus about my chosen name, I don't imagine it much matters if you signed Alexandra or Roxanna on the marriage documents. You are my wife.”

      
He bit off those last words as if laying down a challenge to her. She stood still, silent, waiting to see what he would do next. He shrugged off his suit coat and started to unfasten his shirt studs, then stopped. “Undress me,” he commanded. His voice was low, sexually charged, as he reached out and seized her hand, placing it against his collarbone where the shirt gaped open. “Finish it.”

      
She tried to read what was behind his shuttered gaze and could see only lust.
He must be in pain, thinking I'd prefer a man like Larry to him.
How could she ever convince him that she loved him? Speaking the words was useless. He was less likely to believe her now than he would have in Leather Shirt's village. All she could do was show him... Slowly she began to remove the rest of the sapphire studs from his cuffs and shirtfront, then slide the silk fabric off his shoulders, letting her fingers brush softly over his skin. He felt blazing hot to her touch, like dark fire.

      
He sucked in his breath when her cool pale hands pressed against his chest as his shirt floated down to the floor. Remembering that night in Chicago when she had undressed him and then herself, she asked, “How am I doing so far?”

      
“I'll reserve judgment till you finish the job,” he replied, walking over to the jack in the corner and quickly removing his expensive dress boots. Then he turned back to her and stood, waiting.

      
Roxanna swallowed and moistened her lips, then approached him, reaching out to touch the belt at his waist. The washboard-hard muscles of his abdomen quivered imperceptibly as she slid it through the loops and let it drop. When her hands grazed his fly, she could not still her own trembling. The first time she did this he had quickly pulled away from her and finished undressing himself, unable to control his passion for her. What would he do now? She began to open the buttons with clumsy fingers, feeling the tight bulge of his phallus pressing against the confinement of cloth. When the last button was open, she pulled at his trousers and underwear until his sex sprang free as the clothing fell around his ankles.

      
“Touch me.” There was as much plea as command in his voice now.

      
Yes, my love,
she thought, wanting to return to the past. She took the thick hard length of him in both her hands and his whole body shuddered.