Amelia (7 page)

He settled back against his saddle with his rifle loaded and ready on the colorful but faded serape beside him. His blond hair was sweaty and full of dust from the day's hard ride, tracking the outlaw Rodriguez. The man had actually robbed a second bank while Quinn was trailing him, down in El Paso. He'd struck down a bank president and badly wounded a young employee. Quinn had doubled back, almost to the city, and then caught the trail back up into New Mexico again. He felt as if he were going in circles.

As he chewed the tough, sinewy rabbit meat, he wished he had a good tracker with him. It wasn't his best skill. His expertise with a pistol and rifle was that. But he did well enough, he supposed.

He hoped Amelia was all right. Their father drank too much these days, and he could be violent. Quinn had tried to find a way to get Amelia away from him, but it wasn't possible just yet. He slept in the Ranger barracks when he was in town, which wasn't often, and he was stationed at Alpine, not El Paso. It would take a better rank and a better posting before he could offer her any alternative.

Poor Amelia. Her life had certainly been no bed of roses. Quinn grieved for her. Only he knew the agonies she suffered and the danger she faced. He had to do something soon, he determined. The drinking was worse, and so was its aftermath. One day Hartwell Howard would go too far. His blood pressure would shoot high enough to kill him during one of his outbursts, or he would hurt Amelia. Quinn knew that he could never live with a tragedy if he'd done nothing to try and prevent it. The problem of Amelia had to be solved, and soon. He wished he knew what had made his father change so drastically, and he decided that it was probably grief for the loss of his wife and two little sons.

If only Amelia felt a tenderness for Alan Culhane, he decided. A marriage between them would be a good idea, and it would put Amelia under King's protection.

King disliked her, but he wouldn't allow her to be harmed. King was always controlled, and he would never lay a brutal hand on her.

Now there would have been a match. If Amelia had been her old self she would have been perfect for King. Quinn was sorry that she'd changed so.

He laughed at his own folly in entertaining such thoughts of matchmaking. They were enemies, and it was better so. Better to let King cling to his misconceptions about Amelia and steer her toward Alan, who would be kind to her even if she never reached any great and passionate heights with him. He finished his rabbit, and without having solved the problem of Amelia, finally leaned back and drifted off to sleep to the crackle of the fire and the distant wailing of coyotes.

 

Amelia had seen King go out on the dark porch with Darcy, and something inside her grew small and withdrew. Nevertheless, she pretended gaiety, and Ted responded to her charm with every scrap of his.

By the end of the evening, he had promised to call on her the moment her father was back and they were home again. He didn't realize how Amelia dreaded her father's return and the certainty of violence when they were back at the boardinghouse. The one point in her favor she reminded herself again was that it was a crowded boardinghouse at the moment, and her father was forced to be more circumspect than usual.

But his job at the bank meant that soon they would be able to afford a small house, and that would place Amelia at his mercy as his pain and rage grew. And inevitably, soon, he would die…

She was standing alone at the drawing room door while Ted went to get her a cup of punch, and her face and eyes registered the panic she felt.

"Are you all right?" King asked suddenly.

Shocked by his silent approach, she looked up with wide, wounded eyes and heard his breath catch at the vulnerability in her flushed face. Their eyes held, and Amelia felt new and shocking sensations tingling all along her slender body.

"Amelia?" Darcy called sharply, and rapidly moved close to hold onto King's arm with a look of pretended concern. "You do look ghastly, my dear. What is it?"

Amelia felt patronized, unsettled, and afraid. She looked around with blind apprehension for Ted, and relief flamed on her features when she saw him waving to her from the punch bowl, where he was waiting to be served.

"Oh, you're thirsty, is that it?" Darcy dismissed the incident at once. "Ted will look after her, King. Do come and meet Mr. Farmer. Amelia will excuse us, won't you?"

"In a minute, Darcy," King said coldly.

Darcy looked taken aback, but she forced a smile and moved reluctantly away.

Amelia's wide brown eyes met King's, and she colored again, having lost the rescue she was certain of having.

King eyed her with speculation and renewed interest. The electricity that had flashed between them was shared. He knew she'd felt it, from the fear in her eyes and the color that was flooding her cheeks. He liked the sense of satisfied pleasure it gave him, to know that her reaction to him was violent and unpretended. It had been a long, long time since a woman had been attracted to him physically and not financially. It made him feel strange.

He moved closer, deliberately. Not blatantly closer, but enough that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the cologne he used. He could see her bodice move more rapidly as her breathing changed.

"What is it, Amelia?" His voice sounded different. Husky. Deep. Smooth, like a flow of molasses.

She could barely get enough breath to answer him. "As your… as Miss Valverde said, I'm…I'm only hot."

His big, lean hand came up unobtrusively to lie against her bare arm where the sleeve of her gown was separated from the long, white opera gloves she wore with it. The touch of him was electric, frightening. Her pupils dilated wildly as she met his eyes.

"Your skin certainly is," he said quietly, frowning. "Are you feverish?"

"No! I mean, no. It's just the crush of people, I'm sure it is, so many in one room… !"

"You're babbling," he said gently, and a quizzical half-smile touched his firm mouth as he looked at her.

Her bow lips parted, and his eyes fell to their soft pink perfection. He saw the faint tremble of the full lower one and knew a hunger so violent and unexpected that it made his muscles contract all over his tall body.

Her hand went to the jacket over his broad chest, as much for support as for protest. "King," she whispered in a soft plea.

He watched her lips move and wanted to take them under his, to part their softness and ease between them, to feel her body yield to his and her arms slide around him. He wanted the softness of her breasts against his bare chest…

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and the silver glitter in them made her heart stop. She hadn't dreamed of an emotion so sudden and shocking. She hadn't known that she was capable of this violence of need. She certainly hadn't expected King to react like this to her, when he'd as much as told her he was engaged to Darcy. She felt, and looked, all at sea.

"Do you want my mouth, Amelia?" he asked very softly, his eyes relentless.

The words shocked, appalled. "Mr.… Culhane!" she gasped.

She started to jerk away, and his lean hand snapped around her wrist, staying her hand on his chest.

"Don't struggle, or you'll draw attention to us," he said roughly.

"What are you doing?" she asked frantically, her eyes drawing away from his finally to search the room. But, incredibly, no one was looking at them.

"Insane, is it not?" he asked in a low whisper. "We can feel the world spinning around us and not one other person seems to be aware of it."

Her shocked eyes levered back up to his, finding his steady, glittery gaze intimidating even while it excited her.

"Oh, yes," he said on a curt laugh. "I feel it, too. What a joke that is, Miss Howard, when my mind finds you nothing if not contemptible!"

She struggled for composure. She'd fallen right into his trap. It was another method of tormenting her, that was all. He'd discovered that she was vulnerable to him, and now he was going to use that against her.

"Your opinion of me will not keep me awake, sir," she said with as much pride as she could manage.

"Your hunger for me will," he shot right back. He smiled slowly, mockingly. "Have you been kissed, Amelia, by anyone who knew how?"

"You are impertinent," she bit off.

He moved imperceptibly closer, so that she could almost feel the tips of her breasts under the taffeta brushing his suit coat. "I have a knowledge of women that would shock you," he replied quietly. "And of a certainty, you would allow me to kiss you. In fact," he said, breathing, letting his gaze wander to her trembling mouth, "you ache for it!"

She had never expected this kind of blatant cruelty from him. She should have known that it was inevitable. Like her father, he was adept at torture.

With a soft cry, she whirled away from him, hurting her wrist as she dragged it from the steely grip of his fingers. She made a path toward Ted, her expression more revealing than she knew in her shaken state.

"You poor thing," Ted exclaimed when she reached him. "Here, I'm sorry it took so long." He handed her the punch and watched solicitously as she held it with trembling hands to her mouth. Some spilled on her immaculate white gloves, and she knew that they would be stained. Stained, like her mind from King's harsh words, his humiliating accusations. She finished the punch and looked around for Enid.

The older woman saw and recognized her desperation. With a puzzled frown she excused herself from her friends and went to see about Amelia.

"It is rather late," Enid said gently. "Are you tired, Amelia? Would you like to leave?"

"Oh, yes, please," Amelia said shakily. "I'm sorry, Ted, I'm having a wonderful time, really I am. I'm just very weary."

"And unused to such late hours, I suspect," Enid said with a smile, although her eyes were watchful. "I'll find King and ask him to get the surrey. Will you stay with Amelia, Ted?"

"Of course!" he said at once, beaming at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia saw King speaking to his mother. He shot a cold glance in her direction and abruptly turned on his heel and left the room.

"He isn't pleased to be dragged away from Miss Valverde, I see," Ted mused. "I'm sorry, Amelia. I should have offered to drive you and Enid home…"

"That's all right," she assured him. "After all, he can return if he wishes, can he not?"

"Certainly. Would you like some more punch?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Really."

 

But she wasn't. Her mind was whirling with new terrors. She didn't want to go home with King. She didn't want her father to return. She wanted to run away, fly away, escape, flee… !

"My dear, you look very strange," Enid said, suddenly interrupting her thoughts. "Come along. We can wait for King on the porch. Perhaps the cool air will refresh you. Come with us, won't you, Ted?"

"I'd be delighted, Mrs. Culhane. As I told Miss Howard, I should like very much to call on her when her father returns from his hunting trip."

Enid stared at him warily. She knew of King's antagonism for the man and her own husband's distaste for him. On the other hand, she had no right to forbid Amelia to see anyone.

"I have told Mr. Simpson that it will have to wait until my father returns," Amelia said quickly, sensing Enid's discomfort. "My father is extremely strict about my callers."

"I see. Then we must both adhere to her father's wishes, Mr. Simpson," Enid said with a pleasant smile. "I'm sure you understand that I am responsible for her welfare while her father is away."

"I do understand," Ted said with a slow smile.

Enid laughed. "Well, then."

He escorted them onto the porch, where they talked idly until a disgruntled King returned with the surrey. Ted helped the women into the back of the conveyance after they had said their good-byes. King spoke not one word until they were back at the ranch house, having left Enid and Amelia to converse.

When he pulled the surrey up in front of the house, he shouted for one of his men. Amelia escaped out of the other side while he was assisting his mother to the ground. She was on the porch before he knew it.

"Go ahead, Amelia," Enid told her. "I'll be right along to unlock the door."

"I'll unlock it," King said curtly.

He was beside Amelia in two long strides, but she abruptly moved back to where Enid was standing, avoiding any attempt at conversation with a panic that was almost tangible. She wouldn't look at him, not even when he opened the door and stood holding it for the women.

Disregarding convention in her surge of fear, she dashed ahead of Enid into the house and, calling a muffled good night behind her, ran down the hall to her bedroom.

"My dear," Enid said, turning to King, who was oddly pale and out of sorts. "Have you said something unpleasant to her?"

"Good night, mother," he said curtly.

He turned and went out, closing the door loudly behind him. He wandered out to the barn and supervised the cowboy who was unhitching the horse and bedding it down for the night. His presence was unnecessary, but he couldn't face any more questions from his mother. He didn't want to think about what he'd said to Amelia or remember the look on her face. Hurting her was indefensible. He hardly understood himself. He only knew that he'd never felt quite so low in his life.

 

Amelia was deliberately late getting up the next morning, so that she wouldn't have to see King. She didn't escape Enid that easily, however. The older woman watched her with renewed interest, even while she carried on a casual conversation about the beautiful morning.

"What did King say to you last night, Amelia?" she asked abruptly.

The younger woman's face flushed. She dropped her biscuit and had to scramble to get it back in her fingers. "He only emphasized his dislike of me," she lied. It was impossible to tell his mother what had really been said. "I regret his hostility, but it isn't unexpected, you know. Some people… simply can't get along."

Enid's sharp eyes saw the telltale signs of sleeplessness. There had been more to it than that. She knew there had! Her gaze went to the slender arms in the long-sleeved blouse and held, shocked.