Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (28 page)

She should not have been fearful of what Garrett would
think upon seeing her, for he was stopped dead by the sight.

“My God, just look at you,” he whispered, frozen in the carriage seat.

Gretchen, ever the soul of discretion when it came to
the Randolph children, whom she had cared for since they
were both in diapers, murmured her approval then climbed into her wagon and headed back toward the Randolph ranch, a serene smile of accomplishment on her face.

The gown was V-necked, showing a suggestion of
cleavage, gold braid touching skin. Pamela fidgeted,
shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and twice
tugged at the modest décolletage. She was not used to the
V-neckline, even though it was nowhere near as revealing
as some of the more flamboyant fashions that would be worn at the dance.

Garrett jumped down from the carriage, astonished at the difference in the woman before him. She had been transformed from a tomboy with a Colt revolver at her hip to a princess in satin. Even her coiffure was exactly as he had hoped it would be. Her hair had been pulled away from her face and held loosely back with a blue-green
ribbon. There were curling tendrils of golden-blonde hair slipping from
her temples to caress her cheeks.

“Do you like it?” Pamela asked softly, her confidence shaky at such close scrutiny.

“Beautiful,” Garrett said.

He’d stepped forward to take Pamela into his arms when he
remembered that, to her, he was just a lawyer who really didn’t know her very well. He stopped himself abruptly
and forced all memories of the lovemaking they’d shared
when he was the Midnight Phantom from his thoughts.

Tonight, he was starting all over with her. He would be
as honest with Pamela as he possibly could, this time keeping
his alter ego in the shadows of his life.

“I really hadn’t intended on going to the dance with you,” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“Gretchen talked you into it, didn’t she?”

Pamela arched a brow above a green eye glinting with amusement. “I’d have thought you would be counting on the expensive
satin gown to do the trick.”

Garrett shook his head. “Not with you. I knew it would
take Gretchen to change your mind. She has a way of
getting what she wants.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Pamela’s mouth. “You
behave as if you know me very well, Garrett, yet that can’t
be the case. We’ve only spoken to each other a few times.”

She looked straight into his eyes, waiting for his next
statement
. Garrett got the uncomfortable sensation that she was toying with him.

“I’ve got strong intuition about you,” Garrett dissembled.

He looked away.

“Yes, of course, a lawyer’s intuition,” Pamela replied at
last.

S
he allowed Garrett to help her up into the elaborate
carriage. Perhaps, with her knowledge and Garrett’s ignorance of the current situation, she could have some fun with him on this special evening…if she felt inclined to be the teasing kind.

“Shall we leave now? I don’t want to draw more attention
to myself by being late,” she said, as a myriad of impish
games to play on the lawyer came into her thoughts.

“You’ll draw attention no matter what time
we get there.”

“Flatterer,” Pamela said with mild censure as she settled back into the plush leather seat cushion of the carriage.

She wondered exactly how comfortable it would be to
make love with Garrett in the carriage, and whether it would
be better to enjoy his loving on the way to the dance or better to wait and tell him during the dance that she in
tended to seduce him on the way home. The waiting, from
the time of her invitation until they were far from the
spying eyes of Whitetail Creek society, would drive Garrett out of
his mind!

Such a delicious question to ponder, she decided. And the pleasure was made even greater because, as long as Pamela was with Garrett, the
Midnight Phantom was safe from her bounty-hunting brother.

Chapter Thirteen

During the ride to the dance, Pamela and Garrett sampled
a bottle of very fine Chablis from Garrett’s personal cellar.
Pamela very rarely drank, but she accepted the first glass of
wine, and even though it had gone straight to her head,
when Garrett offered more, she did not refuse.

Three times Pamela let her knee bump against Garrett’s, and
on the third time, she left her knee touching his. But the moment he moved his arm as though to put his hand on her knee, she moved away quickly.

“Please, Garrett, let’s do behave in a civilized manner
tonight,” Pamela said, sounding hurt that he would even think
she’d allow such an intimacy. Before the evening was over,
before she let him touch her, she intended to have him gnashing his teeth in frustration.

Garrett talked, telling stories that Pamela found amusing and
interesting. His natural voice, which had a cultured quality
to it, indicated a man trained in public speaking and ar
guing points of law before a judge and a jury. His pitch was melodic, so different from the hard-as-flint tone he adopted for the Midnight Phantom.

On their journey into Whitetail Creek, they were lovers—at least they had made love on a single night
earlier—yet now they treated each other as near-strangers
on an uncomfortable first date. Pamela considered this odd, but then she had no personal history to inform her of what was or wasn’t normal.

She knew Garrett wanted her. From that first stolen kiss
at the cabin when she’d realized he was the Midnight Phantom
who had helped her to discover her own passionate nature, she had known he was not the type of man to be satisfied with just one night of passion on a hard rock near an oasis.

As Garrett’s carriage moved down the streets of Whitetail Creek,
Pamela saw some people stop and look at them. The carriage
was grand, she told herself, but even as she thought this,
she knew it hadn’t turned any heads. No, the fine people of
Whitetail Creek who gawked so openly did so because one of its occupants, the popular Garrett Randolph—everyone knew
he was destined for an enormously successful career—was
dressed to the nines and attending a formal dance with Pamela
Bragg, a tomboy, troublemaker, and sister of a bounty hunter.

“Judging from some of the looks I’ve received so far,
I’d say my original guess was correct,” Pamela said, wishing she could get out of going to the dance without appearing
a coward.

“And what was your original guess?” Garrett asked.

He had noticed the disbelieving stares, and he wondered whether Pamela had, as well
. Along with the con
descending looks from many of the men and all of the women, there were also the shocked expressions of men who, like Garrett, had never before seen a more attractive woman than Pamela.

“That I don’t belong here. These people will never accept me, and they’ll never forgive you for bringing me among them.”

Garrett chuckled. He absolutely refused to feel anything
but joyful on this evening.

Pamela placed a hand on Garrett’s forearm and squeezed. It
was hard as steel, and she wondered what regimen the law
yer set for himself to keep in such magnificent condition.

“I don’t want to be the cause of your getting into any
trouble,” Pamela whispered. Suddenly, it seemed the con
demning eyes of all of Whitetail Creek’s elite were upon her.

“Trouble? What trouble? We’re just two people going
to a dance,” Garrett said with such innocence that
for a moment Pamela wondered if he really didn’t understand
the situation.

“I read in the newspaper how folks are urging you to
run for mayor. You know I’m really not the right woman
for you to be seen with.”

Garrett twisted a little more toward Pamela in the carriage seat. His eyes were dark brown and resolute. “Listen to
me, Pamela. The only person in the world to say who is
right for me is me. My life is not a democracy. Every damn fool in Whitetail Creek doesn’t get a vote on what I can and can’t do or who I’ll see. I’ll make those decisions for myself—and I couldn’t possibly be happier than having you with me tonight.”

If it were not for all the stares, Pamela would have kissed him then and there. He had said exactly what she needed
to hear exactly when she needed to hear it.

As uniformed coachmen took the carriage, Garrett of
fered his elbow to Pamela and escorted her along the pebbled
walkway to the white mansion’s enormous front doors,
where a small army of servants awaited the guests’ every
wish.

From his jacket pocket Garrett extracted a card, on which
was written in a florid hand,
Garrett Randolph and Guest
. Who in all of Whitetail Creek would have dreamed that he would
choose Pamela Bragg as his guest?

The people of Whitetail Creek would understand that Garrett
Randolph was not and never would be a politician like Andy Fields, for sale to the highest bidder, a man with no real views or opinions of his own.

Inside the mansion, once they were through the foyer,
a low murmur went through the assembled crowd. Though
Pamela had not heard a single distinct word, she knew she was the topic of conversation.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as they slipped past another squadron of servants and stepped immediately into the ornate ballroom.

Some of the guests standing about looked sympatheti
cally at her, as if she were a displaced person who had
gotten lost and stumbled into the dance. Others looked on
in shock. If Garrett had walked into the ballroom with a naked young woman of their class on his arm, he would
have caused less of a commotion than he had by arriving
with Pamela.

“Don’t be silly,” Garrett said, exerting the full force of his charm.

He understood his environment and how savage it could be. What those in the ballroom did not yet know was exactly how savage he could be in return if his protective instincts were put to the test.

“This is exactly where you should be,” Garrett added
reassuringly. “It’s high time you made your entrance into
society.”

Though he gazed upon her as though she were the only
woman in the world, as though he were completely oblivi
ous to everyone but her, Pamela could barely meet his gaze. Still, she felt warmed, albeit uncomfortably so, by his scrutiny. Was he really informing his friends and all his ene
mies from the very beginning that he was going to flout convention and propriety and that anyone who thought he should do otherwise could be damned?

Looking around at the other ladies in the room, Pamela
discovered that her décolletage wasn’t nearly as revealing as most others. Silently, she thanked Gretchen for having
the sense to pick out an elegant gown showing a modest amount of her ample bosom, rather than a daring or dramatic one. Pamela had made more than enough of a splash by being at Garrett’s side. She didn’t need to create a tidal wave by putting her breasts on display.

Momentarily easing away from Pamela, Garrett deftly plucked two champagne glasses off the tray of a passing
servant, spinning about as he accomplished his task. Smil
ing, he handed Pamela a glass.

“Didn’t even spill a drop,” he said, clinking his glass lightly against hers.

She sipped the champagne. It started out being deliciously cold but was soon heating her veins, giving her a glowing warmth and heightening the intimidating sensation of being surrounded by so much wealth.

When a young man stepped up to Garrett to make some innocuous comment, Pamela stepped away to give them pri
vacy. But Garrett immediately reached for her, taking her hand in his and returning her to his side.

When the young fellow had left, Pamela whispered,
“Please, Garrett, everyone is watching,” as she slipped her
hand from his.

“I know,” he replied, slipping his arm lightly around her waist.

Another gentleman approached Garrett, and this time Pamela was close enough to hear what was said.

“I know you can help me,” the man said sincerely, his palms facing toward the ceiling as though ready to catch
whatever words of wisdom might come from Garrett’s lips.
“I sent the governor three letters explaining that the land
has been in my family for three generations, and still he
doesn’t respond. All he says is I’ve got to vacate the land
immediately or I’ll be arrested and remain in jail until I can prove my innocence.”

“Listen, in this country, nobody has to prove his inno
cence,” Garrett said, an annoyed look on his face. “Tomor
row, stop by around noon with the letters. I’ll read them over, and we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

The gentleman sighed heavily, as though a great burden
had just been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said as they shook hands, a bit too vigorously for this blasé crowd. “Thank you so very much. I just knew I could count on you.” Then the gentleman turned to Pamela
and offered a short, very formal bow. “You have a good
evening, miss. Sorry to take up so much of your time with
Garrett.”

“No need to apologize,” Pamela replied, flattered suddenly
that the gentleman should have felt obligated to apologize
to her.

Moments later, several more men, ranging in age from
the early twenties to the late fifties, began coming forward. Pamela was always aware of the heat of Garrett’s hand at the small of her back and of the eyes that stared at her from all corners of the ballroom.

“Garrett, it is important that I speak privately with you,”
a youthful-looking man with prematurely graying hair
said. He glanced sideways at Pamela. It was not a disrespect
ful look, merely that of a man who has gotten himself into some sort of trouble and needed rather urgently to speak to an attorney.

“I need to walk about anyway,” Pamela said, easing out of
Garrett’s grasp.

As she stepped away, Garrett murmured warmly, “Please, don’t be gone long.”

Since they’d stepped into the ballroom, there hadn’t been a moment when he hadn’t been touching her some
where, on the forearm or at the small of the back or lightly
holding her hand in his much larger one. Pamela had not been consciously aware of his reassuring touch until she stepped away from it. Now she felt she’d just let go of a lifeline and was drifting in a sea that could turn dangerously stormy without any forewarning.

She walked through cliques of guests without really
having any goal in mind. Expensive scents, a highfalutin tidbit
of conversation here and there, flashing diamonds—all brought her insecurity about being socially
inferior to the fore. Pamela tried hard not to make direct eye
contact with anyone, but to do this she had to gaze sightlessly ahead and not look down since she didn’t want to appear subservient.

For one second she found herself trapped in a dead-
end hallway, with several quietly talking couples. Almost
everyone turned at precisely the same moment to look at her. Though no words were spoken, Pamela could imagine each person asking her why she was at the dance.

Didn’t she realize that she didn’t belong?

Her nerves getting increasingly edgy, Pamela spun about in her new slippers—those, too, were courtesy of Gretchen’s foresight and Garrett’s generosity—and headed in the opposite direction. From behind, a woman’s soft
titter of laughter followed her. Frustrated and embarrassed,
Pamela picked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing
waiter, just as she had seen Garrett do, though some of the contents sloshed over the rim and down her hand.