Never Marry a Cowboy (22 page)

Kit heard the strangled emotions in his brother's
voice. “Only the good die young, Christopher. I shall long outlive you.”

Laughing, Christopher stepped back. “Typical of you to make everything seem as though it were nothing. I received reports that you'd been attacked by outlaws.”

“Yes, but fortunately for me, they did not count on my wife being incredibly resourceful or courageous.” Kit turned slightly. “I'd like you to meet Ashton.”

“Bainbridge told me you had married,” Christopher said quietly. His gaze never leaving hers, Christopher took Ashton's hand, bowed slightly, and brought her fingers to his lips. “So you are the woman who captured my brother's heart?”

Grateful for her silence, Kit watched Ashton lower her lashes, her cheeks flaming red. Although he no longer held her heart, she still held his. She would until the day he died.

“We have much that we need to discuss,” Kit said.

“Indeed, we do,” Christopher said. “Why don't you take time to enjoy some of Mrs. Gurney's fine cooking and freshen up a bit before you see Father?”

Kit could not have been more shocked if Christopher had pounded a sledgehammer into him. “Father's here?”

“Yes, but unfortunately his health is poor, and I'd rather he not see you looking quite so unkempt. I've told him nothing beyond the fact that you had married and taken your bride on a wedding trip.”

Kit's thoughts were as scattered as they'd been when the bullet had grazed his temple. He'd not planned for this turn of events, had never expected
his father to venture to Fortune. “I'll have to see if I can get the mercantile owner to open the store. We have nothing but the clothes upon our backs.”

“You can wear my clothes, of course, but I fear I have nothing suitable for your wife,” Christopher remarked dryly.

“In case you haven't notice, Christopher, I've filled out a bit more than you have since I left England. I seriously doubt your clothes would fit or that anyone would confuse us with each other.”

“You'd be surprised,” Christopher said, smiling.

 

In an effort to save time, Kit had bathed at the jail while Ashton had readied herself at the boardinghouse. Now he stood outside her room, not certain what to expect from her, knowing that whatever it was, it was well deserved.

He tapped lightly on her door. She opened it and peered out.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She opened the door farther. “I like Christopher, but I don't see the point in meeting your father.”

“I feared as much. May I come in for a moment?”

She stepped back, and he walked into the room. The scent of oleander permeated the air. It pleased him to know she had used the soap he'd bought her. It was one of the few things she'd managed to salvage before their escape, before she knew her husband's sin.

He heard the door click closed and was grateful this conversation would be held in private. As much as he cared for Mrs. Gurney, she heard too much and repeated too loudly.

He turned to face his wife. “My father and brother have traveled a great distance to be here.”

She crossed the room and sat in the rocker. “But they didn't come to see me. They didn't even know you were married when they began the journey. Christopher said he needed to speak with you. I don't see why I need to be present, especially since I plan to get on a stagecoach in the morning and go back to Dallas.”

He clenched his fists at his sides and damned his English pride. “Ashton, I realize that you find me abhorrent—”

She stood and presented her back to him. “I'm not sure how I feel about you right now.”

He fought against taking a step toward her. “I've never asked anything of you, but I'm asking now. Please, allow me to introduce you to my father. Pretend for a few days that all is well with our marriage so he may return to England free of any guilt he's harboring for having sent me here.”

She spun around. “You think that's the reason he's here? To ease his guilt?”

“It's the only logical explanation I can envision.”

“Guilt seems to run rampant in your family.”

The truth of her words cut deeply. “As soon as my family leaves, I will make arrangements for someone to escort you to Dallas. After that, you'll not hear from me again.” He gave her a sad smile. “Although I will keep my promise to place a white rose upon your grave.”

“I no longer want the white rose.”

Another slash to his heart. He tilted his head slightly. “As you wish.
Whatever
you wish I will grant,
if you will but pretend for whatever time they are here that we are happily wedded.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I'm not much good at pretending.”

“You don't have to be. Smile occasionally and stand by my side. That's all I'm asking.”

“How long are they going to be here?”

“I haven't a clue, but I can't imagine that it will be long. They have responsibilities at Ravenleigh that require their presence.”

He watched the doubts and wariness flicker over her face. She gave a brusque nod. “I'll give you tonight and tomorrow. After that I leave for Dallas. You can tell them that I have to help Madeline with the new baby.”

Her answer was not all that he'd hoped for, but it was more than he'd expected. “Thank you. I shall see that you don't regret this kindness.”

He opened the door. She took a deep breath before walking across the room and stopping beside him. “I'd rather you not touch me.”

“Sweetling, I figured that much out a few days ago.”

Her gaze swept over his face, and she furrowed her brow. “Is that the reason you walked while I rode the horse?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, Ashton, I only wished to give you your dream.”

“Instead you gave me a nightmare.”

“Apparently, I've managed to give us both one.”

K
it knocked briskly on the door to the room where Christopher and his father were staying. Christopher opened it, gave them a tenuous smile, and stepped back, allowing him to enter. Kit's gaze immediately went to his father, sitting in a chair by the window. He looked incredibly old. Even after Christopher had warned him that his health was not good, Kit had not expected his father to look so old.

It was obvious that his father could not rise and that his physical limitations infuriated him. His father had always expected as much of himself as he did of others. Kit walked across the room, knelt before his father, and smiled warmly. “Hello, Father. Missed me, did you?”

His father scoffed, but Kit was aware that his gaze never faltered as he searched his face. “Didn't expect it…to be…so boring…with no scandals brewing.” He lifted a shaking hand. Kit took it and brought it to his face. A ghost of a smile played at his father's mouth. “You've done well…for yourself…here.”

“I like to think so,” Kit admitted.

“Your mother…would be proud.”

Kit had no doubts that his mother would be. The hell of it was that for the first time in his life, he realized that he wanted his father to be proud as well.

“Content?” his father asked.

“Yes.” Or at least he had been until a few days ago, and he saw no need to raise doubts in his father's mind.

With a look of satisfaction, his father shifted his gaze momentarily to Christopher. “Told you.”

Christopher sighed. “So you did. Repeatedly.”

Kit placed his father's hand back on his lap and unfolded his body. “I'd like you to meet my wife.” He glanced over his shoulder and held out his hand, too late realizing his error. He shoved his hand into his trousers pocket. “Ashton?”

She hesitated before taking a few steps nearer. She offered his father a tremulous smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

His father nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Mmm.” He looked at Kit. “Interesting.”

Kit wasn't certain what to make of that comment. His father had always been too discerning, and he feared the old man might not be as sharp as he once was, but neither was he easily fooled. Kit cleared his throat. “Ashton, why don't you sit in that chair there?”

She sat in the plush chair across from his father. Kit sat on the arm of the chair while Christopher took a seat near their father. Ashton clutched her hands in her lap. Kit desperately wanted to take her hand, to find some comfort in her touch, but he refrained be
cause to give in to his needs would only draw attention to the fact that Mrs. Montgomery had no desire whatsoever to have any portion of her husband's body touch hers.

He had no inclination for either his father or Christopher to see Ashton rebuff him. Perhaps insisting that she come had been a mistake.

Along with a thickening silence, an air of foreboding permeated the room. He hated seeing the deterioration of his father's health, but he was beginning to sense that his father's illness was not the reason his brother had made this journey.

Christopher cleared his throat. “Kit, we need to discuss some matters, but preferably in private.”

“I have no secrets from Ashton.” Although he desperately wished that he had managed to keep his sins from her.

“You may feel otherwise, once you hear what I have to say.”

Kit glared at his brother. “By God, you'd better not tell me that you've lost Ravenleigh.”

“No, at least not in the manner you think. Your letters, your advice, and the money you've sent have all served Ravenleigh well.”

Kit felt Ashton's gaze come to rest on him. He supposed he should have mentioned that he kept close tabs on all that happened at Ravenleigh, had even at times provided funds if Christopher indicated a need or wanted to expand the family holdings in a way their father might not readily approve.

“Then for God's sake, will you reveal this deep,
dark secret so we can get on with the evening?” he demanded.

Christopher cast a quick glance at their father before turning his attention back to Kit, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward in his chair. “When Father had his first stroke, I assumed complete responsibility for Ravenleigh, which meant I was privy to all the ledgers, drawers, nooks, and crannies in his office. There, I discovered his private journal.”

Kit watched his brother retrieve a black book from the table beside his chair and extend it toward him. Kit shook his head. “I have no desire to impose on Father's privacy.”

“A pity I did not share your respect for his most intimate thoughts.” Christopher turned the book over and carefully stroked the tooled leather. “Father wrote about the night we were born.”

Kit shrugged. “I see nothing uncommon in that. As a matter of fact, I should hope the event was monumental enough to deserve mention within his journal.”

“You are right, brother. The birth of the heir was cause for jubilation.” Christopher smiled sadly. “The first born son was to bear all the burdens that came with the rank and privilege. All the burdens. Including being marked as the first born, once it was discovered that another child was making his entry into the world.”

Kit's stomach tightened into a knot, and subconsciously he rubbed his thumb over the shiny scar just
below his chin. “I'm not quite certain what you're implying.”

Christopher stood and tossed the book into Kit's lap. “Father did not place the flaming red poker against the flesh of his second born son, as legend maintains. He placed it against that of his first born.”

Kit shook his head, refusing to believe the implication of his brother's words. “You're not making sense.”

“You are the heir apparent. You are the first born. You are the true Viscount Wyndhaven. You are to be the next Earl of Ravenleigh.”

Kit lunged to his feet and threw the book onto the chair his brother had just vacated. “You're out of your mind. You've somehow managed to misinterpret what Father wrote.”

“I've read it a dozen times, the words emblazoned in my memory. They are clear, precise, and exact. Father has your penchant for detail. Read his journal. Every word I've just spoken is written in his neat, perfect script. I had planned to send word for you to return to England immediately, but when Father seemed to recover, I thought it expedient to bring him here. Unfortunately, he suffered another stroke on the ship. The physician says a third will undoubtedly be his last. I thought you should know while he was still able to verify the truth that Ravenleigh will go to you.”

With his heart thundering, Kit walked across the room and knelt before his father. “Why? If what Christopher says is true, why did you deny me my birthright?”

He watched his father swallow and saw his mouth quivering as he stared into the darkness beyond the window. “Because…you were weak, mewling like a kitten. I had already branded you when Christopher was born with the lungs of a lion. You were small and spindly. He was robust. I chose the stronger son because Ravenleigh needs a firm hand.”

Confusion surrounded Kit. “But there would have been witnesses.”

“Only the physician,” Christopher explained. “Father paid him a great deal of money to hold his tongue. Mother was in too much pain to notice anything amiss.”

“He chose you,” Kit said speculatively.

“Apparently so. But now that we know the truth, you shall return to Ravenleigh and take up the mantle you should have worn all along.”

“Is that what you want, Father?” Kit asked.

His father held his silence.

“That's what I thought,” Kit said quietly.

“What Father wants is not the issue. What is of importance is that we make right a wrong that was committed when we were born. Father has made arrangements for the heir to marry at Christmas—”

“To hell with his arrangements. I have a wife.” Kit uncoiled a body that had never known such tenseness.

“For how long? Bainbridge explained why you married Ashton,” Christopher said.

“Did he also tell you that I've fallen in love with her?”

“No, unfortunately, I sensed that bit of information on my own, but it does not change the facts.” Christo
pher picked up his father's journal and extended it toward Kit. “Don't turn aside your heritage without giving the circumstances a great deal of thought. You have always placed Ravenleigh first. You cannot tell me that in your heart of hearts you never wanted to be its heir.”

Christopher stepped forward until they stood toe to toe. “Remember, brother, I know your thoughts as well as I know my own.”

 

Dressed in the nightgown Kit had purchased from the mercantile, Ashton sat on the bed with her feet tucked beneath her. She studied Kit as he stood beside the window, staring out, one arm raised, his hand pressed to the wall, the other hand holding his father's journal. He didn't seem to notice the night breeze fluttering the curtains around him.

For a while, within the room with his family, she had ceased to exist, forgotten in the corner. It was a role she had played most of her life—present, but not seen.

Tonight she had played it to perfection, giving herself the opportunity to study three men whose lives were interwoven like flawed bits of cloth. She had little doubt that love existed among them all, but there were also deception and lies, things her family had never engaged in.

She knew Christopher had not meant to hurt her when he'd made reference to Kit's reason for marrying her. He'd simply wanted to point out that Kit was young enough to become a widower, marry another
woman, and provide an heir for Ravenleigh. Several heirs, as a matter of fact.

Her worry that he would spend the remainder of his life alone no longer held merit, for a marriage would be arranged for him, had already been arranged for the heir. Obligation to Ravenleigh would force him to have what she wanted for him: a family.

Strange, how she was unable to stop herself from caring for him, even though she knew he had taken an innocent life.

Stranger still was to hear him voice his love of her aloud to his brother, to know his feelings toward her had not altered, even though she had been cold and distant on the journey back to Fortune. She had refused to sleep beside him, had spoken to him only when circumstances forced her to. She wondered if Christopher would still insist that Kit should take his place as the rightful heir if he knew that Kit had murdered Clarisse.

“I suppose Christopher's revelations tonight came as quite a surprise,” she said quietly.

“You have a gift for understatement, sweetling.”

“You never suspected—”

“No.”

She wanted him to face her so she could look into his eyes and know exactly what he was feeling. Her head told her not to care, but she couldn't prevent her heart from aching for him and all the torment he must be enduring. His father's deception was crueler than the scar he'd given his son.

“You told me once that you had only regretted not
being the heir apparent the day that Christopher married,” she said softly.

“I lied.” He gazed at the book clutched in his hand. “I didn't realize I'd lied or that all these years I'd hidden the truth from myself. I only knew that I loved Ravenleigh and put its welfare above all else.”

“And now you'll have it along with another wife.”

“I don't want a wife.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unless she can be you. And you no longer want a husband if he can only be me.” He swung his leg over the window casing. “Goodnight, Ashton. Sleep well.”

She sat up straighter. “You're leaving?”

“I'll return in the morning. Per our previous understanding, while Father and Christopher are here, I'd like to keep up the pretense that we are happily wed.”

The sadness reflected in his voice brought tears to her eyes. Then he was gone.

And she found herself wishing that he'd stayed.

 

Kit walked into the saloon, amazed by the familiarity that hit him. He'd never expected to give a damn about this state that he was certain had been built three feet above hell.

“Kit! Thank God you're back.”

He turned and smiled at Harrison Bainbridge as he made his way awkwardly toward him. “So you aren't one of the people who confused Christopher with me,” Kit said, forcing a lightness into his voice that he did not feel.

Harrison staggered to a stop. “Good God, no. Christopher carries himself like a real nobleman. You,
on the other hand, look to be an arrogant yet disreputable nobleman.”

“I appreciate the compliment.”

“It wasn't a compliment, you bloody idiot.”

Kit's smile grew along with a tightening in his chest. “I never thought I'd say these words, but it's good to be back.”

“It's even better to have you back. Christopher feared you were dead.”

“So I heard, and so I almost was.”

Harrison narrowed his eyes as though he detected something was amiss. “Would you like to go to my office for a bit of brandy and some private conversation?”

“No. I feel a need for the chaos created by people. Whiskey and a corner table should do us well enough.”

Kit led the way while Harrison signaled for Lorna. Kit sat and glanced around the saloon. Harry had done a remarkable job of sprucing it up. It would never pass as a gentleman's club, but here a man could relax and be himself. Seldom was the case in London.

Even within his own home, a man would have to project a mien of authority and nobility unless he be considered an eccentric fool.

Harry took his chair as Lorna set a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table. She studied Kit. “Is this 'un still the marshal's brother?”

“No,” Harry said, amusement reflected in his voice.

Lorna's face lit up as she plopped onto Kit's lap. “I sure did miss you.”

Kit slipped her a coin and patted her hip. “Be a good girl, then, and leave me alone to talk with Harry.”