Running Wild (26 page)

She almost forgot to hand her parasol to the waiting
footman. By the clicking of her heels on marble, followed by the sound of
muffled steps upon the thick red and green patterned rug of the Thompson’s
parlor, she knew her feet touched the floor, but she felt like she was walking
on air.

Not just pretty
, she told herself,
but prettier
than everyone else
. Since he had no knowledge of which women would attend
the tea, he really thought her prettier than all the women in Newport. Could
he, she wondered with a leap of her heart, be falling in love with her at last?
Oh, but what good could come of that, when he would, by and by, return to
Colorado?

It might make him open to seduction: hot, wild memories to
sustain her after the bitterness of his departure.

She didn’t recover her poise until she’d seated herself.
Only through force of habit was she able to make the proper introductions and
exchange pleasantries.

Presently, the Thompson’s servants brought in the tea trays.
The men began to rise to retrieve refreshments for the women, except for
Nicholas, dressed in his midnight blue checked suit and seated on a red satin
upholstered chair next to her. Gold painted, with delicately scrolled arms, the
chair contrasted sharply with Nicholas’s hard-muscled form. Weeks into his
stay, he was still all pine-and-gunpowder, lurking danger and hidden strength.
While the other men sat in their chairs easily, he seemed uncomfortable, for
the furniture was distinctly feminine and Nicholas was all male.

She leaned toward him. “Nicholas,” she said in a low voice,
“you’re expected to bring me refreshments.”

He lifted his eyebrows in challenge. “Why? You too weak to
fetch them yourself?”

Biting her lip, she restrained a laugh. “It’s a courtesy.”

His eyes gleamed. “That so? Out West women wait on men.”

“Perhaps so, but you are in
civilized
company, now.”

His lips twitched. “Well, ma’am, if this is the way
civilization is heading, reckon I’m buildin’ myself a machine to take me back
in time.”

Her smothered laughter erupted as an undignified giggle.
Nicholas grinned, drawing a little flutter from her heart. On her left, she
felt Samantha Peabody’s shoulders shake, as she did a poor job of feigning
interest in Julia Kirk’s conversation.

“Why, what a reprehensible thing to say to a reformer!” Star
scolded. “I confess, however, that I cannot wholly blame you, for what
oppressor has ever given up his victims without a fight? At any event, you have
no such machine here. When in Rome one must do as the Romans do.”

“Now, ma’am,” Nicholas said, rising, his eyes sparkling,
“that’s just not playin’ fair. You know I can’t resist literature. So what can
I fetch you?”

She smiled up at him. “A cup of tea would be divine, and
whatever pastry strikes your fancy.”

“Sure thing,” he said and crossed the room to the sideboard.

As soon as he was out of hearing, Samantha and Julia turned
to her, both grinning. “He’s very stubborn, isn’t he?” Samantha asked.

Star nodded. “And
quite
certain that our customs are
absurd.”

“Oh,” Julia exclaimed, leaning forward, “but he is ever so
handsome.”

“I suppose so,” Samantha replied, eyeing Nicholas
speculatively as he reached the sideboard. “He’s well-mannered too. One
wouldn’t expect it of a rancher. I should have thought him coarse.”

Star watched as Nicholas surveyed the assortment of
pastries, a perplexed expression on his face. He leaned toward Jasper Gardner
and uttered a low-voiced comment. Jasper’s shoulders shook, and he almost
dropped the load of plates and cups he was attempting to balance.

“Not coarse,” Star replied slowly, for she disliked the
predatory interest in Samantha’s voice. “But rough.”

“And rich?” Julia asked a trifle breathlessly.

Nicholas started moving things around at the sideboard. Oh,
he was taking one of the trays! Star clenched her jaw against the laughter
threatening to burst forth. Smart man!

“Why as to that, Julia,” she said turning to them, for if
she continued watching Nicholas, she would lose control over her composure. “I
know nothing about his bank or stock accounts, but his ranch is large, as is
his house.” With, she thought, a huge stone fireplace, leather-upholstered
furniture and his office, lined with leather bound books, all smelling
quintessentially male. She missed it, she thought as a sudden wave of longing
passed over her. Missed the quiet, periodically interrupted by the laughter of
children, the comfort of those chairs and that fire on a cold winter’s day.
“It’s constructed of logs, mind you,” she added, “but possesses enough modern
amenities as not to feel too primitive.”

“Oh,” Julia said disappointed as Simon Price, balancing two
plates, approached them. “Do you suppose he would require his wife to move to
Colorado? Now that he’s seen
us
, surely he would not wish to live in The
Wilderness.”

Wife? Nicholas had never displayed any more interest in
marriage than she. “True,” she answered, “he’s enjoying himself here, but I’m
quite certain that Mr. McGraw prefers his home.” Actually, he’d shown less
interest in marriage than she, for at thirty-five Nicholas had never once been
engaged, which ought not to disturb her, but did nonetheless.

“Ladies, I trust I’ve provided well enough for your sweet
tooths,” Simon said, passing plates to Samantha and Julia.

On the other side of her Nicholas placed his tray on a
marble-topped table situated between the sofa and his chair. On the tray were
cups filled with tea, sugar, an additional cup of cream and one of sugar cubes,
along with four plates positively
loaded
with pastries. Nicholas knew
full well the impropriety of taking so much, but he didn’t seem to care.
“There,” he said triumphantly. “Couldn’t figure which you’d want so I brought
you and me two of everything. Decided you’d best fix the tea, though.”

“Why, that is a fair enough trade. How do you take it?”

“Don’t know, never had tea,” he said, seating himself.

She arched an eyebrow, swallowing several times to control a
laugh. “Never? Doesn’t Melinda drink it?”

“She does, but I’m for the java.”

“Well then, how do you like your ‘java’?”

 “Black as sin and thick as mud.”

“Mud?” Hannah asked, as she sat down on the sofa across from
them, next to Jasper, who offered her a plate. “I do hope my tea is better than
that.”

Nick flashed her a smile. “I’m sure your tea’s just fine,
ma’am. Why don’t you fix mine for like yours, Miz Montgomery.”

She obliged him and handed him a cup. He took a sip. When he
made no comment, she asked, “Well, how is it?”

“Not sure. How’s it supposed to taste?”

“Well, not like mud.”

“No ma’am. It’s a lot weaker than mud.”

Jasper guffawed as Hannah let out a peal of laughter. “Mr.
McGraw,” Jasper said, “you are certainly a breath of fresh air. Not much of a
tea man myself, but I doubt I’d like coffee that’s as thick as mud.”

Nick grinned back at him. “No, sir, most wouldn’t until
they’ve been on a cattle drive. Kinda get used to it then and after that you
get to liking it.”

“A cattle drive,” Hannah said breathlessly. “You mean you’ve
actually lassoed cows and branded them?”

“Yes’m. Not on a drive, though. At that point a body’s
mostly just trying to move ’em slow enough so they don’t lose too much fat, but
fast enough to beat other ranchers to market and get the best price per head.”

“Indeed?” Jasper asked. “Have you been to Dodge City, then?”

“Sure, a few times—” Nicholas said. For several minutes, he
answered Hannah and Jasper’s questions about The Wild West. As always, he
started by telling it honestly, but they would have none of it. Soon enough he
was spinning wildly improbable yarns and, smiling, Star turned her attention
back to Julia, Samantha and Simon.

“It was a most elegant party, as one always expects of the
Astors,” Julia was saying.

Star suppressed a yawn. Caroline Astor’s parties
were
quite elegant. And dull as dirt.

“But a bit sad, I should suppose,” Simon replied.

“Why yes, of course,” Julia said with a feigned sigh. Julia
was a social climber and cared nothing for sentiment other than to express that
which Society expected.

“Sad? Why?” Samantha asked, finishing a bite of pound cake
and taking a genteel sip of tea. To wash down the cake, Star assumed with a
twitch of her lips. It was rather dry, the Thompsons being known for strict
adherence to custom and tradition, not for their choice of cooks.

“Due to the fact that the Kingstons were not in attendance,
of course,” Julia said.

Star’s muscles tensed as Minnie’s face flashed across her
mind. “How unusual,” Star said. “The Kingstons never miss an Astor party.” The
New York City branch of the family at any rate. Minnie’s family, though, lived
further up the Hudson—

“Why, they couldn’t attend, could they? Not after The
Announcement. They’ve
all
, the whole family, removed themselves from
Society for several weeks. It’s only to be expected, what with words like
Murder linked to their name.”

Murder
? Star’s skin prickled as sleepy nerves jumped
to horrified attention.

“Murder?” Samantha asked, lowering her voice. “Oh my, I have
heard nothing of that! Was someone killed?”

Oh no, not again. Not another death in that family—

“Not precisely,” Simon replied. “For Isabella was already
dead.”

“
Isabella
?” Star blurt out. Her throat closed up. It
wasn’t possible—

Did it matter how she died?

Star started to shake. Oh God, oh God, oh God!

“Yes,” Julia answered. “You must know that Edwin has not
recovered from his daughter’s death. He’s insisted these last months that
Isabella did not die in that accident. Until now everyone thought him mad with
grief.”

Samantha glanced at Star, then turned away as if noticing
nothing, which was scarcely possible. Star’s face felt frozen and drained of
blood. Samantha’s hand crept silently across the sofa to take hers in a light
squeeze. Star blinked back tears. She and Samantha had been archrivals since
childhood. They heartily disliked each other, yet shared a bond that few
understood.

“Not so mad in the end,” Simon was saying. His countenance
reflected calm detachment, but when his eyes met hers briefly, she fancied she
spied hidden compassion in them. He would know of her attachment to Bella, as
much as he was in Jane’s company these days.

“No,” Julia said, face alight with the joy of gossip, “for
he persuaded the coroner to conduct an autopsy and what should they discover
but
arsenic
!”

“Arsenic?” Star said, her voice sounding unnaturally calm.
Samantha gave her hand another squeeze before releasing it.

“Yes! It appears she was poisoned! But by whom one can only
guess.”

“Horatio Burke.” The words emerged from Star’s mouth,
bypassing conscious thought. Julia’s eyes widened, warning Star of her mistake.
She oughtn’t to have said it; such comments only fueled the gossip. She was
shocked and hurt, however, and could barely think. She ought to leave, escape
before she made matters worse. . .

“That,” Simon replied, “was precisely what Edwin said.”

“One must make exceptions however to that, for Edwin has
always hated Horatio,” Julia said.

“Not in the beginning,” Star replied softly. “He hated
losing Minnie at so young an age, but felt the match was a good one.” Isabella
had hated Horatio as well, and her work in the movement, wonderful thought it
was, had always been tinged with revenge. She’d made many harsh and very public
comments on his character over the years, partly, she asserted, to warn women
against him. No doubt Horatio, who remained unmarried, hated that.

“Why, so he did,” Julia replied slowly. “As I now recall,
when—”

“Miz Montgomery?” Nicholas interrupted

Star looked up. Nicholas stood above her, his face grim.

“Yes?”

“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ve got an appointment with Lee
in half an hour. Forgot to mention it earlier.”

He was lying. He’d agreed to accompany her after tea for the
daily afternoon promenade down Bellevue Avenue. “Why, that is very bad of you,
Nicholas. I suppose it is unalterable?”

“Sailing ma’am. Supposed to meet at the dock. Reckon he’s on
his way, so we can’t even telephone him.”

Nicholas hated sailing. She’s taken him on
The Princess
once, and he’d been seasick before they’d made it out of the bay. His dislike
of swimming only made it less appealing.

Star rose shakily and managed a sigh of well-feigned
disgust. “Julia, Samantha, Mr. Price, I shall take my leave of you. As always,
it has been a pleasure. Julia, I meant to express my admiration for your new
hairstyle. You must tell me. . . .”

It took a quarter of an hour before they’d made their
excuses and were in the carriage on the way home. After several minutes of
silence, Nicholas ventured hesitantly, “You O.K.?”

Her mind whirled with unanswered questions and painful
recollection. “I shall be in time. You heard about Bella, then?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry for it, if that’s any help.”

She stared out the window and bit her lip to hold back tears
as a pounding headache formed. “It is, some. Thank you for helping me escape.
Much more . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried to swallow a sob. Images of
Minnie surfaced, of her silly joyful laugh before Horatio. Of the changes her
death had wrought upon her once-dreamy little sister—the bitterness and anger
and fierce determination in Bella’s eyes, and the look of pain and fear in her
father’s eyes. He’d lost both—

“Here,” Nicholas said, handing her a handkerchief. Sucking
in a breath, she took it and pressed it to her eyes to stem the flow.
Impossible. Another sob lodged in her throat, tried to break free, and came out
in a gasping whimper.