Silken Dreams (8 page)

“Mama writes about you a lot.”

Ethan tried to deny the pleasure-pain he felt at the words.

“She’s tried to get hold of you, but you never returned her letters.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to write to her?”

Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. “I was busy breaking my back on a potato farm so that I could pay the fines the governor levied against me. It doesn’t give a man too much time to write to his mother.”

“You could have made the time.”

Ethan pierced his brother with a proud stare. “You of all people should have known I couldn’t write to Mama. Not like that.”

“Not until you’d finished your penance?”

For once, Ned’s voice was free from its usual bite of sibling bitterness, and Ethan was grateful. He looked away for a moment, uncomfortable with just how much he’d revealed to his stepbrother.

“Ethan…” Ned hesitated a moment. “She received word that the governor is threatening to rescind the offer of your pardon.”

Ethan’s head jerked up. “Like hell!”

“He thinks you’re behind the latest rash of robberies attributed to the Gentleman Bandit.”

“I have ironclad alibis for nearly every one of those robberies!”

“He thinks you’ve trained an accomplice.”

“An accomplice?” Ethan repeated the words with a twinge of dread. If the governor thought he was training a successor, proving his innocence would be nearly impossible. Even if he had alibis for every single robbery, the governor could simply claim he’d sent his accomplice to the scene.

A searing imprecation tore from Ethan’s lips when he realized his innocence would be all but impossible to prove. “Damn, I haven’t even set so much as my little toe inside a bank in five years!”

“Maybe you should turn yourself in to the authorities and explain.”

“Explain what?” he whispered fiercely. “Explain that I’m not responsible for the last six robberies, even though I was in the area when half of them occurred?” He shook his head. “Even with a dozen ironclad alibis, I couldn’t go to the authorities now. They’d simply think I was protecting my accomplice.” He heaved a rough sigh.

“There’s more, Ethan.”

He leveled a piercing glance on his younger stepbrother. “Somehow I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever you’re about to say.”

Ned shook his head. “A few months ago some of your things were stolen from the house.” He took a deep breath. “Mama was notified nearly a week ago that your gold watch had been found.”

“So?”

“It was found on the floor of the Eastbrook bank after the robbery. The authorities think
you
dropped it there before exploding the safe.”

“Dammit!”

“The watch isn’t common knowledge yet, but the authorities were notified and sent sketches of your face.”

He hesitated, and Ethan sensed he still hadn’t heard the last of his stepbrother’s bad news.

Ned slipped his hand beneath the edge of his jacket and withdrew a tattered piece of paper from the inner pocket. “Do you remember the photograph Mama keeps on her highboy?”

Ethan nodded. It was the last picture taken of Ethan before he’d begun his career as the Gentleman.

“The night the watch was taken, she woke to find this tacked to the frame.” Ned reluctantly held out the slip of paper. His eyes had grown darker, grayer, and even more inscrutable.

Ethan’s fingers unfolded the paper, then paused. For a moment, he gazed at the eight-sided star in confusion. Then his eyes noted the initials in the center:
SCJ
.

“The Star Council of Justice?” he muttered slowly, already familiar with the vigilante group’s method of retaliation. Though their motives might seem noble if viewed from the surface, their methods of punishment amounted to little more than cold-blooded murder. The only way to escape their wrath was to surrender to the law. But since the law was on his tail, too, Ethan couldn’t even seek protection from the courts.

He took a deep breath, and the paper crumpled between his fingers. The time had come for him to cut his losses.

Ethan crossed toward his stepbrother and held out his hand. “Take care of yourself, Ned.”

Ned glanced at him in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“Mexico. Canada.”

“You won’t solve anything by running!”

“Someone is trying to see me hanged, little brother. And I’m not about to be led like a lamb to the slaughter.”

The muted clang of a pail caused both men to start. Gesturing with his head, Ethan motioned for Ned to hitch the buggy and drive into the sunshine. After Ned had gone, Ethan peered around the edge of the door. A shiver of relief slid down his spine when he realized it was Lettie who approached the barn.

Though he knew he should leave, Ethan waited in the cool shadows of the tack room as Lettie fed the chickens, then gathered her pail and stepped into the barn. “Hello, Lettie,” he murmured.

She stiffened, then finally turned.

Her nut-brown eyes became wide. Her hands tightened around the handles of her pail. “I thought you’d gone.”

Ethan reached to draw the door closed, then walked toward her, his boots rasping in the straw. To his surprise, she didn’t seem afraid. In fact, her gaze was steady and intent.

“No. I haven’t gone yet.”

The silence hung between them. Thick. Warm. Then she asked bluntly, “Who are you, Ethan McGuire?”

Lettie noted the way he stiffened at the use of his name. “You’ve been talking to your brother.”

She nodded.

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

He evidently read more into her reply than she’d intended, because he took a step forward. “But he warned you about me, didn’t he?”

She watched him advance, and a curious warmth entered her veins. Her breathing became slightly irregular, causing the firm curves of her breasts to push against the pinafore bib of her apron. “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

She kept her shoulders straight, her chin proud. “He said he thought you were probably a thief. Or a murderer.”

Ethan drew nearer, his eyes narrowing.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised,” he added, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Since he’s deciding on a past for me, I’d have thought he would embellish things a little, come up with something a little more creative. Course, I guess
thief
and
murderer
covers just about everything, doesn’t it?”

Ethan was only a few steps away now and closing the distance.

“And what do you think, Lettie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think I’ve killed? Do you think I’ve stolen?”

He was so close now that she could smell the faint scent of soap on his skin. A trembling awareness began deep within her. Trying not to let him see his effect on her, she bent to place the pail on the ground.

“I scare you, don’t I, Lettie?”

She straightened and met his gaze. “No.”

He took another step, and he was so close now that she could feel the heat from his body, see the tiny beads of sweat on his upper lip. But she wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of the way she responded to him.

As if he’d sensed a portion of her thoughts, Ethan closed the scant distance between them. His gaze grew warm and intense. “I can feel you trembling. Why? Because you think I’ll hurt you?”

He stood so close now that Lettie couldn’t move without brushing some part of his body in the process.

“No. I—”

“You don’t think I’ll hurt you?” His hand lifted to cup her cheek, forcing her to look up at him.

“No.” The word was a garbled whisper.

“Why?” He took another step, and his thighs pressed against her skirts. “Because you’re Jacob Grey’s little sister?” His voice grew unconsciously hard, and Lettie caught a shred of bitterness deep in his eyes. “If anything, your relationship to Jacob Grey should give you more reason to fear me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she stated again—more firmly this time.

Ethan regarded her intently, evidently surprised by her refusal to cower under his harsh words.

“Then perhaps you
should
fear me, Lettie Grey.” His glance flicked to the curves of her lips and seemed to linger there. “You should run a hundred miles from me, because I’m the kind of man you should never admit to knowing.”

“Why?” She tried to give the word the same degree of firmness she’d used before, but the tone of her voice emerged with a breathless quality. He was standing so close to her now. So close.

His eyes grew dark and filled with shadows. “Because I’m the kind of man who could ruin a girl like you.”

At the word
girl
, Lettie stiffened and wedged her hands between them, and she pushed him away. “I’m not a
girl
. I am a vibrant, mature woman! The kind any man would want to kiss. Even you!”

Silence suddenly cloaked them in a hot, sticky awareness.

Ethan’s expression of shock was almost comical. “Me!”

Lettie’s lips thinned. The Highwayman would never have been so rude. Nor would he have passed up such a golden opportunity. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him in pique. “I suppose I’m not pretty enough for you.”

“You’re pretty.”

“But not pretty enough.” She brushed past him, but he caught her arm.

When she glanced over her shoulder, she found Ethan watching her with eyes that were still and quiet, like the surface of a dark summer pond that hid tangled depths below.

After a moment he released her, and his thumbs hooked in the back of his waistband in such a way that the fabric of his trousers pulled taut across his hips. She swallowed. The man’s pants were tight enough.

Her gaze bounced up and locked with his own. His features lay cloaked in shadow. Yet he seemed to know just what she’d been thinking, because he shook his head from side to side in silent reproof.

“You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of thoughts, Lettie.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” he breathed, his blue eyes gleaming, his features quiet, sensual. He edged closer.

Lettie’s chin tilted at a defiant angle. “I thought you were going.”

“Maybe I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll even kiss you.”

Lettie could barely breathe.

“A man would be a fool not to kiss you,” he continued, speaking almost to himself. “You’re sweet. And pretty. Fresh.” A flicker of nostalgic longing flashed across his features, making Lettie think that it had been a long time since Ethan had seen any of those qualities in a woman. That sliver of vulnerability touched her in strange ways.

Lettie took a step back and bumped into the stall. Ethan’s hands came out to grasp the railing on either side of her. She could feel the heat of his body seeping through the layers of her clothing.

A soft, whispering “No” escaped from her lips, but Ethan smiled and shook his head.

“You asked.” He leaned closer. His breath fanned against her cheek.

Lettie’s head dropped back, her eyes flickered closed, and she waited.…

Nothing happened.

Opening one eyelash, she peered up at Ethan, only to find him grinning at her in evident amusement. Drat and bother! He’d been toying with her all along.

Growling in anger, Lettie balled her hands into fists and slugged him in the stomach. As he doubled over with a grunt, she pushed his arm away and dodged to the opposite side of the barn.

To her surprise, Ethan chuckled aloud and turned to lean against the stall, rubbing his belly. Despite his negligent pose, his stance was still slightly wary, his blue eyes sparkling.

Lettie nearly gaped at him open-mouthed. She’d never seen him smile before—not an honest smile that entered his eyes and made them glow. It made him appear boyish and infinitely mischievous.

“Like I said, a man should never take his eyes off you. You’re a dangerous girl wrapped in a pretty package.”

Lettie had been about to leave the barn. She’d been all set to whirl on her toes and stomp out the door. Until she heard that word again.
Girl
. Like a thorn in her side, the word was thrown carelessly into his comment, proving to her once again that everyone saw her as a child.

She took a deep breath, a simmering frustration growing within her. She wasn’t a girl, she was a woman!

As if her feet moved of their own volition, Lettie found herself stepping forward. Her shoulders pressed back, causing the rounded curves of her bosom to jut against the bib of her apron. Without stopping, she crossed toward him until her skirts brushed the tips of his boots.

Ethan straightened, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes narrowing in disbelief at her sudden boldness.

“I told you once before: I’m not a girl, Ethan McGuire.” She stepped forward again until her skirts flattened against his thighs and her breasts nearly brushed his chest. Her hands lifted to rest against his shoulders, savoring the firm musculature beneath her palms. She raised herself on tiptoe, lifting her thumbs to position his head so that they wouldn’t bump noses.

He was smiling, ever so slightly, as if he thought she were merely teasing him and would back away. But Lettie did not back away, and his smile altered.

Her own lips tilted in satisfaction, then she drew him down for a kiss, trying to remember in her mind all of the stolen embraces she’d witnessed over the years.

Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she drew herself tighter against his torso, until his hands wrapped around her back and he took most of her weight. Her lips parted, ever so slightly. Her lashes flickered closed.

Though Lettie feared her true inexperience would show the minute her lips met his own, she need not have worried. Ethan evidently felt no qualms in taking charge of their embrace. Within moments, he had crushed her against him, teaching her the art of blending lip to lip, chest to chest, hip to hip. One of his hands settled in the curve of her back to hold her tightly, while the other moved to tangle in the base of her thick braid to keep her head steady as his lips hungrily traced the curve of her cheek, the jut of her chin. Then he shifted slightly and followed the lower curve of her lip with his tongue.

Lettie wrenched herself free, breathing hard. She gazed up at him in disbelief, slowly backing away, her fingers pressing against her lips. Her heart pounded like a runaway locomotive and her limbs trembled, barely able to support her.