Simmer All Night (21 page)

"She's a beauty, Welby," said one of the men. "You'll be the envy of London."

"Once you have her tamed," the second man agreed. "She's a bold bit of baggage, I'm afraid. Comes from being reared among barbarians, I imagine."

"That wildness appeals to me," observed the first sonofabitch. "I hear she's fast, going off with men all by herself, among other things. Have you had her yet, Welby? Is she as delicious as she looks?"

Cole's hand clenched in a fist even as Welby replied, "Enough, Warrington. You'll not dishonor Miss Delaney."

The second bastard chuckled and elbowed the first in the gut. "That's his job."

"Now, chaps, really," Welby protested. "You're not being gentlemen."

"Ah, I know that voice," said the second. "He's going after her tonight. So will you tell us in the morning, Welby? About the wild part? If she's as good as she looks, I might just import a taste of Texas for myself."

Laughter rose in the air and Cole wished for his gun. He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then let the crystal glass fly. It sailed over the heads of the trio and crashed against Poseidon, splintering into shards. Taking advantage of the distraction, Cole was able to approach the group and land a pair of punches, knocking the bastards to the ground before turning on Welby.

The knife he'd retrieved from the sheath strapped above his ankle gleamed in the moonlight and Welby gasped, partially with fear, but mainly from pain. "Morgan, I didn't..."

Cole tightened his already firm grip on the Englishman's balls.

"Got your attention? Good. Listen up, Lord Windy, while I explain a few things about barbarians from Texas. We don't cotton to loud-mouthed, mush-brained fools talking poorly about our women." Cole placed the point of the knife blade against the pulse throbbing at Welby's neck. "We don't hesitate to kill when killing needs doing. And..." He tightened his grip on Welby's testicles, "...we're expert at making steers out of bulls. We know how to do it quick or..." He gave his wrist a twist and spoke above the viscount's yelp, "...how to draw it out for as long as the mood suits."

A shove sent the Englishman sprawling. Cole stood over the three men, and spoke in a tone as sharp as the knife in his hand. "Christina Delaney is a lady and you will treat her as such. The first time I get wind of anything otherwise, each one of you boys will get a personal lesson on what gelding is all about."

Cole left them lying on the grass as he marched back toward Hartsworth. He seethed, he steamed, he stewed.
Gentlemen, hell. You'd find more class in a bordello bar.

How dare they let such filth come out of their mouths? How dare Welby not put a stop to it right away? What kind of man listens to that sort of talk about his woman? Christina didn't know what she was getting herself into.

"Well, she's not going to get into it." He veered off the path, creating a shortcut through the garden as he muttered beneath his breath. "I won't let her."

His overhearing those insults had changed everything. Elizabeth wouldn't want her daughter marrying a man who let other men get by with such obscenity.
Now, chaps.
What sort of objection was that? The man might as well have been wearing a dress.

Such behavior was dishonorable. Welby was dishonorable, and Elizabeth set a high store on honor. No matter what Christina liked to believe, her mother loved her deeply. She wanted the best for her daughter, and the best damn sure wasn't a low-down snake like Welby who let his friends dirty Christina's name. That title might mean a lot to Elizabeth, but it sure as hell didn't mean
that
much. She'd want some nobility in her noble son-in-law. Knowing that, it was Cole's duty as a Delaney family friend to see a halt called to this proposed debacle.

Now all he had to do was convince Christina to see it his way. For a moment, he considered taking news of this incident to the earl, but he quickly reconsidered. Cole liked the old codger, but he didn't trust him. Thornbury approved of the match; he might not see the sin in Welby's namby-pamby defense of his fiancée. Hell, it might be the British male viewpoint, for all Cole knew.

And what about Christina? How would she react to the news? She'd be offended, surely. Wouldn't she? The Englishmen had talked about her as if she were a sporting girl and Welby had let them.

A picture of a barefoot Christina dancing in the San Antonio plaza flashed through his mind.

Well,
it doesn't matter what she thinks. Not this time,
Cole decided as he climbed the stairs to the portico and reentered the saloon. He was putting a stop to this nonsense one way or the other. It was his job. His responsibility. His duty. This time, Chrissy Delaney would listen to him and for once in her life, she'd behave.

Purpose roared through Cole's blood as he threaded his way through the throng of people milling in the saloon and headed for the family wing of the house. He wouldn't fail Elizabeth and Jake. Maybe by stopping this farce of an engagement, he could in part make up for his own deplorable behavior.

At least, he hoped so. Guilt rode his shoulder every minute of every day when he thought of those wild moments in the folly and then again in his bedroom. Cole realized those incidents were part of the reason why Welby's actions so infuriated him. What he'd done was worse. So much worse. His need for redemption went bone deep.

But he wouldn't think about that now. He needed to focus all his energy on convincing Chrissy to do the right thing and call off this marriage. Today, before the damned betrothal was formally announced tomorrow. Forget his previous plan. He no longer wished this wedding delayed. He wanted it canceled. Now. Tonight. He'd get her back to Texas and reconciled with her family another way.

It wouldn't be easy. She'd certainly locked up on the idea up till now.

The woman is nothing short, of stubborn. She's hard-headed. Willful. Unyielding.
Those words and stronger ones punctuated his steps as he climbed the stairs.
She's contrary. Impetuous. Intractable.
He marched down the hall toward her bedroom door.
Ornery. Obstinate.
He rapped on the door.
Bullheaded.
The door cracked open.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

"Cole?" she asked, her jeweled eyes growing wary. "I thought you were my maid. What are you doing here?"

In that moment, he couldn't have told her on a bet.

All memory of what had brought him to her room evaporated from his mind. Only the energy pounding through his blood remained. This Christina Delaney was a far cry from the Chili Queen who danced barefoot in the plaza, her gypsy skirt whirling around trim ankles, her peasant blouse slipping off one shoulder. This Christina was a regal princess, her formal gown a vibrant creation of emerald and gold that paid homage to the perfection of her form. The gown and matching jewels twinkling at her ears and around her neck elevated her above mere mortals, and stood as irrefutable witness to the distance that yawned between an earl's granddaughter and a gardener's grandson.

So
breathtakingly beautiful.
Cole loved the gown. He hated it. "Take it off."

"What?"

He shook his head.
That's not what I...
"Call it off."

"What do you mean?" Concern creased her face as she glanced up and down the hallway. "Cole, please. You can't be here. Not now. I'm trying on ball gowns."

"Then let me in."

"I can't. I'm only half-dressed and besides, it's not proper. Go downstairs and I'll—"

"Proper?" he said with a laugh as he pushed past her. "You? Chrissy Delaney? Queen of the Chili Queens?" He stood close to her as he reached around and shoved her bedroom door shut. "When have you ever concerned yourself with 'proper'?"

Her pulse throbbed visibly in her neck. "What is going on here, Cole? What's the matter with you? Have you been drinking?"

His gaze fell to her lips. "Not enough. Not nearly enough."

His blood pounded. Urgency drummed. A haze descended over conscious thought as primal instinct took control. He sensed danger. He recognized a threat. He knew he had to kiss her or die.

With an oath, he dragged her against him and covered her mouth with his. Hard and greedy, his lips took hers. The kiss was savage. Intense. No softness, no gentleness, but an angry display of masculine power.

And, masculine weakness. It was a male's reaction to fear, the aggressive, elemental need to conquer, to control.

To stop her from leaving him.

She struggled in his arms, but he was ruthless in his pursuit. He backed her against the wall, his body pressed tight against hers, breathing her perfume, letting it soak into his senses, the hot, sultry scent of magnolia. Silken strands of fire slid across his skin as his fingers threaded her hair. He gave no quarter, ravaging her mouth with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Yet with every show of strength, his own weakness grew. He was swamped by a wild, untamed tide of desire that threatened to drown him in tormented pleasure.

He wanted her skin. The damned dress...

He moved away just enough to give his hands access to her skirt, only her hand—her fist—found its target first. Breath whooshed from his body as her punch landed just right and she ducked away.

Cole stood with hands braced against the wall, recovering both his breath and his sanity.

"What is wrong with you?" Christina accused.

He couldn't look at her. He couldn't
not
look at her.

Disheveled. Desirable. Devastated. Cole's heart twisted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Stop. Don't say it. You always say it. You never mean it." Long auburn lashes blinked furiously over glistening green eyes. "Why do you do this to me, Cole? Why couldn't you once, just one time, mean it?"

Cole's hackles raised as the threat of danger returned, but an unstoppable force drove him forward and gave voice to the truth that formed on his lips. "Ah, Bug, that's the problem. Don't you know? I mean it every time."

Chrissy froze. For a long moment his ragged breaths were the only sound to be heard in the room. Taking one small step forward, she studied him through narrowed eyes. Cole felt the need to say something, but he didn't know what. The light sparking to life in her eyes confused him. Worried him. It was hope, sweet and sharp, and it cut him like a knife.

"You're angry," she said softly. "Your jaw is set hard as Texas red granite and your spine is as stiff as the statues in the garden."

"I tend to get that way when I'm doing something stupid."

"Are you doing something stupid?"

"Chrissy, I..." He blew a frustrated breath. "It's complicated, all right? I want you. I don't want to want you, but I do."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then licked her lips as if savoring the moment. Cole wanted her tongue on him.

Her lashes lifted and she pinned him with her gaze. In a low, challenging voice she said, "Prove it."

Fire shot like lightning through his blood. He didn't move a muscle, not even when she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. A reckless dare lit her eyes as she shook those long lovely tresses free and Cole couldn't stop the rumble low in his throat.

Throwing her shoulders back, she moved her arms around behind her, freeing the buttons she'd managed to fasten on her own, lifting her bosom high in the process. Cole's mouth went dry at the sight.

He'd taken one inadvertent step forward when a short rap sounded on the door and a ladies' maid hurried inside. "I'm sorry it took me so long, Miss Delaney. I'm new at Thornbury, you know, I couldn't find a soul to—oh." Spying Cole, she stopped in shock.

"That will be all, Susan."

Cole barely recognized the voice as hers, so husky and needy did it sound.

"Yes, miss. Certainly, miss. That's good, miss." She pivoted, but paused at the door. "Are you sure, miss?"

"Very, very sure." As the door shut behind the maid, Chrissy moved to lock it. Then she shrugged and gave a push, and her dress puddled to the floor.

Cole sucked an audible breath past his teeth and tried so hard to fight his way back. "She's wrong. Chrissy, this is not good. Nothing good about it."

"That I doubt," she said, tugging the laces of her bustle and shimmying free. "I suspect it will be very, very good." She stepped toward him, offered him her back, lifted her hair and said, "Free me, Cole."

Something inside him snapped.

His surrender was a swift handling of hooks and snaps and strings, and then they were kissing, desperate mouths in a mad battle of teeth and tongue and taste that sucked the strength from Cole's knees. So he dragged her to the floor.

They rolled across the plush carpet. His body burned hot as a paddle-wheeler's furnace, each kiss, every touch, fuel to stoke the fire. His need was a raw, hungry roar that she answered with fevered intensity. Her small teeth nipped at him, tormented him. Her tongue battled his, conquered his. Her hands combed his hair, anchoring him to her greedy mouth as she fed his desire with passion unlike he'd ever known before.

She was the boldest virgin ever born. She was on top of him now, her legs straddling his hips, her weight pressing down on the glorious, tormenting ache of his erection even as her mouth ravished his. Her fingers yanked at his jacket, vest, necktie and shirt, and with every layer of cloth she peeled away, she also took a layer of his civility. When finally her bare fingers brushed his naked chest, he reacted on pure animal instinct.

Linen ripped beneath his fingers as he tore away her last layer of clothing. For a moment, all he did was look at her, drink in the sight of her naked beauty.

Beast that he was, he wanted to howl.

Instead, he rolled her off of him and onto her back. He ravaged her mouth as he learned her with his hands, allowing himself the pleasure he'd wanted, but denied even in his thoughts, for what felt like forever. Smooth lines and silky curves and the softest of skin. Cole wanted to feast upon her.

And so he did. He kissed, licked, and nibbled his way from her mouth, down her neck to those full delicious breasts. There he lingered for a bit until her soft, mewling cries of need and the unconscious roll of her hip spurred him lower. He laved her belly, nipped her hip, then worked his way to that thatch of silken curls he needed to satisfy his craving.