Ruby's Song (Love in the Sierras Book 3) (8 page)

A wave of guilt washed over her face, but it was quickly replaced by the stubborn set of her shoulders and slight lift of her chin. “My father was killed by a hired gun, paid for by my sister’s first husband, the same man who abused her and slit her throat, and had
more
hired guns keep her and me prisoner in his house for three years.” She shook her head with force. “Please tell me you can do better for your life than that, Dalton. For God’s sake, the work you did before was more honorable.”

She’d made a large leap in the wrong direction with her assumptions about him, and he felt his skin bristle in response. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to be perceived as a
Brahmin
, you sure make it difficult to tell the difference. Are you always this judgmental?”

She pointed her index finger at him and sniggered. “You asked for my opinion. Besides, if I were a
Brahmin
, I would have smiled politely to your face and then crucified you behind your back. I can’t believe you would turn to that sort of work.”

He sat forward so their faces were inches apart. “I’m not like your sister’s first husband. And I’m not like the men he hired. I protect the innocent. Believe me, I’ve turned down many offers that would have made me rich but cost my peace of mind. My apologies if that doesn’t live up to your standards of honor, but it’s the only skill I have, and I’m damn good at it.”

A hot breath blew out of his mouth as he sat back against the carriage. He watched her eyes shift back and forth.

“That’s not true,” she declared quietly. “You have other skills. Honorable skills.”

He snorted and her eyebrows drew together severely.

“I’m being serious,” she said. “I still have in my possession a beautifully carved wooden horse.”

What was it with the women in his life? First his mother and now Marlena. Skills that couldn’t put food on the table were worthless. He blasted her with an icy glare. “There’s not much demand in Virginia City for wooden horses.”

She leveled her eyes at him. “Last I read they were building a railroad from California to Nevada for the sole purpose of carting in wood. People build houses and those houses need furnishings. There are all sorts of opportunities for a man who can work wood.”

The initial heat of his anger subsided because he had to admit she was right. He studied her face, not sure which thought intrigued him more. That she’d kept the horse, or that she considered his abilities a skill worth marketing. He fought the urge to laugh at her naiveté. To think he could just set up shop on Main Street and drum up business from the very people who knew him as a ruffian whoreson was laughable. No respectable family would employ him and they’d make damn sure their wives and daughters didn’t associate with him. He knew his place, and it wasn’t as a tradesman, no matter the amount of talent he possessed.

His greatest ease came with a knife and piece of wood in his hands. As a youth, it had helped curtail the rage he’d felt inside, hearing men rut and groan in his mother’s room. He’d chip away at anything organic, with the wood being the most forgiving. By the age of twelve, he’d made his first carving, an eagle in flight purchased by a wealthy man in San Antonio. At fifteen, he was making furniture for his mother. Working wood was his outlet, his escape, and he wasn’t willing to put it out into the world for public scrutiny. He’d been laughed at for many things; not knowing his father’s name; not knowing how to read as a youngster. He wouldn’t be laughed at for his carvings.

He shifted in his seat. “Can we please discuss something else?”

Her shoulders sagged and she glanced around the carriage. “So, where did you garner your love of Shakespeare?”

He chuckled hesitantly. “I’m…a little embarrassed to admit this, but I’d never even heard of Shakespeare until four years ago. Once I discovered him, though, I devoured everything he’d ever written.”

She smiled. “Who turned you onto him?”

“I was on a job trying to find this man who was a pretty nasty cur. He did some horrible things…things too cruel for your ears. Everyone called him Shakespeare. Course I’d expected that was his name, but when I found out he was really Chris Boon, I was all sorts of confused. Then, I found out they called him Shakespeare because he’d leave notes with every one of the people he killed, quoting lines from Shakespeare.”

“What happened to him, in the end?”

Dalton peered out of the window, seeing old memories. “He’s the only one who got away.”

The silence that fell was thick until Marlena kicked him lightly in the shin. He looked askance and she laughed.

“You mimicked the behavior of a murderer with me?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

He laughed along. “I thought I owed it to the bard to see his words used for good and not ill.”

They chuckled until the carriage rolled to a stop and he glanced out at her residence before meeting her gaze again. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You will?”

“Of course,” he answered. “You didn’t think this was goodbye, did you? Have you no desire to see more of your cousin before he departs for the west? For he has a desire to see more of you.”

She said nothing, only grinned mischievously. He hopped out of the carriage and held a hand out to assist her. Once her feet touched the ground, he brought her knuckles to his lips, letting them linger over her ungloved skin. The rise and fall of her chest began to quicken.

“Good night,
Little Miss
.”

“Grrrrrrr,” she growled with a laugh, before scampering off. He waited until she was safely up the tree, studying her limbs as she climbed, remembering their sleek lines in white hosen and her shapely derriere. It brought a smirk to his lips and he made his way back to the inn, all the while wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.

Chapter 8

Marlena attacked her lesson with vigor, but even the intensity couldn’t steal the smile from her face. Each time she remembered seeing Dalton’s shocked expression in the mirror the night before, she wanted to laugh, and she still could not believe she’d been bold enough to admit her childhood infatuation aloud. But what was likely most responsible for her silly grin was his parting words and the promise of meeting again. He hadn’t said when, but she knew he hadn’t much time left in Boston.

Sadness crept through her at the reminder he’d soon be gone, but she refused to yield to it. His presence was a balm on her painful longing for home and she would saturate herself in it as often as he allowed. It ceased to bother her that he’d mistaken her for a loose woman and had sought her out for a brief affair under that assumption. He was an old friend and she wouldn’t bother scrutinizing his behavior, not while she could revel in this brief respite of her nostalgia.

These thoughts and many more tumbled through her brain as she sang the Italian words before her on the music stand. She hit the highest note in her range, suspending it for the full required sixteen beats, imagining Dalton standing across from her, watching her sing. She closed her eyes and let the note trickle back down to an A-sharp before fading delicately away.

Steady applause caused her eyes to fly open, and they grew wider when she saw it came from Sarah.

“Bravo, Marlena,” she said with an excited grin. “I still have gooseflesh.” She rubbed her arms to demonstrate. “Keep singing like that and you will be famous before you know it.”

Marlena released an elated yelp and leapt into Sarah’s arms, laughing as she jumped up and down. Strange how she went from feeling utterly hopeless to feeling like things were finally falling into place.

“All right, all right,” Sarah said, pulling away.

Marlena stepped back and clasped her hands over her chest. “Do you really think I’ll be famous?”

Sarah tapped the air with her finger. “I said
if
you keep singing like that. Do something correctly once, and it may be a fluke. Do it repeatedly, and it is a skill. I’m quite pleased to see that you took my words to heart. Now, let’s try another aria, shall we, and prove this isn’t a fluke.”

Sarah pulled a piece of music and set it on Marlena’s music stand before setting a copy in front of the pianist. As the opening notes danced softly about the room, Marlena took a deep breath, filling her diaphragm. A knock sounded at the door and the music died as the butler entered.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he addressed Sarah Jeanne. “But there is a gentleman in the parlor who wishes to see you and the young lady.”

A whirl of flutters went off in Marlena’s belly as her cheeks twitched around a grin, but Sarah’s eyes turned stormy. Her mouth was pursed into such a fine point that she looked like a woodpecker. The thought almost wrought a chuckle from Marlena, but she remained silent.

“Did he send a card?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then, send him away. I will not indulge such insolence. What a presumptuous, ill-mannered fop to intrude without invitation or notice.”

Marlena stepped forward. “If I may?” She glanced nervously between the butler and Sarah. “I believe I know this man. Is he the same gentleman who called a few days ago, Winters?”

“Yes, Miss,” the butler said with a nod and Sarah gasped.

“You received a gentleman caller?”

Marlena held up a stalling hand. “It’s not what you think. He is my cousin, Dalton. He arrived from London and wanted to surprise me. He’s only here for a few weeks before he returns to New Mexico.”

“That does not excuse him from the rules of propriety.”

“He doesn’t know the rules of propriety,” Marlena inserted. “He has lived all of his life in the mountains and fields of the west.” She purposely left out “and brothels” but still took a deep swallow when Sarah scrutinized her. “He’s much like I was when I first arrived here. If not for all of your teachings I’d still be lost in all of the rules. He won’t have time to learn them in a fortnight. I hope your sensibilities will not be too offended by him, but I would love to spend time with him before he departs.”

She peered into Sarah’s eyes, pleading in silence until the woman’s frown relaxed and her shoulders returned to a more natural set.

“
Of course
I won’t be offended,” Sarah finally said. “We cannot condemn those born and raised to ignorance. We are nothing if not charitable.” She turned to the butler. “Winters, please tell him we shall be down presently.”

The old man nodded and left the room. After a lengthy minute, the two women followed, with Marlena breaking into a wide grin when she entered the parlor and saw him standing there. Contrary to his prior visit, he wore clothes she’d seen him wear a hundred times in Virginia City. Plain brown trousers, white shirt with black vest, day coat and his hat. The only missing items were his pistols, for which she was grateful. Sarah might be accommodating when it came to etiquette ignorance, but a caller in her parlor with six shooters on his hips would never be permitted.

His outfit reminded her how far apart the two worlds were, and which one she found more attractive. He looked sturdier than the dandies she saw every day, an unpolished gent with a little roughness about him and yet his visage was softened by the bouquet of yellow roses in his hand. Her first thought was to blush and bow, but she knew that would not be a fitting reaction for a close relative, so she crossed the room and threw herself at him. He caught her in a hug, nearly stumbling back at the unexpected contact.

“Oh, cousin!” she exclaimed for his benefit. “How wonderful to see you again. Come, meet my patroness.” She grabbed his free hand and led him across the room to Sarah. “Miss Winthrop may I present to you my dearest cousin, lately from London en route to New Mexico, Mr. Dalton Cunningham.”

Dalton whipped the flowers toward Sarah and flashed a wide smile, one that made Marlena’s knees slacken. “Miss Winthrop, so pleased to meet you. I’ve brought you these. Where I’m from, flowers are a sign of appreciation.”

Sarah’s smile was genuine, and somewhat flirty, Marlena thought with a furrowed brow.

“Why, thank you, young man,” Sarah cooed as she accepted the flowers. “And what, may I ask, do you appreciate me for?”

“For taking in my dear cousin, of course, and all of your generosity on her behalf.”

“Ah, well, it has been our pleasure,” Sarah said, casting a glance at Marlena. “Your cousin is quite talented.”

“Indeed, she is,” Dalton returned, eyeing Marlena as well. With both pairs of eyes fixed on her, her gaze slid to the ground. “I’ve never heard a finer voice in all my life.”

Sarah stiffened, but only in the spine. Her well-practiced smile never faltered, and Marlena worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Well, that is not surprising given your lack of exposure to the fine arts,” Sarah said.

Marlena’s tiny grin fell against the sting of Sarah’s words and the fact she’d been put down in front of Dalton. The familiar feeling of inadequacy slithered through her insides, robbing her of the day’s earlier joys. Her profile burned from Dalton’s penetrating gaze. She didn’t have to look to know he studied her, but she kept her eyes down, not wanting him to see the hurt in her eyes.

“Makes no difference to me or my opinion,” he said amiably. “I don’t need to see a hundred beautiful things to recognize one.” She felt his eyes on her again, but refused to meet his gaze. “Like the beauty of Boston,” he went on, changing the subject. “What a fine place. In fact, I was hoping for a tour, if you ladies would do me the honor. I’ve taken the liberty of hiring a landau for the occasion.”

Sarah tilted her head back and forth, considering. “We were meant to spend the day in lessons, not having expected your visit, you see. I don’t mind changing my schedule to accommodate you, though, if you’ll wait while Marlena and I ready ourselves to go out.”

Marlena finally looked at him and nearly laughed at the confused look on his face.

“Forgive me, but you ladies look lovely already,” he said.

At that, Sarah did laugh and Marlena sent a grin his way.

“We would never leave the house in our morning dresses,” Sarah said. “Please wait here. I’ll have some refreshments brought for you.”

If Marlena wasn’t mistaken, Dalton’s cheeks took on a soft red hue as he cleared his throat and chuckled with chagrin. He glanced at her and shrugged apologetically. She shook her head, turning to follow Sarah out of the room. Dalton’s hand reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her backward so he could press his mouth to her ear and whisper.

“The flowers were for you,” he said, and then released her. A fist of nerves slammed into her chest, bursting and rippling through her. She didn’t trust herself not to blush, so she simply nodded and returned to her place behind Sarah. Always behind Sarah.

An hour later, they left the house and climbed into the landau, its roof retracted so they could enjoy the fresh air. The ladies held their parasols against the sun as they rattled over the cobbles of Beacon Street. Marlena cringed as Sarah pointed out each of her neighbor’s lavish homes, detailing their histories and the families who occupied them. Dalton was a true gentleman, feigning interest until Sarah’s head was turned. Then, he’d roll his eyes or make silly faces at Marlena, daring her to laugh out loud. In those cases, she’d open her fan and hold it over her mouth. As Sarah rattled on, Dalton leaned into Marlena.

“Why did you let her insult you earlier?” he whispered with a wrinkled brow, and Marlena glanced nervously between him and Sarah.

“Are you seriously asking me this right now?” she said softly.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you stand up for others. Your sister, my mother, the working class women of Boston. Why fight for everyone but yourself?”

She smiled at a passerby, nodding her head demurely before she covered her face with her fan again and turned to Dalton.

“Because I can take it,” she said. “I defend myself when needed, but the Sarahs and Elijahs and Eloisas of this world are a dime a dozen. Unlike you, I don’t see the need to fight them all.”

“Are you listening to me at all?” Sarah demanded to the pair, and Dalton flashed his brightest debonair smile.

“Of course, ma’am. You were speaking of the Battle of Bunker Hill.”

Sarah’s eyelashes fluttered and she nodded, carrying out her soliloquy. Marlena pressed her lips together, as did Dalton. As Sarah rattled on, Marlena leaned closer to Dalton.

“I’m surprised you’d risk coming around Sarah. She was there the day we said goodbye in Virginia City. Weren’t you worried she’d recognize you?”

He shrugged. “I had a beard then. I don’t now. I figured that and the time lapse would work in my favor, and it has.”

Marlena studied his jawline, square and strong. “This is the first time I’ve seen you without facial hair of some sort.”

He rubbed his fingers over his bare chin. “I don’t care for it much myself.”

“I think you look handsome,” she said before smacking her lips. “But there’s something about a bearded man that I love. Something rugged and masculine.”

One of his dark eyebrows inched up. “I shall bear that in mind.”

She giggled, feeling the warm bloom in her cheeks. Sarah cleared her throat and fixed them with an impatient stare, ending their private conversation.

Once they rolled through the greenery of the Commons they passed many acquaintances. Dalton’s wide brimmed hat and dress drew curious stares, and he acknowledged each of them with a friendly wave. Marlena recognized the lady approaching them as Sarah instructed her driver to stop.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bradley,” Sarah said.

“Good afternoon, Miss Winthrop, Miss Beauregard.”

Marlena sat forward and returned the greeting before introducing Dalton as her cousin.

“From out west?” Mrs. Bradley drawled, her thick gray eyebrows nearly touching her hairline. “Well, then you must bring him to the dinner party tomorrow night.”

Sarah nervously swatted the air. “Oh, no. You needn’t feel obligated. It’s such short notice. You’d have to adjust all of your arrangements.”

Mrs. Bradley laughed away Sarah’s concerns. “Oh, don’t be silly. The addition of a single body isn’t going to disrupt the preparations. I absolutely insist. It would be most…diverting to have someone practically foreign in our midst. Come, what say you, Sir?”

A cold dread filled Marlena at the thought that he might actually accept. She knew the attendees of Vera Bradley’s dinner party would be unforgivingly condescending toward Dalton. While Dalton could endure it with grace and humor, she didn’t believe she could.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the proper attire,” he answered, and Marlena sagged with relief.

“No need to change your style on our account,” Mrs. Bradley said, sounding innocent enough. “Just come as you are. We are nothing if not charitable.”

“Then, I shall be happy to oblige,” he said, and Marlena grimaced. Dalton must have caught the look because he took advantage of Sarah and Vera’s continued conversation and leaned toward Marlena to speak.

“You don’t seem excited for me to go,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.