Wild Western Women Boxed Set Page 23

  “Maybe it would help if you shared your thoughts with the two of us?” he said, gesturing with his fork between himself and Eric.

  “No,” Eve quickly squashed the idea. “It would not.”

  “I think Eve has become too attached to you too quickly,” Amelia told Mark.

  “Amelia!”

  “Well, it’s true. You always did give your heart away too readily, trust people too deeply.”

  “And you didn’t?” Eve’s grip on Mark’s hand under the table turned painful.

  “Not the way you did. Why, every time Mother would bring a gentleman over to—”

  “Nick Hayworth!” Eve exclaimed.

  Amelia’s mouth snapped shut and the color drained from her face.

  Eve charged on. “Or don’t you remember the father of your—”

  “All right, that’s enough!” Eric shouted.

  Darcy burst into wails.

  Amelia threw down her fork and stood. “Now look what you’ve done.” She twisted to yank her daughter out of her chair.

  “Me?” Eve exclaimed. She let go of Mark’s hand and stood, pushing her chair back. Mark rose to his feet with her. “You stand there and accuse me of upsetting a child when you were the one to dredge up the past?”

  “You’re the one flinging yourself at the first eligible man you see,” Amelia fired back as Darcy cried louder.

  “I’m not flinging myself at anyone,” Eve argued. “Mark is kind and generous and values me for who I am. If you want to talk about someone flinging themselves at a man, why not talk about the way you threw yourself right into Eric’s arms?” She gestured across the table to where Eric stood, joining the rest of them.

  “He offered to help me!” Amelia yelped.

  “As Mark has offered to help me. Hypocrite!”

  “Eve.” Mark laid a hand on Eve’s arm. He could feel the heat of her anger through the velvet of her dress.

  “Harlot!” Amelia fired back across the table.

  “Amelia, hush,” Eric snapped.

  Eve shrieked in protest. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black I don’t know what is.”

  “I was in love with Nick,” Amelia charged on, tears streaming down her face even as Eric struggled to take the now screaming Darcy from her.

  “And I was trapped!” Eve let loose. “I was a prisoner in that life, half mad with desperation. And you walked out on me. You left me alone with Mother and Olivia and their greed and scheming.”

  “I had to get out,” Amelia said, her anger breaking into grief. “I would have died if I hadn’t.”

  “And I almost did die!” Eve said. “I was this close.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, barely an inch apart. “This close. I might as well have died after all that, after what it did to me!”

  “What are you talking about?” Amelia asked, more pleading in her voice than anger.

  For a moment Eve swayed on her spot. Her pale skin had flushed to splotches of red and her dark eyes were red-rimmed with tears. Mark watched her battle with the emotions that towed her under, wishing he could do something. He had to do something.

  “Maybe we should leave,” he said, voice rough.

  “No, you shouldn’t—” Amelia began.

  “Yes, please!” Eve heaved a desperate sigh. “Please get me out of here.”

  She whirled around, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste. Without waiting for Mark, she charged out of the dining room and into the hall.

  Mark sent one final frustrated look to Eric. Eric scowled as though a wolf had invaded his home and he had let it in.

  “I’ll take her home,” Mark promised Eric and Amelia both. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

  “You do that.” Eric nodded. As Mark turned to go, he heard Eric mutter, “Hellfire.”

  Hellfire was right. If ever there was a time Mark felt like taking up cursing again, it was now. He marched into the hall, taking his and Eve’s coats from the stand by the door. Eve had fled without hers, leaving the front door open to the cold night. He charged after her, praying that there was some way he could make up this fiasco to her.

  Chapter Six

  Eve couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so miserable. She didn’t care what Mark would think, she wept through the entire ride back into Cold Springs. How could she have been so hurtful, so broken? Amelia had invited her into her home to make amends, and here she had gone and started a fight. But it was just so impossible to be in her sister’s happy, peaceful life, the life she would never have.

  The chill of the night had cut through to her bones by the time Mark drove his wagon into Cold Springs and up to his church.

  “You can drop me at the hotel,” Eve said, her voice strange and foggy.

  “I’m not dropping you anywhere,” he replied.

  She didn’t know if she liked his determination or if it made her shame that much deeper.

  “No, truly, I don’t deserve your consideration after I… after the horrid mess I made.” She collapsed into tears, amazed that she still had any left to shed.

  Mark’s answer was to slide his arm around her back and hug her from the side. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve one moment of the sweet, kind man’s attention.

  He had to let go of her and straighten after only a moment so that he could drive around the corner of the church to the small stable to park his wagon. He helped her down, taking advantage of the quiet moment in the shaded stable to keep his arms around her.

  “It’s all right,” he told her with a certainty she would never feel. “It’s my fault for rushing you into something you weren’t ready for. I should have listened to you.”

  “No, Mark.” She shook her head, which was now starting to ache. “The fault was all mine. Amelia was right. I am impetuous and spiteful and ungrateful.”

  Mark arched an eyebrow. “I don’t believe she said any of those things.”

  “It’s what she meant.”

  He stared at her for a long, painful moment in the dark. What if he was right and Amelia hadn’t meant those things? If that was true, then she was a liar on top of everything else. She lowered her head and swallowed.

  “Stay right here.” Mark let go of her. “I’m going to get the horse settled, then I’m walking you home.”

  He didn’t have to. In fact, Eve wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She would much rather have returned to her room and buried herself in bed under mounds of blankets and never come out again. Instead she nodded.

  She watched as Mark unhitched his horse from the wagon and took care of the beast. She had never had to care for horses in any part of her former life. There had always been someone else to do it, a servant or one of the troupe’s lackeys. Mark was so gentle with the big animal, removing its harness and brushing its coat and doing everything to make sure it was safe and warm for the night.

  He took off his coat to work, and in the dim electric light of the stable she could just make out the firm lines of his arms and shoulders. He may have been a man of God, but he was still a man, a well-formed one at that. She imagined a fine, broad chest and muscled arms under his simple white shirt.

  “You’re looking better already,” he said when he finished with the horse, fetched his coat, and strode back to her. “Your color is better at least.”

  “Is it?” She laid a hand on one hot cheek. If he could see her thoughts, he would be scandalized.

  “Come on.” He offered her his arm. “Time to make sure that you’re unhitched and brushed down and put to bed for the night too.”

  He must have meant his words innocently, but the image of Mark removing her clothes and unhooking her corset and rubbing his broad hands all over her body sent shivers of longing through her.

  Hard on the heels of that temptation came guilt. A man like Mark didn’t need a woman like her weaving sensual fantasies about him. At least the guilt was an improvement over the sharp grief that had lodged in her soul.

  “I wish you would tell m
e what is hurting you so deeply that you can’t be around your sister,” he spoke softly in the night.

  They walked slowly across the frozen ground between the church and the hotel. Strange though it felt, a large part of her wanted to confess all.

  “We have a miserable, shaded past,” she said, testing how it felt.

  The world didn’t come tumbling down around her feet. The December wind swirled as though it couldn’t have cared less what her secrets were. Perhaps she could tell Mark. He was a pastor, after all, and a beautiful, gentle man who had her heart in the palm of his hand. If she turned to him, maybe her life wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.

  She was spared making any decisions about what to say as they climbed the steps to the Cold Springs Retreat’s front porch. It was empty in the freezing night, but modern strings of electric lights outlined the edge of the roof and the rails. Eve let out a breath, torn between wanting to flee and wishing the night would go on forever.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For walking me home and for… for trying to help me, even though I spoiled everything.”

  A mischievous grin tickled the corners of Mark’s mouth. “You’re welcome, but I’m not dropping you on the porch of the hotel either. I’m walking you to your room so that I can be certain you’re safe. And because you were about to tell me something important, I think.”

  She smiled. It wasn’t the practiced smile she used to hide from the world. It was weak and faded and felt more natural than all the smiles she’d worn like a mask.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said, but didn’t take the protest any further.

  Mark shrugged and held the hotel door for her.

  The lobby of the Cold Springs Retreat was nearly empty. It was late enough that those who had come to the hotel’s restaurant for supper were all seated and served, and anyone who was staying at the hotel was either tucked away in their room for the night or still out enjoying themselves. There were no prying eyes or disapproving stares to impede Eve and Mark’s way as they crossed to the grand staircase and climbed to the second floor. The hall was empty as well. Eve’s room was halfway down on the back side of the building. She paused in front of her door.

  “See, I’m perfectly safe now,” she said.

  Mark’s grin spread dangerous sparks through her body. “Not yet.” He nodded to the door.

  Eve’s heart sped up as she searched for the key to her room in her purse. It didn’t matter whether the man was a man of God or not, entering a woman’s hotel room after dark was beyond the pale. And yet, she wanted him there with her in spite of the scandal it would cause.

  She found her key and unlocked the door, pulling him into the room as quickly as she could.

  “You know, it isn’t proper for a man to be in a woman’s hotel room like this,” she scolded him as she shut the door.

  “It is if you need it to be,” he answered without art. “Eve, I think it’s time you talk to me. I know it is.”

  She turned away, eyes lowered, crossing the room to deposit her purse on the bureau. He stayed where he was, watching her. The urge to confide in him was so strong it closed her throat. She pulled at the fingers of her gloves, tugging them off and folding them carefully to buy time. When she unbuttoned and shrugged out of her coat, Mark rushed to take it from her.

  He paused, standing closer to her than he needed to. Eve could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his soul. Slowly, he drew her coat down from her shoulders. The act sent deeper shivers through her than if he had slid her chemise up over her head. She swore she could feel his breath against her neck.

  When she flicked her gaze up to the mirror he was staring right back at her. His eyes were alive with concern and desire. Longing pulsed through her. So did shame. She felt a new wave of tears rise up.

  “You should really go now,” she said, gripping the edge of the bureau.

  He shook his head. “Not when you need me.”

  Before she could protest, before she could declare that she needed him in ways no preacher could possibly understand or approve of, he stepped away. She watched in the mirror as he took her coat to the stand by the door and hung it. He removed his own coat as well, resting it on top of hers.

  “Come sit over here with me.” He gestured for her to join him on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

  He sat and patted the cushion next to him. Somehow, through all her misery, a smile bubbled up from her heart. He was so dear, inviting her to sit that way. So many men had flattered and cajoled her, pouring on what they believed was charm, in their seductions. Mark was so artless that it bordered on silly, but no man had ever tempted her more.

  She couldn’t resist his invitation. Telling herself she should keep her distance, she should insist that he leave before it was too late, she went to him and sat by his side.

  He surprised her by opening the conversation. “When she first came here, Amelia was as skittish and upset as you were.”

  “Oh?” she asked. Her heart beat faster with curiosity and with her proximity to him.

  “Yes.”

  He took her hand. Without her gloves she could feel the texture of his palms, just rough enough to hint at work and pleasure. He shifted closer to her, frowning enough to tug at the thread of worry in her soul.

  “She’s kept her past a closely-guarded secret. A rival here in Cold Springs found out a few things about her, though, and started spreading rumors.”

  Eve’s worry flared to near panic. “Rumors? What rumors?”

  Mark looked her in the eye and said, “That your father was an impoverished nobleman who ruined his family. That your mother led her daughters into… into unfortunate situations for her own monetary gain.”

  Eve pulled away from him and launched to her feet. She fled three steps away before realizing there was nowhere to go. Her stomach roiled and her knees went weak. Mark knew. He’d known this whole time. It occurred to her that she might die right there on the spot, and that if she did it would be a blessing. Many men, too many, had discovered who she had been before, but the blow had never been so devastating.

  “Amelia told me everything more than a year ago,” he said. He stood and walked to where she had her back to him.

  “Did she?” Her voice shook. She dodged his outstretched hands, circling to the far end of the room to get away from him.

  “Yes.” He sighed and followed her. “And by everything, I mean everything.”

  Dread curled in Eve’s stomach. “So you know what I am then,” she whispered, unable to look at him.

  “I do.” He stepped cautiously closer to her. “You’re a beautiful woman with a smile that lights up a room and an imagination as grand as the mountains.”

  A stab of hope lifted her chin and she turned to him. As quickly as she felt the hope, it faded.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” she told him. “I’m a wretch. I’m used goods that have been broken beyond repair.”

  “I refuse to believe that.” He took another step closer to her. Everything about him was strong and confident, from the gold in his sandy-blond hair to the spark in his eyes.

  “I assure you, it’s true,” she said.

  This time, when he reached for her she couldn’t bring herself to escape. He rested one hand on her arm and cradled the side of her face with the other. Looking at him—so full of gentleness and acceptance—was more painful than looking at the sun.

  “Nothing that happened to you was your fault,” he said.

  She shook her head, throat squeezing closed.

  “I know it wasn’t my fault,” she said. “I always knew that. I’m not ignorant enough to believe that I somehow caused the things that happened to me, or that I even consented to them. It was my mother’s doing, and I was too young and impoverished to stop any of it.”

  Confusion wrinkled Mark’s brow. “Then why are you holding onto it? Why are you letting it come between you and your sister?”

  She lifted a hand to place over his as
it rested against her cheek. How good he was to try so hard to understand what went far beyond male understanding.

  “It doesn’t matter that none of it was my fault,” she said. “I left it all behind as soon as I could. It was still too late.” She could feel the phantom pain of the scar across her abdomen and all that it meant as though that nightmare was still unfolding across her life.

  Mark let out a breath. His frown deepened even as he slid his free hand around her waist, so close to the scar.

  “So you aren’t still blaming yourself for the things your mother made you do?”

  Eve shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you blame Amelia for leaving without taking you with her?”

  She winced. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I tell myself that I don’t, that I only said those things to hurt her. I know she needed to get away from our wretched state as much as I did. She was almost out before, working as a governess instead of as,” she took a breath and forced herself to finish the thought, “as a courtesan.”

  “But that man, Nicholas Hayworth, got her with child and broke his promises to her,” Mark filled in the story.

  So he did know. She nodded.

  “I don’t blame her for leaving after that,” she went on, “but if she had only stayed… if… if it had been me that Eric offered to help instead of her, then perhaps the things that happened to me never would have happened.”

  She swallowed, knowing what he would ask next.

  “What happened?”

  Knowing he would ask, knowing she would tell, didn’t make it any easier.

  “Amelia wasn’t the only one who was pregnant.” She forced the words out through deepening grief and sobs that wanted to rip out of her lungs. “It happened to me too. Mother dragged me to some backroom quack with a knife.”

  “Oh, Eve.” He wiped away her tear as it fell.

  “I came so close to dying,” she pushed herself on in a hoarse whisper. “I would have if they hadn’t rushed me to a hospital. But the price of living was… was the removal of my damaged womb. It’s gone, the baby is gone, and there will never be another one.”