The Duchess And The Desperado

“My lord, that is unforgivably rude to a man who has offered me nothing but kindness,” the duchess snapped. “You will apologize.”

“I stand by my opinion,” Lord Halston retorted. “It is my duty to say it, even if ’tis not what you want to hear, niece.”

Morgan pretended to ignore the argument and suddenly took the hand she had laid on his wrist into his own. Maybe he could scare her into abandoning the idea, make her realize she was playing with fire, even though he’d love to hear her defy the pompous fool.

“Listen to your uncle, Duchess,” he said, staring down at her with a deliberate, predatory air. He rubbed his thumb over the smooth, soft surface of her palm, lowering his voice so that it seemed they were alone in the room. “He could be right. I might steal all your jewelry... and murder you in your bed.”

The last three words seemed to take on a resonance of their own. He saw the pulse beat quicken in her neck, and felt the faint tremor of the cool hand he held.

“I believe you’re trying to frighten me, Mr. Calhoun, though I cannot think why,” she said. “You already proved you’re to be trusted, even at great risk to your own personal safety. My mind is made up. You’re the man I want for the job, Mr. Calhoun. I can double the salary I was intending to offer you, if that’s all you need to accept.”

He heard Lord Halston start to sputter behind them, and then she gripped his hand as tightly as he’d been holding hers.

It would have taken a stronger man than he was to resist that kind of temptation. Maybe he could stay with her for a little while, at least until she got out of Colorado Territory, until whoever was threatening her figured out he’d have to go through a bodyguard to get to the duchess, and got discouraged. And it wasn’t too likely anyone looking for him would think he’d dare to be seen at the side of an English noblewoman, even if she was going to be in the public eye much of the time. Even if it was summer, it’d be nice to be off the outlaw trail for a while, to have good food to eat that wasn’t cooked over a campfire, to be dry and warm, and not have to sleep on the cold hard ground under the stars.

“You don’t have to double my salary, Duchess. I reckon I’ll take the job.”

Chapter Five

She blinked, and a hectic flush of pink suffused her cheeks, making her look more like an English rose than ever. “Y-you will?” she managed to say at last. “That—that’s awfully good of you. Shall we say four thousand pounds, or would you prefer a weekly amount?”

He waved the thought of money aside for a moment. “You haven’t heard my conditions yet.”

“Conditions?” A trace of hauteur crept back into her voice as she raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“Yeah, conditions, Duchess. You need to hire three other men, too. There should be at least three of us on duty during the day and evening, at least two after you’ve gone to bed.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, then shook her head. “That’s out of the question, Mr. Calhoun. I have no desire to be surrounded by a trio of armed strangers treading on my skirts. They would make it appear that America terrifies me. That would hardly generate goodwill, would it? I want one man—you. Are you saying you’re not up to the job?”

Damn, but the lady was foolhardy—and stubborn, he thought, seeing the challenging glint in her eyes. “No, ma’am, I’m not saying that, but it just stands to reason three or four men could guard you better than just one,” he said with all the patience he could muster. “If there were three men guarding you at all times they could cover all the angles—”

She gave a silvery laugh. “Good gracious, it sounds as if we’d be preparing for a red Indian attack,” she said lightly. “No, Mr. Calhoun, my mind is quite made up. I shall either have you to safeguard me, or no one. What will it be?”

He’d worked with mules that were less headstrong than this titled Englishwoman. The only smart thing to do was to refuse, but he didn’t want to do that. He’d taken the measure of the two men in the duchess’s party, and he wouldn’t trust Lord Halston or that skinny secretary fellow, Donald, to protect the duchess from so much as a raindrop, let alone a bad man intent on harming her. He could tell she meant what she said—if he didn’t agree to guard her, she’d try to survive without a bodyguard. Which meant she wouldn’t be alive long.

He tried another approach. Perhaps he could appeal to her pride. “Ma‘am, if it’s a matter of money that keeps you from hirin’ more than one, I’ll work cheap. I’m used to not having much money jinglin’ in my pockets.”

Now she was really amused. The laughter bubbled up from some wellspring within her, and she covered her mouth with a graceful hand as if trying to smother her mirth. “My good Mr. Calhoun, I do assure you I can afford to pay you and a dozen men, if I desired to, but I do not. You will be my sole bodyguard until such time as conditions warrant otherwise. Is that clear, Mr. Calhoun?” She was every inch the titled aristocrat now, and it made him want to look down at his boots to see if they were muddy.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, frowning at her tone. “I just thought you ought to know my opinion.”

“And now I do.”

She seemed to be waiting for something, but he didn’t know what, so he was silent, too. At last she said, with a touch of impatience, “You said you had ‘conditions,’ Mr. Calhoun? What other concerns did you have?”

He didn’t have an ounce of confidence that she’d agree to the second condition if she hadn’t to the first, but he had to try. Someone wiser than this English rose had to be in charge.

“I want to know that if I tell you to do somethin’ in the middle of a serious situation, Duchess, that you’ll do it—right then, without any questions, ’cause there might not be any time to argue about it. It won’t be because I like havin’ my own way—it’ll be because your life depends on doin’ what I say as soon as I say it.”

Their eyes dueled for an endless moment, and he saw a glimpse of the steely strength of her will. But she looked away first.

“Agreed,” Duchess Sarah murmured, “though I’m afraid I’m not very good at taking orders—I’ve not had much practice with it recently, you see. Now, we must settle upon your salary. As I asked before, how does four thousand pounds sound to you? I can give it to you at one lump sum, at the end of your employment, or in spaced increments, as you prefer.”

Morgan hesitated. “I don’t know. What is four thousand pounds in American dollars?”

She shrugged. “I’m afraid I haven’t the least idea. Donald?” She looked over her shoulder at her secretary, who by now had caught his breath and was less red faced.

Donald stared at the ceiling for a moment, then said, “I believe it’s in the vicinity of twenty thousand dollars, your grace.”

Morgan whistled through his teeth, an action that had Lord Halston glaring at him all over again. Twenty thousand dollars could take him off the outlaw trail forever. And it would sure make the trials of dealing with a mule-headed foreign woman downright pleasant.

“Okay, you’ve got a bodyguard, Duchess. When do I start?” he asked, wondering if he’d just set his foot to a road that was going to end in disaster.

It was as if the sun had suddenly come out. Duchess Sarah’s face was radiant with her smile. “Good. I’m very grateful. Can you present yourself back here tonight, say, at half after seven? I am expected at a reception in the home of Edward McCook, the territorial governor, at eight o’clock, and that should give us ample time to get there. You were carrying a saddle when I first encountered you—do you have a horse here?”

He nodded, his mind still on the reception, but she went on, “Very well, you will want to install it in the hotel’s stable. Tell the liveryman you work for me.”

“Duchess, you’re going to go to some party that half of Denver knows about?” Morgan said dubiously. “I don’t think you ought to go—not after that note.”

“Mr. Calhoun, I’m not hiring you so that I can stay meekly in my rooms here like a little mouse. I have agreed to be present at this event, and there are many important people who will be expecting to meet me. I will be there.”

He shrugged. He hadn’t really expected to win that round.

“Oh, and Donald, do give Mr. Calhoun an advance on his salary—say fifty dollars? Mr. Calhoun, you’ll need to pick up a suit of ready-made clothes for the sort of formal events you’ll be attending with me. Do you suppose Denver has such an establishment?”

“Well, yes, ma‘am, I imagine so, but it’s probably already goin’ on six, and I reckon the stores’re all closed.”

She looked disappointed, but darted a glance at Lord Halston and said, “All right, you may attend to that in the morning. Perhaps you could wear one of my uncle’s suits, just for this evening?”

Morgan was amused to see the Englishman bristle and begin to sputter, “Now, just a moment, niece—”

“No, ma‘am, I don’t reckon I could. Looks like his lordship’s trousers would end at my shins, and I’d probably rip ‘em at the shoulders the first time I flexed ’em.” He was trying to be tactful, but he felt the Englishman’s hostile stare intensify at the words. The duchess’s uncle sure spent a lot of his time looking angry. “Reckon I’d better be leavin’ if I’m gonna get back here in time for your party, ma’am. Don’t worry, I may not look fancy, but I’ll try to find somethin’ to wear that doesn’t disgrace you.”

If he left now, he’d just have time to explain to the widow that ran the Mountain View Boardinghouse why he was checking out the same day he’d checked in. And she might have a solution to his clothing problem. She’d mentioned that her late husband had been a tall man like him. With any luck, she’d still have his clothes, and with some of the money that the duchess’s secretary was holding out to him, he could induce her to part with something suitable for this evening—at least until he could get something of his own. Then he could get Rio, his pinto stallion, out of the livery down the street from the boardinghouse, ride him over to the Grand Central Hotel’s stable and present himself back to the duchess.

Sarah, now wearing her spectacles, watched in the mirror while Celia put the finishing touches to her hair with a curling iron. If only Thierry were here with me, then I should not be so nervous. She smiled at the thought of the handsome, tawny-haired Frenchman with his thin, elegant mustache, resplendent in his uniform as an officer of Louis Napoleon’s cavalry, escorting her to the reception tonight She wondered what he was doing right now, back home in England. Perhaps he was attending some ball in London, at the side of his exiled emperor, Louis Napoleon?

Thierry had told her he despised such events because of the fuss dowagers with marriageable daughters made over him, when he had much rather be with her. Soon, my love, she had promised. At the end of my journey we will be man and wife, and then you will be forever out of the reach of the matchmaking mamas, my poor darling.

“Your grace is in prime looks tonight,” her dresser said fondly from behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror

“Thank you, Celia,” Sarah murmured, studying her reflection critically. The gown of light blue grosgrain, with its vandyked bertha, opened in front over a white lace underwaist confined by a cluster of white satin roses, and showed off slender white shoulders and a hint of cleavage beneath a necklace of pearls with a rectangular blue topaz pendant. Matching topaz stones gleamed from her ears.

“Your grace’s gems set off your eyes.”

“They do, don’t they? They’ve always been my favorite set of Mama’s. Papa said I have her eyes,” Sarah said, and then found herself wondering what Morgan Calhoun would think of her appearance. The thought of his eyes straying toward the shadowy hint of cleavage made her pulse quicken.

The thought startled her. Why was she, a woman in love, thinking that way about a man she had hired to perform a service?