“I didn’t.”
Reluctantly, Drake pulled away. It was either that or risk molesting the witch in the office of one of Boston’s finest—and busiest—attorneys. He collected the papers, folded them in half, then stuck them in the pocket of his brown leather vest. “Come on,” he said tightly. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her off the bench. “If we hurry we can be there in less than an hour.”
Hope stumbled, clutching Drake’s arm to keep from falling flat on her face. “Wait a minute, where are we going?”
“Home.” The single word held no warmth.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold curled down Hope’s spine as they stepped into the chilly night air.
Chapter 15
The streets of Boston were as crowded when Hope and Drake left the lawyer’s office as they’d been when they had arrived. It was only the character of the people lining the streets that had changed dramatically.
Drake slammed the door and descended the stone stairs in Hope’s wake. Her shoulders trembled in the cool night air, and though he was tempted to reach out and offer some of his warmth, he didn’t dare. Her good humor in Sneyd’s outer office had been too rare, too fleeting to last. Now that she’d had time to come to her senses, he thought she would rather accept warmth from a pit viper than from himself. The dirty look she shot him confirmed that thought.
Hope shivered and pulled Drake’s hat low. She could feel the warmth of his eyes boring holes into her back as she focused her attention on the people and carts darting this way and that about the street. The smell of leather, dirt, and cloying perfume was strong and, while not oppressive, she couldn’t help but long for the clean freshness of the open range and prairies. The soft, peaceful sounds of the trail—air rushing past her ear, broken by the occasional squawk of a bird—were replaced by voices yelling from all quarters, horses whickering, men laughing, dogs yapping, doors slamming, and a host of other, equally annoying, sounds. The ruckus grew to a deafening pitch the closer they came to the road.
The clothes that had served her so well on the trail now earned her stares of contempt. More than one elegantly attired couple out for an evening stroll stopped to gape at the masculine attire cloaking the obviously female form.
In her naiveté, Hope had assumed she would pass for an overgrown youth—until she looked down and caught a glimpse of the flannel as it was caught by the cool breeze and molded to the curve of her breasts. She reached up and yanked Drake’s hat still lower. While the murky shadows beneath the brim could disguise the feminine turn of cheek and jaw, there was nothing to disguise the curve of womanly hips beneath the baggy trousers, or the nipped waist around which they were tied. As if that weren’t bad enough, the chestnut plait bobbing to her hips was a concrete proof of her gender.
Blushing hotly, she looked down and concentrated on placing one booted foot in front of the other. For every step that clop-thumped on the boardwalk, she counted off a day—one for each day it would take her to see this mess through and get back home to Virginia.
And what had she been thinking to joke and tease Drake Frazier in the lawyer’s outer office? Hope wondered as she wove her way through passersby. Had she lost her mind? For the last few weeks she had acknowledged the gunslinger’s presence only when absolutely necessary, and even then she’d done so grudgingly. But with good reason! She was quick to remind herself. Still, all that had been forgotten as she stood in that dreary office and exchanged words with the miserable rat as though they were the best of friends. And then some!
It was his touch that had confused her so badly, she thought, completely dismissing the fact that she had been the one to make the first contact, not Drake. Suppressing her feelings and urges these last weeks had been hard. While she’d striven to remain coolly distant, it wasn’t easy. When the nights had grown too cold to sleep comfortably, she’d agreed to share Drake’s bedroll—for warmth, of course, no other reason. The true meaning of torture became crystal clear beneath the twinkling stars and pale moon, when she could feel the hard fibers of his body snuggled against her, awakening a response that grew harder and harder to deny.
She’d gotten herself through those agonizing weeks by repeating over and over to herself that it was Angelique’s name he had whispered that night, not hers. She had to keep remembering that if she was going to finish this job, collect her money, and return to Virginia, where she could forget this part of her life had ever even happened. Unfortunately, forgetting Drake Frazier wouldn’t be that easy, she thought, as she swung onto Lazy’s back and gently kicked the mare on. In fact, it would be damn near impossible.
With a ragged sigh, she guided the horse into the street, following the gunslinger’s rugged back. The sinewy beast beneath him moved in time with each sensual sway of his body. Try though she did not to notice it, her gaze kept straying to the spot where horse and rider touched.
“Almost there,” Drake called over his shoulder after they’d been in the saddle an hour, maybe more. Hope didn’t answer.
The city had slowly given way to the gentle swell of a country landscape. She looked on the new sur
roundings with a relief that bordered on jubilation. She’d been away from civilization too long, she decided, if she preferred a tree-lined back road to a city boardwalk. But like it more she did, as they turned onto a narrow street edged by sturdy maple and spruce trees. Hope drank deeply of the clean, fresh scent. Brittle red, orange, and gold leaves scattered the dirt road, crackling beneath the horses’ hooves.
Another side street slipped past, followed by another and another. Eventually, the soft strum of a violin began to fight the soft night sounds for prominence. The haunting notes increased, accompanied by the sound of voices and laughter, as they rounded a bend and a large white Georgian manor came into view.
The twisting drive was lined with inky black carriages. A woman, resplendent in a minty crinoline ball gown, strolled the lush green lawn.
Holding up a hand, Drake reined in his horse and indicated that Hope should do the same. Scowling, she obeyed, but the second the woman had rounded the corner she shot out a question.
“What are we doing here? I thought we were going to your house,” she said tersely. “You promised me a real bed.”
As he’d expected, her attitude toward him had again changed. Her voice was colder, more demanding. A dry smile tugged at Drake’s lips, though his eyes never left the house. “I did, and you’ll get it,” he replied, distracted. “You’ll just have to wait a bit.”
“But—”
He shook his head, lifting and dragging impatient fingers through the wind-tousled golden mane. “No buts.” He turned to her then, his eyes filled with an emotion Hope had never seen there before.
She couldn’t see enough of his face in the hazy light to discern his feelings, and suddenly she didn’t want to. Her spine stiffened. “We aren’t going in there,” she gasped. “Drake, we can’t. Look at us. We’d never make it past the front door.”
“Oh, we’re going in all right, sunshine. This is one party I don’t intend to miss.” Turning, he slapped the horse’s rump and helped Raven pick a path through the trees to their right. The grin he sent over his broad shoulder made his sea-green eyes twinkle with devilry and reminded Hope more of the Drake she’d known in their earlier days on the trail. Instinctively, her heart twisted.
She wasn’t going in, no matter what he said to convince her otherwise. Still, she had a gnawing curiosity to see what the gunslinger was about, and so she followed.
“No, I won’t do it.” Hope shook her head, her jaw hardening with determination. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Drake in the flickering moonlight. Her gaze shifted between him and the downstairs window he was threatening to shimmy through. Her toe tapped a furious rhythm on the hard-packed earth, but otherwise she refused to move.