Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (31 page)

      
“Well, if you put it that way...” A smile played around her lips.

      
As Charlee arranged her charge's hair in an upswept masterpiece, she said devilishly, “That young ranger Jeremy Lawrence is a handsome devil. Wonder if he can dance? I hear he and Lee almost had a brawl a few weeks back.” Feeling Melanie stiffen, she paused, then continued, “If you think Lee doesn't care for you, why is he so all-fired jealous of Lawrence?”

      
“I'm his wife. I bear the proud Velasquez name, much as he may resent that fact. If I'm caught in a public place with any man under the age of sixty, he thinks I need a chaperon!” Melanie's eyes blazed with golden fire as Charlee put the finishing touches to the hairdo.

      
“Not just any man—he knows that ranger is young, single, and very attractive to women. You can make that work to your advantage, you know.”

      
“Charlee, you're still laboring under the misconception that I want Lee's attention,” Melanie said in exasperation.

      
“Just think about it tonight while you're in his arms dancing. You might find you like it there,” Charlee replied tenaciously.

      
Lee had avoided their hotel room all afternoon, leaving his wife to get ready for the big gala while he took care of some business at the bank and freight office. He dreaded the coming night. Not that he was worried about their sleeping arrangements. She'd seen to that. But he did have to escort her to Houston's ball; and for appearances' sake, he supposed he'd have to dance with her. That meant touching her, taking her in his arms, smelling the rose-sweet fragrance of night flowers.

      
Ever since the night of the storm, when he'd seen her naked in her bath, he had been warring with himself. Even though he knew he deserved it, her rejection stung his pride. The past weeks had been a misery of enforced celibacy for him, but every time he had considered visiting a discreet brothel he discarded the idea almost immediately. Perversely, he wanted no other woman but Melanie. She was in his blood, and he hated himself because he could not break free of her spell.

      
He stood outside their room, debating whether or not to knock.
What the hell, I'm paying for the room.
Preemptively he slid the key in the lock and turned the knob. The vision that greeted him took the breath from his body. “My God, you almost have a dress on!” The words burst forth before he could stop himself.

      
Melanie preened in front of the mirror, giving him a little smirk as she eyed her overflowing cleavage with hidden misgivings. “It is cut a bit low for my, er, shape, but Charlee assured me it was in excellent taste,” she answered primly.

      
“You're about to spill out the top!”

      
“You sound like a
dueña
,” she said dismissively, watching with uneasiness as his eyes raked her from head to toe, inspecting the dress which clung to her tiny waist and flared with golden perfection over billowing hoops and crinolines. She couldn't resist one twirl in front of the mirror. The sleeves were puffed slightly at the shoulders and fitted at her slim wrists. From the daring plunge of the vee neckline to the hem of the full skirt, it was utterly unadorned, relying for the dramatic effect on the way the satin clung to each curve of her body. She gleamed from her bouncing ebony curls and gold eyes to the tip of her high-heeled satin slippers peeping out beneath her skirt.

      
“Would you fasten this? I've been trying without luck.” She held out a topaz pendant like a peace offering. Slowly he walked over to where she stood and took the necklace, careful not to touch her fingers as he did so. But when she turned to face the mirror and watched him reach around her neck to fasten the clasp, his hard warm fingers were trembling. She felt a small frisson of pleasure course through her. What if Charlee was right?

      
Melanie looked at their reflection in the glass. With her high heels and this hairdo, she fitted splendidly next to him. He was dressed in very traditional clothes, a severely cut black suit that hugged his lean body, emphasizing long limbs and hard muscles.
And he thinks my dress is too tight!
God, how splendid he looked with his white satin stock framing that swarthy, chiseled countenance. The black and white suit was relieved by the lavish silver trim that edged his jacket and ran up the sides of his pants legs. The only color in his ensemble was a sash of deep crimson. Just then, their eyes met in the mirror. His were amused, smirking, for he had caught her staring at him with schoolgirl fascination.

      
“I'm not that twelve-year-old girl on the Galveston wharf anymore, Lee,” she said quietly, turning away from his gaze.

      
“I’d be blind not to see that,” he responded huskily, ushering her from the room.

* * * *

      
“You will introduce me to Sam Houston so I can get my story?” Melanie needed to calm her nerves as they entered the big ballroom, festooned with red, white, and blue bunting. A big banner proclaimed, “Welcome Senator Sam,” attesting to the affection of Texians everywhere for the hero of San Jacinto.

      
“It's been a few years since I met Houston—ten, to be exact,” he replied, looking at her small, elegant head as she scanned the crowd. “It was on my way to Galveston to pick up some stock for Bluebonnet.” At that her gaze flew to his face before she could stop herself.

      
“I hope the disaster of meeting me didn't ruin your visit with the president,” she replied sourly.

      
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Houston and Slade are thick as thieves, always were. It really wouldn't signify whether I liked Sam or not. But as it happens, I do admire him and he's done me a favor or two over the years.”

      
“How much did he have to lean on the governor to get you that pardon?” she inquired sweetly.

      
He scowled. “Quite a bit.”

      
Just then a big voice boomed out across the room. “Jim told me you'd be here with your fair bride. God, boy, I must be getting old. Last time I saw you, you weren't dry behind the ears.” The speaker was a giant of a man, towering over Lee's six-foot frame as they exchanged greetings. Houston was still an impressive figure dressed in an elegantly cut gray wool suit that hid his slightly thickened waist and emphasized his wide shoulders. His hair was white and thinning, but the high forehead and blunt, strong features were as arresting as ever, especially the piercing blue eyes that danced with merriment as he looked from Lee to his lady.

      
“Jim said you married a stunning woman, Lee; but all his praise could not do you justice, madam.” He made a courtly bow and kissed Melanie's hand gallantly.

      
“You've not lost your legendary charm with the ladies, I see,” Melanie replied, glowing under his admiring gaze. “Did Jim or Charlee also happen to mention that I work for the
San Antonio Star
? You see, I would very much like to write a story about you for my newspaper, Senator.”

      
Throwing back his leonine head in a hearty laugh, Houston replied, “Charlee told me you were as straightforward as a Boston bluestocking. I would be honored to give you an interview, Mrs. Velasquez, if you would favor me with the first dance.”

      
“Done, Senator,” she replied.

      
After a big fanfare, in which the mayor praised the senator to the assembled crowd, Houston said a few words and urged everyone to enjoy the festivities. With no more ado, he motioned for the musicians to strike up a lively tune and claimed Melanie for the promised first dance.

      
The gala was held at the Pearsons' place, one of the newest, and by far the largest, house in San Antonio. With the rugs rolled up for the occasion, the front parlor did double service as a ballroom. The planked floors were smooth and polished, perfect for dancing. Nearly a dozen musicians played fiddles, horns, and even a piano whose tinny sound bothered no one a whit.

      
Melanie and Houston danced and talked easily. For such a large man he was extraordinarily graceful. When she commented on his skill, his face fairly beamed. “I owe my appreciation of music and what poor abilities I possess as a dancer to my beloved Margaret. She has endeavored over the years to refine this crude frontiersman's taste and make him appreciate all things beautiful. She plays the piano for me every evening when I'm at home.”

      
“You miss her and your children, don't you?” Melanie had heard lots of gossip about the May-December marriage between the Texas giant of forty-seven and the Alabama belle of twenty. Despite all predictions of disaster, the marriage had worked out splendidly over the past dozen years, and Sam proved to be a model husband and father.

      
At the mention of his family, Houston's blue eyes glowed. “Yes, I miss them a great deal.”

      
“Tell me, Senator, is it true Margaret actually convinced you to take a temperance pledge?” Melanie's eyes danced as she dared to ask the audacious question. Houston's drinking had been prodigious in years past, but he was known as a model of abstemiousness since his marriage.

      
He roared a great laugh but never missed a beat as they danced. “Why is it, young woman, that I suspect your sojourn in Boston has something to do with your zeal for the temperance movement? Ah, you see, I, too, did my homework.”

      
“I'm sure the Slades were a gold mine of information about my background,” Melanie said with a smile that hid her apprehension. She prayed they had not discussed the reasons for her precipitous marriage! “Indeed, I did embrace the cause of temperance while living in Boston with my grandfather.”

      
“My wife's espousal of temperance had little to do with crusading idealism and much to do with her Baptist upbringing. She has endeavored to bring me to the light of true religion for some years,” he said, eyes filled with deviltry.

      
“And did she succeed as well with your religious conversion as she did with your temperance?”

      
“I was finally prevailed upon to take the plunge, in literal terms, last year. I was baptized by immersion in Rocky Creek.” He shivered in remembrance. “The water of life liked to have sent me to my grave with pneumonia!”

      
“But did it wash your sins away? That is the burning question, Senator,” Melanie parried gaily, thoroughly enjoying the conversation as well as getting a wonderful story with which to dazzle Clarence.

      
Houston appeared to consider her remark, then replied, fervently, “If that creek was indeed the instrumentality that absolved all Sam Houston's mortal sins, then God help the fishes down below!”

      
Lee stood by Jim and Charlee, watching his wife's lively exchange with the guest of honor. When he heard her trill of delighted laughter echo across the crowded room, he scowled sourly. “She must be getting one hell of a story for the
Star
.”

      
Jim smiled. “Sam always could charm the ladies,
mano
. You know, you might just cut in on him and dance with your bride. I'm sure Sam would understand, under the circumstances.”

      
Lee shrugged indifferently, casting an eye across the room to where Larena Sandoval stood, flanked by her parents. He had not seen her since their meeting in San Fernando's secluded garden. “I expect my bride will keep barraging the senator with questions until he cries off without my help. I think your aunt and uncle want to talk with you, Jim. Since they obviously don't want to see me, I'll just wander over to wherever they're dispensing liquid refreshments.”

      
Charlee watched him walk off, her face creased in a thoughtful frown. “Let's do say hello to the Sandovals, Jim.”

      
“Why is it, Cat Eyes, that I suspect you're plotting something?” Jim's expression was faintly troubled, but he knew better than to try and stop Charlee when she got an idea into that mulish head of hers.

      
It didn't take long for Jim to discern her plans. She artfully cajoled Larena into accompanying her to the refreshment tables while Jim became engaged in a political discussion with his aunt and uncle. Shortly thereafter, she “accidentally” bumped into Lee and then orchestrated his asking Larena to dance. If there was any doubt about Charlee's motives, one look at Melanie's furiously wounded eyes convinced Jim that the girl was indeed jealous. What would she do about it, he wondered uneasily, damning Charlee and her machinations.

      
Just then, as if arriving on cue, Jeremy Lawrence walked up to the small assembly, which Houston was regaling with a humorous tale about the French Ambassador to the Texas Republic. Melanie had danced with several men after monopolizing the guest of honor for as long as she dared, but Lee had not approached her all evening. Not even one dance with his new bride! As if her pride were not stung enough, she then saw him in Larena Sandoval’s arms. Two could play that game. Maybe Charlee's harebrained idea about making him jealous might work. It would certainly salve her bruised ego. She smiled a warm greeting at Jeremy.

      
Within a matter of minutes they were gliding across the floor and she had the young ranger completely in thrall. “You seem to know the senator, Jeremy. Where did you meet?” she asked as they danced.

      
“I’d rather not tell an inquiring lady reporter about that, Melanie. Remember our discussion about my boss Captain Walkman and Blaine?” At her watchful nod, he continued, “Well, let's just say it's no accident that I've been assigned to Bexar County. Leave it at that for now. All right?”