Renegade Bride (46 page)

"Happened," he finished, dropping her wrist with a flick of self-disgust that edged near tears. His swollen eyes slid shut. "I guess I'm not as forgiving as I thought. I should have known. My best friend. God, what a perfect fool you must think me. What a perfect fool I am."

"Oh, no. Not you, Seth. It's me. Any woman would be lucky to have you."

"I didn't want any woman. I loved you. My whole life. It's been you." His chest hitched with an emotionally charged breath and he threw an arm over his eyes. The murmur of low voices nearby told her the crowd was growing. Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. She didn't care what they thought. God, if she could only take away the pain in his eyes.

Groaning, he rolled to a sitting position and drew one knee up. Cradling his forehead in the palm of his hand, he said, "I think you'd better go now... before I say something else I'll regret."

She choked back a sob. "Oh, Seth..."

From beneath a sweep of brown lashes, his gray-blue eyes had turned to ice. "I mean it. Get out of here, Mari."

The wounded rage in his voice sent her scuttling backward. She got to her feet, ignoring the pointed looks from the gathering crowd. She turned to Creed and found him being tended to by one of the Hurdies. He answered the woman's questions in soft tones Mariah couldn't make out, but pointedly avoided meeting Mariah's eyes.

She felt panic creeping up her neck. She wanted to run and hide. Oh, what a horrible mess she'd made. Creed and Seth enemies, beating each other bloody—all because of her. God, how could she ever live with herself after this? How could she ever face either one of them again? Or anyone in this town, for that matter. If only she hadn't gone to Creed. If only she hadn't kissed him. If only...

Mariah started walking, stumbling really, without thought to her destination. She pushed her way through the crowds huddled near the door, not meeting anyone's eye. The music was still playing farcically and some were still unaware of the fight. She started running blindly through the wide barn hallway, past the gaping stares and confused looks of Seth's friends.

Reaching the other doors she ran out into the night, without stopping for her shawl. Where should she go? Home? To her hotel room? Her first muddled instincts said: Go and crawl under the covers. The darkness seemed the only way to hide from what she'd done.

She headed down the wide, rutted street—Van Buren—past the Wells Fargo office and the darkened Lecture Hall that shared a wall with a Chinese Laundry. For a half-block, the street was unlit and virtually clear of the strolling pedestrians that peopled the roadway a mere thirty feet farther on.

Three men walked twenty feet ahead of her, laughing and singing a silly drunken song. She hung back, hoping they wouldn't notice her. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention to herself, alone on a dark street.

The crunch of footsteps close behind her made her glance back sharply. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw a figure melt into the dark shadows. Her eyes widened. Fear pulsed through her like a sharp pain and she quickened her pace, trying to convince herself she had imagined the movement. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, but she hardly noticed the chill. A sort of numbness had settled in, muting everything but the lonely ache inside her.

For the first time, she wondered where she was. Virginia City seemed different in the dark—seedy and dangerous. As she hurried toward the business district ahead, she welcomed the sight of the gaming houses, saloons, and brothels that lined the block, spilling their light across the rutted thoroughfare.

Men by the dozens wandered in and out of these oases of companionable noise, ever in search of the perfect game or drink or warm body.

Two grizzled miners, a year's worth of Montana dirt on their clothes, leered as she passed them.

"Hey, sugar," one of them called. "Lookin' fer someone?"

She pressed her lips together, hoping they would leave her alone. A woman unescorted on the streets of a mining camp at night? She knew what they were thinking. Her teeth chattered involuntarily. Clutching her arms, she hurried by the men, but not before the taller of the two snaked a hand out to grab her and jerked her to a stop. Hearing the fabric of her dress tear, she screamed.

The man who held her laughed raucously with his partner, displaying a mouthful of rotted teeth as he pulled her closer. His breath reeked of alcohol and tobacco chaw. "Whoa-haw, what a set o' lungs. Where you goin' in sech a hurry, girlie? You look mighty gussied up to be out on yer lonesome. We kin fix that, cain't we, Joe?"

Joe nodded, displaying the same lack of dental hygiene as his friend. His gaze drifted down to her breasts and his watery blue eyes widened.

Heart pounding, she clawed at the first man's hand, drawing blood.

"Yeo-ow!" He wrenched her hand away from his, repositioning his grip.

"Stop it!" she shouted. "Let me... go!"

"Oooh-hooo!" he hollered, enjoying the fight. "She's a feisty li'l kitten, eh, Joe?" He gestured obscenely with his hips. "Hey, I got th' money, if you got th' honey." He and his partner guffawed drunkenly at his little rhyme. The other fellow grabbed her other arm and together they hustled her past an open doorway.

Mariah kicked at them, trying to pull free. It was useless. Even dead drunk, they outmatched her puny ability to fight.

"Let 'er go,
mes amis,"
a woman's voice demanded from a few feet behind them.

The men swerved to a halt and turned around to see Desiree Lupone standing on the stoop of The Nightingale, a cocked derringer in her hand.

Mariah's breath came fast and hard as she stared at the woman, garbed in elegant scarlet. It was too incredible. Desiree Lupone helping her after the awful things Mariah had said about her.

"Let ze girl go and we won't make a fuss, eh?" she repeated. "Thees one ees not for sale." The two buffoons looked from the gun to each other and dropped Mariah's arms.

"Aw, hell, Miss Desiree," said the first. "You ain't gonna hoi' this agin us, are ya? We was jes' havin' some fun with this li'l she-cat. She one of yorn?"

"Eet ees enough to know zat she's not yours. Go 'ome and sleep it off,
mes amis
."The men stumbled off, leaving Mariah standing alone in the crescent of light cast from the brothel's open door. "Come 'ere, Mariah," Desiree said quietly, reaching a hand out. "Come inside wis me."

Shaking, Mariah did as Desiree asked, not caring that it was a brothel. Gratitude knotted in her throat and stung her eyes as she reached for Desiree's hand and walked through the red-painted doors.

She didn't notice the silk-tasseled scarf slip off her neck and float behind her to the ground. Nor did she see the man emerge from the shadows to claim it. His long ebony hair fell like a crow's wing over his scarred cheek as he bent to retrieve the fallen bit of cloth.

Pierre LaRousse fingered the fine fabric between his fingers and cursed. Nothing had gone right tonight. He'd planned on taking her from Travers at the end of the party, when most of the guests had already made their way home.

But the fight had changed all that.
Le Diable
! Though it had given him immense pleasure to watch Creed Devereaux take a beating at the hands of the shopkeeper, he'd thought for a moment she would play right into his waiting hands. But his shoulder made him slow. He'd missed his chance.

Sweat beaded his upper lip and he pulled a hand across his hot, aching shoulder. The infection had grown worse and it hurt like hell.

In the shadows across the street, he watched the nervous tip of Downing's cigarette glow in the dark. The cowardly
lapin
meant to run. But if he did, he wouldn't get far. No rabbit could outrun him and he wasn't foolish enough to count on one man for his plan. He had help.

His eyes narrowed as another thought came to him. Fingering the silk in his hands, he started across the street as a new, even better plan fermented in his mind.

Chapter 24

Desiree poured steaming coffee into a translucent china cup, laced it generously with whiskey, and handed it to Mariah. The saucer clattered in Mariah's hand as she took it. The madam poured herself a whiskey, neat, and sat down beside her on the green velvet settee.

"There, there,
cherie,"
she soothed. "You 'ad a leetle scare ees all. You'll be all right."

Mariah's red-rimmed eyes met Desiree's. "No, I won't. Nothing will ever be all right again."

"'ere, drink up,
mon petit chou.
Thees will make you feel better."

Mariah took a sip and nearly choked on the fiery taste of whiskey, but as it burned a path down her throat, she felt it seep comfortingly through her veins. She sighed, exhausted, drained of everything, it seemed, but the ability to breathe.

"Ze streets of Virginia City are not ze place for you alone at night,
cherie,"
Desiree scolded gently. "Thees you know, yes?"

Mariah sniffed and nodded, taking another long sip.

"So! Why you are alone? I sought you 'ad a party tonight. To celebrate your
fiangailles...
eh... your engagement to ze shopkeeper."

Tears started again. "I did. Oh, God, I made a horrible mess of things."

Desiree watched her carefully, leaning back against the green velvet. "You...'ad a fight wis your man?"

"Oh, worse. S-So much worse than that." Choking sobs erupted from her throat and Desiree took the coffee away from her lest she scald herself. Mariah hadn't meant to blurt out her troubles to this woman, but she couldn't seem to help it. Desiree wasn't at all the woman she'd expected and her soothing voice just seemed to break down Mariah's carefully erected misconceptions.

"Sometimes... eet 'elps to talk." She handed her a hanky edged in lace with the letters D. L. embroidered on one corner. It smelled of expensive perfume.

Mariah sniffed and dabbed her eyes. "It's all my fault."

"What ees?"

"Everything. I never meant to hurt him. I loved him. I loved them both."

"Ahh-h. I see."

"No, you don't. You can't. I was supposed to marry Seth, but I couldn't. I just couldn't, knowing I... I was in love with another man."

"You mean Creed, yes?"

Mariah's eyes flashed up to Desiree's in surprise. "How did you know that?"

Desiree rose and crossed to the dark window, looking out over the street. "'Ee's a friend of mine,
cherie
."

"I know. He—he told you about... us?" A sickening sensation rolled through her stomach.

"'Ee didn't 'ave to tell me. I could see it on 'ees face that 'ee 'ad fallen for someone."

Mariah watched the pain flit across Desiree's face and suddenly it struck her. "You love him, too, don't you?"

Desiree took a long sip of her whiskey, glanced out the window and nodded.

"Then... why are you being so... kind to me?"

The woman shrugged and turned a smile on Mariah. "Why not? We don't compete for ze same man, cherie. I was never in ze race. I 'elp you because...'e cares for you. And I am 'ees friend."

Mariah slumped in the seat. "You're wrong. Creed hates me."

"Eef you think zat, you are ze one 'oo ees wrong."

Mariah pressed the hanky against her red nose. "It doesn't matter anymore. I've ruined everything. Creed doesn't want me. He has some stupid idea that marrying him would ruin my life and besides, he wouldn't intentionally hurt Seth for anything."

Desiree crossed the room and sat down beside her again. "Why don't you tell me what 'appened, cherie. Zen we can think of what to do."

* * *

In the yard behind Hasty's Livery, Creed forced himself slowly, painfully up off the ground. His ribs throbbed sharply with every breath. The Teuton hurdie, bless her soul, had given him something to stop the bleeding from the cut near his eye and mouth, but his face felt like chopped steak.

The worst, however, was his right hand, which he cradled against his chest. From the way it was swelling, he decided he'd broken it against Seth Travers' jaw.

Merde.

Woozy, he staggered and braced his left hand against the cottonwood to steady himself. Twenty feet away several men, including Nate Cullen, were helping Seth to his feet. He glared over at Creed, sullen-mouthed.