Susan Johnson (13 page)

There was a horrified gasp, a small squeal, and two steps into the room Empress froze, her bare feet and legs exposed, her rounded breasts almost spilling out of the partially closed bodice. Simultaneously dropping the skirt and clutching the bodice together, her glance frantically searched for Trey, the only known in this room, this house of strangers.

He was there—in his bed, looking rested, healthy, not tragically in pain or harmed, his wide shoulders resting against a cushion of pillows. Very much unhurt, she noted with spontaneous relief, a welcoming smile on his handsome face. And when their eyes met, she knew her panic-stricken alarm had been unnecessary, for his pale eyes smoldered with that same heated look she’d seen as she’d stepped out of Lily’s tub on that snowy night in Helena. For a pulse beat she felt his hot desire lick at her senses, and then his gaze slid slowly downward to the mounded swell of her breasts.

Wrenching her eyes away from the passionate attraction in Trey’s unreserved glance, plain-spoken in its need, she took in the other occupants of the room with a disquietude provoked not only by her unsuitable attire but freshened suddenly by the unfettered appeal of Trey’s wild, luminous eyes.

A corpulent woman stuffed into a tight corset and a black dress had her hands clasped tightly to her ample bosom and was staring at Empress, wide-eyed and appalled. A diminutive young woman dressed in pale pink that didn’t suit her white complexion looked as though she were going to faint.

Hazard, leaning against the bedpost, was controlling his impulse to smile while Blaze was calmly pouring coffee.

Lord, she was a beauty, Trey decided, not only carnally stirred but enchanted. He’d never seen Empress in a dress. The lush green velvet accented her vivid eyes, her sun-kissed skin, the rosy blush on her cheeks, the pure satin of her rounded breasts, teasingly revealed. How soon he could clear everyone out of the room was his first selfish thought.

Blaze spoke first into the fascinated silence. “Empress, dear,” she said with meticulous courtesy, “come and meet Mrs. Bradford Dixon and her daughter, Fanny.” It was important that the Braddock-Black position be immediately apparent. Rumor and gossip was to be stopped now. The girl had saved Trey’s life. Nothing else mattered. They owed her everything.

Empress advanced a short distance, her cheeks feeling red-hot, her heart thudding wildly, but the scathing look in Miriam Dixon’s eyes brought ten generations of Jordan arrogance to the fore, and lifting her straight nose a trifle in the air, she stepped barefoot over the carpet to within a yard of the seated women.

“Miriam and Fanny, I’d like you to meet Empress Jordan, the wonderful nurse who saved Trey’s life,” Blaze pronounced, as thought she were presenting Empress to Queen Victoria in full court dress, not half undress, as was the case. “We are, as I’m sure you understand,” she stressed softly, “grateful beyond measure.” Miriam nodded her head briefly in Empress’s direction, opened her grim mouth sufficiently to utter, “Good morning,” and snapped it shut again. Fanny’s gaze swiveled skittishly between her mother and Empress before she murmured an almost inaudible “Good morning,” then dropped her gaze to her tightly clasped hands.

“The dress, I see,” Blaze remarked with a sunny smile, “needs some alterations.” Turning to the two ladies opposite her, she casually explained, “Miss Jordan, you see, is temporarily without her luggage, and we are making do.” She could
have said as well, “She fell from the moon yesterday,” and no one would have disagreed.

Without her luggage indeed, Miriam Dixon thought hotly. The little tramp is cool as a cucumber too. The events of the scandalous night at Lily’s were common knowledge, discussed in Helena, with varying degrees of affront or interest.
How dare she look down her nose at me
, the haughty woman thought, fuming. But the Braddock-Blacks were a power one didn’t openly offend. A semblance of a smile appeared across her tightly drawn mouth, and she said with biting courtesy, “Winter travel does create its share of problems.” Her eyes were hostile. “Do you plan on returning home soon?”

Trey’s emphatic “No!” clashed with Empress’s “Yes.”

He didn’t care what the Miriam Dixons of the world thought. He never had. And if Empress was inexperienced in unconventional social occasions like this, he was not. He could protect her. But before he could continue, his father stepped in.

“That is,” Hazard interjected smoothly, his eyes cheerfully blank, “when Trey is fully recovered, Miss Jordan will return to her home. As you see, Miss Jordan is optimistic about our son’s full recovery. She is a marvel”—his glance touched both Trey and his wife—“we all agree.”

Trey smiled at everyone, his expression affable. Absolutely a marvel, he thought, in and out of bed. Now, if he could convince all these people to leave, perhaps he could test his recovery with a very slow and leisurely appraisal of Miss Jordan’s marvels.

What was a marvel, Miriam Dixon thought scathingly, was that the tart hadn’t completely fallen out of that dress, while Fanny only sat wide-eyed, rooted to her chair.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, my dear?” Blaze inquired into the silence greeting Hazard’s remarks, smiling at Empress.

“No thank you.”

“A scone?”

“Thank you, no.”

Miriam Dixon’s expression was one of intense dislike, and when she began to open her mouth to speak, Trey decided to forgo any possible unpleasantness.
“Oh,”
he cried, loudly enough to cause a reverberating echo, “I feel a sharp, stabbing
pain!” And then, with utter disregard for realism, he moaned theatrically and clutched his chest.

Empress shot him a startled look. The man was completely without shame. His silvery eyes cheerfully met hers, and he groaned again, noisily.

Standing immediately, Blaze informed her guests with a perfectly straight face that the poor boy was occasionally seized by these painful spasms. “Please excuse us, and thank you for coming to visit.” Shepherding the two women to the door, she ushered them through with further words of appreciation. Shutting the door on them, she leaned back against the dark wood and said, “Trey Braddock-Black, you are thoroughly without scruples.”

“And the world’s worst actor,” his father added tranquilly.

“Got rid of them, didn’t I?” Trey replied angelically.

“Miriam did look damned near to detonating, darling,” Hazard said, and then allowed the laughter he’d been suppressing to escape.

“She was,” Blaze said with a chuckle, “the image of every dowager bitch I’ve ever met. How are we going to get through this with a straight face?” she said, finishing with a sigh.

“Papa and I will take charge,” Trey replied with a grin. “We’re much more ruthless than you.”

“Don’t you dare terrify me with that prospect,” Blaze admonished smilingly. “One deathbed scene a day is enough, thank you.”

And they all laughed.

Empress felt left out for a moment as parents and son enjoyed their warm camaraderie. Their relationship was special somehow, untamed and enchanting. In the next instant Blaze included her in the bantering group. “Forgive us, dear,” she said, “but Miriam Dixon is such a trial, we all feel like children let out of school whenever she leaves. She’s terribly unpleasant at times, but one feels so sorry for poor Fanny; you tolerate Miriam for her sake. Thank you for suffering her presence so graciously. She’s really quite mean-spirited. And now we must do something about dresses for you. I’ll have Mabel sent for, and she’ll set everything to rights.”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” Empress replied, uncomfortable as the object of scrutiny, gripping the green velvet across her
breasts more tightly. “That is—some—of the others might fit,” she said, stammering, and embarrassed.

“In the meantime, Mother,” Trey interposed smoothly, “why not wait to usher up further visitors until Empress’s clothes are … altered.” Trey’s eyes hadn’t left Empress since she’d first burst into the room, and ulterior motives completely to the fore, his primary interest at the moment was getting Empress alone. It was like being an adolescent again; he hadn’t had to deal with lack of privacy for years.

“I’m not getting involved in this visitor argument again,” Hazard said with masculine disregard for any of the nuances of social etiquette. “I leave it to your discretion, my love. You look fetching, Empress. Ignore Miriam. She’s living proof of ‘The good die young.’ And don’t take advantage of your mother’s sympathy,” he said to his son in gentle reproof, his smile warm. Walking to the door, he quietly said, “I’ll be out in the stables with Blue and the mare that’s about to foal, if I’m needed. Anything less than a national crisis, please handle it without me.” He smiled and left.

“I’m feeling extremely tired, Mama,” Trey lied blatantly, the minute his father left the room.

“Oh, dear,” Blaze responded with motherly alarm. “I suppose Miriam and Fanny were too much. This entire issue of visitors is ridiculous,” his mother abruptly decided, her sudden fear invoked by Trey’s declaration obliterating all sense of polite social courtesies. “They will be kept downstairs, and that’s that,” she firmly stated. “Now, dear, you rest and I will handle any visitors.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Trey replied meekly, his voice a shade wispy, and Empress thought he reminded her exactly of her young brother, Eduard, when he was trying to inveigle a favor out of her. “Could Mabel wait?” he murmured in a breathy, sinking tone, sliding down under the covers.

Good God, he was unprincipled, Empress mused exasperatedly.

“Of course, dear,” his mother replied hastily, coming over to put her hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling warm, sweetheart?”

“A little,” he responded weakly. Hot, really, hot, he thought, burning with fever for Empress, who was standing in
the middle of the room casting him a narrow-eyed look of knowing scrutiny.

“Empress,” Blaze inquired worriedly, “what do you think it could be?”

Self-indulgence, Empress reflected, along with too much practice at having his own spoiled way. “I’ll mix up something for a fever,” she said briskly, deciding Trey needed a touch of restraint.

“Not some more of that vile-tasting, brackish stuff.” Trey reacted instantly, his tone quite normal.

“You want to get better, don’t you?” Empress purred.

“I’d also prefer keeping my breakfast down,” Trey muttered.

“If you
have
a fever, you need it,” Empress retorted pleasantly, a challenging light in her eyes.

“Really, dear,” his mother said, “it’s for your own good. Now do what Empress thinks best, and I’ll leave you to rest.”

Trey smiled then, a broad, satisfied smile, his mood altering abruptly. “You’re right, Mama,” he agreed genially, his expression maddeningly virtuous. “A good rest will relieve this fever, I’m sure.” At last the solitude he wanted, with Empress all to himself. He never questioned his ability to lure her into his bed. That was a confident certainty. Glancing quickly at the clock, he gauged the time before lunch, saw it was more than sufficient, and added, “See that no one disturbs me until noon.”

“That’s very sensible,” Blaze agreed, her expression approving. “Isn’t he an obedient patient?” she inquired of Empress, sure of a shared endorsement of her parental pride.

Trey was lounging against the mounded pillows, his pale eyes innocent, waiting with amusement for Empress’s answer. Perceiving her skeptical reaction to his performance, he was enjoying her predicament. Would she disagree with his mother or politely concur? Would she dare to call his bluff? Would she melt around him with or without resistance? Or more aptly, how long would it take before she joined him in his sickbed?

“If Trey promises to take his fever medicine, I couldn’t ask for more,” Empress replied, malice sweet in her tone.

“Of course, he will, won’t you, dear?” Blaze returned immediately,
pleasantly assured her darling boy would be accommodating.

“I’ll do whatever makes me improve,” Trey answered ambiguously, his own notion of what would improve his present health perhaps not exactly what his mother or Empress had in mind.

Empress was instantly suspicious. His tone was too amiable, his eyes too confident, his answer much too vague.

“In that case I’ll leave you in Empress’s capable hands.” Blaze kissed him lightly and left.

A prominent silence filled the room.

They wouldn’t be disturbed until noon.

With a hunter’s sense of situation, Trey slowly appraised the lavish velvet-clad woman standing before him, her extravagant breasts prominent in her state of half dress, succulent baroque luxury against the deep green framing them, very white in contrast to the forest-green fabric. “Come here,” he said. It was a low, throaty command. There was no other word for it. It was pleasant, unhurried, softly rich in timbre, but it was the tone of a man comfortable with authority.

Empress stood very still, her posture tense, feeling his raking eyes perusing her with languor. Much against her will, a pulsing began deep inside her, an inexplicable yearning responding to his heated gaze and the casual command. It was madness that a look and two words could cause such sudden spiraling warmth, and she deliberately shook away the incomprehensible longing.

It was like coaxing a reluctant filly closer, Trey thought, so when he spoke again, his husky voice was tranquil and soothing. “Everyone’s gone. You needn’t clutch that top together. To me it’s only a dress that doesn’t fit, not some issue of prudish decorum. As a matter of fact,” he added in a soft, hushed drift of words, “you look very lovely.” Sliding up from his lounging posture, he sat up very straight in bed, an image of virile strength, very much not an invalid.

She tried not to notice how broad and hard his forearms were below the rolled-up sleeves of his nightshirt; she tried not to notice how his heavy, dark hair slashed carelessly across his strong brow, how his white nightshirt was open almost to his waist, the bandages wound around his chest emphasizing his powerful physique rather than accentuating his
infirmity. His vital presence assailed her senses, his ardent desire overt and tangible. But he was setting her at ease with a consummate gallantry she reluctantly admired. How many times did one practice in how many boudoirs, how many women did it take to perfect that exact degree of faultless charm?