Susan Johnson (20 page)

She was unaware, of course, that anyone with stamina enough to make love several hours every day was strong enough to navigate the stairs. But those explanations not forthcoming, Trey didn’t argue when his mother insisted he be assisted upstairs to bed.

Empress was green-eyed with jealousy after watching the three young ladies who’d accompanied their parents for the weekend visit spend their entire evening making flirtatious advances toward Trey. Since Empress had been introduced as Trey’s nurse, and common knowledge had added another sobriquet to her identity, she’d been dismissed as unimportant by the wealthy young ladies. It was galling to be talked around and over and through for an entire evening, and while Hazard and Blaze were warm in their cordiality, setting the expected tone for the other guests, the spoiled young ladies had only sullenly responded to their parents’ warning glances.

“Are those the kind of bitches you spend time with?” Empress exploded as the door closed behind Blue and Fox.

“Ignore them,” Trey responded dismissively, unbuttoning his silk shirt. “Women like Arabella and Lucy and Fanny are too uninteresting to dwell on.”

“They were rude,” Empress retorted, hot with resentment.

“Really?” Trey looked at her cryptically for a moment. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed.”

“You hadn’t
noticed
?” Empress repeated heatedly. “Good God! I’ve never met such supercilious snobs!”

“They’re just rich young ladies. It’s normal for them.” One must forgive Trey’s unfortunate remark because he was, of course, unaware of Empress’s background. After all, he’d only seen her in her cowhand garb, without money or family. And all the rich young ladies he knew were empty-headed snobs. It was a natural mistake to assume wealthy young ladies would be an oddity to her.

“Normal! Normal to be
rude
?” Empress was responding more to her evening’s worth of being disregarded by the parvenu young women than to Trey’s remarks.

“Lord, Empress,” Trey said, standing with his shirt half off, “it’s not my fault they’re bitches.”

“Do you socialize with women like that?” she asked pettishly, the thought of Trey being the recipient of all that sugary adoration jealousy-provoking.

“What do you mean, socialize,” he inquired cautiously, aware that he had an angry woman on his hands and not altogether sure why.

“I mean, take them out, dance with them at parties, take them to plays, the opera, whatever the hell you do in this frontier country.”

With relief he listened to her explanation. He was in the habit of socializing in more sensual, unconventional ways, too, and he wasn’t certain in the mood she was in at present that he cared to admit it. “Occasionally,” he blandly replied, this man who was the most eligible bachelor in Montana and had been since he was eighteen.

“How do you stand it!”

“Poorly,” he replied with a smile and, dropping his shirt on the floor, opened his arms and said, “Come here, sweet, forget them. They don’t have an ounce of brains between the three of them.”

Mollified by his reply, she walked into his arms and, womanlike, asked for verification. “Truly?”

“Word of honor. I don’t like them.”

“Well, they surely like you,” Empress reluctantly murmured into his chest, feeling alone suddenly after the crowd of strangers downstairs, and the women angling after Trey, and the lavish display of wealth that was casually accepted by
Trey’s family. She remembered suddenly her own poor home and the children waiting for her. Trey was out of danger now, but her contracted time wasn’t up yet. With the gold in her saddlebags, she was obliged to honor their agreement. But she didn’t delude herself that it was a burden. Trey had seen to that.

“It’s not important,” he replied with graceful evasion. “Now let’s ring for a maid and have some of that meringue torte brought up. I’d like to eat it off your tummy.”

She looked up at him with a pouty enchantment. “You’re scandalous,” she murmured with a smile.

“But entertaining,” he said with a grin and, bending low, kissed her inviting mouth.

They were left alone until teatime the next afternoon, when they appeared in the west parlor. Blaze was presiding over tea and more substantial refreshment for the men. A large portion of Montana was settled by Southerners lured by the gold in ’63 and driven from their original homes by the Civil War. They favored bourbon or whiskey, with or without branch water, and voted Democrat. The liquor had been flowing for some time when Trey and Empress appeared, and the dissection of local Republican politicos was sharp and vociferous.

“If Saunders thinks he can push through Carlyle for Attorney General next fall when we become a state, he’s deluding himself and spending a lot more money than he’ll ever realize in political favors.”

“What do you think, Trey, of Carlyle’s chances if we have Doyle on the ballot?” and Trey was drawn off to sit with the group of men around the fireplace.

Blaze immediately rescued Empress and, after complimenting her on Creed’s tailored serge that brought the green of her eyes to the fore, brought her over to join the tea-drinking ladies who were seated on the embroidered chairs she’d brought back from their last trip to Paris. The matched ensemble had originally been made for Marie Antoinette by Avril and was a masterpiece of inlaid wood and gilding. Empress politely drank her tea and listened to the women’s talk, which was primarily related to clothes and shopping. Casting Empress an apologetic glance, Blaze pleasantly replied to Mrs. McGinnis’s question concerning Worth’s new interiors. Much discussion ensued over the outré green silk walls and
whether it wasn’t terribly exciting to be dressed by a couturier who clothed the royalty of Europe.

Occasionally Empress was drawn into the conversation by Blaze, in an attempt to make her feel comfortable, but the three young ladies refused to direct a word of conversation in Empress’s direction. Their mothers, since they had a better grasp on the importance of the Braddock-Blacks to their husbands’ livelihoods, participated in the conversation with Empress, but with feigned enthusiasm.

Aware of Empress’s predicament in being seated in the midst of the uncharitable young ladies, Trey suggested after no more than a half hour that it was time for his medicine again. Owen Farrell intercepted his attempt to leave with Empress by saying with garrulous good cheer, “Hell, Trey, have the little lady bring the medicine down. We’re going to play a game of billiards, and that ain’t too strenuous for you to set there and watch.”

Trey looked to his father for support, but Hazard was engaged in explaining the reservation boundaries near the Roaring River that must remain inviolable and hadn’t heard Owen’s reply. “I can wait,” Trey said casually, planning to escape with Empress once the men began to move to the billiard room.

“Nonsense, son, you need your medicine to get better. Hey, little lady,” he shouted across the room.

Trey swore under his breath.

All the women looked up, and Owen waved his whiskey glass in Empress’s direction. “Little Angel of Mercy there in green, Trey here needs his medicine, he says. You’re the boss lady on that score. Mebbe you’d tell one of the maids what y’all need.”

Trey’s face was expressionless as everyone’s glance focused on him. “Really, Owen, it can wait.”

“No way, boy, got to get you well.” Owen, after two drinks, was a runaway train when his mind took hold of something, and the drink he was sloshing in Empress’s direction was his fourth.

Trey shrugged, abandoning his subterfuge to quit the room, and smiled resignedly at Empress.

Empress understood Trey’s attempt and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to slip away for a time. “I’ll fetch
it myself,” she replied quickly, thankful for an excuse to take leave, however briefly, of the vacuous conversation. And before any protest could materialize from the inebriated Owen, she was on her feet. “I’ll be right back,” she said with a charming smile.

She stayed upstairs much longer than necessary, reluctant to join the tepid young ladies and their boring mothers. She understood the necessity for the Braddock-Blacks’ political socializing, but she’d prefer not being involved. When it reached a point where her absence might be remarked, she put a small amount of the fortifying rose-hip liquid in a glass and, taking a bracing breath, left her refuge to face the cool female visitors from Helena.

“Empress Jordan—it sounds like a dance-hall queen.”

The voice paralyzed her for a moment—and the high-pitched sneer—and she stopped in her tracks, fascinated and repelled. Her hand on the polished stair rail, she stood motionless on the first-floor landing, recognizing the speaker. Another voice, soft and lispy, said, “Hush, Arabella, someone might hear.”

“Hush, yourself, Fanny. The men are in the billiard room, and our mamas are with Mrs. Braddock-Black starting their third cup of tea. You always were a little mouse.”

“For pity’s sake, Arabella, mind your manners. Although you don’t have any to mind,” a third person replied. By process of elimination, Empress knew it was Lucy.

“Don’t talk to me about manners, Lucy Rogers. You’re the one who unceremoniously dragged us out of the parlor to see your new dress. As if we didn’t know what you wanted to see!”

“Well, you want to see him, too, so don’t make any bones about it.”

“He’s handsome as a Greek god,” Fanny said in breathless awe.

“Handsomer,” Arabella firmly declared. “And he knows it.” Everyone at one time or another had watched the dazzling good looks used so charmingly.

“He’s not vain at all, Arabella. He’s the sweetest—”

“Spare us your girlish vapors, Fanny. We’re agreed. And he’s accessible.”

“If you can get through the usual crowd of women,” Lucy pointed out.

“At least tonight there aren’t any,” Arabella said in a matter-of-fact tone that suggested a practical woman.

“Now who’s going to be the first to barge into the men’s billiard room?” Lucy asked with a tinge of trepidation. “I, for one, know my daddy will scowl something fierce.”

“
I’ll
do it for land sakes. All you scaredy-cats can follow me.”

“Maybe he won’t even talk to us,” Lucy declared fearfully. “He doesn’t seem to have any time for anyone but his
nurse.
” There was a pregnant pause before the denigrating pronunciation of
nurse.

“Everyone knows about Trey and women. It’s no secret,” Arabella said. “His reputation’s notorious. You know men like Trey always have women. And what did you expect, when he paid fifty thousand dollars for her?
Of course
he’ll pay attention to her.”

“You don’t think it’s serious, then?” It was Fanny’s lisp. “He does look at her—well—differently.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arabella snapped. “It’s just the same old Trey. He only plays. He doesn’t get serious. Especially with sluts.”

“Fifty thousand dollars could be the beginning of serious, I heard Daddy tell Mama.”

“Fifty thousand isn’t anything to Trey. He loses that much in a card game.”

“I don’t know,” Fanny’s timid voice interposed. “I saw him look at her up in his bedroom one day last week when we were visiting, and Mama said it just went to show that he was fast as ever, even in his sickbed, and that look he gave her could have boiled every coffeepot in Montana for a month, she told me.”

“Then your Mama hasn’t seen Trey look at women much. Those silver eyes are famous for their scorching power. They say he’s never had a refusal. Now stop all that worrying over nothin’,” Arabella declared. “The day Trey Braddock-Black wants anything more than sex from a little tart he buys in a brothel will be a cold day, as they say.”

“That’s what my daddy said,” Lucy firmly agreed, feeling
better now that the possibility of Trey’s involvement had been thoroughly put to rest.

“I don’t know.” Fanny persisted stubbornly. “If you could have seen that look—”

“Hush your mouth, you twit. If you ever grow up, you’ll know that looks like that happen all the time, but it’s nothing more than a man’s lust. Now, are you coming in with us, or are you going to stand here and debate the future of some paid-for hussy?”

“You’re not the only one who wants to see him,” Fanny retorted boldly, the disagreement having altered her normal placidity.

“What would you do with him if you managed to catch his interest, Fanny? You’d die of fear.”

“I would not, Arabella McGinnis. Don’t think you’re the only woman who knows what to say to a man.”

“If you two can stop scrapping over Trey’s damaged body,” Lucy drawled sweetly, “we all could go into the billiard room and see the darling in person. And arguing over various approaches or scintillating dialogue is totally unnecessary when it comes to Trey, since it’s common knowledge in this part of Montana that the only word you have to know to get along beautifully with Trey is
yes.
”

“That’s provided,” Arabella said concisely, “he notices you in the first place.”

“I’ll throw myself at him,” Fanny said.

“Get in line, it’s been done before. He’s credited with never restricting his performance, and that’s why the line’s so long.”

“I’ll have his baby. He’ll marry me then, and we’ll live happily ever after.” Fanny’s eyes were alight with the romantic fantasy.

“Ask Charlotte Tangen or Louisa or Mae or any of the hasty marriages in the last few years with paid-for bridegrooms about that likelihood transpiring.” Arabella was after effect. She chose not to mention that none of the cited women were virtuous. But chaste or not, Trey’s liability had been defined in terms of prodigal sums of money rather than marriage. In this businesslike manner no censure occurred, and geniality was restored.

“No!” Fanny gasped.

“Yes, a very emphatic yes. You should still be in the nursery,
Fanny. Lord, you’re naïve. He’s
not
the marrying kind.” Arabella’s tone was smug.

“Well, then, smarty pants,” Fanny replied heatedly, “how do you propose to get him? You’ve been after him for years.”

“My daddy will suggest a business merger when the time is right. Our marriage will be profitable and advantageous”—she touched her blond ringlets—“for the Braddock-Blacks and for us. Don’t you know how these things work? It’s not romance, you ninny. It’s money. And my daddy has almost as much as Trey’s daddy. So you see how convenient—”