Sweet Surrender (Mercers of Montana Book 1) (2 page)

The parson's wife elbowed her way forward and curtsied. "Matilda Brown, your grace. Mrs. Mercer told me you were coming. I'm so glad you were unharmed."

"Thank you, Mrs. Brown. We are quite well." Lady Dubuque's English accent was as crisp as new parchment.

Matilda nodded. "The passengers in the last coach had everything taken, including their shoes."

"How awful," clucked Lady Dubuque.

The stagecoach driver glanced uneasily at Jackson. "News of the lady's betrothal stopped them today."

"No. Is this right?" A nervous laugh escaped Matilda's lips. "Abigail told me, but I didn't believe ..." She hesitated. "That is to say ... I mean, please let me be the first to congratulate Lady Tarrington. Jackson Mercer is a … um … a … fine man."

Jackson scowled and the men next to him stepped back. So this was Mother's plan? Marriage to a titled English lady was supposed to scour the tarnish from his reputation? He feared it would be the other way around and like rust would rub off on the unfortunate lady.

He caught his first glimpse of her and his heart dropped. Lady Tarrington was slender and light, about five-two he estimated as she stepped down from the last stair of the stagecoach. She was all in white, the lace overlay of her dress as fine as mist. Like a Lilly of the Valley, the delicate white bell of the flower so perfect and prim.

The high collar accentuated the long, graceful tilt of her neck, and the soft heart-shape of her face. Jackson traced the smooth line from her cheek to her chin with his eyes, knowing full well his fingers would always be too rough to do the same. The heavy curls of her corn silk hair would wrap around his fingertips where they escaped her careful coif at her temples, and he knew they would feel softer than silk. He had to shake off the thought, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

His betrothed. For one wild moment he let the longing flow through him. He could take her arm, walk with her through the streets of Virginia City, and watch as people smiled at her.

At her, not me
, Jackson thought as he crossed his arms tight across his chest. He needed to get her to Mercer Ranch and force his mother to end the agreement. He had to make sure she got out of the betrothal and as far away from Virginia City and him as possible. He would ruin her, and the thought was enough to bury the brief longing deep inside.

P
ainfully out of
place in the dust of Main Street, Olivia took a deep breath to relax the tightness in her chest. Still, her bright green eyes were polite as she surveyed the crowd. Everyone's avid interest in her was enough to bring a rosy blush to her cheeks, but it was his eyes that made her feel like she was on fire.

Dark stubble surrounded a full and frowning mouth and accentuated the strong, square jawline. Olivia was lost in the black tangle of his hair, free of any ribbon or leather tie, shockingly wild compared to the carefully smoothed gloss the men maintained in London. Her blush deepened as she glanced across the white of his linen shirt, shocked by more black hair just above the loose top button.

The man was rough, rugged, and Olivia knew if she got close to him he would smell of leather. The thought stole her breath, and her next heaving inhalation made her heart buck like a mustang.

The look he gave her showed no manners, none of the calculated class she was used to. Under the bright blue sapphire of his eyes, all propriety melted away and was replaced by a thrumming chord within that she'd never experienced before. It wasn't the mild interest and hope the brown-eyed doctor had stirred, but a quivering need. Yearning.

Olivia slipped behind Lady Dubuque's parasol. He was different, his wide shoulders cut as rough and ready as the West itself. And that was exactly what she wanted and exactly what she would never have.

Matilda turned back to walk with them and almost jumped out of her sensible shoes when she saw the man Olivia had been studying. The groom gave her the smallest shake of his head and Matilda swallowed hard.

Lady Dubuque clapped her hands, starling Olivia from her thoughts. "Come, my dear, let us find your Jackson Mercer."

The groom stepped forward and gracefully bowed low as a hush rippled through the crowd. "I've been sent to escort you to Mercer Ranch." The townsfolk clung on his every word.

Lady Dubuque considered him quietly, but Olivia's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "A groom? He sent a groom to escort us?"

Tossing his wild mane in the wind, the groom's laughter erupted and prevented even the bravest townsperson from correcting her mistake. "Come, milady, your carriage awaits."

O
livia pulled
down the lace cuff of her sleeves and refused to give the groom a second glance. Still, he loomed so large on the other side of Lady Dubuque that she couldn't help but notice his long, easy stride. He appeared relaxed, his broad shoulders slouched and arms swinging loosely, but for the fingers of his right hand that curled. It seemed he was determined to stop himself from clenching his fist, but the battle was ongoing.

Perhaps he, too, was afraid of her soon-to-be husband. Olivia recalled the glaze of fear on the highwaymen's faces and Matilda Brown's nervous laugh. Jackson Mercer. Her father knew next to nothing about him, except that Lady Dubuque approved.

Olivia gave her chaperone a sideways glance and wondered again if her judgement was to be trusted. Lady Dubuque hummed a merry tune as she took in the sights. The younger lady had seen her look the same in the palaces of France and on the docks of San Francisco. Her chaperone always remained smiling and serene whether faced with a salty sailor, a rude king, or a handsome groom.

"He is handsome." Lady Dubuque had a knack of reading Olivia's mind. "I quite like the Wild West, don't you?"

Olivia held her breath until she was sure the dark-haired man hadn't heard anything. He led them down Main Street at a slow pace, as if to show them everything Virginia City had to offer. Lady Dubuque flicked her lace gloves at points of interest: the imposing facade of the bank, the bay window displays of the millinery shop, and the quaint front of a bakery with its tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and honey.

Olivia pouted. "What I don't like is the reputation of my fiancé."

"My dear, hearsay is for the ignorant. My years of correspondence with dear Abigail make me certain he is a perfect match for you. Though I've never met the man himself, I can assure you he is of clean heart and gentle soul."

The groom turned and gave her chaperone a sardonic smile.

The old lady flashed a bright smile in response and shrugged. "We all have our crosses to bear. I've heard Lady Dubuque is quite proper until she speaks. She dabbles most shockingly in her deceased husband's investments, and she claims associations with the most indecent types."

He turned toward her and opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him.

Olivia stifled a giggle and lowered her eyes. Catching a glint of silver, she gasped. A wicked hunting knife was strapped to his thigh. While most men carried pistols or even shotguns, there was something eerie about a man armed with nothing more than a short blade. It spoke of a close confidence with death, an agility that could sidestep bullets, and the strength to look an opponent straight in the eye. She shivered and raised her gaze to find the smile had vanished from his face.

"Pardon me," a cultured London accent made her stop in her tracks.

Olivia turned and blinked in the bright afternoon sun. She was not imagining things. A handsome man tipped his shiny black hat at her. His white-blond hair was sculpted in slick waves, and his long suit coat was tailored to perfection. He bowed to Lady Dubuque, replaced his hat with a tap of a gloved hand, and went on his way with a charming smile. It was impossible to miss that he was a man of breeding and means.

Lady Dubuque sighed and pressed her palms lightly against her cheeks. "Lord Allen, I believe."

Olivia bit her lip. "I've heard that name before."

"Yes, a very eligible bachelor. Finest family, in line to be the next Duke of Elmore. I believe he met with Dub a few times. I wouldn't be surprised if he has chosen investment properties here in Montana."

Lord Dubuque, before his passing, was legendary for his business acumen and uncanny investments. He had the Midas touch, and Lady Dubuque made it her personal mission to enjoy his earnings as well as check in on his myriad investments. The freedom of her widowhood and fortune allowed her to travel all over the world.

Olivia admired Lady Dubuque's courage as she shirked polite society and went where she willed. The upper circles of London society were shocked by her claiming acquaintances with the working classes: everyone from shipping moguls to spice traders, diamond miners to cattle ranchers.

Working up the courage to ask her chaperone for an introduction to Lord Allen, Olivia watched him stride away. A few feet down the street, he stopped and heartily shook hands with an old-timer in dusty overalls. The man held rolled plans under his arm, and she assumed he was an employee, a foreman of sorts. Still, the well-bred man spoke easily with the other and clapped him on the shoulder as they laughed.

The groom turned to Lady Dubuque, his voice gruff. "He’s investing, buying up gold mines. Rumor has it he wants to bring an industrial setup to Virginia City."

For a moment Olivia's heart fluttered. What would it be like to marry an English duke, yet live here in the Wild West? She imagined it would be the best of both worlds: the culture, education, and comfortable living of society mixed with the new ideas and expanding roles of women.

She'd write of Lord Allen in the telegram she was to send to her father, making sure to mention the reactions people had to hearing her betrothed's name. If Jackson Mercer turned out to be the brutal, base man she feared him to be, perhaps her father would change his mind to someone more suitable.

J
ackson tapped
his fingers against his thumb one at a time as Olivia's emerald eyes danced after Lord Allen, and he wanted to rip the slick dandy limb by limb. Everyone in town swooned over him, including the bartenders and miners. There was no one that didn't love and respect Lord Allen. He spoke of better working conditions, better pay, and had everyone's heads spinning with dreams of the future.

He took a deep breath and frowned as he considered the situation. Lady Tarrington, as lovely as she was, was what his mother wanted, not him. He had no desire to marry well and join polite society. The solitude of his cabin in the pines was what he wanted. No one judged him there, there were no tangled knots between right and wrong, and no one to take care of or worry about except himself.

Virginia City was the Montana Territory Capital, but it was still widely lawless and no place for a delicate lady like Lady Tarrington. Jackson looked again at the slender angel in white and made up his mind. The best thing to do was to encourage Lady Tarrington to leave.

"This way, ah, milady," said Jackson with a sweep of an arm.

Lady Dubuque furrowed her brow. "Lady Olivia."

Jackson clenched his fist as his mind repeated the musical name like a tune that wouldn't let him go. He turned toward a narrow side street and ushered the ladies ahead of him. They ducked underneath the dripping laundry from the wash house and picked their way through the rickety side stalls of the smaller merchants. At the far corner was Chinese man selling ducks, plucked and strung up in sagging rows.

He was hoping to scare her, and when Olivia raised a hand to her lips, he assumed it was in shock. At second glance he caught a smile that danced on the edges of her lips. He followed her gaze to a small group of ragged urchins playing school.

A tall girl with a rat's nest for hair addressed the others in an imperial tone. "You have to listen to me because I'm the teacher."

"Why do you get to be the teacher?" asked boy with muddy cheeks.

She puffed her cheeks. "Because I'm the only one that can do any sums."

The children gasped in delight as Olivia approached them. She began to speak to them when the little boy with muddy cheeks grabbed his friend and whispered loudly.

"He's one of them. A Knifeman, a real one. My pa said so."

His scrawny friend stuck his tongue out at him. "How's your pa know?"

"He said he saw him the night our stall burned down."

Olivia stepped back, looped her arm through Lady Dubuque's, and said, "I think we'll go this way."

The ladies weaved their way through another alley back toward Main Street. The little boys’ eyes were still on him, but when he turned to look back they scattered.

The side jaunt didn't faze Olivia at all. When Jackson caught up with them, she was talking with Lady Dubuque about schooling for the children.

Her voice was low pitched, and she had a faraway look in her eye. "Perhaps I could volunteer at the school, or tutor a few of the older girls."

Lady Dubuque patted Olivia on the arm. "If you have time, my dear." With a twinkle of mischief in her eye she added, "Husbands have a way of taking up a wife's extra time."

Olivia sighed and rolled her eyes. "I hope
my
husband approves of helping our community, regardless of the fact that I am a woman. It is the 1900s, after all."

Jackson smiled to himself as he followed the ladies back down Main Street. Lady Tarrington had pluck, and he could admire that, but he still thought it best to send her packing. His presence was enough to hold back cheerful greetings and the most the newcomers got were polite head nods. If the rough edges of the town didn't send Olivia running, perhaps she would think the cold reception was for her.

Lady Dubuque knitted her brow. "And here I thought Americans were the friendliest people."

As another couple nodded but didn't approach, Olivia called out, "Good afternoon. Lovely weather."

Lady Dubuque shook her head from side to side. "I understand introductions must be made, but casual conversation while strolling is not against good manners."

Olivia shrugged. "Well, I for one refuse to let my good manners slip, even if we're on the edge of the wilderness."

She went on greeting everyone she saw, and Jackson was surprised at how quickly people warmed to her. By the time they had reached the end of the Main Street and turned around, people were welcoming her to Virginia City. Women suggested a stop at the millinery or afternoon tea at the hotel. Men bowed at her and smiled, offering to open doors or give her a hand across the rough-hewn steps of the boardwalk.

Jackson continued to let Olivia think he was a groom and trailed behind the ladies. He was shocked when the goodwill she generated began to extend to him. The simple greetings and warm smiles were more than he thought he would ever see again.

An elderly man stopped him and nodded. "Good work with the new sheriff."

The man's wife patted his arm and smiled before continuing on their way. Jackson was rooted to the street. He hated the thought, but perhaps his mother was right. He could marry Lady Tarrington and give up his self-imposed exile. Olivia would soften people's perceptions of him, and soon he could walk through town without hearing those wretched whispers behind his back.

Perhaps it was time to tell Olivia the truth. A familiar cooing stopped him in his tracks. A woman with fiery red hair made a beeline toward him, and he knew any chance he had of making a good impression on his betrothed was gone forever.