California Caress (32 page)

Hope stumbled, clutching Drake’s arm to keep from falling flat on her face. “Wait a minute, where are we going?”

“Home.” The single word held no warmth.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold curled down Hope’s spine as they stepped into the chilly night air.

The streets of Boston were as crowded when Hope and Drake left the lawyer’s office as they’d been when they had arrived. It was only the character of the people lining the streets that had changed dramatically.

Drake slammed the door and descended the stone stairs in Hope’s wake. Her shoulders trembled in the cool night air, and though he was tempted to reach out and offer some of his warmth, he didn’t dare. Her good humor in Sneyd’s outer office had been too rare, too fleeting to last. Now that she’d had time to come to her senses, he thought she would rather accept warmth from a pit viper than from himself. The dirty look she shot him confirmed that thought.

Hope shivered and pulled Drake’s hat low. She could feel the warmth of his eyes boring holes into her back as she focused her attention on the people and carts darting this way and that about the street. The smell of leather, dirt, and cloying perfume was strong and, while not oppressive, she couldn’t help but long for the clean freshness of the open range and prairies. The soft, peaceful sounds of the trail—air rushing past her ear, broken by the occasional squawk of a bird—were replaced by voices yelling from all quarters, horses whickering, men laughing, dogs yapping, doors slamming, and a host of other, equally annoying, sounds. The ruckus grew to a deafening pitch the closer they came to the road.

The clothes that had served her so well on the trail now earned her stares of contempt. More than one elegantly attired couple out for an evening stroll stopped to gape at the masculine attire cloaking the obviously female form.

In her naiveté, Hope had assumed she would pass for an overgrown youth—until she looked down and caught a glimpse of the flannel as it was caught by the cool breeze and molded to the curve of her breasts. She reached up and yanked Drake’s hat still lower. While the murky shadows beneath the brim could disguise the feminine turn of cheek and jaw, there was nothing to disguise the curve of womanly hips beneath the baggy trousers, or the nipped waist around which they were tied. As if that weren’t bad enough, the chestnut plait bobbing to her hips was a concrete proof of her gender.

Blushing hotly, she looked down and concentrated on placing one booted foot in front of the other. For every step that
clop-thumped
on the boardwalk, she counted off a day—one for each day it would take her to see this mess through and get back home to Virginia.

And
what
had she been thinking to joke and tease Drake Frazier in the lawyer’s outer office? Hope wondered as she wove her way through passersby. Had she lost her mind? For the last few weeks she had acknowledged the gunslinger’s presence only when absolutely necessary, and even then she’d done so grudgingly.
But with good reason!
She was quick to remind herself. Still, all that had been forgotten as she stood in that dreary office and exchanged words with the miserable rat as though they were the best of friends. And then some!

It was his touch that had confused her so badly, she thought, completely dismissing the fact that
she
had been the one to make the first contact, not Drake. Suppressing her feelings and urges these last weeks had been hard. While she’d striven to remain coolly distant, it wasn’t easy. When the nights had grown too cold to sleep comfortably, she’d agreed to share Drake’s bedroll—for warmth, of course, no other reason. The true meaning of torture became crystal clear beneath the twinkling stars and pale moon, when she could feel the hard fibers of his body snuggled against her, awakening a response that grew harder and harder to deny.

She’d gotten herself through those agonizing weeks by repeating over and over to herself that it was Angelique’s name he had whispered that night, not hers. She had to keep remembering that if she was going to finish this job, collect her money, and return to Virginia, where she could forget this part of her life had ever even happened. Unfortunately, forgetting Drake Frazier wouldn’t be that easy, she thought, as she swung onto Lazy’s back and gently kicked the mare on. In fact, it would be damn near impossible.

With a ragged sigh, she guided the horse into the street, following the gunslinger’s rugged back. The sinewy beast beneath him moved in time with each sensual sway of his body. Try though she did not to notice it, her gaze kept straying to the spot where horse and rider touched.

“Almost there,” Drake called over his shoulder after they’d been in the saddle an hour, maybe more. Hope didn’t answer.

The city had slowly given way to the gentle swell of a country landscape. She looked on the new surroundings with a relief that bordered on jubilation. She’d been away from civilization too long, she decided, if she preferred a tree-lined back road to a city boardwalk. But like it more she did, as they turned onto a narrow street edged by sturdy maple and spruce trees. Hope drank deeply of the clean, fresh scent. Brittle red, orange, and gold leaves scattered the dirt road, crackling beneath the horses’ hooves.

Another side street slipped past, followed by another and another. Eventually, the soft strum of a violin began to fight the soft night sounds for prominence. The haunting notes increased, accompanied by the sound of voices and laughter, as they rounded a bend and a large white Georgian manor came into view.

The twisting drive was lined with inky black carriages. A woman, resplendent in a minty crinoline ball gown, strolled the lush green lawn.

Holding up a hand, Drake reined in his horse and indicated that Hope should do the same. Scowling, she obeyed, but the second the woman had rounded the corner she shot out a question.

“What are we doing here? I thought we were going to
your
house,” she said tersely. “You promised me a real bed.”

As he’d expected, her attitude toward him had again changed. Her voice was colder, more demanding. A dry smile tugged at Drake’s lips, though his eyes never left the house. “I did, and you’ll get it,” he replied, distracted. “You’ll just have to wait a bit.”

“But—”

He shook his head, lifting and dragging impatient fingers through the wind-tousled golden mane. “No buts.” He turned to her then, his eyes filled with an emotion Hope had never seen there before.

She couldn’t see enough of his face in the hazy light to discern his feelings, and suddenly she didn’t want to. Her spine stiffened. “We aren’t going in there,” she gasped. “Drake, we can’t. Look at us. We’d never make it past the front door.”

“Oh, we’re going in all right, sunshine. This is one party I don’t intend to miss.” Turning, he slapped the horse’s rump and helped Raven pick a path through the trees to their right. The grin he sent over his broad shoulder made his sea-green eyes twinkle with devilry and reminded Hope more of the Drake she’d known in their earlier days on the trail. Instinctively, her heart twisted.

She wasn’t going in, no matter what he said to convince her otherwise. Still, she had a gnawing curiosity to see what the gunslinger was about, and so she followed.

“No, I won’t do it.” Hope shook her head, her jaw hardening with determination. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Drake in the flickering moonlight. Her gaze shifted between him and the downstairs window he was threatening to shimmy through. Her toe tapped a furious rhythm on the hard-packed earth, but otherwise she refused to move.

“What happens if someone sees us?” she demanded angrily, wondering all the while why she should even care. “It sounds like there are at least two hundred people in there. We’re bound to get caught. Besides, they have laws against scampering into other people’s houses in the middle of the night, and while they may not abide by those laws in California, they certainly do in Virginia. I’d think Boston would be even worse.”

“It is,” Drake agreed with a smile that made her swallow hard and lean against the house for balance. Crouching down, he cupped his hands to make a step. “Will it help if I guarantee you a jury of your peers?”

“No. And it won’t change my mind.”

Drake straightened, and resisted the urge to throttle her stubborn neck on the spot. “Hope, you said yourself we’d never make it through the front door dressed like this.”

“And I meant it,” she agreed tersely. “But I don’t see where crawling in through the window is going to do any good, either. I don’t even see why you want to get into this house.”

“Because it’s my house.”

Hope’s eyes widened. She blinked a couple of times, opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again. She scowled, glancing from the window to Drake. Her gaze eventually settled on the latter. “What do we do once we get in?”

“Get dressed, of course.” He reached out and took the threadbare plackard of her flannel shirt between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes were dark, penetrating. “What would you say to trading this in for a bit of silk or satin? You said once that you used to wear them all the time.”

“I did,” she replied, her voice cracking as her resolve weakened. Silk? Satin? Lord, the temptation was too great to resist. She looked down at the heavy boots encasing her feet, at the cuffs of the trousers rolled up to her ankles, and added, “You’ll have a hard time finding a grown for me, gunslinger. Most dresses don’t fit, and I don’t like people ogling my ankles. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little taller than most girls.”

“I’ve noticed. In fact, there isn’t a whole lot I haven’t noticed about you, sunshine.” His eyes darkened as he ran a tantalizing finger over her jaw, her lower lip, her cheek. “I’m not complaining.”

Hope shifted uncomfortably when his hand traveled to the first button of her shirt. The fingers against her flesh were hot, and extremely distracting. She swatted his hand and tried to pull away. The house pressing into her back stopped that.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Suppose we get inside, and by some miracle of God you find clothes that actually fit us—”

“I will.”

She ignored the interruption. “Then what? Join the party? If so, how long do you think it’ll be before someone recognizes you?” Her expression grew suddenly guarded. “Are Charles and Angelique inside? What happens if they see us? And—”

The hand Drake clamped over her mouth stopped her barrage of questions. “The only way you’re going to get any answers is to climb through that window. ” He nodded to the whitewashed wall over her head. “Now, I’m going to take my hand away, and I’m going to offer to boost you up—one more time. Refuse, and you’ll be spending the rest of the night in the stable. I won’t come back for you once I’m inside.”

The hand, which had blocked off half her supply of air, was removed. She took a deep breath as he hunched over and cupped his hands into a makeshift stair. He glanced up expectantly.

“Well?” he asked, a single golden brow cocked high in his sun-kissed forehead. “Which will it be? A nice, soft, feather tick bed or a prickly, lumpy, pile of straw?”

Hope pursed her lips and glanced down at his hands with open disdain. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d carry through on his threat and leave her to pass the night in the stable—wherever
that
was.

“Hooooope?”

Her gaze drifted to the expensive carriages lining the cobblestone drive.
Someone
had driven them here. It wouldn’t surprise her to find all the liverymen gathered in the stable Drake had threatened her with, having their own party.

“I don’t like this,” she said finally, testing her foot on the stop of his entwined knuckles. His palms closed around her boot, making it impossible to pull away.

“You don’t have to. Just hurry up and get inside. It’s getting cold out here.”

“It’s supposed to be cold. That’s why they call it winter.”

“It isn’t cold inside. It’s nice and toasty warm. And there are real beds in there.”

“I suppose you think you can bribe me now?” she replied. He hoisted her and she started to scramble up the wall, cursing all the while at what a perfectly stupid thing she was doing. “Well, maybe you can,” she continued, clinging to the scratchy wall. Her fingers brushed against the windowsill and she made a grab of it, giggling when her hand closed around the whitewashed wood.

Drake grunted as he shoved her through the window he’d pried open with a tree branch. Hope shimmied through the opening. He heard a thump as her body tumbled over the windowsill, crashing to the floor. He prayed the sound would be masked by the lively cotillion the orchestra chose to strike up at that moment.

Hope peeked out the window and sent him a mocking glare. “Well? Are you coming or would you rather wait until one of the guests stumbles in here and finds me? They’ll probably think I’m a thief, come to snatch the silverware.” She chuckled despite herself when she glanced down at her tattered clothing. “Can’t say I’d blame them.”

“I can’t go anywhere until you move, sunshine.”

She backed away from the window to give him room to maneuver, and when she looked up it was to see Drake springing lithely to the floor. Her breath caught in her throat. He looked undeniably handsome, what with the moonlight flickering in behind him, silhouetting his body and casting his muscular frame in enticingly vague shadows. Though his clothes were in as bad a state as her own, he looked oddly at home against the softly painted wall and plush Chippendale furnishings.