California Caress (33 page)

She was reminded of the day of the fight between him and the Swede, and the way his towering presence had immediately gained the respect of those around him. The memory fled the second Drake grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the door.

He lifted a finger to his lips as a surge of laughter echoed down the hall. Footsteps approached, then receded in the other direction. The last strains of the cotillion echoed away, replaced by the easy notes of a Czechoslovakian gallop.

Drake eased the door open an inch and, with his back pressed to the wall, scanned the passageway. She could tell by the way his tense features relaxed that it was now empty.

“Come on,” he said. Reaching down, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hall.

Wordlessly, she allowed herself to be dragged through the oddly decorated house—a mixture of regal antiquities, medieval wall hangings, and other centuries-old paraphernalia. She was yanked briskly from room to room, and once she was forced to press against Drake in a stuffy closet, when one guest chose to drift through the same room they were sneaking through. They climbed stairs that were too narrow and plain to be for anyone but servants. The upstairs hall was deserted.

Hope half-walked, half-ran down the carpeted hallway, trying to keep up with Drake’s long strides. When they reached the end, he opened the door to their right and pushed her inside an inky black room.

“Wait here. And don’t light the lamp,” he hissed in the darkness before slipping back to the hall.

Though Hope was tempted to disobey him just for spite, she didn’t. She didn’t want to be caught—alone in this crowded house, looking like she did—and forced to explain her presence. So she waited in the darkness, not daring to move for fear of tripping, and enjoyed the music that drifted up through the floorboards. Her eyes were just beginning to adjust to the scant light when the doorknob turned and the door squeaked open. Drake slipped inside.

“Here, get dressed.”

Something that rustled nicely was pushed into her arms before Drake crossed to the other side of the room. Although it was dark, especially in comparison to the hall from which he’d come, his feet never stumbled.

Hope fingered the smooth material in her hands and tried to ignore the sounds of Drake undressing. The smell of crushed roses drifted to her as she lifted the soft fabric to her nose. It smelled even more wonderful than it felt as she stroked it against her cheek. She held the gown to her front, running her hand down the smooth satin, and was surprised to find that the hem fell to the floor. Where had he found a dress that was long enough, she wondered?

It had been more years than she cared to remember since she had worn a dress that felt as exquisite as this one. Even in the dark, she knew it would be breathtaking. What she didn’t know was how she was expected to put it on with no light to tell front from back. Drake, she knew from the sounds emanating from his corner, was having no such problem.

With a resigned sigh, she moved away from the moonlight streaming in through the window, and set about dressing.

Luckily, some things were not easily forgotten. She needed no light to work free the hooks running up the dress’s back, her fingers did it from memory. She set the dress on the floor and used the same skill to distinguish the right and wrong side of the underclothes, as well as the petticoats Drake had provided. Those too were set aside, ready and waiting. Since there were no slippers, she decided to go barefoot and hope no one peeked beneath the hem.

“Are you sure this is going to fit?” she asked skeptically. She slipped the flannel over her shoulders then reached for the rope that secured the trousers around her waist. “I really don’t like to show my ankles. I wasn’t joking about that.”

“It’ll fit,” he replied in the darkness.

She worked the pants down her hips, dearly wished for a good hot bath, and reached for the chemise. The white linen was like a glowing beacon in the darkness. It wasn’t until the crisp fabric was sliding down her naked body that Hope noticed the lack of noise in Drake’s corner of the room.

She pulled the neckband over her head and settled it around her shoulders, her eyes scanning the room. She couldn’t see Drake in the darkness, but then, she didn’t have to. Her skin tingled with the feel of his hungry gaze.

Turning her back on where she imagined him to be, she reached for the petticoats, then the gown. Her fingers were trembling badly. Scooping her long plait of hair from the neckline, she draped it over a shoulder and reached for the hooks. She was able to secure the lower ones, and a few at the top, but the rest remained stubbornly out of reach.

Hope gritted her teeth in frustration, and toyed with the idea of asking for help. The thought of his fingers touching the flesh on her back, even through the layers of underclothes, made her breath catch. She wasn’t entirely sure her tired, frazzles nerves could withstand such sensual torment.

“If you’re not going to ask, I suppose I’ll have to offer.”

Drake’s voice came from directly over her shoulder, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath kissing her neck. She didn’t protest when his fingers began joining hook and eye.

“I could have done it myself,” she said, squirming at the feel of his strong fingers against her back.

“We don’t have all night, sunshine.” His hands hesitated as they brushed against the healed wound on her shoulder. “There,” he said. Dropping his hands to his side, he took a quick step back. “Ready to face your admirers?”

“I won’t have any if I can’t think of something to do with my hair.” Her fingers self-consciously strayed to the plait draping her shoulder. The ball gown might be exquisite—that had yet to be seen—but a droopy braid of scattered hair would swiftly shatter the illusion.

Drake moved in the darkness. A drawer was opened, then closed. Another. His footsteps came back and a cold metal comb was pushed into her fingers. “Think you can do it in the dark?” he asked, his voice heavily suggestive.

Hope ignored the sarcasm as she worked her hair free of the braid. She pulled the comb through her hair, nearly ripping the tangled strands from her scalp. When she was done, she let the glossy chestnut tresses stand in thick waves to her back. The style might not be fashionable, but there was no help for it. She had no ornamental combs or pins to secure it, and she didn’t waste her time wishing for any. She’d lived without them before, she’d do so again.

“Ready.” She shoved the comb into his chest and marched for the door.

“Not so fast.”

She stopped, her hand poised on the knob, and turned back. Drake was a towering black shadow in the moonlight. Two long strides and he was beside her, his calloused palm stroking her cheek. The ripple of anticipation that curled her toes was not easily ignored. His breath was hot against her cheek, and for a moment Hope thought he was going to kiss her.

Would I stop him if he tried?
she wondered as her chin lifted, and her eyes automatically began to close.

“You’re working for me now, sunshine,” he said dryly, his hand closing over hers on the doorknob. “If you want to earn your keep, see that you don’t forget it.”

“Bastard,” she spat, angrily shoving his hand away. The sound of her palm hitting his arrogant jaw was loud, countered only by the clatter of the door as she wrenched it open and let it crash into the wall.

She stepped into the lamp-lit hall, her palm stinging from the blow as she balled her fingers into a tight fist and hid them in the voluminous folds of her skirt—all the while struggling to swallow her fury. She heard Drake behind her, but refused to look back. If he wanted to beat her for her obstinacy, so be it, she couldn’t stop him. But one thing was for certain, she wouldn’t sit idly by while he humiliated her. She’d die first!

“I hope you got your anger out back there,” he said as he tightly grabbed her upper arm and started dragging her down the hall, “because in a few minutes you’re going to be introduced as my devoted wife. I expect you to play the part—to the hilt.”

“I said I would, didn’t—” She stopped abruptly as her gaze flickered to Drake, and she was rewarded with her first real look at him since he’d changed. Her bare feet tripped over thin air and she collided weakly against his arm.

This was
not
the Drake Frazier she’d met that night so many months ago in the Brass Button Tavern. It couldn’t be! Except for the white silk cravat knotted perfectly at his throat, and the matching ruffle that peeked from his cuffs, he was dressed head to toe in midnight black. An expensively tailored waistcoat strained over the broad shoulders, emphasizing their appealing width. Hope’s cheeks flooded crimson as she noted the matching breeches, so tight they were indecent, hugging each muscular curve of calf and thigh. The lean hips, tight and firm, were as flagrantly displayed. Her blush deepened as she tore her gaze away from that particular spot and fixed her shock-filled stare at the handprint reddening his cheek. It was the only safe place she could find to look.

In his tightly clinging denims and flannels, he’d looked dangerously handsome, sensually appealing. Now, he looked absolutely magnificent.

“Pleasantly surprised, I hope,” he said, a mocking grin twisting his lips as his gaze ran down her front. His good humor quickly evaporated.

So in awe had she been of Drake’s transformation, Hope hadn’t taken her own into account. Made curious by his sudden silence, she glanced down. Her gasp of surprise hissed down the empty hall.

As Drake had promised, the gown was satin. Soft, shimmering, rose-colored satin that, he was pleased to find, complemented the healthy glow in her cheeks to perfection and abruptly reminded Drake of the gown he had first seen her in. Except for the color, the resemblance ended there. The neckline was becomingly low, draping her shoulders and exposing a good deal of tempting creamy flesh. The wonderfully low neckline and short, puffed sleeves were accented with shimmering gold ribbons that enhanced the sparkling amber flecks in her eyes. More ribbons were woven in a zigzag pattern on the full skirt that draped gracefully from her hips. With no crinoline to destroy the elegant line of skirt, it fell gracefully to the carpeted floor.

Slowly, his gaze ascended the appealingly curved form. He clenched his fists tightly at his side and resisted the urge to reach out and touch the waves of chestnut that floated to her waist like a velvet cloud.

“Pleasantly surprised, I hope,” she mimicked, inclining her head in his general direction. She was shocked—and more than a little pleased—by his sudden discomfort. It wasn’t often she found the gunslinger at a loss for words, and she fully intended to enjoy it.

Hope dipped a curtsey fit for the queen of England herself, then swept the train of her skirt behind her and turned down the hall.

A gaping Drake was quick to follow, but not before he had indulged in the pleasure of watching those tempting hips sway.

A few elegantly dressed couples in silks and satins lined the plushy carpeted stairs. Alive with animated chatter, their conversation came to an abrupt halt as, one by one, their attention was drawn to the striking pair standing in repose at the top of the landing. More people stopped in mid-conversation, watching the two as they descended the staircase with unspoken elegance.

Hope felt the stares of curiosity that passed over herself and Drake, and instinctively tucked her hand in the warm crook of his arm. She half expected him to pull away, but instead he merely placed his palm over her fingers and continued to the bottom. His golden head occasionally nodded at the guests they passed, but the friendly gesture was rarely returned.

“They don’t seem to recognize you,” she leaned toward Drake and whispered, as they proceeded toward the doors from which the music flowed.

He looked down at Hope and sent her a smile that nearly stopped her heart from beating. The gesture may have been made for their audience, but for a split second the sight of his laughing, almost loving eyes, made her forget where she was and what she’d come here for. Drake, ever the antagonist, was quick to remind her.

“They’re staring at my lovely wife,” he murmured huskily. Dropping her hand, he reached out to cup the handful of chestnut waves cascading over her creamy shoulder. His eyes darkened as his hooded gaze returned to her face. “I think I’ve been overshadowed.”

Hope blushed under the compliment and looked away. Her attention settled on a pair of youthfully pretty girls standing near a suit of armor positioned in the foyer near the main door. They twittered excitedly behind their fluttering fans. Girlish giggles filled the air. Their eyes never left Drake, making it excruciatingly clear who amongst the gathering had brought that dreamy sparkle to their eyes.

“Look over there.” A half-grin tugged at her lips as she directed Drake’s attention to his youthful admirers. “Now who’s being overshadowed?”

The girls gasped and looked away, pretending not to notice his speculative gaze. When he glanced back at Hope, his eyes were alive with deviltry. “Judging from the reaction we’re getting,” he shrugged, “I’d say damn near everyone. Shall we?”

Hope blamed the sparkle that touched her eyes on the excitement of those around them. For whatever reason, her spirits were considerably lighter as she slipped her hand under his elbow and allowed him to guide her to the ballroom.

On each side of the open doorway stool a tall, garishly dressed servant. Both men were approximately of the same age, size, and stature, and both displayed the same somber-to-the-point-of-bored expressions. They glanced at each guest traveling in or out with only a passing interest, saving their attention for the more attractive female guests.

The two pairs of eyes lit on Drake and Hope as they approached the door. The men snapped to attention, but whether the reaction was born of recognition or intimidation, Hope was never really sure.

“Would you care to be announced, sir?” the man on the left, no more than a boy really, asked. The one on the right opened his mouth, presumably to ask the same question, then snapped it shut. His eyes were riveted to the woman clinging to the rugged man’s arm, and his youthful attention refused to waver.