Katie Rose (24 page)

“No!” Emily answered immediately. Dimly she remembered why she was doing this. She had to find out once and for all who he was. Besides, she could
just imagine Rosie’s comments the next morning if she saw Thomas in her bed.

Arm in arm, they approached the boardinghouse, which fortunately appeared deserted. Thomas took Emily up the stairs and into his back bedroom. The room was cozy, decorated with flowered wallpaper and amber-shaded gaslights. A large poster bed dominated the center of the room, covered with a cream-colored quilt. He started to remove his coat, hesitating when he saw the look on her face.

Emily stared back at him like a frightened deer. Her eyes wandered to the bed and she stared at it as if transfixed.

“What’s wrong? Emily?”

He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes, then smiled warmly. “Emily, don’t be afraid. I’d never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded, her eyes wide and luminous. “Thomas … do you mind if I have a few minutes to myself? I need to …” God, what did Rosie tell her to say? “Prepare.”

He looked puzzled, but he nodded. “The Silverdust is across the street. How about if I get a bottle of brandy for a nightcap? It might calm your fears.”

“That would be perfect. Thomas, you are so thoughtful.”

He leaned closer and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Some of the tension left her and she could feel her body respond, warming to his touch. For a moment, she totally forgot what she planned to do. She really cared about this man, and the promise of what lay ahead intoxicated her.

Easing from her embrace, he smiled. “I’ll be right back.” Then he closed the door and was gone.

As soon as she was alone, Emily nearly collapsed on the bed. Part of what she’d told Thomas was the truth. The enormity of her decision was just beginning to hit her. Good God, what had she done? This wasn’t all part of a plan … oh, the plan! She eyed the meager furnishings: a bureau, a washstand, a carpetbag, and a night table. Instantly her detective instincts focused on the bag.
If I were concealing something
, she thought logically,
I’d hide it there, where it was portable
.

Her conscience nagged at her, but she reminded herself that once she knew the truth, all would be well between her and Thomas. There would be no wall of mistrust, no wondering, no fear that this man was neither friend nor foe. Emily knew deep in her heart that she was really starting to care for him. She couldn’t afford to let her feelings go unless she knew for sure what side he was on.

Opening the bag, she sifted through the papers. There was a letter that appeared to be from a female relative. Tempted as she was, Emily couldn’t bring herself to invade his privacy that much, and she put it back. Next was a note from the sheriff, verifying that Emmet Colter had a wooden leg, and that he had been seen recently near town. That looked promising, but there was no other indication that the lawman knew who Thomas really was.

Frustrated, Emily dug deeper. She knew no more than when she’d entered the room, and he could return at any moment. She scanned the other
documents until she found what she instinctively knew she was looking for.

Another letter from Will Jenkins of Wells Fargo. Her fingers were shaking as she opened the missive.

“Dear Thomas,” it ran.

Emily gazed at the letter, rereading it. Thomas was the second man accused of stealing the gold! He worked for Wells Fargo! Relief sped through her as she realized he was innocent of any criminal activity, and that like her, he was doing his own detective work. Thomas Hall was neither thief nor murderer—nor preacher, either.

Back at the Silverdust, Thomas ordered the bottle of brandy and a small glass for himself. A wry smile came to his lips as he pictured Emily, suddenly shy, her eyes wide with apprehension.

Her natural jitters didn’t upset him; if anything, her reticence only made her seem more womanly, innocent, and virginal. He tipped his glass back, letting the brandy warm him, though he was already feeling quite flushed with the heat of desire.

One of the saloon girls, a bold brunette with huge dark eyes, tried to get his attention, but Thomas had absolutely no interest in the bawd. Instead, his mind returned over and over again to Emily. The way she’d looked at dinner, the way she’d propositioned him, the way she was waiting for him back in his room—she was a potent combination of innocence and intelligence, curiosity and uncertainty. The passion she’d displayed on previous occasions assured him that what he’d find in her arms would be unique, just like Emily herself. In spite of the fact that he’d had other women, Thomas felt himself looking forward to this night in a way he never had before. Moreover, he realized he was beginning to care about her. He wanted her to reach fulfillment, and find ecstasy in his embrace, as he knew he would in hers.

The barkeep shoved the bottle of brandy at him and demanded payment. Thomas reached for his money, then realized that he’d left his wallet with his money in it at the boardinghouse.

“I’ll be right back,” he told the man, then picked up his hat and headed back to his room.

Emily Potter would not be disappointed this night, he swore to himself. He’d see to it. But as he stepped into the room, he froze at the sight before him.

“Well, well, my dear Emily.”

Emily felt her breath catch hard in her throat. Looking up in horror, she saw Thomas standing just inside the door. His face was grim as he surveyed her, sitting on the floor, his letters scattered around her like confetti. He reached down, picked up his wallet, and held it before her.

“I forgot my money.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Emily rose, her face beet red, her hand still clutching the letter. Thomas held her gaze, then let the wallet drop to the bureau meaningfully. Kicking the door closed behind him, he faced her like a judge in the final hour.

Emily was caught.

Emily’s first thought was to run for it but when Thomas kicked the door shut, he had effectively cut off the only means of escape. She glanced toward the window, but it was too far away from where she stood. Trembling, she forced a smile, then took a few casual steps toward the door.

“I think I’ll be going now. Thank you for a wonderful evening—”

Thomas’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Emily’s breath caught as his fingers closed on her like a vise. Blood seemed to stop flowing to her hand, and the letter fluttered to the floor unheeded, like a giant snowflake.

“Let me go!” she demanded.

“Not on your life.” Thomas’s voice was deadly cold. He pulled her, still struggling, against him, and held her there.

This was even worse. Emily could feel every hard, muscled inch of him, the rough pressure of his legs against her thighs, the scratchiness of his shirt rubbing her bare neckline. She suddenly wished she’d worn something a little less revealing, for she could tell he was as affected by their nearness as she was. Logically, of course, she knew she wouldn’t be in this situation if she’d worn something a little less revealing. A predatory energy emanated from him and she struggled more fiercely, causing him to tighten his embrace.

“Emily, I want to know what the hell you were doing going through my things. Or do I even need to ask? Is this all part of your sleuthing campaign? Pretend to have a personal interest in me in order to get into my room? I don’t think even your precious Holmes would have stooped so low.”

Thomas’s voice was a snarl, and Emily swallowed hard. “Well, actually, there was that servant he pretended to be engaged to, in order to get information about her mistress.…”

“Goddamn it, Emily!”

Her breath seemed to vanish as he crushed her even harder against him. Maybe he really didn’t want to discuss Sherlock Holmes, Emily thought dimly. Gazing up at him, she saw the fury in his eyes, coupled with something else, something that in another man, she would have thought was hurt or disappointment.

But after all, she reasoned, Thomas was playing the same game she was. He had investigated her, as well as everyone else who had anything to do with the murders. He should understand.

“I’m waiting, Emily,” he said through gritted teeth, “for an explanation.”

There was no way out. Emily felt the sexual tension between them, the threat he posed in more ways than one. Only now was she truly beginning to understand her vulnerability—when it was far, far too late. There was nothing left but to tell him the truth, and to let the chips fall where they may.

“I … Thomas, I had to know who you really were. We both know you aren’t a preacher—that last rites ritual!—but I came to you repeatedly and asked you to tell me, and you wouldn’t. So I did what I had to do.”

“You agreed to make love to me, only to come here and root through my letters to satisfy your curiosity?”

The outrage in his voice made her quake. Emily tried another tack. “It wasn’t like that! You’re twisting my words! Thomas, as any detective worth his salt knows, you have to understand the players. I don’t know what side you’re on! How could I trust you, when you could have been the murderer yourself!”

He looked as though she’d slapped him. Emily’s panic increased as Thomas simply stared at her, his eyes blazing. When he suddenly released her, she felt a moment’s relief, but it disappeared as she watched him lock the door and toss the key under the bed. Her throat went dry as he slowly began to unbutton his shirt.

“What … what are you doing?” she asked tremulously.

He looked at her as if it were a ridiculous question. “Emily, I should think that’s obvious. You agreed to make love to me tonight, and that’s what we’re going to do. Like you, I want to do a little detective work of my own. I want to discover just how far you’ll go for the sake of the Science of Deduction. I suggest you remove your clothes.”

Emily felt her pulse pound as the meaning of his words penetrated her brain. He couldn’t really mean to …

His shirt hit the floor, then he sat on the edge of the bed and began removing his boots. A little squeak came from somewhere inside of her, and her gaze fluttered once more around the room, like a caged bird. Edging closer to the window, she managed to get within three feet of it before Thomas rose and took hold of her arm.

“It’s not that simple, Emily. We have a bargain, remember? You got what you wanted. Now it’s time to pay up.” He gestured roughly to her gown. “Start with the dress.”

The look in his eyes was hard, implacable. He still gripped her arm tightly, and she realized, for all her cleverness, she hadn’t prepared for a predicament like this.

“Do you need help?” he asked softly. She shook her head, and he raised his brows sharply. “Then what are you waiting for? Come, Miss Emily, I am anxious for my part of the deal.”

Emily’s gaze rose to meet his, shame and fear beginning to overwhelm her. Tears welled up from somewhere inside her, and she fought them unsuccessfully,
quickly looking down at the floor. All of her logic, all of her studies, all of her wisdom, meant nothing at this moment. Her eyes were filled with the sight of him, lean and powerful and bare to the waist, standing so close to her. His chest, hard and well muscled, seemed like iron, and the small amount of black hair there tapered down to where his trousers began. Confronted with brute male force and the sudden realization of her vulnerability as a woman, she threw herself on his mercy.