Revenge and the Wild (15 page)

James wove his way through the dancers to reach her. “There you are.” He held a champagne flute. “I had to calm Mrs. Fairfield. She’s a bit cross that she wasn’t seated at the debutante table.”

Westie took the flute from James, stared into the familiar bubbles, and heard her stomach gurgle. Alistair took it from her before she could get sick.

“It does seem rude,” Westie said. “I’ll have to make it up to her.” She looked around, noticing Nigel had put the Fairfields at the opposite end of the room from Westie’s table. Smart man, but she wouldn’t learn anything by avoiding them.

“I’m sure Lavina will get over it. She’s not one to hold a grudge,” James said.

No, but I am,
Westie thought.

Alistair stood and pushed his chair back. He was a head taller than James and wore a similar tailcoat, with a black shirt beneath instead of white.

“I believe the Lovetts and Fairfields aren’t friends of Westie’s. They have no claim to her table,” Alistair said.

James didn’t seem intimidated by Alistair’s greater age and height and seemed not to fear the mask as everyone else did. Instead he smiled,
washing his face in a brilliant glow.

“Yes, which is why I feel honored to be placed right beside the debutante,” James said.

Westie looked down at the place cards, and just as planned, James was seated next to her with Nigel on the other side. Alistair wasn’t even at her table.

Alistair’s mask began to hum with his heavy breathing. There was no sign of the gentle boy she was used to when his eyes narrowed. In that moment she could see why everyone feared him.

From across the room Westie watched Alistair and Nigel argue. Alistair’s face turned red as he maniacally pointed a finger in Nigel’s face.

“He looks mad,” James observed with a hint of amusement.

“I’ll say.”

By the curious looks on the faces around her, Westie could tell the guests wished they could hear what was being said. The band had become the runner-up in entertainment. Westie looked toward the kitchen. While everyone was distracted by the argument, Bena slipped out of the kitchen into the great room, prowling like a cat without anyone noticing.

Westie held her breath as Bena slid her hand into Lavina’s handbag. There was no going back now.

She glanced back as Alistair put his hands down and stalked
out of the room. When she looked toward Bena again, she was gone. Westie’s breath burst from her lungs.

After the meal, the dancing resumed. Ignoring the sneering crowd, Westie danced with the Wintu men. They didn’t know any proper dances so they just made it up as they went, and Westie enjoyed trying to keep up with them. She also danced with James twice. Afterward she found the sheriff and was curious about what had happened with Nadia.

He was dancing with his wife when she approached. “May I have this dance?” she asked.

The sheriff muttered a curse. “Must I?”

His wife hit him in the arm. “Don’t be rude,” she scolded. It was clear who the authority was in the relationship.

The sheriff, with the face of a man caught in the rain, took Westie by the hand. As they danced, Westie said, “Have you found anything concerning Nadia’s attacker?”

He looked away from her, toward the crowd. “Not yet.”

“I know you won’t believe me, but there are still cannibals out there, and I think Nadia was attacked by one.”

The sheriff made an exaggerated noise of annoyance. “Not this again.”

Westie held a hand up, trying to sound reasonable instead of nettlesome. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me. Back when I accused that man of being a cannibal, I wasn’t in my right mind. But I’m sober now. You don’t have to believe me, but can you please just keep an eye out?”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll look further into Nadia’s case as long as you stay out of it.”

“Deal!” Westie kissed his cheek, hardly able to contain her excitement. Perhaps if he pushed Nadia further, she might remember details that would lead the sheriff to Lavina. It was more than she’d expected to get. With a grumble he went back to his wife.

On her way back to the table, Nigel approached her with a man she didn’t recognize.

“Westie,” Nigel said, “I’d like to introduce you to my banker from Sacramento, Amos Little.”

The man had a white slick of hair on his head, a matching mustache, and a stature befitting his name.

“How do you do?” Westie said, still glowing from her conversation with the sheriff.

“Oh, fine,” he said, all smiles until the mayor walked by. The two of them stared each other down like two dogs with their ears pinned back. Westie’s curiosity was piqued when she saw the exchange. “I just wanted to meet the debutante before I head back to the inn.” Amos’s posture eased when the mayor disappeared in the crowd.

“You’re leaving already?” Westie said, hoping he’d stay long enough for her to learn what the cold look between Amos and the mayor was all about. “The night is young.”

Amos put a hand on his belly. “Afraid I must. This blasted ulcer is acting up again.”

“I’ve given him a treatment and a sedative to help him through the night,” Nigel said, patting him on the back with a sympathetic frown.

“Unless you feel like dragging my body around the dance floor with your machine after I’ve passed out, I best be off,” Amos said.

Westie winked at him. “Wouldn’t you know, that’s how I get all the men to dance with me.”

Chuckling, Amos said, “I doubt that very much,” and shuffled off toward the exit.

“What was that between the banker and the mayor?” Westie asked Nigel after Amos was gone.

Nigel pursed his lips. “I haven’t the faintest idea, but I’m sure two of the most powerful men in the valley are bound to butt heads at some point.”

Though curious, Westie let it go for the time being and took Nigel up on his offer to dance. She thought it was a fluke that he’d stomped all over Myrtle Grey’s toes, but alas, it was not.

While Nigel spun her around the room, Westie watched Olive Fairfield dance on her father’s feet. The love she saw in Hubbard’s eyes as he twirled his child around reminded her of her own father. She inwardly reprimanded herself, furious that she’d even let Hubbard near her father, even if it was in her head.

Olive spun and laughed while her cornflower-blue dress floated around her and her golden locks danced about her little round cheeks, pink with merriment. The father and daughter looked so utterly normal, almost sweet.

After her dance with Nigel, a new song began. She was about to check her dance card to see who was next when she looked up and saw Isabelle’s face bright with happiness as she danced with Cain across the room. Westie’s heart came to a sudden halt, and so did her feet.
Other dancers bumped into her, glaring until they noticed it was the debutante.

Her legs began to move again. She headed toward the couple, ripe with anger but no plan, and was jerked to a stop when someone grabbed her flesh arm. She spun around to find Nigel. He looked at Westie, then back at Isabelle and Cain. She tried to pull away from him, but his grip was tight.

“Do not make a scene,” he warned her. “Tell Isabelle that Cain Fairfield has a reputation for whoring, nothing more.”

He was close to her ear, breath blistering against her skin, and when he spoke his
s
’s were too crisp. That was all she heard.

When she finally wriggled free of him, Westie smoothed her skirts and gathered her wits before she stepped up to the smiling couple. Cain was like a monument beside Isabelle. He was broad through the shoulders like his father, with the sharp, predatory features of his mother. He wasn’t ugly really, but he was no James. There was no hint of family resemblance between the Fairfields and Lovett. Still, youth made everyone appealing to some. Money made everyone appealing to most, which Westie gathered was the reason behind Isabelle’s sudden interest in Cain. His evening attire reeked of money. He wore tall boots with brass buckles, and a matching tailcoat with gold-and-diamond buttons on the cuffs.

His hair was oiled and slicked like James’s, and it was the same dark color too instead of his usual gold. It made Westie wonder what the true color of James’s hair was. Though Cain wore his hair in a similar style as James, it made him look more like a rodent than ever
before. If there was one thing that could distract Isabelle from a person’s looks, it was money.

“Well, aren’t you two a lovely couple,” Westie said. Her sugary-sweet words burned on her tongue.

Isabelle looked at Westie and beamed.

Cain bowed to her. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Miss Butler.” He didn’t carry the same bruises as James from their fight, but he held his left arm like he was favoring it. “I look forward to our dance.”

Like Westie, he still had the slightest twang of poor folk when he spoke, just as she remembered from their brief time spent in the cabin.

“As do I. I believe our dance is up next, isn’t it?” She checked her card to make sure.

That made Isabelle pout.

“Could I borrow my friend a moment?” Westie said. “Girl talk, you know.”

Isabelle giggled annoyingly. Her brain turned to pig slop whenever she was interested in a boy.

Cain bowed again. Westie had Isabelle towed to the opposite end of the room before Cain had straightened.

“You’re hurting me,” Isabelle complained, trying to shake Westie off.

Westie held tight with her flesh hand. She wanted to grab the girl with her machine and shake her, but Isabelle was already nervous around her copper as it was.

Westie said, “I don’t want you spending any more time with
Cain Fairfield,” more bluntly than she’d meant to.

Isabelle looked thunderstruck. “Just because it’s your coming-out party doesn’t mean you can tell me who to spend my time with.” She took a deep breath to compose herself. When she spoke again, her tone was less hysterical than it was vicious. “Besides, why should you care? You’re caught up with James Lovett now because we all know you’re in love with Alistair, but he won’t have you.” Her eyes were at a crouch, a look as mean as her words. “Leave Cain for me.”

Westie’s hand went to her chest, her heart constricting. Isabelle’s words had struck their target, and the pain they caused could be felt all over.

She wanted to say something hurtful in retaliation but calmed herself.

“You’re my friend,” Westie said. “I’m not trying to hurt you, or take Cain away. I’m just trying to protect you. I hear he’s got a reputation with the ladies and a terrible habit of stealing a girl’s flower. By the time he’s done using her, no other man will have her. He spends most of his time in brothels. Costin just told me he’s a frequent customer.”

Tears sprang to Isabelle’s eyes. “You lie. You’re just jealous that he wants me and not you. You want every eligible man at the ball for yourself.”

Isabelle pulled away when Westie reached for her, and ran from the room in a gathering of skirts and tears.

It was suddenly too hot, and Westie felt like the room was spinning. At least her words had shadowed Cain in doubt. She only hoped it would be enough to keep Isabelle away from him. She watched
Isabelle slip through the door, nearly knocking over Bena as she walked into the room.

Bena wore a simple white dress and beaded necklace, her hair tied back into a knot. She held a box wrapped in pretty white paper with a blue bow, drawing stares and whispers from the tables around her. Seeing Bena again was the only saving grace in an otherwise dreadful night.

“For the debutante,” Bena said, bowing and handing the gift to her. “Are you ready for this?”

Westie was still shaken from her fight with Isabelle, but she was ready. “Ready as I can be. Wish me luck.”

“Be careful.” Bena smiled and headed toward Nigel.

People glanced at her but didn’t seem too curious as she tore at the paper. Upon seeing the gift inside, she paused with the lid in her hand. The plan had been for Bena to steal the key, make a clay impression of it, then take whatever she could find in Westie’s room and put it into a box to give to her as a present at the party in order to smuggle Lavina’s stolen key back into the ball, but what was in the box wasn’t anything she owned. It was an actual gift. A dark tunic, supple leather leggings, and a pair of beautiful beaded moccasin boots. They weren’t just any Wintu clothing, they were hunting garb. Westie had been asking Bena for a set of Wintu hunting clothes since she was a young girl, and Bena always said,
Not until you’re grown
.

Hugging the tunic to her chest, she could smell the undeniable scent of the Wintu: woodsmoke and wild rosemary. It instantly settled her frazzled nerves. She wanted to rip off her ugly dress in
exchange for her new clothes. There was a card inside the box.
For a true wild thing.
Beneath the card was a key. She took it and stuffed it into her cleavage. She looked around the room for Bena and smiled when she saw her dancing with Nigel.

Westie was so caught up in the moment that she forgot about her dance with Cain until he found her.

Because of the plan, she’d known she’d have to dance with the Fairfield men, and thought she’d feel more confident when the time came, but she wasn’t. It felt as though there was an animal trapped inside her stomach, clawing its way out.

Cain led her to the floor, but instead of holding her metal hand, he put both of his hands around her waist. Normally a blatant move like that would have stung, but not now. She didn’t care what Cain thought of her.

“That was quite a scene earlier with you and Miss Johansson,” he said. “I do hope everything is all right.”

He was head and shoulders taller than Westie. Her neck cramped looking up at him.

“It’s nothing. We have spats all the time. I always seem to say the wrong thing.”

“I doubt that very much. I believe you knew exactly what you were saying. In fact, I think you picked your words quite strategically.”

Westie was taken aback by the knowing grin on his lips. “You heard what I said to her?”

“Every word.”

He wasn’t mad. The opposite, in fact. He seemed flattered by it.
Perhaps he liked the idea of having the reputation of a wealthy playboy.

“But how?”

He had been nowhere near when she and Isabelle had been talking.

“I have my spies.”

Westie’s gaze floated around the room until she found Olive looking right at her. The precocious girl smiled, then rudely stuck out her tongue.

She’d have to be more careful around that little beast.

Westie hung her head, wondering how she would get herself out of the mess she was in.

He surprised her again by saying, “I know your game.” She braced herself to look at him. “You thought you would try to get close to James, but you know the fortune will soon be in my hands after we invest in Nigel’s machine. That’s why you turned on your own friend, to seek my notice.”

He didn’t know the game after all. She felt more confident when she met his eyes.

“I won’t deny that I have bigger goals in mind than James.” She smiled sweetly.

His smile was less sweet. “I like a girl with ambition.”

She gave him a flirty poke to the chest. “Then you will
love
me.”