Simmer All Night (11 page)

It was the Delaney family euphemism for Christina's ill-fated visit to the whorehouse—she'd been discovered when Jake spied her reflection in a mirror. She reacted with a satisfying flash of pique from the brilliant emerald of her eyes.

"A letter from Mother?" she repeated in a falsely sweet tone. "Perhaps I will take a moment now to read it." She batted her eyelashes at the men around her and said, "If you will excuse me?"

"Only if you promise a swift return," piped up a fellow with a bushy mustache.

"Oh, la," she said with a giggle, then swept from the room.

"La?" Cole repeated, following her into the corridor. "When did you start saying 'la'?"

"We'll talk in the little library," she said over her shoulder, all signs of giggle gone from her voice. "That part of the house will be quiet this time of day."

Her posture remained stiff as Cole trailed her back to the Great Hall, then through a few miles of corridors and staircases, pausing once briefly upon meeting two young ladies who requested Christina introduce them to the newcomer. She did so with a studied politeness that added to Cole's scowl. Christina did sass much better than starch. He didn't care for this attitude, not one little bit.

He was pleased to see some other females around this place, however. Considering the scene he'd walked into in the billiard room, Christina could use some competition for the men's attentions. Not that the females he'd just met would do the nick. They appeared to be pleasant enough girls, but they paled in comparison to Christina. Most women did.

Finally, she turned into a room lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes. Cole was immediately intrigued. His passion for books was part of what had attracted him to law in the first place. "You called this the little library," he said, gazing around him. "Doesn't look very little to me."

"Hartsworth has a larger library a few doors down from the billiard room, but it's more for show. We're now in the family wing and the books here in this room all have to do with gardening. The present earl is avid about his plants." Pausing, she betrayed her first sign of nervousness since his arrival by unconsciously wringing her hands as she asked, "Do you really have a letter from my mother?"

"I have one from your brother. But it's packed in my trunk and that's coming later."

"So you lied. Why am I not surprised."

"Christina?"

"Yes?"

He rounded on her, loomed above her, and released his fury. "What the hell did you think you were doing running off that way?"

* * *

My
,
my, he looks fierce.
Christina glanced around the library looking for a fainting couch. She certainly could use one right about now. Her stomach had an entire flock of butterflies flitting around in it. She'd known this conversation would likely take place someday, but she'd hoped "someday" would arrive much later than today.

"Do you know what all the worry you've caused could do to your mother?"

She folded her arms, caught between a smile and a scowl. Elizabeth. Of course. Cole couldn't have picked a better way to chase the butterflies from her stomach. "What," she drawled, "no 'Hello Chrissy, how are you? How was your trip?' Why am I not surprised to hear Mother's name first thing out of your mouth?"

She'd be hanged if she'd tell him she'd sent a letter home at almost every stop along the way, assuring Jake and her mother that the trip was moving along smoothly.

He snorted. "Why waste my breath? Obviously you don't care how your actions affect those who care about you. Obviously you're in fine fettle, considering when I walked in you had your sails hoisted to full flirt."

She sank onto a gold velvet settee with a huff, unwilling to honor that with a response.

"Really, Christina. With this kind of behavior you have proven the validity of the decision to send you here. I've long known you have little regard for your family's feelings, but I never would have guessed you would sink this low. Running off and crossing an ocean without a word, without a man to protect you. I take it Mrs. Kleberg served as your chaperone? You uprooted an entire family on a whim, didn't you?"

She literally bit her tongue to keep from countering that charge. But protesting at this point would be a waste of time. The barrister had arrived, and he'd obviously been sharpening his tongue all the way across the Atlantic. Experience had taught her the quickest way to deal with his harangues was to let him blow until he ran out of breath.

At this rate, it might take till Christmas.

"I want you to think about the people you have hurt with this selfish, stubborn, reckless action of yours. I think you need to..."

No wonder the man made such a good lawyer. He could bend a person's ear into a bowknot.

She quit listening and casually crossed her legs. It was easier, and quieter, to tap her foot that way. She did continue to look at him, however. Experience also had taught her that feigning attention tended to nudge him along toward the finish a little quicker.

As Cole paced and moralized, Chrissy couldn't help but compare him to the Englishmen with whom she'd been spending her time. First off, Cole Morgan stood half a head taller than most of the men who'd come courting at Hartsworth. He was taller and broader and, truth be told, more attractive. Oh, Lord Stonebury might be considered more classically handsome, and Lord Warrington was truly a picture of blond perfection, but Chrissy couldn't deny that all in all, when compared to the others, Cole was more... masculine. He had a certain roughness about his features that appealed to a woman. He was...
How do I describe it?

"...appalling decision. Under other circumstances you would..."

Chrissy tapped a finger against her lips and considered. What was the word she searched for? Manly? Virile? Strong? Courageous? Yes, Cole was all those things, but so were many of the men here visiting at Hartsworth. Those traits had all been on her list.

What made Cole different from these men? What made him more?

When she heard him mutter, "Doesn't have the sense to spit downwind," she made the connection.

Texan. That's it. Cole Morgan was a blend of valor and swagger that was all Texan.

She thought of the old frontiersmen boasts he and Jake used to repeat when they were little more than boys. Jake would hook his thumbs around his suspenders and say,
I'm the daddy of everything bad that ever crawled out of Buzzard Gap. I was nursed on rotgut and cut my teeth on a saw. Rattlesnakes asked me to come play. Me and those reptiles, we'd sink our teeth into one another to see who was more poisonous. I always won.

Then it would be Cole's turn to swagger and spout. He, of course, always recited a more long-winded speech than her brother. In a booming voice old for his age, Cole would say,
I was born in an erupting volcano and I was cradled on cholla spines. Wolves and grizzlies and cougars were playmates of mine, and I'm so hard I can kick fire out of flint with my bare toes. I was weaned on rattlesnake milk and even now I put tarantulas and vinegaroons in my whiskey to give it a kick. I'm the death-dealin' demon from San Antone, so hide away, everyone. I'm comin' out to play.

A man fully grown, Cole still had the attitude, she concluded. Tempered and more subtle, but undeniably there.

"...need for discipline. You're not fifteen anymore. After the mirror incident, I thought you would learn. But no, you..."

Chrissy shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs when one of her feet started to fall asleep. He was really worked up now. Cole always reacted that way when the subject of her trip to the whorehouse came up. That's because it embarrassed him. He didn't like it that she knew, that her
mother
knew that he'd paid a soiled dove to bed him.

Bet he doesn't have to pay women now.
The British ladies who'd stopped them for an introduction on the way to this room weren't unusual. Women threw themselves at Cole all the time. Their behavior made Chrissy sick. So the man was tanned and toned and oozed masculinity. So he had eyes that a woman could drown in and shoulders a woman could cling to. So what if he had a mouth that a woman craved to taste?

Craved to taste? Chrissy snapped to attention at that. Her eyes rounded in horror. Not The Kiss again. She refused to think about it, swore she'd banish it from her mind. Desperate for a distraction from her thoughts, she interrupted, "I've been searching for the Declaration of Independence."

Cole halted midsentence. "You what?"

"I've begun the search. I'd hoped to get lucky and locate the document before you arrived, but I'm learning that everything takes longer here in England. They've a lot more rules to follow."

His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, and watching him, despite herself, she envisioned those lips moving against hers. My stars. Chrissy blinked hard, trying to dispel whatever sickness had come over her. England's mists must be fogging her brain.

"What is the matter with you?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she replied, worriedly. Maybe simple homesickness? An overdose of British men?

"The Historical Society sent
me
to do that job."

She blinked again. Thank God, now they were back on familiar territory—boys are better than girls. Hah. "You yourself said I'd be good at it, Cole Morgan. Don't you remember? You called me a professional sneak."

"Maybe I did. But your mother said it wouldn't do for you to be involved in the search. She said you needed structure and guidance, and she was as right as West Texas rain."

Chrissy pushed to her feet, her blood pumping. "And heaven knows if my mother said it, it is etched in granite and by that I mean your head because there is certainly no difference between the two!"

Cole closed his eyes, his jaw working. Eventually, his voice now controlled and cool, he said, "Christina, please. Our conversation has taken a different turn from what I expected. I think it would behoove us to take a few moments to reassess our situation."

"Oh, I hate it when you talk lawyer-fog." She flounced around the room, frustrated and feeling more alive than she had since first setting foot on British shores. In truth, she enjoyed sparring with this man. Sometimes she won their verbal battles, but not always. It was, she figured, that possibility of defeat that made the duel so stimulating.

Cole took the seat she had vacated and gazed at her expectantly. Finally, she sashayed over to a chair, sank down on to the gold velvet upholstery, and folded her arms. Then, knowing how much Cole hated it, she pursed her lips in a childish pout.

He managed to ignore the gesture. "All right, we'll table the rest of it for now. I'd like to hear
of
your efforts in connection to the lost document."

She eyed him thoughtfully. He was ready to listen to her now.
That could be a good thing, or a bad thing.

Chrissy inhaled a deep breath, then began. "I know you intended to travel to London to speak with Lord Melton because of his family ties to the Republic of Texas. I believe my mother told you Grandfather knows of two other gentlemen who might have information: Viscount Welby and Sir James Parkwood, third Baronet of Craver. Everything fell together tidily when I learned that Sir James has a bachelor son, Mr. John Parkwood, who is a year or two younger than you. The viscount is a widower whose wife died without bearing him an heir."

Cole leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, head hanging. "Oh, no. I can see where this is going already."

"Actually, it's not going anywhere. They're coming here. Lord Melton, too. My grandfather is hosting a house party that is officially scheduled to begin in two days. You saw some of the early arrivals in the billiard room."

"And Welby and James are on the guest list."

She flashed a brilliant smile. "Lord Welby and Mr. Parkwood. The viscount, Sir James Parkwood, and his daughter are already in residence. Mr. John Parkwood will be joining his family at Hartsworth shortly."

"Meant to become potential suitors, I assume?"

"For all your faults, Morgan, you've never suffered from a lack of intelligence."

"It's a shame I can't say the same about you," he fired back automatically, in keeping with the familiar pattern between them.

A comfortable quiet settled across the room while he took a moment as if considering her plan. When he shook his head slowly, she knew what was coming. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed in protest.

"You can't do this, Christina. I don't know what lies you told to sneak this past the earl, but I will not allow you to seduce information out of anyone."

"I have no intention of seducing or being seduced," she scoffed. "I intend to do a bit of flirting, that's all. A little innocent flirting."

"Innocent flirting? You?" Cole snorted. "And the Queen invited me for tea at the palace, too."

"But Cole—"

"No but's about it, Bug. The last time you flirted innocently you were five years old. Take it from someone who knows. All you have to do is look at a man to heat his blood. Bat your lashes a time or two and he'll be ready to howl at the moon."

"Really?" she asked, intrigued.

"Really."

"What if I bat my lashes at you, Cole Morgan? Will you howl at the moon, too?"

That stopped him like a castle wall. Choking, sputtering sounds emerged from his throat.

A stern voice floated from the doorway, "I should like to hear the answer to that question, myself."

Cole came to his feet as Edward Stanton, Earl of Thornbury, roared into the little library like a defending general. "I take it you are the trespasser who went missing from the Great Hall? Who are you and what are you doing alone with my granddaughter?"

A judge would find it difficult to choose a victor in a scowl competition between those two, but Chrissy decided her grandfather's edged out Cole's by a smidgen. However, the Texan won the thundering voice contest when he stormed, "I'm Cole Morgan of San Antonio, Texas, and I'm doing my best not to wring her neck."

Then Chrissy's grandfather did something so strange that it took an obviously shocked Cole a full ten seconds to respond. The Earl of Thornbury stuck out his hand and said, "Why, you must be Samuel Morgan's boy. It is a pleasure to meet you, son. Your father was one of the finest men I've ever known and by far the greatest gardener. His efforts were wasted over at Dowington Hall. I always said he could grow water lilies in a desert. I certainly hated to hear of the trouble that took him away from England, but I was glad my daughter was able to help your family when they settled in San Antonio. I'd like to hear more about that later, but for now let me welcome you to Hartsworth. Terribly glad to have you here."