Suzanne Robinson (30 page)

“Before we go on, there’s something I must tell you. Something about my father.”

“Lance was telling me not long ago that you two don’t get along.”

“No,” he said, forcing himself to look at her. “His Grace and I never agree on anything.”

She turned to him, her expression grave. “I know all about your father.”

“He told you? But he doesn’t know. Nobody knows the truth.”

She frowned and said, “It’s obvious. Two more different people couldn’t be found. I’m sorry the duke is so intolerant. It must have been terrible to grow up with someone like that hounding you all the time.”

“Oh.” He avoided her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Land sakes, Cheyne. It’s got to be something. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you afraid to look at me.” When he remained silent, she spoke again. “It’s your pa. The minute you mentioned him you got all stiff and reserved. Lance told me what he did to you, the bastard—Oh, I’m sorry.”

Cheyne looked at her then, smiling with his teeth clenched. “Right word, wrong man. I’m the bastard.”

“You can be a trial, but I wouldn’t call you that.”

He held her gaze and forced himself to continue.

“You don’t understand, Mattie. It’s the most accurate description of my birth.” He didn’t breathe while he watched comprehension dawn in her eyes. Something dark and indefinable stirred in them. Then, to his amazement, she shrugged.

“I bet you’re glad of that.”

He stared in disbelief. “How did you know? I should be ashamed. I am ashamed.”

She leaned to him and put her hand on his coat sleeve. “You can’t help what your parents did. Besides, I wouldn’t want Bracewell for a father even if he were a king instead of a duke. It must have been a relief to know you didn’t have his blood in you.”

“It was.” He went on to tell her about his real father.

“Will you play for me?” Mattie asked. “I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the new century.”

Cheyne smiled and kissed her hand. “First I want to thank you for saving me from becoming a floater.”

Shuddering, Mattie said, “Don’t talk about it.”

“Now you know how I feel when I see you taking risks, like when you wanted to deliver the blackmail money.”

Mattie sighed.

“Having to watch helplessly while the one you love walks into danger …” Cheyne said, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She turned suddenly, and her eyebrows came together. “What are you getting at?”

So much for subtlety. “Mattie, you must realize that between a man and a woman sharing their life together, there must be a division of responsibility.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Since I’m older and more experienced, more knowledgeable in the ways of the world—”

“And you’re the man.”

“And I’m the man,” he said, not liking the way
she had crossed her arms over her chest. “We must come to an agreement. I love you, and I want us to share our decisions, but my opinions and decisions must be the final ones.”

“Is that so?”

He grasped her wrists and pulled her arms so that they weren’t crossed. “Yes, that’s so. After what happened last night, I’d think you’d realize you need someone to advise you on how to moderate your conduct.”

“Anything else?”

“Only that this blackmail case is the only instance in which you’ll become involved in my business affairs. I’ll not have you taking chances with your safety again.”

“I see.”

Mattie freed her wrists and clasped her hands in her lap, but Cheyne wasn’t fooled. Her black eyes glittered like jet in sunlight.

“Now, Mattie, don’t lose your temper. Try to think about what I’ve said logically.”

“As opposed to how I would as a woman?”

“I didn’t say that!”

When she jumped up and faced him, he swore silently.

“Of all the uppity, high-handed—”

“There you go, losing your temper,” he said.

She calmed immediately. Walking away from him, she turned and paced back, slowly and deliberately. “What do you know about ranching in Texas?”

“Nothing, of course.”

“Then perhaps you’ll allow me to make decisions regarding my property there.”

Cheyne was beginning to wish he’d never brought up the subject. “Yes.”

“Know anything about steel and coke?”

“No.”

“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep on running that side of my investments, too.” She sank to the couch and draped her arm along the back. “I know you don’t drive a motorcar, so I think I can be trusted to do that on my own. Can you have babies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, then, I guess you’ll just have to rely on me for that, too. Let’s see, what else is there?” She tapped her cheek with a forefinger. “Oh, yes. I don’t really care who manages the household. Do you know how to cook and clean and how to—”

“Mattie Bright, that’s enough.”

Hopping off the sofa, she swept a graceful curtsy. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord. Sorry to offend, my lord. Will you be choosing my wedding gown, my lord. My trousseau? The dresses I wear each day?”

Cheyne rose. “Stop it.” Something in his tone must have warned her he’d reached the limit of his patience, for she complied. “I’m simply trying to avoid future misunderstandings. You know I’m not the kind of man to tyrannize over a woman.”

“You just tried,” Mattie said with a sneer. “I’m right tired of trying to be something I’m not, Cheyne Tennant. For a long time now I’ve tried to be sweet and gentle and good-tempered, but it just
isn’t in me.” Squaring her shoulders, she said, “You’ll just have to put up with me like I am, and you’re not going to order me around all the time.”

His patience evaporating in the heat of frustration, Cheyne stood toe-to-toe with her. “Damn it, woman, I like you the way you are, but someone has to be in charge.”

“I’m glad you like me the way I am, and no, they don’t,” she said.

Cheyne glared at her, noting the way she raised her chin and looked him in the eye with all her American determination. How was he going to break this stalemate? Then an idea occurred to him, and he allowed his glare to fade. Summoning the smile that had cut through the jaded defenses of more experienced women, he lowered his voice.

“We shouldn’t argue, my love.”

“You started it,” she snapped, giving him an uncertain look.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her hand, turned it and kissed the palm, then the inside of her wrist.

Mattie shivered. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I love you, my midnight sun.” He kissed her other wrist.

“I love you,” she said unsteadily.

“I want you to be happy,” he murmured as he drew her close and breathed into her ear.

Mattie swallowed and clung to him.

“I want you to be happy, too.”

Cheyne smiled into her hair. “You do?” He
trailed his fingers down her spine and pressed her hips into his.

“Of course.”

He kissed her, a long, deep, lose-yourself kiss.

“I’m desperately unhappy when you endanger yourself,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

His mouth kissed its way from her cheek to her throat. “I beg you not to do it anymore.”

“What?”

“Endanger yourself.”

“I—I won’t.”

Smiling in triumph, he moved with her to the sofa, bringing her beneath him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss that drove him into a frenzy of arousal. He felt Mattie’s hands on his buttocks, shoving him against her, and he let out a gasp.

“Honey.”

“Mmm.”

“We made a decision.”

“What decision?” He was struggling with her skirts.

“Just now, we made a decision.” She nibbled at his neck, which made him jerk and almost toppled him from the couch.

“A decision,” he repeated mindlessly.

The nibbling stopped and she grabbed the hair at the back of his head. “Yes, a decision. You decided to persuade me. And I decided to let you.”

He stared at her, fighting to concentrate on her
words rather than her body. At last her meaning penetrated his overheated brain.

“Hell, Mattie.”

In an instant she bucked, and he toppled to the floor. Propping himself up, he glared at her. Mattie giggled, jumped up, sat on top of him and tweaked his nose.

“I think it’s a wonderful way to make decisions.”

“I don’t.” He’d never win an argument with her if she turned his own weapons on him.

Resting her arms on his chest, she grew serious. “I have another suggestion.”

He raised a brow.

“You take the lead in things you know about. I’ll take the lead in things I know about.”

“That seems appropriate.” He knew more things than she did. At least, he thought he did.

“And nobody calls me Lady Cheyne. This is the twentieth century, and we don’t need titles.”

“Will Mrs. Tennant do?”

She kissed him. “Yes.”

She lifted her head, and he smiled into her black eyes.

“So, I’m not a barbaric colonial anymore?”

He held her tight and rolled over so that she was beneath him. “Haven’t you been listening, Mattie Bright? You’re my midnight sun.”

Early cars figure prominently in this book, and I would like to thank Mr. David A. Kolzow, Sr., for his generous help on this subject. Mr. Kolzow has restored many cars, among which are a 1894–95 Benton Harbor and a 1899 Panhard-Levassor. He is one of the few experts in this country to have restored cars of this early date. For further information on this subject readers can refer to the Antique Automobile Club of America (
http://www.aaca.org
), which has an excellent library and research center.

SUZANNE ROBINSON has a doctoral degree in anthropology with a specialty in ancient Middle Eastern archaeology. She has now turned her attention to the creation of the fascinating fictional characters in her unforgettable historical romances.

Suzanne lives in San Antonio with her husband and her two English springer spaniels. She divides her time between writing historical romances and mysteries under her first name, Lynda.

Look for these other books in the
MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT series

Midnight Mistress
by Ruth Owen,
on sale January 2000

A Kiss at Midnight
by Shana Abé,
on sale February 2000

Turn the page for sneak peeks at these
enthralling romances.

As a dazzling New Year’s Ball marks the final moments of 1799, a wharf rat captures the heart of Juliana Dare, only to betray her years later. When he reappears as a mysterious privateer, he must stop Juliana from revealing his true identity—even if it means risking the temptation to revive their long-ago passion
.

Four years had gone by, four years that had changed her from an impressionable girl to a cultured and celebrated woman. And yet, as she watched his mouth curve into a ghost of his laughing smile, and felt his hand possess hers with its surprising strength and more surprising gentleness, she felt the years drop away. Once again she was sitting beside him in her father’s moonlight garden, listening to him profess his undying devotion, her heart so full of love for him that it nearly made her weep.

But his voice shattered the spell. Rough and ragged, it was as far from Connor’s light, breezy lilt as night from day. Juliana’s spine went stiff as she recalled the rest of her memories, none of them tender in the least. The man was
beyond
redemption. He should have appeared contrite. Or made at least a half-hearted attempt to pretend not to know her. Instead, his pale eyes took in every detail of her form, then met her own with a bold, completely unrepentant familiarity.