Tarnished Angel (39 page)

    Charles's harsh words cut her like a whip, and heat flooded her face as she swallowed against the hard, tight ache of realization. It was over between them. In losing the beautiful Devina Dale, Charles had discovered his love for her, and he no longer wanted any part of the common courtesan who adored him.

    Camille nodded. Her voice was a low whisper. "As you wish, Charles. I do not want to offend you."

    Turning blindly, wanting desperately to escape before she embarrassed both Charles and herself, Camille walked rapidly toward the door, then paused with her hand on the knob. No, she was not a child, and she would not run from the man she loved, however deep his words had cut her. If she must say good-bye to him, she would say it with dignity, and with the memory in her heart of the warmth they had shared and of her enduring love for him.

    Camille turned back to Charles. Her eyes caressed him lovingly. "
Au
revoir
,
Charles. It is my hope that these problems which have come about with Harvey Dale will be settled amicably. It is also my wish that the beautiful Devina Dale will be returned to you unharmed. If you should need me, I will always be available to you. You know that, do you not,
mon
cher
?
"

    Realizing she had unconsciously slipped into the endearment to which Charles had objected only a few moments before, Camille swiftly opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Within moments she was walking rapidly back in the direction of the house on Sixth Street, which was her home, the only place left to her now that Charles no longer wanted her.

    Charles watched, silent and unmoving as Camille closed the door behind her. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he covered the distance to the entrance in a few rapid strides and opened the door. Camille was walking quickly toward Allen Street. He swallowed tightly at the desire that coursed through

    his veins as he noted her rigid posture, the manner in which she turned her head to avoid the scrutiny of passersby. He had seen the tears in her warm brown eyes, and he regretted having caused them. If it had been up to him, he would have seen to it that a far different emotion was reflected in Camille's beautiful eyes. But he could not afford to indulge his weakness.

    Unable to look away, Charles allowed his eyes to sweep the familiar curves of Camille's generous frame. She looked lovely tonight, almost childlike in that simple green dress. Charles gave a short laugh. No, that wasn't true. Camille could never appear childlike. She was too lush, too womanly, with her full breasts, her soft, welcoming body, and her gentle, knowing hands. He remembered the touch of those hands a few minutes before, when she had stroked the hair from his forehead. Her touch had seared his skin, and it was all he could do to maintain his control. Then her eyes had caressed his lips.

    Charles closed his eyes briefly, remembering the emotions that had swept his senses at that moment. But Camille herself had snapped him from his momentary weakness by mentioning that all too familiar name: Pierre…

    Pierre… Le Comte. The sound of that name on Camille's lips had the power to unleash in Charles a flush of jealousy so severe that he did not recognize himself while in its throes. He was a stranger to such intense emotions. The affluence in which he had been raised had given him life on a steady, even keel. He had never been a grasping, greedy person, and he had always had everything he wanted.

    But now his traitorous body wanted a woman who was committed to a way of life far different from his and utterly foreign to him. He and Camille would forever be a lifetime apart, even when they were in each other's arms. And there was his jealousy to contend with. It had been so easy to accept Camille and all that she was before he had come to love her. He had not realized how possessive love truly was, how he would suffer at the thought of the nights she spent in other men's arms. Each time he thought of her, the gnawing ache in his vitals began again, but he knew that as much as Camille's eyes had adored him during their night together, as often as her lips had spoken loving words, as generously as she had offered her soft body to him during the long passion-filled hours, she would never be truly his.

    Even now he berated himself for his thoughts. Camille had made no attempt to present herself as anything other than what she really was. He had no cause to feel betrayed and angry. But perhaps he was angry at himself for not being able to accept her as she was, a warm, loving, giving woman.

    The shortcoming was his, for he wanted Camille to give herself only to him. The strength of his feelings would allow him to have her no other way.

    Camille's curving, womanly figure disappeared around the corner, and Charles suffered a supreme sense of loss. He had hurt her, and he had not wanted to do that, for surely, she had never intentionally hurt anyone in her entire life.

    He was determined not to allow that loss to spill over into the other aspects of his life. He had let Camille down by refusing to accept her as she was, but he wouldn't let Ross down, not again. He'd find his brother and persuade him to return Devina to her father before it was too late.

    So, it was true!

    Stepping back into the doorway of
Tasker
and
Pridham's
General Store, Harvey Dale flashed a short, venomous smile. It was fate that had brought him to this particular establishment in his campaign to rally the community leaders against Charles Carter. It had brought him there so he might witness for himself Camille
DuPree's
emergence from Charles Carter's bachelor quarters. Harvey had needed to see for himself the "noble" Charles Carter's involvement with the most talked about whore in Tombstone in order to believe it.

    A slow rage transfused Harvey's mind. He had been right in saying that Charles Carter had a part in Devina's kidnapping. Carter had never had true feelings for Devina. He could not have and still maintained his relationship with a common French tart. He had used Devina to help his criminal brother exact his revenge.

    Harvey's aristocratic face twitched revealingly as he followed the
practised
sway of Camille
DuPree's
well-rounded contours. It infuriated him that he was powerless to have the law act against Carter. It had been a stroke of genius on Morrison's part to leave Carter to be found tied in his room after the abduction so it would appear Carter was just another victim in his brother's plot for revenge. Harvey had realized from the first that he    would not, under the present circumstances, be able to prove anything against the doctor, but he thought his influence in the community would prevail when he used it to stir public sentiment against Carter. It had frustrated him no end to find that there were some in Tombstone who stood firmly in Carter's defense and refused to believe ill of him.

    It hadn't been that way when he had used similar tactics against Carter's brother. It had not been at all difficult to cast suspicion on Morrison for the accident in the Till-Dale mine. Morrison, by that time, had gained the reputation of being a hothead, and relatives of the victims, wild with grief, had been only too happy to place the blame on someone. Morrison had been the perfect scapegoat, and Harvey had also managed to eliminate the only obstacle between himself and the final takeover of Brad Morrison's claim. It had mattered little to him that Morrison was innocent of blame. Morrison had been impeding the growth of Till-Dale's mining operations, and Harvey Dale had removed him.

    He had begun to learn that Charles Carter would not be handled so easily.

    Harvey drew back farther into the shadowed doorway of the store as Camille
DuPree
walked stiffly past the door. A bold, cheap tart with flaming hair and jiggling breasts. Well, he would see that Charles Carter no longer found pleasure in her warm flesh. Carter might presently be impervious to his attack, but the foreign whore was not.

    A plan forming rapidly in his mind, Harvey felt a blood rage suffuse him at the realization that Charles Carter had played both him and Devina for fools. The
lovestruck
Carter, unaware of the fate that loomed ahead, was standing in the doorway of his quarters, fondly gazing after his tart as she made her way home.

    Pain, frustration, fear, and a devastating sense of loss overwhelmed Harvey in a sudden wave of emotion. Dear Devina. He must find her.

    As Harvey watched, Carter stepped back inside his quarters, closing the door behind him. Harvey's heated stare remained intent on the closed door as he made a solemn vow.
You'll not go untouched in this affair, Carter. If I can't get to you directly, I'll get to you through your good-natured little whore
.

    The gnawing hunger in Jake Walsh's stomach caused him to     urge his mount to a faster pace. According to plan, he had maintained his position midway between Tombstone and the cabin for a day and a night so that he might watch the trail. He had been vigilant, dozing only occasionally. During that time he had not chanced lighting a fire and had eaten only dried beef and drunk only the lukewarm water from his canteen.

    He had awakened from a fitful doze at daybreak and watched the trail for a few hours longer. Then, satisfied that it was perfectly safe, he had mounted and begun riding toward the cabin. He was stiff, exhausted, and hungry. He could almost smell that coffee perking, could almost see that bacon frying, could almost feel that bunk, lumpy or not, under his back.

    A physical discomfort of another kind bothered him also, but it would be a while before he would be able to satisfy that ache. Jake shook his head at the realization he had suffered the night of Devina Dale's party.

    Hidden, he had watched the party in progress while waiting for Ross to bring Devina Dale into the garden. It had been a fine affair, with no expense spared, that was for sure. He knew that fact would not escape Ross's notice. The upper crust of Tombstone had been well represented, dressed in their best, the women looking as good as they had ever looked in their lives. He had recognized a few: Bart Collins's daughter, with her bright red hair, Maggie Sills, with her buttercup-yellow dress. But none of those women had truly stirred his interest.

    He remembered the exact moment his heart had come to
lifewhen
Lai Hua appeared in the doorway. She had paused, silhouetted there in her drab servant's garb, and his heart had skipped a beat. She had walked down into the garden and turned to direct one of the other servants. Her small face had been illuminated by the lanterns, and the rush of emotion that had flushed through him had shaken him. How had Lai Hua managed to push thoughts of other women so firmly from his mind?

    Stupid question. He knew exactly how Lai Hua had softened the bitterness inside him, how she had brought tender emotions back into his heart. She had done it by giving herself to him without asking anything in return. She had done it by loving him, even when he couldn't make himself say the words she whispered so sincerely to him. She had done it by accepting him as he was, an ex-convict who silently held her race against her even while he     held her in his arms. She had done it by telling him he was the most important thing in her life.

    Why couldn't he make himself tell her the same thing in return?

    Jake took a deep, weary breath and attempted to turn his mind to a more pressing subject: Devina Dale.

    He removed his hat and ran his hand through his fair hair. He had not approved of the plan to kidnap Devina Dale, but Ross had been determined. Jake had learned long before that whatever Ross set his mind to do, he did. This time Ross had fooled them all, just as he had said he would. In a few weeks all this would be over, and he and Ross would leave Tombstone and everyone in it behind them.

    As for Lai Hua…

    The cabin came into view, and Jake sighed his relief. With a good meal under his belt and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, he'd be fine.

    Instinctively, Jake surveyed the terrain around the cabin as he approached. Ross's horse was grazing a short distance from the door, and smoke curled in a slender stream from the metal chimney. Jake doubted that smoke would be visible from a distance. The cabin stood in a hollow between rolling hills, and the smoke would travel up for quite a distance before it would be visible from afar.

    Jake's tension mounted as he approached the cabin, and he was suddenly aware of the reason why: He had no desire to face Devina Dale. Even if all Ross said about Harvey Dale's rich and spoiled daughter was true, he wasn't comfortable with what they had done. He had been a prisoner for too long not to feel guilty about forcing the same situation on somebody else.

    With true reluctance, Jake reined his mount up near the spot where Ross's horse grazed. The sound of his approach brought Ross to the doorway, and Jake took note of the stiffness of his friend's expression. He knew his approach had been sighted long before, that Ross was undoubtedly awaiting his arrival, but he had not expected to be greeted with such a scowl.

    As he dismounted, the strong aroma of brewing coffee met his nostrils, and Jake smiled. Damn, that smelled good! Only seconds later the smell of frying bacon joined the assault on his senses, and Jake's stomach growled in eager response. Well, he supposed he could stand a bout with Ross's bad humor in return for
 
    a good breakfast. As a matter of fact, right now he'd walk on a bed of hot stones to get a hot meal. He was hungry… mighty hungry.