Laurie Grant - The Duchess And The Desperado

“Hello,” he heard a husky voice say as the last few guests were going through the line, and then he was startled to feel a hand on his wrist.

Morgan looked down to see one of the ladies who had gone through the receiving line, a short brunette whose garnet brooch drew attention to the scandalously low neckline of the dark red gown she was wearing.

“I know it isn’t conventional for a lady to introduce herself to a gentleman,” she said, “but I kept waiting for you to leave the wall you seemed to be holding up and come through the line, and you haven’t moved. So I decided I’d have to be unconventional and introduce myself. I’m Helen Wharton. My brother William over there—” she jerked her head in the direction of a ginger-headed young man talking to a group of businessmen underneath the chandelier “—owns the Double W Mining Company. You’ve heard of it? I haven’t met you at any of these gatherings before, and I thought I knew everyone in our social circle.”

Morgan breathed in her perfume, and was aware of a quick flaring of lust as his brain appreciated the musky scent that surrounded the woman like a cloud. At another time or place he’d have enjoyed a dance of seduction with this woman, for her bold eyes told him she’d be more than willing to partner him in that particular waltz.

“Morgan Calhoun, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head politely, “and I reckon we haven’t met because I’m not exactly in your social circle. I’m just here to guard the duchess.” Deliberately he cut his eyes back to the receiving line, expecting the woman to stalk off in search of more prominent prey.

He was wrong, it seemed. She was still there when he looked back down. Excitement flashed in her brown eyes, and she removed her long-nailed hand from his wrist to stroke down his biceps.

“Ooh, you’re a bodyguard?” she breathed. “How very exciting. Why don’t we get some punch and step out on the balcony? You can tell me all about your experiences....”

He narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a discouraging manner, and shook his head. He couldn’t afford to let her distract him. “I’m here to keep my eye on the duchess,” he said, returning his gaze to Sarah Challoner. “I’ve got to stay by her.”

Helen Wharton pouted for just a moment. “Ah, I can see you’re devoted to duty...very commendable, I’m sure. But you’re entitled to a little refreshment, aren’t you? Why don’t I go get us both some punch and bring it back here? You can keep your eye on your duchess, and I’ll keep you company.”

Morgan gave a wary okay to her offer, then went back to watching the duchess.

The dark-haired Helen was back within moments, somehow managing to bring two cups of punch and a plate full of finger sandwiches through the crowd without mishap.

“Much obliged,” Morgan said, taking a grateful sip, and blinking in surprise as he tasted liquor mingled with the fruity liquid. Rum, he guessed.

“This is rather...potent,” he said, his eyes leaving the duchess for a moment to rest on Helen Wharton and the cup she was raising to her lips. “I hope there was something a little less...strong for you, ma’am?” He’d better limit himself to one cup, and sip that sparingly, or soon he’d be too blind drunk even to see the duchess, much less protect her.

Helen laughed merrily. “There is a punch for the ladies, but I’m drinking the same thing as you are. I’m afraid I find the other stuff rather insipid. Here, have a sandwich.”

He accepted the morsel from her, then searched and found Sarah Challoner in the crowd. The receiving line finished, she had joined the same group of businessmen that Helen Wharton’s brother had been standing among. Just then William Wharton returned, bearing punch and sandwiches, which he offered to the duchess.

“Hospitality seems to run in your family,” Morgan observed.

“Yes...I ran into my brother at the refreshment table. He’s quite taken with your duchess. Says she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”

Morgan sure couldn’t disagree with that, so he said nothing, just kept his eye on the duchess as the mining magnate went on chatting with her. His conversation was evidently very stimulating, for Sarah Challoner was animated, her color high, her blue eyes sparkling. Then he saw that something Wharton said had amused her, for she tipped back her head and laughed. The sound was lost in the noisy room, but Morgan fancied he could hear its silvery music.

Lord, he wished he were a rich man so he could stand talking with Sarah Challoner like this, and have her laughing at some clever thing he said.

Then he saw Wharton gesture toward the balcony, and Sarah’s narrow-eyed stare in its direction before she nodded.

From here he could see that the balcony was empty of other guests, and someone had blown out the torches that had illuminated it at their arrival. So the rich fellow imagined he was going to lure Sarah Challoner out into the darkness?

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he growled to the woman beside him, handing her his cup without even looking at her and striding forward to intercept the couple heading for the balcony.

“Pardon me, Du—your grace,” he amended, planting himself in front of the couple. The duchess had her hand on Wharton’s arm, a fact that fueled his ire.

The two halted, Wharton blinking at him as if Morgan had two heads. “Mr. Calhoun, is something wrong?” Sarah Challoner asked.

“No, ma’am, but I can’t have you...I don’t think...that is, you shouldn’t go out on the balcony.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s dark out there. No one who’d want to harm me could even see me.”

“Harm you? What do you mean?” Wharton asked. Then, when he received no answer, he glared at Morgan, his face reddening, a pulse beating in his temples. “Now, see here, fellow, just who do you think you are to be ordering her grace around?”

Morgan ignored him. “Ma’am, there’s a full moon, and your dress is a pale color. A sniper wouldn’t need much more.”

Sarah Challoner lifted her chin—always a sign of imminent rebellion, he’d discovered—and her lips thinned. “Oh, don’t be tiresome, Mr. Calhoun. I’ll be fine. Mr. Wharton merely thought I might like some air.”

I’ll just bet he did, Morgan thought, fixing his piercing gaze on the mining magnate until the other man’s eyes fell.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to agree with Mr. Calhoun, your grace,” said Lord Halston, who had suddenly appeared at Morgan’s side in time to hear the last exchange. “It would be most unwise.”

“My dear duchess, what on earth are they talking about? Have you been threatened?” Wharton demanded.

Her face smoothed out as she looked at Wharton. “It’s nothing, Mr. Wharton. Truly. They’re just being cautious. Isn’t there some quieter room to which we can go and chat some more? I vow, all this noise is giving me a headache!”

“Certainly, your grace,” Wharton said with a genial smile—a smug smile that Morgan wanted to wipe off the man’s ginger-cat face with his knuckles. “The governor has a small library downstairs where we may be private, I’m sure. If that’s all right with your...guardians,” he said with deliberate provocation.

Morgan’s fists clenched at his side as he struggled to be polite. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Halston bristling and white-faced. Good for you, Halston.

“I reckon that’s all right, if I can go with you and check out the room first, and then I’ll stand outside the door and make sure no one else comes in,” he said.

“Well, it’s not all right with me,” Sarah Challoner snapped, her eyes blazing with blue fire at Morgan and Lord Halston alike. “You two are smothering me, and I won’t have it. There is absolutely nothing amiss in my speaking to Mr. Wharton privately, and if you wish to continue in my employ, Mr. Calhoun, you’ll stay upstairs, is that clear? Come, Mr. Wharton, show me this library.”