Page 13 of The Runaway Heiress (The Gilded West)

Chapter Twelve

W hatever might have been said after that door closed, Sophie wasn’t aware of it.

She existed there in a fog of her own misery, reeling from Gray’s rejection, her mind turning in on itself as it attempted to insulate her from the pain.

All she knew was that when next she happened to notice, Jean was standing before her pushing that bouquet into her hands again.

The flowers must have fallen, because she looked down and saw perfect white petals sprinkled across the polished wood floor.

She wanted to take the bouquet, tried to move her fingers, but they wouldn’t respond to her command so the flowers fell to the floor again.

Jean stood above her, murmuring some threat, the whites of his eyes seeming to glow from his anger, but she couldn’t understand the words.

Could only barely feel his fingers where they pressed around her arm.

Whatever Jean saw in her face seemed to reassure him and he let her go.

Sophie glanced around to find the hall deserted.

Monsieur Sinclair and the last guest must have gone inside.

Martine had disappeared. She was alone again.

The thought had barely registered before Jean was sliding her hand through his arm and escorting her into the parlor.

It was filled with men. A few had brought their wives but most had come alone.

She recognized a few from balls and dinners but the others were new faces.

Without conscious thought, her gaze sought Gray.

Even if she’d walked in with her eyes closed, she would’ve known where he stood.

She gravitated to him like iron to a magnet.

He stood against the wall to her left and watched her.

She’d expected the cool demeanor he’d shown in the hall but his body was tense and his gaze burned into her.

Even now, when he’d clearly abandoned her and she knew he felt nothing, those gray eyes had the power to touch her.

She blinked to keep her composure and forced herself to stare straight ahead.

Jean had guided her to the end of the aisle where Anton stood waiting.

She didn’t acknowledge him, though, simply continued to stare ahead.

Maybe if she kept herself away from what was taking place it wouldn’t really happen.

Maybe it would all go away and she would wake up back in Gray’s room with his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her ear.

That was a foolish thought. She had no one but herself now.

Her only choice was to fight this marriage herself.

Anger surged in her chest. She would turn around and tell everyone in this room that she objected to this marriage.

Jean might still force her, but at least every one of them would have to deal with their guilty consciences. They would know that she was unwilling.

A glimmer of hope sparked that anger, bringing it to full, blazing life. She closed her eyes to draw courage from it and dropped her bouquet, closing her hands into fists, readying herself to fight her way out if necessary.

Anton’s smarmy face came into focus when she opened them. He smiled at her, already anticipating having her to himself. Well, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

She opened her mouth to tell him no, but a voice louder than hers took over the entire room.

“Now!” The voice boomed. It might have been Monsieur Sinclair.

She turned her head to find him and saw the parlor doors had opened. Had someone else come in?

Monsieur Sinclair had withdrawn his gun and it was pointed right at Jean. He didn’t look like a gunslinger anymore. His eyes were narrowed on her uncle and authority draped around him like an invisible cloak. “Jean LaSalle, you are under arrest.”

For a split second the very air stilled, as if the room itself had drawn a breath.

Then everyone seemed to move at once.

Something hit her from behind so hard it laid her out on the ground and knocked the breath from her lungs. Men shouted but their words were lost to the roaring in her ears. The yells were accompanied by three gunshots in rapid succession followed by silence.

The room filled with the acrid smoke of the shots.

It was so thick that it was bitter on her tongue.

She tried to push up onto her knee but a heavy weight held her down.

A man’s hand rested on the floor next to her face.

Gray’s hand. She’d recognized it anywhere.

His chest was against her back. He’s the reason she was on the ground.

He had tackled her and covered her with his body through the shooting.

The thought had barely registered before he shouted above her.

He launched himself off of her, leaping on Anton who looked to be trying to get to his feet, but Gray tackled him.

She watched in horror as they struggled, unable to comprehend what was going on.

Her gaze took in the chaos of the room and saw that many others had come in; one of them she recognized as the sheriff, his star-shaped insignia pinned to his shirt.

Monsieur Sinclair was kneeling near the door, his smoking gun still in hand.

She didn’t see Jean, but Gray subdued Anton and left him lying on the floor with his hands tied behind his back.

Over his inert form, she met Gray’s quick glance and knew a moment of panic.

He seemed a stranger to her, completely cold and remote as he focused on the task.

She didn’t know who he was. He clearly wasn’t the man who had shared so much of himself with her, while simultaneously not sharing the most important part.

The panic overwhelmed her, bringing her to her feet and making her run from the room and the confusion.

She meant to run out the front door but it was wide open and there were even more men that way.

So she turned and ran out the back. She didn’t know where she hoped to run, only that she had to get away.

“Sophie!”

She’d barely cleared the back door when she heard Gray’s voice.

It spurred her forward toward the gate in the walled backyard, but she didn’t make it.

He grabbed her just as her fingers were grasping to pull it open and dragged her back against him.

Solid arms closed around her, but she refused to be subdued so easily and fought him.

“Why are you running? Sophie, stop fighting me!”

She went limp in his arms but only because she was still struggling to breathe. “What are you doing to me?” It was more a breathless plea than the furious question she’d meant it to be.

He buried his face in her hair, his lips warm against her ear. “Sophie.” The tortured whisper burned as it rasped over the open wound of her heart.

His chest was so strong and solid against her back that she couldn’t stop herself from reveling in it.

She closed her eyes, causing tears to fall.

It meant she was shameless and beyond any hope, but any chance she had to touch him was heaven to her and more than she could resist. And as his lips caressed her skin, she moved her head to give him better access to her neck.

Only a moment more, she promised herself, only a moment to take with her for the rest of her life.

When he loosened his arms and moved a hand up to cup her face, she finally found the strength to pull away and bucked against him until she wrenched free and turned to face him.

But he was persistent and grabbed her arms, pulling her close.

Her hands settled on his chest and stayed there deadlocked.

“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice was hoarse. She was surprised to see the depth of pain in his eyes. “I can’t bear that I hurt you.”

She almost reached up to touch his face, to try to soothe the pain from his eyes, but then she remembered that she was the injured party. “You were going to let me get married,” she accused.

“No! That never would’ve happened.” To emphasize the words, he pulled her flush against him and his arms went around her.

Sophie realized how useless her struggles had been, when she felt herself melting into him.

“The wedding wasn’t supposed to happen, but for the latecomers it wouldn’t have got as far as it did.

We’d hoped to arrest them before you even came downstairs, but LaSalle was determined to move things on as quickly as possible and we didn’t have a chance.

I hate like hell that you were there. I didn’t think Sinclair would let you come in. ”

“Who are you, Gray? I don’t understand what happened.”

“LaSalle, Beaudin, and a few others were supposed to be arrested. Sinclair’s been following them for years.

They’ve been buying up land with mining potential, usually by forcing people to sell.

He’s murdered some of them. There’s a whole slew of charges, but the wedding was an opportunity to get them all here in one place. ”

“Who are you?” she asked again, needing to know that more than anything else.

“Everything I told you I was.” He spoke slowly, his gaze holding strong to hers. “Sinclair and Brand are deputy marshals. Cole and I are just helping out for the reward money and because I owe Sinclair a favor.”

“So you let me go all this time thinking I had to marry that monster?” She watched him swallow.

“I know. Be angry.” His fingertips touched her cheek.

She pulled away, not yet willing to be placated and he let her go, his hand dropping to his side.

He didn’t step back, however, leaving only inches between them.

“I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. We couldn’t take the chance.

” His gaze searched hers, looking for redemption.

She couldn’t swallow past the lump that had lodged itself in her throat.

“Whatever else you think of me, Sophie, know this: I had decided you weren’t marrying Beaudin, no matter what happened today.”

“When did you decide that?”

“I think I knew it that day outside LaSalle’s study when you first told me. There’s no way I could let you go to him. I wouldn’t have done it.”

She believed him. The truth of his words moved through her like a balm, soothing every scrape and tear of the last month, maybe her entire life.

She still found it difficult to reconcile the Gray she knew now, the one who had been on her side all along, to the Gray she had known then.

The one she had come to love despite the fact that he worked for her uncle.

Perhaps she had seen the truth of him all along.

He bridged the slight distance between them and reached for her slowly, giving her time to refuse him as he took her head in his hands. His fingers slid into her hair and curled, tugging it slightly in a way that made her scalp tingle. “Maybe you hate me now and I have no right to do this.”

His questioning gaze searched hers until he moved so close, his eyes closed and his lips covered hers.

He kissed her with all of the pent-up longing of the past two weeks.

The second his tongue brushed her lips, she surrendered to his kiss and the yearning it stirred deep within her.

Her arms went around his shoulders, so there wasn’t a breath of space between them from breast to hip.

And the kiss evolved into a heated, breathing thing of redemption and desire until he was drinking salvation from her lips.

Finally he released her mouth, but still held her close with his forehead pressed to hers.

“When I watched you sleep that night, I knew I needed to keep you safe. When you walked away from me in the morning, I hated myself for hurting you. I never want to cause you pain, Sophie.” He closed his eyes and kissed the corner of her mouth and her brow before letting his arms drop and putting space between them again.

The action sobered her. She felt bereft suddenly without the comfort of his embrace.

When he spoke, his voice was still gentle, but his tone was all business.

“You should know that your uncle was shot pretty bad.” He took a breath as if forcing himself to say what he needed to say.

“I doubt he’ll make it.” His brow knitted, as if he expected censure.

She tried but she couldn’t find any sadness. Jean had done terrible things to many people. “He died as he lived,” was all she could manage to say. “I don’t blame you for that.”

“Thank you.” Relief softened his features. “Beaudin can’t buy himself out of the mess he’s in, so he won’t be a problem for you anymore. You’ll be free now.”

But not free of him. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come out. Did he want to be with her? Was this his goodbye? She couldn’t tell.

Finally, she managed to voice a portion of what she wanted. “What of you?”

“I’ll find Alexandre for you,” he said without hesitation.

“And that’s it?” She held her breath locked tight in her throat.

He was silent, but she saw the struggle behind his eyes, saw his breath become heavy and his jaw tighten. “What more do you want? You can have anything. Everything.”

Only in that moment did she understand that he was as wary as she, half-expecting rejection, hopeful for more.

“I want you.” She breathed the words. “Only you.”

His expression cracked, and he said, “You already have me, Sophie.”

The breath she was holding came out as a sob and she moved forward to hold him. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she raised his tortured gaze to meet hers. “I love you, mon coeur . ”

Gray’s arms wrapped tight around her hips and she squealed as he lifted her off her feet, holding her above him. “Then you’re mine. I won’t let you go.”

She laughed as she slid down his body until she could kiss him. “Always, mon amour . Always.”