Page 3 of The Runaway Heiress (The Gilded West)

Chapter Three

S ophie felt a twinge of longing twist deep within her as she watched Gray approach.

In the darkness his eyes held a dangerous glint that made him look more forbidding than usual.

His hair hung loose past his shoulders. She wanted to have one conversation with him unhindered by all that stood between them.

Would he be as kind to her as his eyes sometimes suggested?

“Miss Buchanan.” Those eyes settled on her as he extended his hand to help her down the steps of the Nelsons’ house. None of his earlier compassion was reflected there. The gray was flat and closed off.

Sophie looked down to see his palm outstretched to her and her mouth went dry.

That brief moment in the hall was the first time they’d touched at all.

Now she was about to touch him again. If only she wasn’t wearing gloves.

Her fingertips tingled before they slipped across his rough palm and his fingers closed around them.

His hand was warm and strong, completely engulfing hers.

A current almost like electricity traveled the length of her arm.

She glanced up to see if he felt the connection, too, but he was already looking toward the buggy, away from her, as he helped her down the steps.

She felt a bizarre desire to prolong the contact, but in seconds she was seated in the waiting buggy and there was no reason to not let go. So she did.

His touch was nothing like Monsieur Beaudin’s, or Anton, as he insisted she call him now.

Anton, with his cold, possessive hand almost constantly at her waist, failed to stir any feeling at all within her except maybe disgust. While Gray, without even trying, stirred far too many feelings.

It was a dangerous attraction. She knew that, had known it from the first time she saw him, but it hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him.

Maybe it was the wedding looming before her making her bolder, but she knew an undeniable longing to discover if the attraction was mutual.

“We meet again today, Monsieur Gray.”

When he merely took up the reins and clicked a command for the horse to start, she glanced over at him.

“Thank you for taking me home. I’m already feeling much better.”

He gave a curt nod. “Did something happen inside?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. I’m tired.”

The only difference was that she couldn’t bear the way Anton looked at her now. Like he owned her. But she was loath to bring up Anton. His name had no place between them.

They rode onward in silence. She sighed and bemoaned her lack of experience in flirtation.

If Gray did find her attractive, he certainly hid it well.

She’d thought that moment in the hall meant that maybe he did.

But what had she expected? No man looked at her as anything other than LaSalle property.

She never even danced with anyone except Jean or Anton and the occasional business associate approved by her uncle.

Her only chaperones were the gunslingers in Jean’s inner circle. Who would dare threaten her virtue?

“Do you want to marry him?”

The question was asked so softly, Sophie wondered if she had heard him correctly.

A small fluttering of nerves began deep in her belly.

She wanted to be honest, to rekindle that spark of closeness from the hallway, but she had learned to not trust easily.

Everyone she knew reported back to Jean.

How did she know if Gray would be any different?

As far as she knew, he hadn’t mentioned to her uncle what happened this morning. Still. She hedged. “I do want children. I’ve always seen myself married.”

“But to Beaudin?”

She closed her eyes, intending to conjure an image of the hated man, but instead she saw Gray holding her in an embrace that only a husband should. “I don’t know.”

But she did know.

They turned onto Last Ditch Gulch and meandered slowly along the main street.

Gray’s expression was in shadow but the occasional streetlamp allowed her to ascertain that he was thoughtful.

They rode in silence, the only sounds the steady clip-clop of the horse and the occasional drunken laughter in the distance.

Two-story shops loomed dark on either side of them.

She watched him from her peripheral vision, taking in the gun holstered at his side and the leather thong that tied it to his thigh. The mark of his profession.

“I meant what I said earlier.” he said. “You deserve a man, not that snake.”

The words were almost angry and inexplicably made her smile.

Maybe the chemistry she thought she’d imagined had been real.

He was attracted to her. The knowledge gave her senses permission to acknowledge his closeness.

She could feel him at her side even though over a dozen inches separated them.

That space between them became charged with his energy.

It rippled along the length of her thigh and up her side.

“You seem very much a man, Monsieur Gray.” The thought escaped before she had a chance to hold it back.

She heard his quick, indrawn breath and closed her eyes. Sometimes her recklessness ran away with her. “Sometimes I say outrageous things when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” His gaze pinned her, making the fluttering in her belly begin in earnest.

“I-I don’t know.” The question held a dangerous undertone and she wasn’t entirely sure she should encourage it.

His gaze touched her face before turning back to the road. When he did, she let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding. Maybe it was best to leave things unspoken.

No. She had wanted this time with him and she’d gotten it. Who knew if she would have this chance again?

“You make me nervous because I…I like you.”

He took in a breath. “You like me?”

“Yes, and I hope you like me.”

Like. Such a poor word choice. It implied so much while saying nothing.

She liked Monsieur Sinclair because he taught her how to play billiards and cards during the long winter months.

He was a friend, sort of. Friendship with men in her uncle’s employ was always precarious. Their loyalty was to him and not her.

Her feelings for Gray were much more visceral and romantic. Sitting next to him made her feel like she had champagne in her veins and the bubbles were effervescing through her.

They turned left onto the street that would take them home. Their time together was almost over. She gripped the cool metal bar that edged the back of the seat as she turned to him.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Like you?” He refused to look at her. His gaze was focused on the road ahead and his hands tightened on the reins, as if they were on a treacherous mountain pass and the horses hadn’t navigated this street a thousand times.

She couldn’t help but smile. It felt like they were school children, neither of them willing to admit their feelings first.

“Or perhaps you think I’m spoiled. Sometimes people do. They see how much money Jean has and think I must be a pampered princess.”

This made him glance at her with a raised brow. Now that they weren’t on the main road the lights weren’t around to reveal him to her, his entire face was in shadow. A boon and a curse. It made her more rash, but she missed the nuance of his expression.

“I don’t think you’re spoiled,” he said and turned his attention back to the road.

Well, that was something. She sat back, willing herself to be content with that much.

“I think you’re kind…and beautiful.”

His voice was soft so as not to carry on the wind, but deep and true. Her cheeks burned with pleasure and she smiled.

He thought she was kind and beautiful.

They drove the remaining three blocks in silence before pulling to a stop in front of the imposing three-story brick and stone mansion. She tried not to notice the warmth of his hand this time as he helped her down, but he practically singed her through her gloves.

He walked slightly behind her as they ascended the front steps, his quiet strength making her heart pound. She loved how he towered over her.

Monsieur Brand met them on the porch. “You’re home early, Miss Buchanan.”

His brows drew together in puzzlement as he hurried to open the front door for them.

“I wasn’t feeling well. Monsieur Gray offered to drive me home since Mr. Sinclair was occupied.”

“Ah, well, I hope you feel better soon,” he said. To Gray, he added, “I’ll wait for you here.”

Sophie smiled to herself. Usually, Monsieur Sinclair followed her to her room to collect her jewels and return them to the safe. Monsieur Brand was his second in charge, so she had half expected him to accompany her upstairs.

She kept silent as she walked inside and then up the elegantly curved mahogany staircase.

Gray followed. The muffled sound of his boots on the stairs reverberated through her.

But it was the prickling of the skin along her back that told her how close he was.

Something delicious and wicked flickered to life within her and settled low, just below her stomach.

She’d never felt excitement like it before and it made her hesitate a moment at her bedroom door.

She should tell him to wait in the hallway, but as soon as she had the thought, she knew she wouldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to see Anne, her maid, jump up in surprise.

Whether it was alarm at Sophie’s early arrival or consternation at the tall figure that followed her inside, she didn’t know.

“Thank you, Anne.” Sophie tugged off her gloves and placed them on the small table by the door.

“I can manage tonight. Go to bed.” She heard the words coming from her mouth but had no idea why she was dismissing the only person who might help her keep a grip on the sanity she felt slipping away.

Because she wanted to be alone with Gray, and that was something that should not happen.