"That sounds fine. I want to speak to the stock agent first, arrange for shipping."

"I can do that," he said.

"No, I'll do it. You'd better see to your heifers, though. Don't forget to pay the cashier."

He bit back a smile as he listened to her list of instructions. Lesser men might indeed be daunted by such competence. Ah, but Abbie didn't deserve a lesser man. Only a man as strong as herself would satisfy her. Even now, Reg felt a stab of envy for that unknown man who would one day win such a fair prize.

Chapter Sixteen.

Abbie frowned at the figure huddled under the quilts in her hotel room. "But you can't be ill," she said. "You were right as rain less than an hour ago."

"It come on me sudden like, Miss." Maura gave a weak cough and pulled the covers closer around her chin. "I'm ever so sorry to inconvenience ye this way."

"You've nothing to apologize for." Abbie felt the maid's forehead. It was cool to the touch. "Maybe we should call a doctor. . . "

"Oh no, Miss." Maura's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "I'm sure all I'm needin' is a good night's rest to set me right again. You go on and enjoy your dinner with Mr. Worthington."

The thought of dinner alone with Reg sent a tremor through Abbie's stomach. She'd already spent more time with him today than was wise; the constant contact left her edgy and impatient, longing for something she could not name. "If you're ill, you shouldn't be left alone," she said to Maura. "I'll send a note to Reg and stay with you."

"Oh, no, Miss." Maura struggled to a sitting position. "You needn't be putting yourself out like that for me." She clutched the quilts around her. "It's not so much ill I am as over-tired." She nodded. "The excitement of traveling and seeing a new city has taxed me nerves. A good night's sleep and I'll be back to me old self."

Abbie gave her a doubtful look. Other than a slight flush to her cheeks, Maura looked healthy as ever. Having seen her work, Abbie was convinced the maid had an iron const.i.tution. "This doesn't have anything to do with your believing it's not your place to eat with Reg and me, is it?" she asked. "I've told you before, those cla.s.s distinctions don't hold in Texas."

"Yes, Miss, and I'm beginning to see the truth in what you're saying, and I'd be most honored to be going with you and Mr. Worthington. But I'm plumb tuckered, I am." As if to confirm this, she slid back beneath the covers.

So much for the idea that the maid would be a suitable chaperon, Abbie thought. She'd begged off accompanying them to the auction this morning, and now she was opting out of dinner. Abbie sighed. Nothing to do but get the meal over with, she supposed. She picked up the ridiculously small bag that held her room key and handkerchief, then paused to check her appearance in the mirror by the door. "Do you really think this dress is all right?" she asked. The shimmering purple silk gown left much of her shoulders bare, and clung tightly to the curves of her waist and hips.

"You look divine, Miss," Maura said, raising herself to a sitting position. "Mr. Worthington will love it."

"I feel half naked."

"Oh no, Miss. It's quite modest no more revealing than those trousers you're fond of wearing."

She nodded. Of course Maura was right. Time to quit stalling and go downstairs and meet Reg. After all, what could happen with a dining room full of other people watching them?

She left the room, walked down two floors, then descended the curved staircase into the hotel's main lobby. She walked slowly, partly on account of the cursed high heels she could never quite get used to, and partly because her stomach was doing somersaults with every step closer to her rendezvous with Reg.

Stop it! she silently ordered her nerves, but they behaved no better than an untamed mustang. How was it her mind had turned something as simple as a dinner into a dangerous ordeal? She had eaten dinner with Reg before, she reminded herself.

But never alone. Never away from her familiar territory of the ranch. And never dressed in a clinging, low-cut gown that made her look, and feel, every inch a woman. She smoothed her hand down the shimmering skirt. Would Reg like the dress? Would he like her in it?

Oh confound it! What difference did it make what Reg thought? They would never be could never be anything more than friends.

She spotted him in the crowd below, standing with his back to her. Her breath caught as her gaze swept over his shining black hair and the broad shoulders outlined against his perfectly tailored suit. She had never met a man who was so handsome, so elegant. She ought to feel all awkward and ignorant beside him, but he never made her feel that way.

As if feeling her eyes on him, he turned, and caught sight of her on the stairs. His gaze swept over her, and a hint of a smile curved his lips. He nodded, as if in approval, and moved toward her. "Abbie, you look splendid," he said. He reached for her hand, but instead of taking it to lead her the rest of the way down the stairs, he bent and kissed it.

She felt the warmth of his breath through her glove, and remembered the day they'd met, when he'd kissed her that way. Even then, the touch of his lips had made her tremble. He raised his eyes to meet hers; his dark, sultry gaze shook her as much as the kiss. "Every man in the room is watching us now, and wishing he were in my shoes," he said.

"Every woman here wishes they were in mine," she replied, sliding her hand from his grasp. "And to tell you the truth, I'd gladly trade these heels with them for a pair of comfortable boots."

He laughed out loud and offered her his arm. "Then I'd best take you in to dinner before someone comes up and makes you a better offer," he said.

She put her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. "Maura says she's sorry she can't come with us, but she isn't feeling well."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

She shook her head. "It doesn't seem to be."

"Perhaps I shouldn't say so, but I'm pleased to be able to entertain you alone, without a chaperon."

A pleasant shiver ran up her spine at the words. He squeezed her hand and led the way toward the dining room. She concentrated on walking demurely by his side to their table, when what she really wanted was to stop and crane her head to take in all the sights. Even keeping her eyes straight ahead, she saw enough to amaze her. What looked like an acre of tables stretched out in front of them, each one topped with a dazzling white cloth and laden with silver polished to a mirror finish, and half a dozen gla.s.ses and goblets that winked in the glow of the candles that flickered at each table.

In case the candles didn't provide enough light, gas chandeliers as wide across as a Conestoga wheel hung overhead, dripping with gla.s.s crystals like icicles on a January day. Gentlemen in elegant black suits and ladies dressed in all colors of the rainbow, most of them decked out with all manner of sparkling necklaces, earrings, bracelets and brooches, sat at the tables and dined on steaks and fish and what looked like whole little chickens and a lot of other things Abbie couldn't even identify.

"Here we are." Reg held out a chair for her at a table near the back wall. She lowered herself carefully into the upholstered seat, careful not to crush her skirt. Reg helped scoot in her chair, then took the seat across from her. "I believe we'll begin with champagne," he said to the waiter.

While Reg and the waiter conferred on the choice of wine, Abbie tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes widened as she gazed at a trio of winged babies cavorting among the clouds. Except for a few strategically placed wisps of clouds, the babies were naked.

"The cherubs are a bit much, don't you think?"

Reg's voice made her remember herself and look down once more. "Is that what they're called cherubs?"

He nodded. "The decor here is rather overdone, but the food is supposed to be excellent." He opened the gold-ta.s.seled menu. "What would you like?"

Abbie opened her menu and stared at the long list of choices, many of which were written in a foreign language, and it wasn't Spanish. "You choose," she said, closing the folder. "But I'd just as soon have beef instead of one of those scrawny chickens."

He tried to fight back a grin, but failed. "Those are squab. You're right. They do look um, 'scrawny.' Why don't we try the beef tenderloin?"

The waiter delivered the champagne, while another appeared to take their order. Abbie sipped the bubbly liquid and tried to suppress the similarly bubbly feeling inside of her. Never in her wildest fantasies would she have dreamed she'd ever be seated in such an elegant restaurant, dressed in fancy clothes and seated across from a handsome man who, if not exactly British royalty, was certainly kin to some.

"Why are you smiling?" Reg asked as he filled his gla.s.s.

"Was I smiling?" She sipped more champagne and grinned.

"You were."

"Then I must try to be more serious." She attempted a frown, but failed. How could she frown when she felt so happy?

"Don't. You're even more beautiful when you smile."

"Oh, Reg, go on." She could feel a blush working its way up her throat.

"Why do you deny it?" He leaned toward her. "I thought you were beautiful the first day I saw you, in pigtails and men's trousers."

"You'd never seen a woman in pants before."

"And you'd never seen what was it you said? Such a 'poor excuse for a cowboy.'"

Her blush deepened at the memory. "I hoped you'd forgotten about that."

He sat back in his chair, smiling. "I will never forget that day. If not for that fortuitous meeting, I might never have decided to apprentice myself to you, as it were. I might find myself considerably worse off than I currently am."

"You haven't needed that much help. You've done very well for yourself. Why, at the auction today, you were spotting almost as many good buys as I was."

"That part of the cattle business interests me," he said. "Building up stock and trying to breed better blood lines. Instead of leaving so much to chance, it seems to me a rancher would do better to line breed to reinforce the best characteristics, as is done with race horses and hunting hounds."

"Exactly. Reg, you have already realized something that some of the old men who've been doing this fifty years still haven't hit upon. To them a cow is merely a cow, and the only way to make money is to ship them out in quant.i.ty. There's some of us who see the money to be made in producing better quality cattle."

"It would take several years to build up a good breeding program, but in the end, it would pay off." Reg leaned forward, his eyes alight with excitement. "We could breed cattle with more stamina for harsh conditions, and the ability to hold their weight to market."

"Maybe you should consider putting that kind of program into place on the Ace of Clubs," she said.

He sank back against his chair, his enthusiasm vanished. "I'm due back in England at the end of a year. My father will be expecting results by then and no later."

Abbie felt a sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of Reg's leaving. "What will you do back in England?" she asked.

He stared into the dregs of his champagne, idly turning the long-stemmed gla.s.s in his hand. "I don't know. Whatever is expected, I suppose."

Expected by whom? She wanted to ask, but the arrival of their dinner silenced her. Despite Reg's attempts at entertaining conversation, she was unable to regain the joy she'd felt at the beginning of their meal. Reg had reminded her that this evening was nothing more than fantasy; he would soon return to his old life, just as she would return to hers. He'd go back to being Lord Worthington, son of an earl, and she'd likely end up an old maid wearing men's trousers, her pretty silk dresses packed away in a trunk, along with her dreams of love and marriage.

Reg noticed Abbie's sudden silence; he blamed himself for spoiling the evening with talk of his own dreary future. Why should Abbie care what became of him after he left Texas? In years to come, she'd no doubt remember him only as that stuffy Britisher who had intruded upon her life one year.

After dessert and coffee, he paid the tab and they rose to leave. Suddenly, the thought of going back up to his room alone was too much to bear. "I'm not ready to go upstairs yet," he said. "Come walk with me."

"All right."

They walked out of the hotel and into a street that was lit almost as brightly as day. Light and music and people poured forth from the hotels and restaurants and theaters in the area. Except for a preponderance of cowboy boots and Stetsons among the men, they might have been on the street of any cosmopolitan city in the world. He looked down at Abbie. The streetlights glinted off the gold strands of her hair. "When you came here with your father, what did you do in the evenings, after the auction?" he asked.

"Oh, well, we would usually go to a store for supplies, and have supper at a diner. Sometimes he'd buy me an ice cream." She shrugged. "Then we'd walk back to the boarding house where we usually stayed, and I'd go to bed." She looked down the street, a wistful expression on her face. "I never even knew any of this existed."

A breeze stirred the tendrils of hair around her face, and molded her dress to her body. Reg felt a tension in his loins at the sight of her feminine curves.

She shivered and hugged her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Here, take this," he said. He slipped out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, letting his hands linger on her arms. She looked fragile, vulnerable in the oversized coat. His sense of protectiveness toward her surprised him. "Perhaps we should go back," he said.

"No, let's walk a little further." She leaned close to him, so that it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to put his arm around her. They walked in comfortable silence down the lighted streets.

She tilted her head up, looking past him, to the sky. "You can't even see the stars from here," she said.

"It's because of the bright lights."

She shook her head. "It's as if they don't exist. As if the plains and my ranch and all of that don't even exist."

Reg looked at the lighted storefronts around them. "I suppose for some people, those things don't exist." He smiled back at her. "It's as if we each have our own world, into which we fit best." Which world is the one where I fit? he wondered.

The winds gusted higher, bringing the smell of rain. "We'd best turn around," he said, regretting that this moment of quiet companionship should end so soon.

She nodded and clutched the jacket more tightly to her throat. They turned back into the wind, hurrying now as thunder rumbled in the distance.

They were half a block from the hotel when rain began to fall, a driving curtain of water, lashing at them and quickly soaking their clothes. They bent their heads and tried to run, but Abbie stumbled. "d.a.m.nation!" she cried and he caught her. She wrenched from his grasp and bent to remove her high-heeled shoes. She came up with the shoes in her hand. "It may not be ladylike, but I can't stand these one minute longer."

Her hair trailed in a wet stream down one cheek, and her silk gown clung to her like a second skin. Reg thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful, more desirable, in his life.

He knew his feelings showed on his face, but he could not take his eyes from her. She blushed and looked down, at the rain running down her body in little rivers. "I can't go back into that hotel lobby looking like this," she moaned.

"There's bound to be a back way in." He took her arm once more. "Come on."

They ran faster now, feet slapping in puddles on the sidewalk, his coat flapping behind Abbie like the wings of a crow. They darted into the alley beside the hotel and he swept her up in his arms.

"What are you doing?" she protested.

"There might be broken gla.s.s," he said. "They throw the garbage out here."

She started to protest, then heard the tell-tale crunch of gla.s.s beneath his shoes. He kept close to the overhanging eave of the building, until they came to a back door, and inside it, a flight of stairs leading up.

"You can put me down now," she said.

"No, it's all right." He enjoyed holding her too much to relinquish her yet. He began to climb. One, two, three flights. A single gas lamp marked the door at each landing. They emerged into a carpeted corridor. He checked the number on the nearest room. "Ours must be at the opposite end," he said.

He started to put her down, but the sound of voices approaching startled him. "Oh my G.o.d, Reg. Someone's coming!"

Abbie's hair was fully undone now, and her sodden dress left little to the imagination, though she tried her best to hold his jacket around her with one hand while she carried her shoes with the other. Her stockinged feet peeked provocatively from the trailing hem of her skirt. His shirt was plastered to his back, his shoes were full of water, and he was balancing a woman in his arms. Strangers coming upon them would no doubt suspect the sort of behavior that was not condoned by fine hotels. They would be fortunate to escape arrest and ejection from the hotel; they would most certainly not escape humiliation.

The voices grew louder, nearer. He scanned the corridor; a blank wall at one end provided no avenue for escape. The path to their rooms lay in the direction of the approaching voices. His only choice was retreat. He opened the door to the stairs and darted behind it once more.

"Thank G.o.d no one saw us," Abbie breathed. He lowered her legs until she was standing, though she continued to lean against him.

"We'll wait here a moment, give them time to leave," he said softly. He rested his chin on her head, and waited for the loud thudding of his heart to slow.

She smelled of damp lavender, like a cottage garden on a rainy afternoon. He inhaled deeply, wanting to memorize the aroma. Here, in the lamp-lit silence, he wanted to suspend time. As they clung together, he could feel her warmth seeping into him, kindling an answering heat inside him.

She shifted in his arms; they were so close she could not mistake the effect she was having on him. His erection pressed firmly into her belly; he made no move to hide it.

"Reg." She whispered his name, her breath warming his cheek.

He opened his eyes. In the soft glow of the light on the landing, her skin was like alabaster, her eyes dark pools. He met her gaze, and felt his heart hammer in his chest.

He saw desire in Abbie's eyes not merely the raw l.u.s.t a man might feel when he's lonely and alone and a beautiful woman makes herself available to him. What he saw in Abbie's eyes was a deeper emotion than that, a more pointed longing. Abbie didn't just want a man she wanted him. The realization grabbed him by the throat and threatened to squeeze the very breath from him. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sight, to ignore the revelation there. But in the darkness, her body drew him. His lips sought hers; a sigh escaped him when they touched. He rubbed his mouth across hers, allowing himself little tastes of her, as if more would be too much.

But he couldn't be content with such meager fair for long. He pressed his mouth to hers more firmly, coaxing her to part her lips, to allow his tongue to sweep inside and savor her sweetness.

G.o.d, she was sweet. Warm and yielding. His heart stumbled in its rhythm as her tongue began to move in concert with his. Thrust and parry, then entangled like lovers.