Adam and James walked into the elegant walnut-paneled bar of the Planters House Hotel, their throats parched from their long ride, their boots dust covered, their eyes straining to adjust to the sudden dimness. Moving toward the oasis of the ornate marble bar, they ordered drinks and were leaning comfortably against the pale polished stone, their gazes resting on the painting of a reclining nude customary above every bar with pretensions to gentlemanly style, when someone shouted, “Adam, Adam Serre!”
Adam turned, searching the shadowed interior with a narrowed glance.
“Over here,” a familiar voice urged.
Adam recognized the accent before he actually saw the Earl of Haldane and, picking up his drink, walked toward him, followed by James.
“You’re a long way from Sun Creek,” Adam said with a smile as he approached the red velvet banquette against the wall.
“You’re no little way yourself from the ranch. What brings you to Helena?”
“My question exactly,” Adam replied with a grin as he sank into a fringed velvet chair. “We’re here for a short visit.”
“We’ve been in town replenishing our supplies. Four Chiefs moved his herds north last week.”
“How has your research been going?” James asked.
“Extremely well. What are you drinking? Cognac? Bourbon?” George Bonham signaled for a waiter.
Over several bourbon and branch waters, the three men went on to discuss their various activities of the past weeks. In the course of the next half hour, Flora’s name wasn’t mentioned, although she was prominent in Adam’s thoughts with the earl seated opposite him. Was she here in Helena? he wondered. Or had she stayed behind in camp? Did she look the same? he mused, as if they’d been parted for years. Had she thought of him during their separation?
But when the earl suggested they come up to his hotel suite to look at some of Alan’s watercolor drawings, Adam found himself momentarily indecisive. If she was there … He wasn’t sure. Despite a sharp-set desire, more prudent counsel warned him off.
His hesitation generated a small pause.
“Perhaps you’d like to come up later,” the earl politely suggested. “After you’ve settled into your own rooms.”
James glanced at Adam, sensitive to his struggle of conscience.
As the silence lengthened, James opened his mouth to speak, intent on offering some plausible excuse.
“Why not now?” Adam softly said into the cigar-scented air, and, smiling briefly at his cousin, he lifted his glass to his mouth and drained the liquor.
She wasn’t there when they entered the ornate sitting room. No evidence of her presence was apparent. He looked—his gaze swiftly surveying the room decorated in striped silks and ponderous furniture. But he smelled her scent, like a wolf recognizing his mate, and Adam glanced at the two closed doors in the east wall, wondering which was hers.
Would she appear over one of those thresholds? Would he inhale her rose perfume at close range? Or was she being entertained this afternoon by another man?
The subsequent image hit him like a blow, and with effort he focused on the conversation directed at him.
“Alan did spectacular work on the drawings of Absarokee garb,” the earl was saying as he motioned them across the room toward a large table spread with leather folios. “I can’t thank you enough, Adam, for introducing me to Four Chiefs. His recall is almost complete, and he recaptures the mood and atmosphere of the days past with scrupulous detail.”
“He was already an old man when my father first met him in the thirties,” Adam replied. “Father spoke of his phenomenal memory too. I’m pleased he’s been of help to you.”
“He mentioned your father,” the earl said, untying the strings on the folio covers. “Four Chiefs said the duke had been generous with his gifts to the River Crow.”
“Papa lived with mother’s clan for almost two years before they returned to France. He always remembered those days as the happiest times of his life.”
“I don’t doubt it,” the earl said with feeling, his own pleasures found far afield from London society. “See what you think now of Alan’s drawings. To my mind he captures the colors and textures perfectly.”
They were standing at the picture-strewn table when Flora walked in on the arm of Governor Green Clay Smith’s nephew. A tall young Kentuckian who’d just made his fortune in the Lucky Blue Grass Mine north of Helena, he was smiling down at Flora as they entered the room.
She suddenly laughed at something he said, the sound an enchanting trill of delight. Then she spoke inaudibly, in a rush, half turning toward him, the roses on her bonnet trembling when she laughed again, so she wasn’t aware of their visitors.
Ellis Green playfully touched her uplifted chin with a brushing fingertip. “Now you keep that up, Lady Flora, and I’ll forget my gentlemanly manners,” he said in his soft Kentucky drawl. “A man can only take so much teasing.”
Some men didn’t take any, Adam thought, reacting with hot-tempered exception to the dalliance, instantly wanting to carry her away and still her flirtatious laughter with a hard, scorching kiss.
With her left arm still entwined through Ellis’s arm, Flora swung away from her escort in a coquettish sweep of green pongee and white guipure lace. Then she saw Adam, and her gliding movement abruptly checked mid-turn.
A second of hushed expectancy descended on the large parlor of the suite.
Ellis Green, reacting to Flora’s fingers cutting into his arm, took note of the earl’s guests.
Adam shifted on the soles of his riding boots, restraining his impulse to move only with enormous effort.
James touched his cousin’s arm in warning.
The earl, less personally involved, spoke first. “Ellis, come and meet my friends. They’re in town from their ranch on the Musselshell. Flora, you remember Adam and James.”
“Yes, of course,” she managed to reply in a near-normal voice. Her fingers relaxed, then slid away from Ellis’s arm.
The two men were dressed for riding, Ellis Green reflected, the dust of the trail still evident on their boots and clothing. And even if he hadn’t known the Musselshell was Crow land, their looks proclaimed their heritage. Half-bloods, he thought, even without the clue of their beaded leather shirts; gradations in skin color were easily distinguished by a man from a border state.
Oblivious to everyone else, Adam watched Flora as she moved forward, the skirt of her silk walking dress gently swaying.
Ellis observed Adam’s intense regard and realized he had a rival for Lady Flora.
The man and Flora obviously knew each other. On the other hand, he decided, the nail marks in his arm suggested Flora viewed the half-blood with less than blissful joy. The Kentuckian smiled as he reached the three men, because good manners were second nature to a man from a family of career politicians. “Ellis Green, here. It’s a mighty fine pleasure to meet you,” he said, putting out his hand.
“James Du Gard,” James responded, stepping forward to take his hand.
“Adam Serre,” Adam quietly said, shaking Ellis’s hand with barely perceptible reluctance.
“You have the Aspen River valley in Indian country,” Ellis said, recognizing the name. “You’re the French count.”
“And you’re the governor’s nephew,” Adam softly replied. Although he’d never met Ellis before, everyone had heard of the Blue Grass Lode. “Are you expecting the governor back from Washington this year?”
“As a matter of fact, he’s on his way back now.”
Adam’s eyes met James’s for a fraction of a second, the news of special interest for them, with Meagher’s visit to Fort Benton imminent. “I’m sure everyone will be pleased at his return,” Adam said, his sudden smile casual, polite, the minute aggression vanished from his stance. “How have you been, Lady Flora?” he smoothly queried, turning his urbane gaze on her. “Your father tells me your studies have progressed well. We were just admiring Alan’s watercolors.” His mood had abruptly altered; Governor Smith’s return was propitious should Meagher meet with an accident. Additionally, Smith was committed to amicable relations with the Indians, a remarkable posture for a politician, a rarity in a political appointee.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Flora said, responding with a prickly testiness to Adam’s maddening suaveness. “Our days in camp have been productive.”
He suddenly felt as though he were in control of his emotions again, as though he could deal with Flora Bonham in a reasonable way. There was no rationale to explain the abrupt volte-face; he only experienced a kind of liberating elation. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied. “Guipure lace becomes you,” he added with a grin.
“You haven’t changed,” she softly said, annoyed by his insolent allusion to lace and their intimacy in the hayloft.
“Was I expected to?”
“I have no expectations with you, Mr. Serre.”
“How reassuring.”
“It pleases me to reassure you,” she sweetly said, placing her gloved fingers lightly on Ellis’s hand as it rested atop his walking stick.
“And it pleases me to see that you haven’t lost your flare for flirtation.” But Adam’s voice had changed, the silky insouciance tempered by a flinty coldness.
“Will you be staying long?”
“Long enough,” Adam bluntly said.
“Is he annoying you?” Ellis interjected, certain now the conversation wasn’t teasing repartee.
“Probably,” Adam softly declared, challenge in his voice.
“No,” Flora snapped. “I’m not annoyed,” she added in a tone of intense annoyance.
“They do this,” the earl said with a sigh, recalling similar contretemps during their stay at the ranch. “So I’ll step in as referee.”
“And I as well,” James interposed, pulling at Adam’s arm.
“Forgive me, Lady Flora,” Adam said, shaking James’s hand away. “It was my fault entirely.” He smiled. “I’ve been out in the wilderness too long.”
“He has,” James softly agreed, amazed at Adam’s loss of control.
“You’re forgiven,” she said with the precise degree of sweetness intended to provoke.
“Flora!” her father ordered.
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were veiled behind her lashes as she looked up at Adam, her expression shuttered. “Perhaps it’s the heat,” she said in a theatrical wisp of a voice, turning to her father. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go lie down.” She smiled up at Ellis last and then walked away.
“Humpf,” her father muttered, bewildered at his daughter’s melodrama. “She can outlast me on the trail.”
“She’s probably not used to her corset,” Adam casually remarked, taking note of the door she entered. “Damned uncomfortable, I’d say.”
“I hardly think it’s a subject of concern to you,” Ellis said with decided affront.
“Don’t get chivalrous, Green,” Adam calmly said. “It was an observation, no more.”
“I’ll thank you to keep such observations to yourself.”
“Are you her keeper?”
“I’d gladly defend her.”
“Nonsense,” George Bonham interjected. “Flora can defend herself probably better than any of us. Have you seen her skill with a pistol?”
“I haven’t, sir, but she strikes me as an amazing lady.”
“She’s amazing, all right,” Adam softly murmured.
“I beg your pardon?” Ellis’ pale-blue eyes had narrowed.
“I’ve seen her shoot,” Adam replied with unruffled tranquillity. “She is amazing. She tried my new Winchester 1866 at the ranch,” he added, his dark gaze swinging to the earl, “and emptied the chamber into a three-inch circle on the target in ten seconds.”
“You’re the same one who drove Ned Storham off his grazing lands, aren’t you?” Ellis said with sudden revelation in his voice. The new Winchesters were still rare on the northern plains.
“Off my grazing lands,” Adam corrected.
“That Indian land is open grazing land.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It always has been.”
“No, it hasn’t. I’ve title to it.”
“Not after the treaty is ratified.”
“The treaty isn’t ratified, and even if it were, those lands are excluded. They’re mine.”
“That’s not what Ned Storham says.”
“He’s wrong. I already told him so.”
“He doesn’t agree.”
“Then he’s welcome to try to use it,” Adam said very softly. They’d driven Ned Storham and his crew off his land early that spring in a violent confrontation. A dozen of Storham’s men had been wounded, his herd stampeded and forced south of the Yellowstone. Ned might have been talking big in town, but he’d not attempted another drive north since then.
“What the hell, there’s enough land out here for everyone,” Ellis jovially said with a politician’s tact and smile.
“That’s the way I look at it. They can stay out of my territory,” Adam replied with a matching smile.
“Montana’s larger than England,” the earl said. “You’d think there’d be sufficient land for everyone.”
“And there certainly is, sir,” Ellis congenially agreed. “Will I be seeing you at the Fisks’ tonight? Flora tells me you haven’t decided yet whether you’re attending. Molly puts on the finest spread of food west of the Mississippi, if that’s any inducement.”
“It’s really up to Flora,” the earl replied. “I don’t know how she’s feeling.”
“I’ll wish her a speedy recovery, sir, so I might see y’all tonight,” he cordially said. “If you’ll excuse me now,” he added with a dip of his head, “I’ve an appointment.” With his interest chiefly in Flora, he took his leave.
“James and I will be in the card room if you decide to attend the Fisks’ ball tonight,” Adam said after Ellis left. “Sit in on a game. Harold always plays for high stakes.”
“A more tempting incentive than the banker’s menu,” George Bonham waggishly remarked. “Flora might be interested. She likes high stakes.”
“If she’s not indisposed,” Adam reminded him with a faint smile.
“If she’s still talking to me, you mean. I haven’t chastised her in years. You do get her back up, Adam,” the earl noted, “damned if you don’t.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, sir, should you join our game tonight,” Adam promised, his voice suddenly boyish.
“I’ll see that he is,” James added with a custodial gleam in his eye.
“Fifty guineas to raise?” the earl said.
“Why not say five hundred dollars gold? Specie is almost nonexistent out here.”
“You’re on.”
Adam smiled. “I look forward to the evening.”