Holding the Colt ready for use, Mark watched the door open and a figure enter. On the point of cocking and firing the revolver, he refrained from doing so and let out a hiss of surprise.
Clad in a diaphanous robe, left open to display an equally flimsy nightgown, the Vicomtesse de Brioude closed the door. Easing the robe from her shoulders in a tantalizing manner, she approached the bed with an air of concupiscence. Her whole attitude hinted that she expected Mark to greet her with open arms.
‘What the hell?’ Mark growled, sounding anything but delighted at the visit.
Suspecting that he might be running into the old badger game, Mark retained the Colt in his right hand as he swung his legs from and sat on the edge of the bed. If the woman’s husband burst in, ready to demand payment for the ‘alienation’ of his wife’s affections, he would receive a response that might not be accorded to the male half of a ‘badger’ team operating in Europe.
Unaware of the suspicions Mark harbored towards her, Beatrice tossed her robe on to the foot of the bed. Her eyes raked Mark from head to toe and she decided that, if anything, she had underestimated his physical attractions on first seeing him from her window.
‘You shouldn’t have sat up, mon cherie, Beatrice purred. ‘And you won’t need that revolver.’
Everything appeared to be going exactly as the Vicomtesse had planned it. Much to her annoyance, she had found no opportunity during the afternoon or evening to develop her acquaintance with the blond giant. If Arnaud had noticed her interest in Mark during lunch, he had given no hint of it. Flushed with success at having emerged a winner from the poker game, her husband had insisted on celebrating with an after-lunch session of lovemaking.
While Beatrice never objected to that, she had had her heart set upon the change many philosophers insisted was as good as a rest. By the time Arnaud’s passion had worn away and he returned to the poker game, le beau Counter and the fat old woman had left the hotel.
Learning that Mark would not be returning until late, Beatrice had made preparations. Waiting until she could do so unobserved, she had taken the hotel’s passkey from its hook behind the reception desk. Having obtained the means to enter the Texan’s room, she had returned to her quarters and changed into suitable attire for the occasion. Leaving her own door open an inch or so, she had settled down with what patience she could muster to await Mark’s return. Time had dragged by slowly, but she had consoled herself with thoughts of the pleasure to come. Unless she misjudged her man, Beatrice expected a night to remember.
On hearing Libby and Mark arrive, Beatrice had watched them enter their respective rooms. Wise in such matters, she waited long enough for them both to undress and get into their beds. Then she had set out for her assignation. Using the passkey, she had gained admittance to Mark’s quarters and—although she did not guess it—had come mighty close to taking a bullet in the head as she entered.
Now she was prepared to reap the benefits of her enterprise.
Unfortunately, she had reckoned without Mark’s views on the matter. Maybe the big cowhand had an eye for a well-turned set of feminine curves and was not averse to dalliance with members of the opposite sex, xi but there were limits to how far he would go. His interest in the Vicomtesse had departed the moment he had learned that she was married. So the sight of Beatrice in his room gave him none of the pleasure nor desire she had expected to arouse.
Ignoring the cooing words, Mark
returned the Colt to its holster. He rose and strode towards Beatrice. Eyes
glowing with lust and eagerness, she raised her hands ready to slip
off the nightgown. Before she could touch the shoulder straps, Mark
had caught hold of her arms. Drawing them together,
he enfolded her wrists in his powerful left hand. Gathering up her
robe with the right hand in passing, he started to haul her towards
the door.
‘What—?’ Beatrice croaked, hardly able to believe that he planned to evict her. ‘Let go of me!’
‘I sure as hell will,’ Mark promised grimly. ‘Just as soon’s I’ve tossed you out of my room.’
‘You filthy pig!’ the Vicomtesse spat viciously, her voice rising higher with each syllable. ‘You stinking Yankee pig! I came here to—’
Realizing that the woman would be screaming loud enough to wake up the other occupants of the building if she continued, Mark knew he must stop her. Tucking the robe into the waistband of his underpants, he whipped his right palm hard across her cheek. The force of the slap rocked her head violently to one side. Tears burst from her eyes and the pain of the impact brought her words to an abrupt end.
‘Start yelling again and you’ll get some more,’ the blond giant warned, ignoring the kicks she lashed at his legs and reaching for the door’s handle. ‘I know why you came here and your husband’s the man to give it to you.’
‘H-He-pl-plays-ca-cards with the sher-sheriff and oth-other men,’ the Vicomtesse sobbed, tears ruining her carefully applied make-up. She kept her voice down, guessing that the Texan would carry out his threat. ‘If-if-y-you-do as you-s-say, I’ll g-go and t-tell them you tr-tried to f-force yourself on to me.’
‘I’ll chance that,’ Mark growled, opening the door and thrusting her into the dimly lit passage.
Catching her balance and skidding to a halt, Beatrice twisted around. Before she could speak or make another movement, Mark had flung her robe into her face and closed the door. By the time she had torn the clinging fabric from her head, she had heard the click of the lock. A string of violent French oaths bubbled furiously from her lips, sounding all the more obscene coming from such a beautiful set of features. She looked like a great wildcat preparing to spring at and rend its prey with teeth and claws. Pitching up and down with the force of her emotions, the all but naked hemispheres of her bosom seemed to throb with an inhuman passion.
For a moment she was on the verge of leaping at Mark’s door and battering it with her fists. Cold, savage logic prevented her from doing so. With an almost visible struggle, she calmed herself down. A vicious glint came to her eyes as she remembered the things she had heard about how Texans treated a man who molested a ‘good’ woman.
‘You just wait, le beau Counter!’ Beatrice hissed audibly, taking hold of her nightgown and ripping it down the front. ‘You’ll pay for spurning me. See if you don’t, my friend.’
Still sniffling and screwing her eyes up to make the tears keep coming, she scuttled to her room. Inside, she rumpled her hitherto immaculate hair and donned a more sedate robe. Scowling at her tear-stained face in the mirror, she nodded her satisfaction. She looked just right to arouse sympathy from her husband’s poker playing companions and inflame their desire to avenge her ‘besmirched’ honor. Smiling in a manner that, taken with the tears still trickling along her cheeks and her disheveled appearance, made her look old and evil, she returned to the passage. Throwing a glare of undistilled hatred towards Mark’s door, she made her way to the room in which her husband was playing poker.
After locking his door, shoving the passkey out with his own, Mark returned to the bed. He sat down and let the anger ooze from him, then started to raise his feet from the floor. Before he could lie down, he heard a soft knock at the door. Flinging himself from the bed, he stamped grimly across the room.
‘If that’s you again—!’ Mark began.
‘It’s not,’ Libby Schell’s voice replied. ‘Open up, Mark!’
‘What the—?’
‘Do it. Pronto!’
‘Let me put some clothes on first,’ Mark suggested, impressed by the note of urgency in the blonde’s voice.
‘There’s no time for that!’ Libby warned him. ‘Open up, damn it, or you’re in real bad trouble.’
Wondering what the woman meant, Mark obeyed. Certainly she would not act in such a manner for the reason that had brought the Vicomtesse to his door. Almost as soon as he had operated the lock, Libby twisted the handle and pushed her way in. Bare-footed and wearing a far less glamorous nightdress than Mark’s last visitor, she looked like she had come until morning. She carried her dress, underclothing and shoes in her arms. In her right hand, she held the passkey by which Beatrice had entered.
‘What’s the idea, Lib—?’ Mark began.
‘Lock the door again,’ the blonde ordered, hurrying across the room.
Frowning and puzzled, Mark obeyed. On turning, he found that Libby had dumped all her clothes on the chair that held his own. Going to the window, she opened it and hurled the passkey along the alley behind the building. Closing the window again, she swung to face the big Texan.
‘Get in bed,’ Libby said, voice tight with emotion. ‘We likely don’t have much time if she’s doing what I reckon she aims to.’
‘What—?’ Mark gasped.
‘Get in bed, damn it!’ Libby hissed. ‘Do you reckon I’d be doing this if it wasn’t necessary?’
‘I don’t—’
Once more Mark’s words trailed off in surprise at Libby’s actions. Wriggling out of her nightdress, she climbed into the bed as naked as the day she was born and threw the garment underneath. Seeing that Mark hesitated, her face twisted in an expression of anger. Realizing that only a most unusual and desperate set of circumstances would cause Libby to act in such a manner, Mark joined her in bed.
‘Turn this way,’ Libby ordered as he lay on his back. ‘Damn it! This’s no game I’m playing. That foreign hussy’s planning mischief and us looking right might save you from a bad fuss.’
Rolling on to his side and feeling her upper arm slip across his neck, Mark opened his mouth to ask for further details. Then he heard feet running along the passage and saw the glow of a lamp appear under the crack at the bottom of the door. Close against his, the firm, warm flesh of Libby’s body was shivering. He realized what an ordeal it must be for her to be acting in such a brazen manner. His request for information went unsaid.
The feet halted outside Mark’s door and a brief, muttered conversation followed. There was a sudden, violent crash and the lock sprang open to let the door burst inwards. Two middle-sized, stocky men wearing the dress-style of professional gamblers thrust into the room with revolvers in their hands. Behind them loomed the big, flabby form of Sheriff Lansing, the Vicomte and three more men.
Mark’s reaction to the intrusion was immediate, instinctive and appeared completely natural under the circumstances. Sitting up, he jerked Libby erect with him. The bedclothes fell away, showing their naked torsos as Mark grabbed for his nearer revolver.
‘What the hell—?’ Mark spat out as the Colt left its holster and its hammer reared back under his thumb. ‘Ben Thompson!’
Coming to a halt, the gamblers stared across the room. After making sure that they had seen her state of undress, Libby let out an embarrassed screech and jerked the blankets up to her chin.
‘Well I’ll be—!’ Ben Thompson ejaculated, letting his revolver’s barrel sag towards the floor. ‘Air that you, Mark?’
‘Yeah,’ the blond giant confirmed. ‘What’s the game, Ben, Billy?’
‘It’s a mistake,’ the older of the Thompson brothers replied and looked over his shoulder. ‘This here’s Mark Counter, Arnaud. I know him real well. It couldn’t’ve been him’s tried to lay hands on your missus.’
‘It sure couldn’t,’ grinned Billy Thompson.
‘What’s up, Ben?’ Mark demanded, figuring that the question would be expected of him.
‘The Count here’s missus had some feller get into her room and try to ra—jum—well, you-all know what I mean,’ Ben Thompson answered. ‘Allowed it was the big jasper’s has this room. We didn’t know it was you in here, Mark.’
‘You’re big all right,’ the gambling gun fighter’s younger brother chuckled. ‘Only you sure as hell wouldn’t be chasing no oth—’
‘Shut your fool mouth, Billy!’ Ben snapped. ‘’Scuse him, Mark, he’s a fool kid who don’t mean nothing—’
‘Get out of here!’ Libby shrieked.
‘Has Mr. Counter been with you all night, Mrs. Schell?’ Lansing inquired as the Thompson brothers turned to leave.
‘He’s been in here ever since we got back from the Posada del Mesteneros,’ Libby replied, telling the truth if not answering the question. ‘Now will you-all get the hell out of here and leave us have some sleep?’
‘Come on, we’ve got the wrong man,’ Ben Thompson said, making for the door and holstering his Colt. He looked back and went on, ‘Right sorry to have bust in on you like this, ma’am. Damn it, Arnaud, that missus of your’n could’ve got us killed, saying what she did.’
‘I will speak to her about it,’ de Brioude promised, throwing a calculating glance into the room. His eyes rested on Mark for a moment. ‘I’m sorry if my wife has caused you inconvenience, m’sieur.’
Leaving the bed, Mark turned the key of the ‘sprung’ lock. He closed the door after the intruders and locked it. Instead of rejoining Libby, he stayed and listened to the men talking in the passage.
‘I never thought Libby Schell’d do nothing like that,’ Lansing commented.
‘Was I you, I’d not go talking too much about it neither,’ advised Ben Thompson. ‘Mark Counter might not go for that and, mister, he’s a man it’s best not to have riled at you.’
Which was not a bad tribute, coming from one of the fastest and most dangerous men in Texas. At that moment, though, Mark felt more grateful to Thompson for the warning he had given to the sheriff. If Lansing took it to heart, he might not spread the story of Libby Schell’s indiscretion. Mark hoped that the affair would be finished, but his hope failed to materialize.
‘You stop out here and keep watch on the Countess’s room, Billy,’ Ben Thompson suggested. ‘The rest of us’ll take a look around outside. Could be that feller’s still around.’
‘He wants catching, whoever he is,’ declared one of the poker players, ‘abusing a for-real lady that ways.’
‘Maybe you’d best have one of your deputies come over and stand guard for the rest of the night, sheriff,’ Thompson continued.
‘I will,’ Lansing agreed, always willing to oblige, or ingratiate himself, when dealing with influential visitors.
‘If that feller was big enough for Arnaud’s missus to mistake him for Mark Counter,’ Billy drawled, ‘I should have your man tote along a ten-gauge scattergun.’
‘It’d be best,’ Ben agreed. ‘Come on. Let’s go look around.’
‘They’ve gone,’ Mark said, walking slowly back to the bed. ‘I don’t know how you got in on the deal, Libby, but I’m surely grateful for what you’ve done.’
‘There wasn’t any other way,’ the blonde replied. ‘I heard you and her fussing and figured to cut in. Time I’d got to my door, you’d thrown her out. Way she acted, I guessed what she aimed to do—’
‘She said she’d go tell her husband I’d tried to make love to her, only I figured she was bluffing.’
‘I didn’t. After she went into her room, I grabbed my clothes to make it look right and came here. Way you kept arguing, I was thinking she’d come out and see me. Boy, you’re sure hard to get in to see.’
‘You called the play right, though,’ Mark said, wondering how to break the news of what he had heard in the passage.
‘Sure,’ answered Libby. ‘They found us in bed, everything looking like we’d been there since we came in tonight. When they find the key in the alley, they’ll reckon the “feller” dropped it as he lit out.’
‘Likely,’ Mark replied.
Going to the window, the big blond looked out. After a short time, the lamp’s light glowed and the men came into the alley. He saw one of them bend and pick up the key. Behind him, the bed’s springs creaked. Turning, he saw Libby leaning over and reaching beneath it in an attempt to locate her discarded nightdress. Finding the garment, she sat up.
‘What’s happening?’ Libby inquired, for Mark had swung back to the window.
‘They’ve found the key and’re looking around,’ Mark told her. ‘Libby, Billy Thompson’s out in the passage right now and the sheriff’s sending along one of his deputies to keep watch outside her door for the rest of the night.’
‘Which means I’ll have to stay put,’ the woman said calmly. ‘If I go, they just might start figuring I only came in to save your hide.’
‘That’d be Lansing’s kind of figuring, for sure,’ admitted Mark. ‘I’ll bed down on the floor.’
Libby did not comment straight away. Coming to Mark’s rescue in such a manner had not been easy. Yet she had not been unaware of his rugged masculinity during the short time she had nestled against him. Never a promiscuous woman, she had been faithful to her husband through their years of marriage. However Trader had been dead for many months and she felt an urge to make love. Trader had always told her that she must live her life if anything happened to him and not tie herself to his memory. Sucking in a deep breath, she looked at the big Texan. Maybe a youngster like him would not wish to share a bed with a woman of her age.
‘That’s up to you,’ she said in a challenging manner.
‘I figured you’d want it that way,’ Mark drawled.
‘If word of this gets out,’ Libby remarked, ‘my name’ll be ruined around town no matter where you sleep.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mark agreed. ‘Which it’d be a real shame for that to happen.’
‘Hell, I don’t care about it happening,’ Libby stated. ‘Not as long as I’ve done something to deserve it.’
‘In that case, ma’am,’ Mark said, taking the nightdress from her hands and placing it on the chair, ‘I’m right honored to be of service.’