The room Mace occupied in the St. Louis Hotel overlooked Main Street. He stood by the window, but his attention was focused on the letter he held, announcing Erin Dunmore’s arrival on or about the thirteenth of January. If she had taken a steamer up from San Francisco to Portland the trip would cover about four to six days. He guessed the stern-wheelers that plied the Columbia River’s almost three hundred miles would take another few days, since they made frequent stops to unload cargo and discharge and pick up passengers. Ketch had insisted that Mace come to Walla Walla a few days early to arrange for the hotel room, a celebration meal and the wedding.
Mace had grudgingly agreed that he couldn’t bring Erin out to the Diamond without marrying her first, but he did not swallow the idea with grace. He was restless waiting for her arrival, wondering what she looked like, telling himself he didn’t care. He questioned how much of what she had written to him was lies, then thought of how he would explain his own rules for this marriage.
Mace tried to remember that his children needed her. Ketch had threatened to quit if he came back without her.
Moments later, phrases from her letter accepting his proposal drifted back to him. She hoped he possessed a genial disposition, that he shared her desire for a large family, and prayed that he would be generous in giving her time to accustom herself to his ways.
The opinion held by his hands was that he needed a woman to soften his disposition. Mace had already taken care of getting the woman, but he had no desire to have children with her. The last of her requests he could grant with ease. She could have all the time she wanted. Would have it, if she married him
Yet his impression that Erin Dunmore was too good to be true still nagged him. There was that word again, good
Was he going to saddle himself with a paragon of virtue? And why should he care?
There had been only one woman who from the first had invoked in Mace a sweet passion that was gently consuming. There would never be another.
He turned away from the window and the intrusion of the past. Ketch had warned him to bury the past, both for himself and this woman he would marry and share his life with. But Mace could not stop the feeling of resentment that flooded his mind. Why should he be thinking about her virtue, or the passion he had known, when he had no intention of this being anything but a marriage in name only?
It took a few seconds for him to realize someone was knocking at his door.
“Mr. Dalton, it’s me, Donny. You said to come get you when she got here.”
Mace opened the door. “Where is she?”
“Downstairs in the lobby. I told her to wait.”
He handed the towheaded boy a dollar gold piece, thanked him and shut the door. The wait was over. He was about to meet his bride.
Slowly unrolling his shirtsleeves, Mace was beset by a sudden case of nerves. He buttoned up his shirt, tied his string tie and tugged on his jacket. Scowling, he took a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror, slicking back his freshly cut hair and smoothing down his mustache. His hand moved of its own volition to the bottle of bay rum and for a moment he felt as he were standing outside himself as he lifted the stopper and splashed a few drops into his palm. Rubbing both hands together, he patted his clean-shaven cheeks then realized what he was doing.
He was spit-polished and shined for Miss Erin Dunmore’s approval. Shooting a look of disgust at his image, he swore, turned away and left his room.
There was only one woman in the lobby as he reached the top of the stairs. He came to a sudden stop and watched her slowly walk back and forth. He cursed Ketch to the bottom of Hell’s Canyon.
Erin Dunmore had a walk that whispered she was all woman. She turned and the sight of her hit him like raw lightning. Every muscle in his body tightened. The breath he was holding left his body in a rush and he was thankful that she did not notice him
He needed time. Time to reconcile the vague image he had of a good, plain woman of modest manner to the incredibly lovely woman who was sleek and graceful and arousing him like hell on fire.
She paused and looked out the wide front window and he stared at her profile. He needed to find fault with her. Why that was important, he could not fathom. Her chin angled up, revealing a rounded line, lips that hinted of passion in their defined fullness and a nose whose tip turned up a bit. Even from this distance he noticed the thick lushness of her lashes, the faint arch of her dark brows against the fair cream of her skin.
Mace wanted her the way he wanted sweet, cold spring water in the heat of summer. And he hated her for making him want her, for bringing his arousal so swiftly that its heat and speed stunned him.
“Mr. Dalton,” the desk clerk called from below.
Erin jerked her gaze from the window. The instant her eyes came to rest on the man at the top of the stairs, she sucked in her breath.
His eyes, so dark they appeared black, pierced straight through her. But that was not what stole her breath. It was the hostile intensity smoldering from his gaze that held her still.
The rest of his face was as startling as his eyes. All hard angles, like the cut of the mountains that left her breathless when she first saw them. His cheekbones were high and sharp, his jaw perfectly square. Above wide, narrow lips, was the dark brush of his mustache. His nose was long, but slightly crooked as if it had been broken. He continued to stare at her as he slowly walked down the stairs, and the contempt in his eyes chilled her.
Erin wanted to cry out, but she did not make a sound. She had to stand there and wait until he stood beside her. The life of her baby as well as her own dream was at stake.
But as she stared at the tall, powerful man whose dark presence she found so intimidating, and whose eyes revealed nothing of what he was thinking, she wondered what the cost would be.
“Do you want Donny to take Miss Dunmore’s bag to your room, Mr. Dalton?”
Mace jerked his head up and pinned his gaze on the clerk. Her bag? His room? Sweet suffering saints!
“Mr. Dalton?” she queried in a soft, musical lilt.
The sound of his name scoured his nerve ends. Before he could stop himself he was full, aching and ready, and he swore in disgust at his unruly sex. “Take her bag up to my room,” he ordered, his voice a growl of frustration.
Erin glanced at his face then to one side. She was not reassured by this beginning. He was younger than she expected, and his voice, although deep, was sharp and cutting.
Mace turned his attention to her. “I hope you had a pleasant trip. We can spend the night here, but in the morning we leave for the ranch.”
“But I had thought to have some time. We should…we need to talk…to become acquainted.”
Mace looked at her eyes, as dark a green as the leaves of the alpine lilies, and listened to his body talk to him. There was no way he was going to spend time with her in town with everyone watching and expecting them to share a room. He had to get her to the ranch. He needed open space between them.
Erin knew his answer before he spoke. She was polite as she listened to his denial of her request, fighting her tiredness, fighting the feeling of being unsure of herself and determined not to reveal any weakness to him.
“Want me to bring hot water up now, Mr. Dalton?”
Annoyed with the interruption, Mace stared blankly at the clerk. The only word he heard was hot, because that described exactly what he was.
“Hot water, sir?” the man repeated.
“For what?” he snapped.
“Miss Dunmore might want to refresh herself.” He glanced helplessly at the woman. “Ma’am?”
Erin wanted to do more than refresh herself. The thought of hot water and a bed brought a soft, dreamy look to her eyes, but she lowered her lashes and waited for this overwhelming stranger to decide her course.
“Won’t have time now,” Mace finally answered, ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt when he sensed that was what she wanted. “I’ve had the preacher standing by every day, waiting for you to arrive.”
“A preacher? But I hoped to be married by a priest.”
“Well, up here you can’t always get what you hope for.”
Erin flushed then turned pale. Her chin lifted a notch. “If you are disappointed and find fault with me, Mr. Dalton, there is no need for us to—”
“Oh, yes, there is.”
He didn’t elaborate and she couldn’t bring herself to ask for an explanation. She felt threatened and drawn to him at the same time. His raw masculine appeal and its effect on her were new. She didn’t have the experience to stop the heat shimmering through her from his presence. A small voice warned her to let him have his way. Hurry and marry him and then it would be too late. But Erin knew the cruel pain of lies; she would not inflict them on another.
Seeking to buy time, she glanced around. “Where are the children? I had hoped to meet them.”
“You will, soon enough,” he snapped, hoping that once they were married she wouldn’t turn her anger for his lies on Rebecca or Jake. He soothed his conscience with the thought that he hadn’t really lied to her, he had just omitted a bit of information. Information that prevented him from finding a wife from among the single women in Walla Walla or nearby towns.
Erin’s thoughts ran parallel to his. Mace Dalton was attractive. Why didn’t he seek a wife from nearby? She sensed he had a temper. Could he be a violent man? Was that why he had not brought the children to meet with her?
Mace offered his arm, feeling he had given her enough time, more than he wanted to.
Erin glanced down at the stained plum velvet box-pleated hem of her walking suit. The matching colored silk overskirt that gathered in an apron front was wrinkled. She didn’t bother to look at the demi-train. She knew the velvet was crushed and marked by the careless boots of men who had continuously approached her in her travels. Erin felt his watchful gaze as she brushed the front of the long basquine, puffed up the dolman sleeves and straightened her plum velvet Normandy bonnet with its pale lilac silk ruche. Smoothing her buff gloves, she placed her arm through the crook of his elbow and looked up at him.
“Having second thoughts, Miss Dunmore?” he asked, his eyes warming as he looked from the delicate curve of her neck to her mouth and wondered how she tasted.
The taunting quality of his voice more than the words made her spine stiffen. Erin had been having second thoughts since she had left San Francisco. His unseemly haste was throwing her plan to tell him the truth once they had had an opportunity to meet and talk right out the door. She was unwilling to argue with him, afraid that he would send her back.
But Erin knew a sudden surge of panic unlike any other. She could not marry him with a lie between them. This was not a matter to hide. “Please, Mr. Dalton, there is a matter I must discuss.”
“I’m sure there is. You’ll be wanting to know about provisions for yourself should I die. Don’t worry, Miss Dunmore, you’ll be taken care of as long as you make a home for Rebecca and Jake.”
“That is not what I wanted to discuss.”
“Didn’t you? Well, you’d be the first then who didn’t. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
He obviously did not have any desire to know more about her. Whatever his reasons for this haste, he was intent on marrying her. But Erin found she had a streak of stubbornness and dug in her heels, unable to let it go.
“I must object and ask that you reconsider this unseemly haste. Marriage, sir, is a serious step.”
Mace’s amusement with her ruffled feathers faded. He was annoyed with the thought that she might have second thoughts about marrying him now that she had met him. He knew he was attractive to women as a marriage prospect. It wasn’t vanity about his looks, but the certainty that his bank account and thriving ranch would overcome most female qualms. And he wanted Miss Erin Dunmore to realize that.
A warning cloud settled over his hard features. “I am well aware of how serious marriage is. I’ve already taken the step. Have you?”
“No, I’ve not been married,” she whispered in a faint voice, wondering why his eyes had darkened and his mouth appeared somewhat harder.
“If you expected me to play the courting swain, Miss Dunmore, let me disabuse you of that notion right now.”
The cold finality of every word pricked Erin and saw a bit of her dream die. Had she been hoping for that very courtship he would deny her? Drawing a quiet dignity from deep inside, she managed a curt nod. “I understand you perfectly, sir. You wish for a mother to your two children and a competent housekeeper. No more, no less.”
His gaze lowered from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. The stare was bold and assessing, and he made no attempt to hide it. She was miffed, all right. But he did notice that she had been generous when she estimated her weight. About fifteen pounds too much was his guess, and every bit of it irritated female.
The heat of desire climbed high again, clouding his mind. He’d be a fool to let her back him into a corner with the belief—Mace stopped himself. He didn’t want to share a bed with her, did he? He was the one who had set the rules of this marriage in his mind. He wasn’t going to let her know that she had started an itch that wanted scratching—badly.
Erin licked her lips. She felt the muscles of the arm she held tense and swiftly removed her hand. The fight seeped out of her as exhaustion swept over her. She glanced away from him, closing her eyes briefly, undecided about what to do.
The insidious thought that this meekness she displayed concealed a deeper fear slid into Mace’s mind and stayed. He knew he should give her some time; he wasn’t an insensitive man. At least he hadn’t been with Sky. But the tiny claws of desire were not retracting, they were stretching inside him, warning him to hurry and satisfy them or he’d have no peace.
Yet he found himself leading her away from the door, asking, “If you find me not to your liking—”
“I did not say that.”
“You don’t have a husband or irate father back in San Francisco that you forgot to tell me about, do you?”
Erin looked up at his face. “No, I don’t have anyone. I’m an orphan.”
Mace took note of the lack of emotion in her voice. A feeling of pity, which he somehow knew she would take exception to, rose in him but remained hidden. “I assume that you are old enough and free to marry?”
“I would not be here if that were not true, Mr. Dalton. But—” Helplessly, Erin glanced around the lobby again. The clerk had been joined by another man behind the desk. Two men were now engaged in an earnest discussion in one corner and a couple were coming down the stairs. She wished she could find the courage to tell him about her baby, but she couldn’t, not here. Not where others could see and hear his reaction. Not when she was unable to sense what that reaction would be.
“Well? If there’s nothing else, Miss Dunmore, let’s go.” Mace took the few steps to the door and yanked it open. “After you.” But before she moved, he added, “You didn’t lie to me about being able to cook, did you?”
“No, Mr. Dalton. I did not lie to you about my ability to cook, or clean, or sew, or work hard.”
“Good. Then we have nothing else to discuss.”
A tiny spark of temper flared and grew. Erin glared at him. The man had made it perfectly clear why he was marrying her. If she mattered so little to him as a woman, she would not care what surprises she had in store for him.
Erin sailed out of the door with her head high and her eyes sparking temper.
But the light of temper died immediately. She had to find some way to tell him about her child. Faced with the actual sight of Mace Dalton, not the vague image she had kept in mind, she knew this man had a great deal of pride. That certainty settled deeply inside her, although she didn’t know why. She was almost four and a half months along by her closest reckoning. Time seemed to have run out, and she didn’t know what to do.
Mace stood a moment, looking at the natural sway of her hips, and wondered if her little fanny was as tempting as the rest of her. He tried to remember his vow. He surely did try.
He followed her outside, knowing it was going to be a long, long night.