Page 82 of Fairest of Heart

Suddenly, Rowdy’s words from a few days ago made perfect sense. He hadn’t been claiming the missing stones belonged to him. He’d been trying to tell Titus where to find them. In the Diamond D mine.

Titus rested a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rowdy,” he said. “I didn’t understand.”

Rowdy shrugged, then handed Titus his lantern and motioned for him to hold it aloft. Titus complied while Rowdy moved along the wall collecting rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds, some from pockets Titus would have easily missed.

“Is that the rowel from one of my spurs?” Dusty hunkered down near the base of the wall and pulled out a small, nickel-plated wheel. “I thought I lost it out on the prairie somewhere.”

“Jeb’ll be happy to get his fishin’ lures back,” Coy said as he fingered one of the feathery hooks dangling from a limestone shelf. “Maybe he’ll finally stop gripin’ every time he wants to go anglin’.”

“Doubt it.” Dusty sniffed, then gave in to a full-blown sneeze. “This is Jeb we’re talkin’ about.” Dusty wiggled his nose against his sleeve as if to dislodge any leftover tickle. “We give him back his missin’ lures and he’ll start griping that they don’t all fit in his tackle box.”

Coy chuckled. “True.”

Rowdy cracked a smile as he collected the last of the pilfered jewels, then sobered as he moseyed back to Titus, his fingers closed over an overflowing handful of what had to be thousands of dollars’ worth of precious stones. Titus passed the lantern off to Coy, then cupped his palms.

Rowdy dribbled the gems into his hands in a thin yet steady stream. “Take.” His face twisted as he struggled to say more. “Save . . . Pen . . . nee.”

Titus tipped the jewels into one hand and formed a protective fist around them. He tightened his grip until the pointed edges of the stones jabbed into his skin, matching the determination jabbing into his chest.

He met Rowdy’s gaze and voiced the vow his heart had already pledged to complete. “I will.”

35

Narcissa ran her hands down her burgundy bodice as she posed in front of the full-length mirror the staff at the Brainard Hotel had been kind enough to bring up to her room. Perfection. No other lady in town would be dressed in such style tonight. The elegant design of deep red silk wrapped around her like a boudoir robe, fastening at the waist with a single fleurette. Lace filled in the plunging neckline for modesty’s sake, but the lace she’d selected was sheer enough to entice instead of deter a man’s imagination. The matching skirt was cut high over each leg to reveal a lacy ivory underskirt, creating the illusion that if she were to unfasten the fleurette and unwrap the dress, she’d be clad in nothing but lace. Of course, no one with proper morality would envision such a thing. They would see only a fashionable dress with Parisian flair. But put her in the company of the right dinner companion, give her a chance to employ a sultry pout and a suggestive whisper or two, and he wouldn’t be able to envision anything else.

She hoped her dinner companion tonight would prove to be just such a man. She’d grown weary of hiding behind drab disguises. She’d been in town for a week, keeping to her room to avoid scrutiny and going out only when necessity demanded. As day after day passed with no mention of her exploits in Texas appearing in the paper, however, boredom began to override caution. Two days ago, she’d ventured out without her wig. Yesterday, she’d left off the hideous calico dress she’d picked up at some no-name general store at one of the train stops between Texas and Colorado and donned one of her fitted walking gowns. How glorious to be back in her own skin. To let her true self shine. She’d even started using her real name and experienced the gratification of seeing recognition and appreciation spark in the eyes of the public again.

This is who she was meant to be—Madame LaBelle, actress extraordinaire—not some ordinary calico Jane with nothing to distinguish her from any of the other hundred women in town.

Tonight would mark the beginning of her grand return. And she’d selected the perfect gentleman to witness her unveiling. He’d been in the lobby an hour ago when she’d passed through after visiting the local milliner. She’d immediately spotted his expensive suit, manicured beard, and the gold signet ring on the little finger of his left hand. He oozed wealth and sophistication, exactly what she craved after hiding away for so long.

He’d been reading a copy of the Rocky Mountain News until she’d walked by and given him something more interesting to study. How satisfying to note him bending the page inward, eschewing yesterday’s news in favor of watching her saunter up to the desk. She’d made sure to twist in such a way to aid his view while the clerk assisted her with arranging the delivery of warm water to her suite so she could clean up after her jaunt through town. Pretending to be unaware of his attention, she innocently mentioned to the clerk that she’d not need dinner delivered to her room tonight as she planned to dine in the hotel restaurant. When she expressed concern about eating alone in a public room, the gallant man with the newspaper hurried to her rescue. Thirty seconds later, he had introduced himself and offered to escort her to dinner.

Nice to know she hadn’t lost her touch.

He’d be waiting for her downstairs now. They’d been scheduled to meet five minutes ago, but it did a man good to wait on a lady. Balanced the scales of power and whetted the appetite.

Stepping closer to the looking glass, Narcissa scrutinized her face. Had the tiny lines around her eyes deepened? She tried to smooth them away with her fingers, but they refused to be erased. She frowned, then immediately relaxed her mouth when lines appeared at the edges of her lips and above her brows.

Tapping the back of her hand against the underside of her chin, she lifted her face and focused somewhere less prone to flaws. Her throat stretched long and lovely. No creases. No sagging skin. What were a few infinitesimal lines around her eyes? The dim gaslight would obscure them. Her beauty shone too brightly to be marred by such insignificance. If she played her cards right—and she always did when it came to men—Mr. Victor Chapman would be too busy admiring her other attributes to notice.

After blowing a kiss to her reflection, Narcissa collected her purse and headed downstairs. She paused at the final landing to allow an elderly couple to precede her. She’d not weaken the impact of her entrance by sharing it with a pair of nobodies. All eyes would be on her when she made her descent.

She counted to twenty, giving the interlopers plenty of time to exit her stage, then she rounded the corner. Slow, seductive hip sway. Expression confident with a hint of eagerness. Eyelids slumbering just enough to be provocative. A hint of a smile accentuating her beauty mark.

Not catching any movement in her peripheral vision of a man approaching the stairway, Narcissa paused on the third step from the bottom and swept her gaze over the lobby in annoyance. Good grief. The man was so deep in conversation, he was missing her performance. That would never do. Thankfully, before she could decide whether a turned ankle or an imaginary mouse would serve her purposes better, one of Mr. Chapman’s companions glanced her way. His eyes widened.

That’s more like it.

He was a little rough around the edges, his dark clothing slightly gray from trail dust. No outer signs of refinement or wealth were in evidence, so she pretended not to see him. Thankfully, his reaction served to signal Mr. Chapman, who finally gave her his full attention and separated himself from his companions. The third man of the group, his back to the staircase, made no effort to turn. Had he no curiosity over the stir she was so meticulously creating? Disrespectful fellow, keeping his back turned to a lady. Served him right to miss out on the visual feast she offered. Lifting her chin, Narcissa aimed a brighter-than-necessary smile at her approaching escort.

“Madame LaBelle, how ravishing you look.” Victor Chapman dipped his head politely, but his gaze raked her like an experienced connoisseur of women.

He’d soon learn her vintage was finer than any he’d sampled before.

She extended her hand to him, dipping her chin demurely as if embarrassed by his compliment. “You’re too kind, sir.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “Not at all, ma’am. I’ll be the envy of every gentleman in the dining room. It’s not every day one gets to dine with a world-class thespian.”