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When the fawning fortune-hunter had finally gone, the Lady Elaine, wife to the Earl of Crawford, turned to glance down the hallway. The smile left her lightly rouged mouth as her dark eyes became sharp with curiosity. She knew she had concealed her shock well when she’d heard that name. It wasn’t a common one.
The porter walked toward her, smiling like a silly schoolboy. “Good day to you …” He faltered, not knowing the proper way to address her. “… your Highness.”
“Good day.” God, how she loved the way these yokels bowed and scraped to win their way into her good graces. “Excuse me a moment, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am … your Highness,” he corrected, turning a little red but no less eager to serve.
“The young woman. I believe I heard you refer to her as Mrs. Calder. My husband was acquainted with a family named Calder during an earlier visit to America. I was wondering if they might possibly be related to them.”
“I doubt it.” He turned his head to the side in skepticism. “Her husband has been coming here regularly, bringing trail herds up a couple times a year from Texas.”
Lady Elaine stiffened just a little. “Would you know his name?” she inquired.
“I believe … his name is Benteen Calder,” the porter replied.
“As you said”—she made a small moue of regret—“it is unlikely my husband would know him. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, ma’am … your Royalty.” His bobbing attempt at a bow was awkward.
After the porter had started down the stairs, she remained a moment longer and sent a considering glance down the hallway. A cool intelligence showed as she wondered what problems this might present, if any. Perhaps she and Con should leave immediately for San Francisco. But they had already accepted too many invitations. Besides, there was a part of her that was curious. She almost laughed aloud when she realized that. After all these years, who would have thought that she’d care a damn.
“Laine, my pet, are you coming down?”
With a graceful turn, she looked down the stairs, where her husband stood with one foot on the steps. She looked at him with eyes of long ago and saw the changes—the added weight that had broadened his middle and the receding hairline that had raised his already high forehead. The mustache and muttonchop whiskers emphasized his jowls and weak chin. He had never made her heart beat fast, but he’d given her everything she’d ever wanted—after she’d put the idea in his head.
“Yes, I’m coming, Con.”
It was more than two hours since Lorna had entered the hotel room. In that time, she had taken a long bath and washed her hair. She wished for a wrap to wear over her undergarments and chemise. That lady she’d seen in the hall probably had dozens of silk or satin ones. She didn’t want to put on her only clean dress until her hair had dried.
Benteen still hadn’t come to the room. Lorna wondered what was keeping him as she ran a comb through her damp hair. Her mind kept turning back to the lady she’d seen, her image staying sharp. Lorna was intensely curious about her, wondering who she was and where she came from. The accent had sounded foreign.
There was a light rap on the door. Lorna sat a little straighter on the bed, bringing the comb down to clutch it in front of her. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Benteen.”
Crossing the room, she turned the key in the lock to open it, then hid behind it as it swung inward. She caught the scent of bay rum as Benteen walked past her into the room. Closing the door, she turned the key to lock it.
When she pivoted away from the door, she saw that Benteen was studying her, his gaze running over her bare shoulders, down her length to her slender ankles. Her body reacted to the sensation of being touched. Lorna breathed in, not conscious that the movement pushed her breasts against the cotton bodice, accenting their roundness. She was suddenly uneasy, wondering if he was going to force himself on her again.
A muscle tightened in his jaw a second before he swung away. “I thought you’d be ready by now.”
It was suddenly clear that he had deliberately delayed his return to give her time to finish her bath and dress. He hadn’t wanted to be here during that time. Lorna had no difficulty guessing why. Benteen had told her on past occasions when they made love that looking at her body aroused him. He had wanted to avoid that happening.
“My hair isn’t dry,” Lorna explained, and glanced at the comb in her hand.
Walking to the mirror, she began running the comb through the dark mass again to separate the damp strands and hurry the drying process. In the mirror she could see his reflection. She studied the rough cut of his features and the shaggy hair growing almost down to his collar. There were strength and power etched there, a clearness of purpose and solid will.
Lorna suddenly noticed the clean shirt he was wearing, and the pants. The sunlight streaming through the room’s window set fire to the ends of his hair.
“You’ve bathed,” she realized.
“Yes. One of the saloons has bath facilities in back,” he stated. “I thought it would save time if I went ahead and cleaned up, instead of waiting until you were through.”
Unconsciously she tested the air, catching again the drifting scent of bay rum that indicated he had shaved, too. It was slightly stimulating to her senses. She was becoming too aware of him.
“When the porter showed me to the room, I passed this lady on the stairs.” She began talking about the first thing that came to her mind. “She was wearing the most beautiful dress. I’m sure she’s someone very important. I heard her say something about using the mayor’s private box. And she had a foreign accent, too.”
“There are a lot of immigrants here in Kansas,” Benteen replied.
