wasn’t too late to go. The moon was bright, and the tree would make the mound of earth simple enough to find. Maybe some solitude beside her sister’s grave would help her accept the news that still seemed no more than a terrible dream.
She took a moment to button her bodice. Then, leaving the lamp in her room, Eve moved out into the hall. Once her eyes became accustomed to the dark it wasn’t too difficult to make her way down the stairs. Her senses prickled as she stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind her. A warning of danger lurking in the darkness? No, she told herself, it was just the strangeness of being in a new place at night. It would pass.
The wind lifted her hair as she descended the front steps and walked out into the yard. There was no lawn, only dry, gravelly earth that crunched beneath her shoes. Margaret had always loved flowers. Had she tried to plant them here, in this inhospitable place?
Eve could see the big cottonwood now, a stone’s throw from the corner of the house. Its trunk was thick and twisted, with upward-reaching limbs as thick as a man’s leg. Clouds of silvery leaves glimmered in the moonlight.
As she neared the tree, Eve felt the prickling sensation again, like cold fingers brushing the back of her neck. She hesitated—but no, she was being silly. And now she was close enough that she could see the narrow mound of fresh earth below the tree. Bracing herself against a rush of emotions, she walked toward it.
* * *
The countess glided like a queen across the yard, hair and skirts fluttering behind her. Clint watched from the shadows, transfixed and puzzled. What the hell was she doing out here alone in the dark?
Hadn’t she been warned about Hanford’s dogs? She was new here. Her scent could set them off just as easily as his.
Whatever her silly reason for coming out alone at night, he couldn’t deny that it suited his needs nicely. Now would be the perfect time to speak to her, without fear of drawing attention from the rest of the house. But caution and curiosity held him back. Where was she going?
He followed her at a short distance, keeping out of sight. On the far side of the big cottonwood, she dropped to her knees. Only as he moved forward did Clint notice the patch of heaped earth littered with the dried remains of flowers.
He was about to step into view when she spoke.
“Forgive me, Margaret, for arriving too late.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I should have been here for you, at least to hold you in my arms and say goodbye...”
Still in the shadows, Clint hesitated. He was wasting precious time, but this was a private moment and an emotional one. Discretion held him in check.
“I promise you, here on your grave, that I’ll look after your children,” the countess continued. “I’ll care for them as my own, and they’ll never want for love...” A sob cut off the rest of her words. Her shoulders shook as she pressed her hands to her face.
Clint took the ring from his pocket and stepped into sight. “I’m sorry about your sister, Countess,” he said softly.
Her hands dropped from her face. She stared up at him with startled eyes. “You!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to return this.” He held out the ring to her. “I’m hoping you’ll accept it without asking too many questions.”
“I’ll certainly accept it.” She rose, snatched the ring away from him and thrust it onto her middle finger. “But I have the right to ask as many questions as I choose, and you’d bloody well be prepared to answer them.”
Clint found her mild profanity oddly sensual. She might be an elevated lady, but she was clearly a passionate woman. Though he’d prefer to see that passion directed at something other than ordering him around. It shouldn’t surprise him that the lady was accustomed to giving orders, he reminded himself. Back in England, she’d probably had the servants quaking in their brogans. But she was about to learn that he wasn’t one of her subjects.
“Listen here, Countess—” he began.
“This is America. I’m Mrs. Townsend. Eve.”
The silkiness of the name, emerging between ripe lips, triggered a fleeting fantasy about being Adam. But Clint had come here for a far different reason.
“Well, as I was saying, Eve, you’re new here and you need to understand a few things. First, since I know you’re wondering, the answer is yes, I did know those young stage robbers. They’re just a couple of fool boys. I gave them your ring to get them out of harm’s way. When I caught up with them I demanded it back.”
“Fine.” Her eyes blazed up at him, moonlight reflecting in their azure depths. “So why did you have to sneak up in the night to return it? Why couldn’t you have called at the house during the day like a proper gentleman?”
“Because your brother-in-law would’ve set the dogs on me. He’s my enemy, and the enemy of every decent, honest rancher in this valley.”
It was a bold statement, meant to shock her. And he could see by the startled widening of her eyes that it had. Before she could reply he continued.
“Hanford and his cronies in the Cattlemen’s Association want to drive the farmers and small ranchers off their land and leave the valleys open to graze their cattle. Their hirelings have burned houses and barns, ripped out fences, killed men, women, even children. Their favorite trick is to frame a man for cattle rustling, then string him up on the spot.” He took a step closer, his face inches above hers. “You’ve landed in the middle of a range war, lady. And I’ve heard rumors it’s about to get worse.”
Clint paused for breath. He’d taken a dangerous plunge, revealing himself to a woman in his enemy’s household. But even if she went running to Hanford to share everything later, he hadn’t told her anything Hanford wouldn’t already know. He’d only informed her that she was living with an evil man.
She drew herself up, meeting his gaze with her own steel. “So what’s all this got to do with me?”
“You can close your eyes to what’s happening or you can try to make a difference.”
“Make a difference how? What are you suggesting?” she challenged him.
“In Hanford’s house, you’re bound to see things, hear things. If you’re willing to pass on what you learn, you’ll be helping to save innocent lives.”
“You’re asking me to be a spy.”
“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”
He heard the sharp intake of her breath before she spoke. “Listen to me, then, Mr. Lonigan. I know Roderick’s no angel. But he’s the father of my sister’s children. Those precious little ones are in my care now. As long as they’re under Roderick’s roof, I’ll do nothing—nothing—that might compromise my ability to protect them. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a note of ferocity in her voice, like the snarl of a tigress defending her cubs. Her stunning eyes glinted with defiance.
“I understand that the children are your priority and you don’t want to get involved,” Clint said. “But if you change your mind—”
“I
