plains was so much simpler. If he wanted her and was strong enough to take her, protect her, then he could have her. But life in Helena was more complicated, and taking her wouldn’t help him reach his goal, so he beat back the urge and refocused.
She was dancing with Anton Beaudin. The lustful gleam in the man’s eye was unmistakable and it immediately made Gray angry, though he was her groom and had every right to his thoughts. But the idea of Sophie giving herself to that cocky bastard made Gray want to smash his fist into the man’s face. His jaw tensed as he turned away from the window.
A vision of her in his own arms flashed through his mind, but he immediately checked the unwarranted thought. She was white and her uncle was rich. Both of those made her beyond the reach of a dirty, half-breed Comanche bastard. He’d given up any notion of courting a respectable, white woman long ago. And the fact that LaSalle was the meanest son of a bitch he’d ever come across, was further deterrent.
Besides those things, she deserved someone better than him. He’d never make her happy.
Gray shook his head and reminded himself he had a job to do. Sophie Buchanan was nothing but a distraction and she’d probably hate him when his task was finished. The sooner she got married the better.
But as soon as he had gotten his thoughts in order, her voice with its soft French intonations carried to him. It wasn’t a heavily accented voice like LaSalle’s. The inflection could only be heard in the occasional word, just often enough to make him listen for it. His gaze scanned the street, visibly as vigilant as he was supposed to be, but ravenously drinking up the sound of her voice.
“Monsieur Sinclair, please, if someone could just take me home.”
The hint of desperation in Sophie’s voice caught Gray’s attention. He turned his head slightly to see her standing just outside the closed terrace doors, pulling off her white gloves to fan herself with them. Sinclair stood before her, his back slightly blocking her, so that Gray had to move closer to hear the conversation.
“It’s almost midnight. Supper will be served soon. Don’t you think eating something will make you feel better?” Sinclair was saying.
“I just need to go home…please.”
There was a moment of silence and then. “I’ll need to okay it with your uncle.”
“Go to LaSalle. I’ll take her.” Gray heard himself offer. Sinclair was usually the one assigned to Sophie’s needs but, as the most trusted gunman, he had been ordered to attend a midnight meeting LaSalle had planned later that night with some important men in town for the ball.
Sinclair looked over at him, a glimmer of relief on his face, and gave a nod of thanks. “Don’t be long, she’ll be okay with Brand at the house. We’ll need to talk after the meeting. You know about the safe?”
Gray nodded and left to get the buggy, berating himself for volunteering. He was supposed to keep his distance. Cole could have been found at his post and dispatched to see her home.
But there was no reason it shouldn’t be Gray. No one knew how badly he wanted her. No one knew that he dreamed at night of taking her over his horse and fleeing with her across the plains like his grandfather might have done. No one knew how very little was stopping him from doing just that.
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