“Well, of course not, you dolt!” Walter bellowed. “You think she’d traipse off, dragging her real name behind her?”
The agent shrank as Walter’s buglelike voice ricocheted off the walls. “Of course not, sir.”
Walter’s stubby arm shot toward the door, as if the feather-brained hireling didn’t have enough sense to know where it was. “Wire the Pinkertons immediately,” he barked. “Give them my daughter’s description. Instruct them to name their price, and I’ll double it. I want every available detective on this case and I want them now!”
“Yes, sir, at once, sir.” Rutherford spun on his heels and scurried through the foyer posthaste.
“Hell and damnation,” Walter muttered as he resumed his restless pacing. He’d lost his only son, the child who was to become the heir to the vast fortune Walter and his wife, Clarissa, had amassed. Now his wife was gone and he was consumed with such grief that there were times Walter swore constant work was all that kept him from losing his mind. He was left with a daughter whose appearance reminded him so much of his beloved Clarissa that staring too long at Hanna caused his heart to squeeze painfully in his chest.
Now even Hanna had abandoned him, and Walter had the raging Louis Beauchamp breathing down his neck, vowing all sorts of revenge if the missing bride didn’t turn up within the month.
Walter threw himself into his chair to brood. When he got his hands on Hanna, he swore he’d never let her out of his sight for a minute until she’d been delivered into Louis’s hands and had spoken her wedding vows. Then she’d be Louis’s headache, and Walter would gladly relinquish his responsibility.
Other men had dutiful daughters who honored and respected their fathers’ wishes. Why was he stuck with an unruly misfit who’d been taught her place but refused to remain in it?
Cale waited until he heard the quiet click of the door across the hall before he gathered various weapons and tucked them into his boots, at the small of his back and inside the sleeve of his buckskin shirt. Then he strapped the double holsters around his waist and tied the wicked-looking Bowie knife to his thigh. He’d armed himself to the teeth for so long that he felt naked without the feel of cold steel resting against his skin.
When he was sure Sarah—or whatever her real name was—had made it to the staircase, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Cale had no intention of damaging the woman’s reputation further, if they didn’t reach an agreement. Escorting Sarah downstairs would send gossip flying. Cale was too well known in town, and she was so stunningly attractive that he suspected she drew considerable attention and speculation without unnecessarily linking her name to his.
Cale halted at the head of the steps and watched Sarah descend to the lobby. Sure ’nuff, she was already the object of scads of male attention. A throng of men congregated at the door and huddled inside the foyer to feast their lusty eyes on her. Cale gnashed his teeth, surprised by the sudden possessiveness that gnawed at him. He knew exactly what this gaggle of men was thinking. Hell, he could practically hear their collective speculations ringing in his ears. They wondered, as he did, how this ravishingly attractive female would look in the altogether.
When Sarah stepped into the restaurant and disappeared from sight, hungry male gazes lingered on the empty space she’d occupied, and whimsical sighs caused a warm draft to whisper through the lobby. Hell. A woman as bewitching as Sarah was definitely trouble, Cale mused as he descended the steps. He’d be asking for a barrel of it if he instigated the clever plan that had been buzzing around in his head since he awoke from his nap.
Cale wanted nothing more than to apprehend Otis Pryor, shut down that bastard’s illegal operation and seek personal revenge. The perfect solution to infiltrating Pryor’s stronghold in Cromwell, Texas, had hit him like a bolt from the blue. It was an ingenious cover—if he could convince Sarah to participate in the sting. In hopes of gaining her cooperation, Cale had devised a tempting incentive while he dressed for supper.
His thoughts trailed off when he entered the restaurant to see Sarah seated in the middle of the busy establishment, awaiting his arrival. Another unfamiliar sensation spiked through him as he strode forward. Despite all the male gazes focused on her, she was staring directly at him, as if he was the most important individual in the room.
Cale took a seat across from her and nodded a greeting when she forced a smile. He could tell she was apprehensive after the live grenade he’d dropped in her lap before she exited his room earlier. Judging by the look in her eyes and the pinched expression around her mouth, she’d reached a decision. He doubted she was comfortable with it, but she was determined to meet his demands, in exchange for his name on the marriage license.
“I took the liberty of ordering a steak for you. My compliments,” she said, doing a damn fine job of holding on to her composure.
“No, my compliments,” he contradicted as he leaned his elbows on the table and met her gaze directly. “That is, if you’ve decided to accept my terms.”
She tensed up and sucked in a deep breath that drew his betraying gaze to the rising swell of her breasts. After a moment her gaze dropped to the tabletop and she fiddled with the silverware. “Yes, I will agree to your terms, sir.”
Relief washed through Cale. If she was that determined to see this match made, even if it meant sacrificing something as personal and irreplaceable as her innocence, then he felt certain he could convince her to meet his new terms.
“The rules have changed slightly since we last spoke,” he announced.
Her chin came up and her entrancing eyes narrowed warily. “I cannot fathom what other personal sacrifices you expect me to make, other than the one I’ve already agreed to, sir,” she said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t get more personal than that!”
There was spunk, spirit and a hint of temper behind her words, he noted. He liked that. Women without backbone bored him to tears. This little lady could be pushed around a bit, but she refused to be shoved.
“First off, Miz Magnolia, I told you to drop that suh business,” he said, emphasizing her drawling accent. “Secondly, you can keep your money and forgo the wedding night.”
Her delicately arched brows shot up like exclamation marks and her jaw dropped. She stared at him in wide-eyed dismay. “Am I to understand that you won’t marry me then?”
Her voice rose steadily, drawing the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant. All eyes zeroed in on them, as if they were specimens under a microscope. Cale swore under his breath when the room became dead silent. Well, hell. So much for keeping rumors and speculations to a minimum.
Cale draped his arm over the back of the chair and twisted sideways to address the attentive crowd. “My fiancée,” he announced, gesturing toward his flush-faced companion. Several startled gasps broke the silence. “Does anybody here have a problem with that?”
Dozens of curious gazes swung to Sarah. Cale said, “Go ahead. Tell ’em, Miz Magnolia. Then maybe we can all get on with supper.”
Her face turned crimson, but he had to give her high marks when she tilted her head to a proud angle and tossed her very radiant—and very convincing—smile around the room. “It’s true that Mr. Elliot and I plan to marry very soon.”
More dead silence. Cale knew what the onlookers were thinking—the same thing he’d thought when she’d proposed to him. Why would a lady of obvious quality and refinement
