Villain's Woman Page 2

  She remained seated, folding her hands in her lap. She felt too shy to recite poetry looking at him, so she kept her eyes down. A small green caterpillar was crawling on the porch next to her shoe. Lucy started reciting the poem, her voice trembling a little at first, and then growing stronger.

  “‘There was a laughing devil in his sneer,

  That raised emotions both of rage and fear;

  And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,

  Hope withering fled—and Mercy sighed farewell!’”

  "Sounds like someone I know," Gerald Steel said. She stole a glance at him, and he was not laughing, but his eyes had that twinkle in them.

  "You must think me so silly."

  "No, I don't think you silly, Lucy." His eyes were serious again, full of that intent look she could not understand. "In fact, I think you are a very smart girl. Intelligent, and feeling. I don't think I've met many people in Way's End who have read Byron, much less learned his verses by heart."

  "Was he really famous? This Lord Byron?" she asked, flustered by his compliment and eager to change the subject.

  "He was. Famous and talented. Terrible reputation, too." He winked at her.

  Her blush deepened. How does he do it? Play with words so that everything seems to have a hidden meaning?

  "There was one other book I read about a lord," she blurted out. "It was rather short, but very scary. This lord, he turned out to be a vampire… He drank women's blood."

  Gerald Steel laughed now, out loud and heartily. His laugh was rich and deep and warm, and the sound of it reverberated through her.

  "I see you've stolen quite a number of books from Mr. Whyte. I begin to see the reason for his indignation, but I'm not that mean. I have some books at my ranch you might like, Lucy." He gave her another conspiratorial wink. "If you decide to stop over for a visit, I might show you something you are sure to enjoy. I promise not to drink your blood."

  She bolted from the bench, her face burning scarlet. But he was quicker and he was stronger and he caught her hand in his.

  "Please, Lucy. I didn't mean to offend you."

  "Do you think I'm stupid?"

  Suddenly she felt close to tears. She fought them, but still they threatened to come, and made her voice sound choky and trembling. She hated it, hated the way he made her feel, the way he taunted and mocked her, the way he looked at her. And yet she loved it at the same time. She loved it so much she knew she had to turn around right now and run home. But he was holding her, not only with his hand but with his eyes.

  "I've already told you I think you are a very clever and intelligent young woman. Too clever for your own good, it seems." He smiled ruefully. "I apologize. I may have crossed a line or two with you, but some things are hard to resist, are they not?"

  "They are," Lucy said softly. He was still holding her hand, and she was conscious of those strong hardened fingers around her own.

  "So … am I forgiven?" He brought her hand to his lips, never taking those smiling eyes off her. He kissed the tips of her fingertips slightly. It was so hot she was not wearing gloves, even though it was one of those things expected of a lady. She felt his breath on her bare skin as his lips brushed her fingers. It was so slight and gentle, but he lingered a moment, almost catching her fingertip with his lips playfully. She pulled her hand away.

  "I don't bite, Lucy. Tell me you forgive me."

  "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Gerald."

  She never knew how she got home. He was true to his word, and escorted her right to her uncle's door. A couple of his men had joined them, and they were all grinning at the look on Uncle Will's face. Lucy looked at Gerald Steel as he tipped his hat and wished her good evening. She was half-afraid and half-hoping that he would kiss her hand again, but he did not do it.

  Afterwards, Aunt Cathy gave her seven shades of holy hell.

  "But we didn't do anything," Lucy tried to explain. "We were talking of books. He asked me to recite poetry."

  "Poetry!" Aunt Cathy shrieked. "What poetry, you mindless, stupid, ungrateful girl? Have you no shame, to bring such dishonor on me and your uncle? On us who took you in and nurtured you in the bosom of our family, a penniless orphan? Heaven knows I've tried to bring you up as a proper young lady in this very house. Poetry indeed! Do you want to be a villain's … woman?"

  Whore, she had wanted to say, Lucy knew. It was not fair. Whores were those saloon women with their painted faces and their bright dresses, selling their bodies to any man with a couple of dollars in his pocket. How could her aunt liken those wonderful, magical moments Lucy had had with Gerald Steel to that? He had only kissed her fingers. He had only talked to her and been nice to her and looked at her with those beautiful, knowing, brown-golden eyes.

  "Yes," she whispered defiantly to Aunt Cathy's question.

  Aunt Cathy slapped her.

  "Go to your room!" she yelled.

  Lucy went. She cried a little. She hid the Otto Of Roses perfume bottle in that secret place she had beneath her bed. Afterwards, Lucy overheard Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy talking in angry voices, talking of her and Gerald Steel and her father.

  "She is mad, just like her father was," Uncle Will said. "We should never have taken in that brat. She has bad blood in her. That good-for-nothing preacher was one crazy bastard."

  "Don't you use that language in my house, Will Clare!" Aunt Cathy's voice was shrill. "You better think what to do with that girl. She's only trouble, and she'll bring more trouble to us, you mark my words!"

  Lucy's eyes were shiny with tears as she looked out her window at the sun setting over Way's End. It washed the little wooden buildings in a red glow and made it look almost beautiful. Beyond, the endless prairies and desert grasslands stretched away into the gathering dusk. There was a wild world out there, full of danger, full of freedom. There was Gerald Steel's ranch, several hours ride away from town, between the hills by the river. Did he read Byron in a rocking chair on his porch, looking up at the same sunset? Did he think of her as she was thinking of him?

  Before she crawled into bed, she opened the perfume bottle and put several drops onto the lacy collar of her nightdress. She scented her pillow a little, too. It sent a fragrant rose smell into the night, and she lay enveloped in it, hugging her pillow. She closed her eyes and imagined Gerald Steel holding her, his arms around her and his hard, strong body next to her, his breath on her bare skin. She remembered the sensation of him kissing her fingers. She could almost feel how it would be, him kissing her lips.

  She dreamed of him.

  ****

  For the next several days, Lucy was not allowed out of the house. She sulked silently and refused to talk. They could stop her from seeing him, but they could not stop her from thinking about him. There was something no one could ever take from her, her inner world to which she retreated every time the outside world was cruel to her.

  On the third day, Ann Mills came to see her.

  Lucy was so glad to see her she broke her vow of silence on the spot. They giggled and whispered together, and Lucy even showed her the perfume bottle. The town was full of gossip about Lucy and Gerald Steel, Ann Mills said. Lizzie Davidson's mother had forbidden her to socialize with Lucy.

  "Mrs. Davidson said you are a woman of doubtful repute now, Lucy," Ann Mills said. But her voice was not accusing, like her aunt's had been. In fact, Ann was looking at Lucy with a barely concealed interest and newfound admiration. "It's so exciting!"

  Lucy giggled with her. It made her feel so wicked and almost dangerous.

  "But if you must know, your marriage prospects now are all but ruined. What are you going to do, Lucy?"

  "Be a villain's woman," Lucy said, smiling.

  This time the peal of giggling laughter was so loud Aunt Cathy had to come up to the room. Lucy hardly had the time to tuck the precious perfume bottle away. Ann's visit had made her feel much better, and she was polite to Aunt Cathy, even asking her forgiveness. Aunt Cathy seemed to be placated.

&n
bsp; That was a very good thing, because the watch on Lucy was slackened.

  And Lucy needed that. Ann Mills had always been the best source of rumors in Way's End, and as Ann confided in her, Gerald Steel was going to be in town tonight.

  Lucy's heart was hammering in her throat as she made her preparations. The talk with her friend had made her feel brave, adventurous even. If the town already thought her a woman of doubtful repute for no cause but those innocent conversations with Gerald Steel, what more did she have to lose? She wanted to see him. She needed to see him. She wanted to talk to him again and look at his eyes and his smile.

  She chose her best dress, the one she wore to church and on holidays. The pale lilac silk went so well with her dark hair and milky skin. There were tiny roses embroidered at the neckline and on the sleeves. So fitting, she thought with a smile as she applied dabs of that rose perfume to her hair and her wrists, and just a little more behind each ear. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was breathing fast, and there were red spots of color in her cheeks.

  She stole out of the house by the back door, and the old servant never saw her.

  So, what now?

  She thought on it a few minutes, catching her breath behind a tree. Ann had said Gerald Steel and his men were planning some sort of party in the saloon. The girl who worked there was friendly with the Mills' maid, and she had said they were stocking up on the liquor, and the owner was nervous about his windows again. But Lucy could not possibly walk into a saloon.

  Or could she?

  She would decide when she got there. She could probably find someone to take a message to Gerald, and he would come out to her. Or if she could not, she would go into the saloon herself, come what may. Let them talk. She was not afraid of those tongues wagging. She would see him and talk to him. She was brave.

  It was getting dark. The town looks different in the dusk, Lucy thought. She had never been out so late. In the windows, candles were burning, but there were no street lamps on Way's End' only Main Street. However, there was light coming from some of the doors, and some music, too, the sounds of a piano being played loudly and not very well. Several girls standing next to a big house gave her strange looks.

  Lucy contemplated asking them about Gerald Steel being in the saloon, but then thought better of it. She might be naive and innocent in the ways of the world, but she could guess their occupations easily enough. The thought made her blush and look away.

  She realized she had not taken any money with her, and that was a mistake. She could have stolen a dollar from Aunt Cathy and used it to send someone with a message. Now she had to settle things on her own. It was not like she had even known for sure he was here, she realized. Ann might have played a joke on her, or just made up one of her stories. Lucy saw a couple of men crossing the street in front of her. They were not very steady on their feet. She hid in a doorway, waiting for them to pass. The saloon was just two buildings away, and she could hear the music clearly now.

  Was that his voice she heard, or did she imagine it? There was nothing for it but go home, or go find out. She had made it this far, and she did not want to give it up. It was not a brave thing to do. She would tiptoe to the saloon and peer in the window. If he was there, she would come in to him, and let all hell break loose. If he was not there, she would go home and hope to steal upstairs unseen. Lucy took a deep breath, and made a cautious step towards the saloon.

  A shadow fell in her path.

  "Well, if it ain't Steel's little whore. Such a pretty thing, sweet-smelling and all."

  The voice was slurry. She might have seen him in town doing work on the railroad, but she was not sure. He was a tall, big man, wearing a dirty shirt and denim overalls. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a several days' stubble on his cheeks. Lucy started to back away, but he grabbed her arm.

  "Please, sir. Let go of me. I was just … going home…"

  He laughed in her face, pulling her close to him. His breath smelled of cheap whiskey.

  "So bloody ladylike. But you don't fool me, missy. A thief and a slut, that's what you are. 'Tis no less than anyone knows. How does Steel fuck you? You makin' all those little ladylike noises for him and his boys?" He was dragging her into a side alley, his fingers digging painfully into her arm.

  "Get off me!" Lucy screamed. She tried kicking him, tried scratching his face, but it was no use. He was so much stronger. "Help!"

  "Shut the fuck up," he growled, ripping the front of her dress open, groping at her breasts beneath her corset. She was pinned by his heavy body to a hard wall, and she felt the wooden splinters scratch her skin. She screamed again in terror and anguish, but he clamped a meaty hand over her mouth. She could see his eyes very clearly in front of her face. They were dull and mean. She bit at the flesh of his palm, hard, tasting blood in her mouth. He howled and took his hand away.

  "You bloody bitch." He spat in her face, grabbing her by the hair. "Gonna knock your teeth out for that, I will."

  He raised his fist, and Lucy squeezed her eyes shut.

  He is going to kill me. The thought flashed through her mind. But the blow never came. Instead, she almost fell down as the man was yanked away from her forcefully.

  She opened her eyes.

  The man's hand fumbled at the gun on his belt, but Gerald Steel never gave him that chance. There was a glint in the dark, a momentary flash of something silvery-cold, as Gerald stuck his bowie knife into the drunk man's throat. Blood gushed out, drenching the man's shirt and splattering Lucy's face and dress. In the dark, it looked almost black. The man made a gurgling noise in his throat, blood frothing on his lips. Gerald Steel pulled out the knife in one quick, practiced move, and the body fell to the ground heavily, already dead.

  She seemed unable to look away, her eyes wide and staring. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she could not make a sound. His eyes were terrible at that moment, terrible and beautiful, like the eyes of some dangerous predator standing over his kill. There was a deadly cold in those eyes, and at the same time a wild, smoldering anger. She had never seen him this way.

  "Are you unhurt?" His voice was carefully controlled, but she could hear the suppressed rage in it, the terrible anger. She nodded silently, still unable to speak. Her body was trembling now, shaking almost. The dead man who had attacked her lay in a pool of blood at their feet.

  "God damnit, Lucy! What the hell were you doing here? Trying to get bloody raped or killed? Answer me, girl!" His anger finally broke through. The hard lines of his face were set, making him look cold and cruel.

  "I…" Her voice was raw in her throat. Her hands were still shaking, and she could not stop it. The night air was cool on her bare skin. She tried to cover herself with the remnants of her torn dress, but her shaking hands would not obey. "I … wanted to see you."

  "Do not ever do such a stupid thing again, you hear me?" He took her by the shoulders and shook her, so hard her teeth rattled. "If you want to die so much, I'll bloody well kill you myself! But do not ever come out into town alone after dark!"

  "Yes … yes," she whispered. His eyes were so angry she thought he could kill her now, too, kill her and leave her body with her dead attacker for her stupidity. She sensed the darkness in him, as dangerous and deadly as the knife he had just opened the man's throat with, the predator's murderous rage. And yet he was holding her by her shoulders gently now, protectively, and she realized he was not only angry but afraid. Afraid for her.

  The realization of this made something finally give way in her, and Lucy began to cry. The tears streamed down her face, her whole body shaking in sobs as he was holding her.

  "Oh, Lucy. Hush now. It's all over. Don't cry, I killed the damn son of a bitch. No one will ever harm you, I promise you. I'll kill everyone who tries to harm you or hurt you, and you know this. Hush, my little girl."

  He held her close as she cried, burying her face on his chest, making his shirt all wet from her tears. He caressed her hair softly, whispering little words
of comfort in her ear together with promises to murder anyone who tried to do her harm ever again. She breathed in the scent of him between the sobs, his powerful man-scent that smelled so dangerous and so safe, and gradually her sobs quieted. She looked up at him to see if he was still angry at her, and he was not. His eyes were warm again, and full of emotion. He took out a handkerchief and started softly wiping the tears and blood off her face, and she let him do it. She was no longer crying, but her breath was still shaky and ragged as she was looking up at his hard, handsome face, the age lines etched on his weather-beaten skin, and his hard, cruel mouth now smiling. She knew her nose and her lips were swollen from all the sobbing, but she did not care, and she smiled back at him.

  Then he was kissing her. It was a hard kiss, his lips claiming her own greedily, violently, his tongue in her mouth, their ragged breathing intermingling. She could taste her own tears and that blood on her face mixing in the kiss, together with that delicious, raw taste of his mouth on hers. It made her feel dizzy and faint, but he steadied her, pulling her even closer to him, his fingers running through her hair, ravaging her lips sweetly with more passionate kisses. His beard was tickling her skin, and she could feel his hardness press into her through the fabric of their clothes.

  It seemed to her eternity had passed before he finally pulled back. Lucy was still trembling slightly in his arms as she looked at him, at the desire in his eyes. She lowered her eyelashes.

  I'm his, she thought. He could have her if he wanted her, take her right then and there, and she would not protest. She was afraid he would do it, claim her right there in the dark, deserted alley beside the man he had killed, or take her to his ranch, the prairies, anywhere in the world, to have her for his own. She knew he wanted to. And she was afraid and yet hoping, and she knew she would succumb to him, because she wanted it, too.

  "Gerald." She did not know what she meant to say or do, to beg him or tell him or kiss him again.

  He touched a strand of her dark hair that had fallen over her face, so very gently, tucking it behind her ear. He smiled.