She’d given her company to all of them, but had spent the most time with Hammond Llewellyn. Yes, Hammond was the one, Roman knew.
The one who would know Theodosia in the most intimate way possible for a man to know a woman.
Roman wished she would get herself in some sort of risky situation so he could draw his gun, shoot, and accidentally hit Hammond Llewellyn.
He straightened when he saw her leave the dancing area and make her way through the crowd. She walked straight toward him.
So did Hammond. The Englishman walked with quick light steps, as if he were treading barefoot upon sharp rocks. He wore a black suit on his lanky body, and Roman thought he looked like a burned candle wick.
“Roman,” Theodosia said when she reached him, “I thought you should know that Hammond and I are going for a stroll.”
She hated informing him of her plans with Hammond, feeling as if she were flaunting her relationship with the nobleman. But Roman had insisted on performing his duties as her protector tonight, and she knew she had to tell him where she was going and what she was going to do.
While waiting for his reply to her statement, she took her fill of him. Dressed in a beige shirt that stretched tightly across his chest and black breeches that left nothing to her imagination, he caused her to forget to take her next breath. He appeared so casual, she thought, so totally at ease.
But she knew that behind that relaxed facade existed lethal power that could uncoil with the speed of a striking serpent.
Her admiration and affection for him filled her so quickly, she became light-headed. Without realizing her actions, she reached for the fence post to steady herself.
Reacting instantly, Roman shot out his hand and took her arm.
His touch made her breathing difficult once more. “Roman?” she murmured. “Are you coming with us?”
He wondered if her breathlessness was caused by dancing or by her attraction to Hammond. Stifling anger, he gave a stiff nod.
“Do you mean to say that he is joining us on our walk, Theodosia?” Hammond queried.
Roman pinned the Englishman with a glare. “You got a problem with that?”
Hammond stared at the tall, extremely well-muscled man whom Theodosia had earlier introduced as her bodyguard. In the long-haired gunslinger’s eyes glittered a look of danger, the like of which Hammond had never previously encountered. The man appeared sufficiently sinister to belong to that horrid Blanco y Negro Gang he’d heard so much about since his arrival in Texas.
Dear Lord, these Texans were crude, Hammond thought to himself. Indeed, he’d regretted ever having traveled to this uncivilized part of America until he’d set eyes on Theodosia Worth, a woman who possessed all the grace of the noblewomen he knew in England.
Hungry for the sight of elegance after journeying through so many seedy areas throughout Texas, he’d been struck by Theodosia’s beauty and poise the moment he’d seen her standing in the hotel lobby. Unfortunately, his six companions had likewise been attracted to her, but that no longer seemed to be a problem. Theodosia had obviously decided he was the best of the lot, which proved her intelligence, to his way of thinking.
Glancing at her, he wondered what proposition it was that she said she’d put to him during their walk. She’d refused to discuss it here at the dance but had insisted they wait until they could speak privately.
Hammond brushed a speck of lint off his coat sleeve and glanced down his nose at Roman. “Do forgive me, sir, but I cannot seem to remember your name.”
Roman folded his arms across his chest. Was he so inconsequential to this British womanizer that the man could not even recall his name? “Montana. Roman Montana. How long are you here for, Hamm?”
Hammond bristled. “My name is not Hamm. It is Hammond.”
“Roman has been the most marvelous company for me during my travels through Texas, Hammond,” Theodosia quickly commented, feeling an instant desire to defend Roman from Hammond’s obvious dislike. “Since meeting him, I have learned a wealth of information concerning—”
“Concerning the art of making a campfire?” Hammond taunted. “Concerning skinning squirrels, or hacking down trees for the building of log cabins, perhaps?”
“Hammond,” Theodosia said, “please.”
“I haven’t taught Theodosia how to make a campfire, skin a squirrel, or fell trees for a cabin, Hamm,” Roman began, his eyes narrowed. “But I’ve taught her a few other things you didn’t mention. Why don’t you ask her what they are?”
When Hammond looked at her, Theodosia felt her cheeks begin to burn. “Roman has demonstrated many new skills to me,” she answered lamely.
“I see.” Hammond deliberated upon her flustered expression and the fact that she had defended the gunslinger. It dawned on him then that there was more to her relationship with Roman than she would have him believe.
It maddened him that she would exhibit her fondness for an uneducated backwoodsman while inhispresence. Why,hewas a blueblood!
He faced Roman again. “Theodosia has no further need of your skills or services tonight, Mr. Montana. I shall see that no harm comes to her. Why don’t you go to the saloon and drink, or whatever it is you Texas gunmen do to entertain yourselves? Off you go, now.”
