She had met Antoine Gautier at a party she and her aunt had attended a week after their arrival in France. Antoine was so gay, so dashing, so handsome and debonair. He was the first man ever to sweep her off her feet. She thought she had fallen in love. He later confessed that he had fallen in love with her, too. She was just barely eighteen, and Antoine was a man of the world.
Love does not inspire logical thinking. She should have realized something was wrong when the man never tried to kiss her, kissing only her hands. She should have wondered at the speed of their courtship. Fool that she was, she believed he loved her. She let him maneuver her into an empty bedroom at one of the parties.
Antoine had told her often enough that he wanted her, and she was oh-so-willing to let him have her. He had not asked her to marry him, but it was a natural assumption that he would. Marriage went with making love. Of course he would marry her—there was no doubt about it.
She realized later that he had counted on just that assumption.
She undressed herself that night timidly, while he sat on the bed and urged her to hurry. When she joined him, he had removed only his pants, but she didn’t dwell on the fact.
There were no tender endearments, no gentle words anymore. Antoine seized her and tumbled her beneath him, ready to take her virginity without a moment’s delay. Thank God the door had been thrown open just then, and a woman had entered.
Antoine was furious. “Two minutes, Marie! You could not wait two minutes more?”
“But I thought you would be finished by now,mon cher,” the lovely brunette replied sweetly. “How long does it take to win your wager?”
A wager! All her illusions were based on a wager. How she had wanted to cry, to pretend the three of them weren’t in that room and she wasn’t lying there naked. But she didn’t cry. She even managed to get out of the room with a measure of dignity.
Later she had learned that the brunette was his wife. After everything else, it almost didn’t matter. She had learned her lesson: men could not be trusted.
Lucas’s mood was just as gloomy. That was always the case when he was forced to endure Samuel Newcomb’s company. He had to endure it, though. It was why he was there at all. But he hated the pretense, having to put on a friendly demeanor, when what he wanted was to kill the man. But Sam was still protected in his will, and the reward he offered for the capture of his murderer had gone up over the years.
Lucas knew tonight’s invitation was simply a matter of Sam’s curiosity about Sharisse. It was just as well, for this would give Lucas the opportunity to get the crucial part of his plan in motion. He would just have to get Sam alone to break the news to him.
The end was in sight, after all this time. It should take only another few months before Samuel Newcomb discovered he was destitute. He had to take the bait tonight, that was all.
Fiona had unwittingly helped, for she was costing Sam a pretty penny. Sam wouldn’t let her know that his capital was mostly tied up, and he had sold off his smaller properties in Newcomb to buy whatever she wanted. In order to keep her happy, he had to keep buying.
Twelve
Sharisse was having difficulty remembering all the names. The dinner party had turned out to be a party in her honor, and half the town had been invited.
Mr. Newcomb himself took her around and made all the introductions. His wife, Fiona, had greeted her, then promptly ignored her with appalling rudeness. Samuel Newcomb seemed to find this quite amusing.
“She’s jealous, but don’t you worry none,” he whispered to Sharisse. “She used to be the prettiest gal around, but now you have that honor. I must say, Miss Hammond, Lucas is to be envied.”
She blushed prettily, liking the man instantly. He was quite distinguished, in his early forties, with sandy brown hair and gray eyes that were perhaps a bit too revealing. He was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life, and his house was impressive. He was also, as Lucas had warned her, a man with an eye for the ladies.
She didn’t mind his admiring glances, however. She felt quite comfortable with Sam, not taking him at all seriously when he suggested he could find a cozy little place for her if she ever got tired of Lucas.
The very idea! Samuel Newcomb was old enough to be her father. But he was just teasing her, she knew that. It was obvious he was devoted to his wife, for his gaze searched her out when she got too far away from him. Fiona was a lovely woman with blue-black hair and pale blue eyes. She was a good deal younger than her husband, not much older than Sharisse, in fact.
Dinner was informal because there were so many people. Folks found a place to sit where they could rest their plates on their laps. Sharisse was enjoying herself. The food was simple, but there was lots of it, and champagne flowed freely.
Lucas left her alone to talk with the ladies. He was kept busy accepting congratulations and repeating again and again the story of how they’d met. She listened carefully to that story so she wouldn’t get it messed up if asked the same questions.
The people she met were friendly and seemed genuinely happy for her. But what really put her at ease was that Lucas was never out of sight. It was hard to analyze why she could feel uncomfortable alone with him yet find that his presence at the party gave her comfort. She had only to glance around whatever room she was in to find him somewhere in it. She wasn’t aware how often she sought him out with her eyes.
He stood out, and it wasn’t only because of his height. Where other men’s clothing fit loosely, Lucas’s was stretched tautly over his muscular length. He exuded an aura of rock-hard strength and raw masculinity. And she couldn’t help noticing that the townspeople treated him with a good deal of respect.
“He’s far more good-lookin’ than any man has a right to be, don’t you think?”
Sharisse had been staring at Lucas again, and she turned back to Naddy Durant. “Who is?” she asked.
“Why, your husband, of course.”
“Oh.” Sharisse found herself surprised at the young girl’s frankness.
Naddy was only sixteen. Her mother, Lila, sitting next to her, didn’t seem to find anything strange in the statement. Lila was nodding in agreement, and so were the other ladies gathered there.
