“That he killed a man?”
“Many men!”
“He’s killed only one man, Sharisse. All the others he’s supposed to have killed don’t exist. It’s just rumor. It’s what people want to believe about him.”
“Really only one?”
“Yes.” He began unlacing her corset.
“But—”
“He was a cold-blooded killer who deserved to die.”
She had forgotten that the man had ridden after Lucas and Slade when they were only children, after killing their father. If the law had been unable to bring him to justice, was it so wrong for Slade to do it?
“They said it was a fair fight,” Sharisse said quietly.
“So it was. Slade could just as easily have been the one to die.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” He had the corset off and moved to the pleasurable business of removing her silk stockings.
Sharisse sighed, stretching. “I’m glad he’s not as bad as they made him out to be.”
Lucas sighed too, wondering how he was enduring all this, undressing her so she could sleep comfortably, when his body had something entirely different in mind. Damn her for drinking herself into such a state.
“Slade is what he is,” Lucas said gruffly, refusing to put himself through any more.
“That’s nice.”
Lucas shook his head. She hadn’t even heard him. She was drifting off to sleep again.
He pulled the sheet over her and kissed her brow gently. “Good night, Shari.”
“Antoine…my love.”
The mumbled words were barely discernible. Antoine? Her husband? It was the first time he had heard the name. She had said she loved her husband. He hadn’t given it much thought but now he found he didn’t like it at all.
Damn! She was messing up his mind. Should he and Billy take off for the mountains sooner than planned? The sooner the better, he told himself grimly.
Fourteen
Tickling on her face woke Sharisse. She opened her eyes to stare into Charley’s large copper-colored ones. He was purring loudly. He moved his head, and his long whiskers tickled her cheek again. She smiled, having been wakened this way on many mornings. It was his impatient way of letting her know he was hungry.
“Good—oh—morn—ing.”
She had sat up too quickly, and the throbbing started. She put her fingers to her temples to ease it, wondering if she were sick. But no, last night came back in a flash. She should never have drunk those last three glasses of champagne. Now she knew what Jenny had always meant by the evils of drink. What a devil of a headache. The pain was bearable only as long as she stayed still.
Vague memories were nagging at her. She recalled tripping as she came in the door last night, and Lucas picking her up and kissing her. How clearly she remembered that. And they had spoken of Slade, but why couldn’t she remember that clearly? What had they said?
“Miss Hammond?”
“What?” she snapped, then realized it was a woman calling from the other side of the door. “Is that you, Willow? Come in.”
Sharisse moved to draw the sheet up over her nightgown, then gasped to see she wasn’t wearing one. She was still in her chemise and muslin petticoat. Her eyes widened in horror as more memories flashed through her mind.
“Are you all right?”
