brigand!”
Reverie . Hart’s jaw muscle started to work reflexively. The bold-faced little liar. She’d sneakedoff to smoke a cigar she’d stolen from her daddy’s office.
“The Lord alone knows what he might have done had I not been able to fight him,” she said in low tones. “Several times I nearly made it to my stalwart little pony. But each time the monster managed to take hold of my person and haul me back.
“My strength was waning, but not my will. Whether I would have prevailed, I am not sure, though I venture to say that a woman’s reverence for her chastity is a mighty impetus.”
“Hear, hear!” bellowed Sotbey. Mercy smiled at him modestly.
“Our struggle was intense, we were locked in mortal combat, time was suspended. And then”—her voice dropped even lower—“the gunslinger appeared!
“The outlaw pulled me in front of him, fearful of the great multinotched revolver in the gun-slinger’s hand.”
“Multinotched?”
Mercy gravely nodded her head. “One notch for every man he’d killed.”
“And this gunslinger had many notches?” the Duchess asked.
“The handle was ready to drop off, the thing was so scored with notches.”
“Jesus!” Hart muttered. She was incorrigible! To his astonishment he found himself suddenly hard pressed not to laugh. He hadn’t heard such a heap of rubbish in years, and that it was beingspoon-fed to this sophisticated company by a brat from Texas …! His lips twitched.
Mercy’s glance darted to meet his. There was an unholy amusement in her green eyes. Unholy and horrible … and horribly inviting.
“Exactly,” she said piously. “I prayed, too, Mr. Perth. I had to, because I knew the gunslinger had no conscience. Like a dog set on a scent, he was single-minded in his course. He wanted only one thing. Blood . And I wasn’t at all sure he cared whose blood it was.”
He closed his eyes. If he listened to much more of this he would either laugh or swear.
“I know, Perth, it is horrible,” she said, her eyes dancing. “It gets even worse.”
His eyes snapped open. She’d called him “Perth”—without mockery or sarcasm. His name on her lips was disarming.
“Oh, no!” gasped the Dowager.
“Yes.” Mercy’s attention turned back to the others. “The monster who held me started backing out of the cabin, holding me in front of him, using me as a shield. I could tell he was afraid. And well he should have been. I have never seen a more frightening sight than that gunslinger’s eyes as he looked at us.” Abruptly, her voice lost its theatrical tone, trailing off.
She had been frightened, thought Hart, feeling the old familiar chill creep back into his heart. And she was reliving that fright now. No amount of playacting could bleed the color from her cheeks like that.
Had she really thought he would have killed her just to ensure he would collect a bounty? The thought ate at him. He fought the impulse to stand up and deny it.
“What was it like?”
“Like he found us … interesting,” Mercy said in a soft, pensive monotone. “That’s why it was so frightening. He did not look angry or fierce. He looked like he was trying to work out the pieces of a riddle and was not overly concerned whether he found an answer.”
What a prime fool he’d been the other night, thinking she’d sought him out because of his reputed dispassion. His manner frightened her, disgusted her. And yet for her brother’s sake she’d still sought an interview.
“And then?” someone asked.
“And then?” Mercy echoed. Her lips had parted a bit. She looked pensive, as though staring into the past. “He shot me.”
“Dear God,” someone murmured.
“Was he trying to kill you?”
“No.” Her answer was prompt. The breath Hart hadn’t even been aware he was holding left his lungs in a low whoosh. “No. He was saving my life. If he hadn’t shot me, the man who held me would have dragged me from the cabin, still using me as a shield.
Reverie . Hart’s jaw muscle started to work reflexively. The bold-faced little liar. She’d sneakedoff to smoke a cigar she’d stolen from her daddy’s office.
“The Lord alone knows what he might have done had I not been able to fight him,” she said in low tones. “Several times I nearly made it to my stalwart little pony. But each time the monster managed to take hold of my person and haul me back.
“My strength was waning, but not my will. Whether I would have prevailed, I am not sure, though I venture to say that a woman’s reverence for her chastity is a mighty impetus.”
“Hear, hear!” bellowed Sotbey. Mercy smiled at him modestly.
“Our struggle was intense, we were locked in mortal combat, time was suspended. And then”—her voice dropped even lower—“the gunslinger appeared!
“The outlaw pulled me in front of him, fearful of the great multinotched revolver in the gun-slinger’s hand.”
“Multinotched?”
Mercy gravely nodded her head. “One notch for every man he’d killed.”
“And this gunslinger had many notches?” the Duchess asked.
“The handle was ready to drop off, the thing was so scored with notches.”
“Jesus!” Hart muttered. She was incorrigible! To his astonishment he found himself suddenly hard pressed not to laugh. He hadn’t heard such a heap of rubbish in years, and that it was beingspoon-fed to this sophisticated company by a brat from Texas …! His lips twitched.
Mercy’s glance darted to meet his. There was an unholy amusement in her green eyes. Unholy and horrible … and horribly inviting.
“Exactly,” she said piously. “I prayed, too, Mr. Perth. I had to, because I knew the gunslinger had no conscience. Like a dog set on a scent, he was single-minded in his course. He wanted only one thing. Blood . And I wasn’t at all sure he cared whose blood it was.”
He closed his eyes. If he listened to much more of this he would either laugh or swear.
“I know, Perth, it is horrible,” she said, her eyes dancing. “It gets even worse.”
His eyes snapped open. She’d called him “Perth”—without mockery or sarcasm. His name on her lips was disarming.
“Oh, no!” gasped the Dowager.
“Yes.” Mercy’s attention turned back to the others. “The monster who held me started backing out of the cabin, holding me in front of him, using me as a shield. I could tell he was afraid. And well he should have been. I have never seen a more frightening sight than that gunslinger’s eyes as he looked at us.” Abruptly, her voice lost its theatrical tone, trailing off.
She had been frightened, thought Hart, feeling the old familiar chill creep back into his heart. And she was reliving that fright now. No amount of playacting could bleed the color from her cheeks like that.
Had she really thought he would have killed her just to ensure he would collect a bounty? The thought ate at him. He fought the impulse to stand up and deny it.
“What was it like?”
“Like he found us … interesting,” Mercy said in a soft, pensive monotone. “That’s why it was so frightening. He did not look angry or fierce. He looked like he was trying to work out the pieces of a riddle and was not overly concerned whether he found an answer.”
What a prime fool he’d been the other night, thinking she’d sought him out because of his reputed dispassion. His manner frightened her, disgusted her. And yet for her brother’s sake she’d still sought an interview.
“And then?” someone asked.
“And then?” Mercy echoed. Her lips had parted a bit. She looked pensive, as though staring into the past. “He shot me.”
“Dear God,” someone murmured.
“Was he trying to kill you?”
“No.” Her answer was prompt. The breath Hart hadn’t even been aware he was holding left his lungs in a low whoosh. “No. He was saving my life. If he hadn’t shot me, the man who held me would have dragged me from the cabin, still using me as a shield.
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