Tender Is the Storm by Johanna Lindsey

  Sharisse forced herself to appear calm. She wanted to scream. The woman was only being bitchy, but she was doing more damage than she could ever know. Lucas's expression indicated that.

  Her eyes darkened to violet, but her lips were fixed in a smile. "Why would you say a thing like that, Mrs. Newcomb? Such a fanciful notion I might ex­pect from the senile, or from someone who had im­bibed too much. But you're not that old, and you've barely touched your wine. So what excuse do you have for making a ridiculous speculation like that?"

  Fiona came half out of her chair. "Why you lit­tle-"

  "Now, now," Sam interrupted, chuckling. "Why don't you call it a draw, Fiona?"

  "But-"

  "Forget it," he said forcefully. "Go powder your nose or something while I order you a dessert to cool you off."

  She left in a great spurt of indignation. But Sharisse rose immediately afterward.

  "My nose could use a little powdering as well. If you will excuse me, gentlemen?"

  "Sharisse."

  She deliberately ignored the warning note in his voice. "Don't worry, Lucas, I won't get lost. I'll just follow the sound of the door that just slammed."

  With a brilliant smile, she left the table and was gone before he could call her back. Now to see how Mrs. Newcomb handled herself in a private confron­tation.

  Lucas sat there scowling, drumming his fingers on ! the table. Sam, on the other hand, could barely con­tain his amusement. Emery was simply perplexed.

  After a moment, the noise coming from around the corner in the ladies' retiring room, though muffled, was still loud enough to make Lucas jump to his feet.

  "Oh, let them be." Sam stopped him, his good hu­

  mor increasing. "What harm can a couple of women

  do to each other?"

  "That's hardly the point," Lucas snapped.

  "Have a heart, for my sake," Sam cajoled. "If Fiona doesn't get this out of her system, she's going to j be pure hell to live with. And, really, what harm can

  they do to each other? Women don't resort to vio­lence. Shouting abuse is their specialty."

  He was right, Lucas reasoned. Slowly he sat down again. The shouting died down. The sound of a door slamming signaled that whatever had happened was over with. Yet neither woman returned. Lucas's anx­iety mounted again.

  He was about to rise once more when the desk clerk brought Sam the message that Mrs. Newcomb had retired to their suite.

  "Without any more explanation than that?" Sam demanded.

  The clerk knew his boss well enough to grin. "Well, sir, I don't think you'd care to hear the rest of what Mrs. Newcomb had to say."

  Sam cleared his throat. "No, I don't suppose I would." He dismissed the man, turning to Emery and Lucas. "Please forgive my wife, gentlemen. She's not usually so rude."

  "So you're staying here at your hotel tonight, Sam?" Lucas commented.

  "Yes. I'm thinking seriously about moving in­to town permanently," he replied. "Maybe that's what's wrong with Fiona. She's been so bored at the ranch, she doesn't know what to do with herself."

  Lucas silently congratulated Sam on coming up with that plausible excuse. He had been wondering how Sam would explain the move without admitting that he had sold the ranch.

  "You could always dismiss your servants," Lucas chuckled. "That would give Fiona something to do."

  "Ha! She'd leave with them. No, I'm afraid I've spoiled that women terribly. Make sure you don't make the same mistake, Luke, with your pretty little gal."

  "Spoil Sharisse? I'd have to take her back East to do that. She's not exactly suited to this kind of life."

  "You thinking of moving away then?" Sam's in­terest perked.

  "I thought you just advised me not to spoil her."

  "So I did." Sam couldn't manage to hide his disap­pointment.

  The clerk was back again, his message for Lucas this time. "Your intended sends her apologies, Mr. Holt, for not returning. I don't think she's feeling well."

  "Where is she?"

  "Waiting for you out front in your carriage."

  "Hope it wasn't anything Fiona said," Sam of­fered, and the three men stood up to leave.

  Lucas was just angry enough to say, "Undoubt­edly it was, and you and I both know why. I'm sick and tired of it. She's your wife now. Whatever she and I had once is over. See that she finally under­stands that, Sam. Because if I have to, I'll damn well wring her neck—especially after tonight."

  Lucas left Sam to explain that to Emery any way he chose to tell it.

  Chapter 23

  SHARISSE couldn't stop crying. It was such a silly thing to do, something she hadn't done since her disastrous affair with Antoine. But wasn't her be­havior tonight just as stupid? Never in all her life had she acted like that. She was afraid she didn't know herself anymore, afraid this impetuous adven­ture was changing her in ways she couldn't stop. Certainly that was the reason for these tears that wouldn't stop.

  Lucas found her like that, her face hidden in her hands and her shoulders shaking. She was crying soundlessly. If she had been wailing loudly he might have thought it was a female ploy for attention, but this silent suffering disturbed him. A feeling long dormant rose up to overwhelm him, the instinct to protect and defend his own.

  "Sharisse?"

  Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. She had hoped to hear him, to have time to compose her­self. Why had he come upon her so silently? She was mortified. She'd meant to keep her face averted, too, and conceal her left cheek. Yet here she was facing him, and what she hadn't wanted to happen was hap­pening. His expression changed from concern to un­mistakable fury as he saw the vivid mark on her cheek.

  For a breathless moment, Sharisse wasn't sure who his anger was directed at. Then he exploded. "I'll kill her!"

  "But I'm not hurt, Lucas," Sharisse assured him.

  "Then why are you crying so hard?"

  "Because of what I did. Oh, it was just awful!" Fresh tears erupted. "I shouldn't have followed her. I should have listened to you. But I never thought she would attack me."

  He sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms. "Fiona lives by a different set of rules than you do, honey. I thought you realized that."

  "How could I? I'm accustomed to civilized women. I only meant to find out why she was baiting me and to let her know my tolerance was at an end. But when she slapped me, oh, I don't know what came over me. I ... I hit her back, Lucas. I'm so sorry."

  He set her away from him, amazed. "Your instinct was only natural," he told her softly. "It's nothing to cry over and certainly no more than Fiona de­served."

  "But you don't understand," she cried. "I think I broke her nose!" Shocked, he burst out laughing. "Lucas Holt, it's not funny!"

  "God, yes, yes it is," he laughed. "She insulted you, hit you, and you're crying because she got more than she bargained for. It's funny, believe me."

  "But a broken nose, Lucas."

  "Did you hear the bone break?"

  "Well, no. But she was bleeding. And she looked at me as if I'd killed her."

  "Well, of course," he said. "She wasn't expecting the civilized city girl to fight back. Stop fretting over it, honey. If she was hurt that badly, she'd have screamed the hotel down."

  "Do you really think so?" she asked hopefully.

  "Yes. I think so."

  Sharisse brought out her handkerchief from her reticule. She was calmer.

  "I'm sorry I left so rudely. I hope you extended my apologies."

  "I did more than that where Sam was concerned. The man should have more control over his wife," he said roughly. "Why'd she slap you?"

  Sharisse considered all that had been said leading up to the fight, and her back stiffened. But her ex­pression was innocent when she looked at Lucas.

  "All I did was suggest that if she had been as satis­fying a mistress as she believed, then you would have continued the relationship instead of looking for a wife."

  Lucas flinched. "So she to
ld you?"

  "Actually, what she said was that she had had you first, and she could have you again if she wanted you. She's rather . . . coarse."

  "Did you believe her?"

  "I saw no reason to doubt such a blatant claim." The iciness in her manner was becoming more pro­nounced.

  "I'll be damned." Lucas grinned. "You're jealous, aren't you? That's why you socked her."

  "Don't be absurd," Sharisse declared hotly. "But you could have warned me, Lucas. Where I come from, a man doesn't force his fiancee to dine with his ex-mistress."

  "Damn it, she was never my mistress, Sharisse. I saw her occasionally, not on a regular basis, and not exclusively. She made it clear she was available, and we had some good times. That's all there was to it. When she married Newcomb, that finished it. Her boasting that she can have me again is wrong. I don't mess with other men's wives."

  "And if she weren't married?"

  He smiled. "Why would I want her when I have you?"

  Sharisse blushed and looked away. But her voice was firm as she ventured, "If she gave you such a good time, why didn't you marry her?"

  "If a man married every woman he fooled around with, he'd end up with a passel of wives, honey. Are you really going to make me account for everything I did before you got here?"

  "You didn't answer my question, Lucas. Why didn't you marry her when you had the chance?"

  "I could say that I thought she wouldn't make a good wife, but the fact is I simply wasn't looking for a wife back then. Now, does that appease your jeal­ousy?"

  "I wasn't jealous," she insisted.

  "Of course not," he said smoothly, enjoying him­self.

  She gasped. "Oh, I could just scream! Take me home, Mr. Holt. I've had too much of your stimulat­ing conversation this evening."

  "Yes, ma'am." He chuckled and whipped the buggy into motion.

  The ride took place in silence. When they reached the ranch, he turned the buggy over to Mack and es­corted Sharisse to the house. She waited only long enough for Lucas to get a lamp lit so she could see her way to her room. His blunt question, just as she entered her room stopped her in her tracks.

  "Who is Joel?"

  She stopped, then swung around. "Where did you hear that name?"

  "From you."

  Her mind raced. "I don't talk in my sleep, do I?"

  "No, but you mumble a lot when you're drunk."

  There wasn't any humor in his voice. And his ex­pression was somber. She was instantly wary.

  "Joel is a friend, Lucas. Someone I grew up with. Why? What did I say?"

  "You told your father that you didn't want to marry him. That Stephanie loves him, not you." He walked toward her as he spoke, stopping too close to her, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Is that why you ran away from your father, Sharisse?"

  "No," almost slipped out, but then she realized what his question implied. "You think I'm that girl Mr. Buskett was telling us about, don't you?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "I believe I answered that question earlier to­night," she replied stiffly. "But before you doubt me any more, I should tell you that my father's name is John Richards. Hammond was my married name." How adept she was becoming. "I suppose I should have made that clear before, but it didn't seem im­portant."

  "Antoine Hammond?"

  "Certainly not! I despise Antoine!" she said force­fully, losing her temper. Then she caught herself. "I suppose I mentioned Antoine, too, that night I drank too much?"

  "You did."

  "What exactly did I say to make you think he was my husband?"

  "You called him your love."

  "Oh," she said. How was she going to explain that?

  "Which is it, Sharisse?" he asked softly. "Did you love Antoine, or despise him?"

  He ran a finger along her jaw, down her neck, to her shoulder, resting his hand there with just enough pressure to prevent her from turning away. He meant to hold her there until he got the answer. Maybe it was time for the truth, or part of it.

  "Antoine was a man I met a long time ago, Lucas. I was young and naive, and he was worldly, roman­tic, and terribly handsome. I thought I was in love, when actually I had simply reached the age where I was ready to fall in love. So I was susceptible to the first man who extended any effort to win me. I real­ize that now, but at the time I was too enchanted to question anything." Bitterness crept into her man­ner, and her eyes darkened with memory. "Antoine turned out to be a scoundrel of the worst kind, a liar, a deceiver. He ..."

  Sharisse blanched as she realized she had just de­scribed what she herself had become. If Lucas ever found out how she had lied to him, deceived him . . .

  "He what?"

  She lowered her eyes. "He ... he wanted only one thing from me. Luckily I learned of his perfidy in time."

  "You mean you saved your virginity in time."

  Her eyes flew back to meet his.

  "Yes," she replied softly.

  "But you gave your heart away freely. I was under the misconception that your husband was the only man in your past. How many others did you fancy yourself in love with besides Antoine?"

  Her temper was ignited by his teasing. How dare he make light of that humiliating experience? She was reminded of Fiona and how casually he treated his past dalliances. Yet he dared to question her?

  She smiled sweetly and gave a little shrug. "You can't expect me to answer such a question, Lucas. I'm not the sort of woman who keeps count."

  "That many, eh?" He chuckled.

  She gritted her teeth in exasperation. The rogue. He knew very well what she was up to. But it was too late to change" her tune now. And she still wanted to get his goat.

  "Yes, that many. Can I help it if I'm fickle?"

  He shook his head in mock sympathy. "So many loves, and only one husband to show for it—so far. So who do you love now, Shari?"

  His lips closed over hers. He didn't expect an an­swer. Love had nothing to do with them, He was the kind who wouldn't care if she loved him, as long as he got what he wanted. But she wasn't going to let him—not again. She didn't want . . . him to ... make love . . .

  The moment her arms closed around his neck in surrender, Lucas swept her off her feet and carried her to her bed. His little virgin. She might not love him—and she might be an exceptional liar—but her body didn't lie. She was his. For now, anyway.

  Chapter 24

  SHARISSE stretched languorously and opened O her eyes. It took her a moment to realize that the bare male chest she was looking at wasn't alien to her anymore. She knew she should be appalled, dev­astated. To have shared her bed with a man all night, to wake up beside him just as if they were married when in fact they were not! He was not obliged to marry her just because he had taken her virginity. Why, he didn't even know the truth about that.

  Truly, she ought to have been a little indignant that he was still there in her bed, that he was getting all the benefits of a wife without actually binding himself to her, but the truth was that she would have been terribly disappointed if he had left after mak­ing such glorious love to her. And she rather liked having him there to snuggle close to.

  She knew it would be dangerous for her to analyze why she felt the way she did. If she thought for a minute that she might be falling in love with Lucas, she would panic. No arrogant man like her father was going to control her for the rest of her life, even one whose arrogance was as subtle as Lucas's.

  No, it was safer to think she was perhaps immoral. Oh, not really in a bad sort of way. Good heavens, she was twenty, a woman with a mind of her own. Why should she have to wait until she found a hus­band to experience the ecstasy that Lucas had shown her? Why should she deny herself that pleasure just because they weren't married?

  Sharisse smiled at her rationalizations. She was really becoming corrupt. But just then, looking at the broad expanse of Lucas's chest, she didn't care.

  How different he looked when he was asleep. It was the first time she had seen him sleeping, t
he first time she'd been able to look and take her time about it. She liked what she saw, the corded muscles running along his chest and bare arms, the way his chest hair curled down to a point on his stomach. Even relaxed, he was powerful. His chin was slack, with a slight shading of whisker growth, his brow smooth, with an unruly lock of coal-black hair fall­ing across it.

  She was disconcerted to suddenly realize that without the usual grin curling his lips and the laugh­ter in those jewel-like eyes, he could very well be his dangerous brother lying there.

  Now why had that thought occurred to her? She hadn't thought about Slade since she and Lucas had returned from the mountains. She'd been relieved not to find Slade waiting for them at the ranch. But it was true. With the eyes closed and the face re­laxed, there wasn't a single difference between them.

  Twins. Remarkable what different experiences could do to two brothers, making one as dangerous as a coiled rattlesnake and the other a loveable rogue. One took her feelings into consideration, the other ar­rogantly disdained them.

  Sharisse quickly looked away, afraid to continue with that train of thought. She caught sight of Charley in his porcelain bowl, and she grinned at his expression. He actually looked disgruntled. Well, Charley had never taken to Lucas, always growling softly when Lucas got near her. She supposed he wasn't too pleased to find Lucas in what he no doubt considered his personal domain.

  At that moment Charley jumped out of his bowl and then out the window, as if he had only waited until he got her attention so he could make his dis­pleasure felt, and now he was showing her what he thought of her promiscuous behavior. Well! To be snubbed by one's own cat.

  "Good morning, beautiful."

  Sharisse turned to Lucas,with a start. "How many times must I ask you not to call me that?" she said, exasperated.

  "Don't scold, honey, not so early in the morning." He pulled her down, and in one quick movement he was on top of her, grinning devilishly. "And why can't I call you beautiful?"

  "Because your brother did, and it reminds me of him," she retorted with as much dignity as she could muster.

  His lips brushed hers teasingly, and then he kissed those tender, perfectly shaped breasts. "Well, I don't want that, at least not when I'm making love to you. I don't care to be jealous of my own brother."