Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Author'snote

Copyright

“What possible motive did you think I had?”

Cade’s darkly challenging stare made the fine hairs at the nape of Emma’s neck rise. “Let’s see…” His gaze performed a leisurely inspection of her bedraggled person. “Well, there’s always the possibility you might want to trade the use of your delectable body for a new wardrobe, some hard cash and plush living conditions.”

Emma’s corset seemed to have instantly shrunk. She couldn’t get a decent gulp of air. And, from the heat flaming across her cheeks, she knew her face must be scarlet.

“It’s not very flattering that the thought never entered your mind.” He sounded disgruntled.

“But why should I have thought that you’d…?” She swallowed. Her mind was suddenly filled with images of what he’d been thinking she was capable of doing. Kissing him. Letting him kiss her. And surely much more, though she wasn’t precisely sure what the “much more” entailed. She had some strong suspicions disrobing would be involved….

Dear Reader,

When a homeless schoolteacher is taken in by the wealthy uncle of one of her students, falling in love is the last thing on their minds, in Pat Tracy’s terrific new Western, Cade’s Justice. Don’t miss this first book in her series set in Denver, Colorado, called THE GUARDSMEN, from an author who always delivers a fast-paced and sexy story.

His Secret Duchess is a heart-wrenching new Regency romance from Gayle Wilson, a RITA Award finalist who is also making a name for herself with her spine-tingling mysteries for Harlequin’s Intrigue line. In this month’s title, a nobleman presumed dead returns home after seven years of war to discover his “secret wife” on trial for murder. And in Linda Castle’s new book, Temple’s Prize, rival scientists fight their mutual attraction when they discover that they are both after the same prize.

And popular author Suzanne Barclay returns to her bestselling series, THE SOMMERVILLE BROTHERS, with her newest medieval book, Knight’s Rebellion, the stirring tale of the leader of a band of outlaws who finds himself unable to resist the mysterious woman whom he has rescued.

Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you enjoy all four books, available wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Cade’s Justice
Pat Tracy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAT TRACY

lives in rugged Idaho. No longer a country mouse, Pat recently moved to the city of Idaho Falls, population 49,000, where she writes, practices karate and dreams of times when rough-and-tumble heroes had their hands full dealing with independent, lofty-minded heroines.

Pat loves to hear from her readers c/o P.O. Box 17, Ucon, Idaho 83454

Dedication:

In honor of my heroine, Emma January Step, a tutor of refined young women, I would like to dedicate this book to Carolyn Horowitz, who taught English. and literature at La Puente High School. This wonderfully insightful teacher encouraged me to write and rewarded my efforts with lots of lovely A’s. I don’t know where you are, “Mrs. Horowitz,” but I want to thank you for loving English (you did, didn’t you?) and teaching your students to think for themselves.

If any of my readers happen to know a Carolyn Horowitz who taught at La Puente High School, California, 1963-1964, please write to me at P.O. Box 17, Ucon, Idaho 83454.1 would love to send her an autographed copy of this book.

* * * * *

SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Maxine Metcalf, friend for life. Thank you for your generous proofreading services. You saved my skin. Again.

Flora Jorgensen, Debbie Ricks, Sherry Roseberry, Martha Tew and Vonda Wilson. You’re the critique group from heaven. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Chapter One

The wrought-iron gate leading to Gideon Cade’s brick mansion stood ajar. In Emma January Step’s present mood, it wouldn’t have mattered if the gate was padlocked. She would have found a way through it.

She proceeded up the rain-slickened flagstone path. During the two-hour walk from the academy, the strips of newspaper she’d tucked inside her worn shoes had dissolved into squishy clumps. The numbing chill that seeped through to her feet added to her discomfort.

Emma sensed more than saw the dark blur that streaked past her. Before her startled eyes, a shadow materialized from the damp mist shrouding the front porch of the three-story residence.

She pressed a palm to her racing heart. “Good grief, what are you doing here?” The less-than-cordial question was directed at the huge, hairy hound now blocking the doorway.

“You followed me, didn’t you?” she demanded of the drenched creature. Without a flicker of apology, the dog’s steady gaze met hers. “And you raced ahead at the last moment to beat me here. I should have known it was a mistake to feed you.”

Emma continued up the stone path. Shrewd intelligence gleamed back at her from the disreputable mutt’s black eyes. Clearly, it had been a mistake to smuggle him table scraps from the academy’s kitchen. Obviously, the motley beast had decided he could count upon her as a source of food.

“You’ve followed me in vain,” she informed him in no uncertain terms, gingerly maneuvering herself around him on the porch. “I haven’t a morsel of food on me.”

She drew her damp cloak more closely about her and steeled herself against the reproach she detected in his unwavering canine regard. After all, one could hardly be expected to remember such minor details as feeding a stray animal when one’s world came crashing about one’s shoulders. From the dog’s point of view, though, she supposed being fed was a matter of vast importance.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed, unable to endure this added burden of guilt. “I should have thought to bring you something to eat. Just go away for now, and let me conduct my business without interruption.”

Guilt weighed more heavily upon her. “I promise to bring you a giant soup bone when we return home.”

Emma bit her lip. The academy where she taught was neither her nor the dog’s home. She couldn’t speak for the beast, of course, but, as for herself, she hadn’t known a place that could be so termed since she was three years old. Because she couldn’t remember anything of her early years, that meant that to all intents and purposes she’d never experienced living in a real home.

“Shoo,” she said forcefully, determined to accomplish her mission.

The animal’s lower jaw went slack. Looking for all the world like a fallen banner, his pink tongue drooped from the side of his mouth. Even though he cocked his head in an attitude of submission, the dog stayed put.

“Suit yourself, but I’m warning you. If you expect any more food from me, you better be on your best behavior.” Resigned to the dog’s presence, she reached for the oversize brass knocker that decorated the tall, ornately carved ebony door.

Emma engaged the knocker. A series of reverberating clangs broke the early-morning stillness. As she waited for someone to answer, she wiped the soles of her muddy shoes on the front mat. The potent stench of wet dog fur reached her. She could only hope that whoever opened the door wouldn’t think it was she who reeked of rainwater mixed with what was surely years of collected dirt and fleas.

Trying to dismiss the thought, she focused upon the fortunate coincidence of Gideon Cade’s residence having been pointed out to her the day before. She and several of her students had been returning to the academy after occupying a pleasant afternoon contemplating the beautifully rendered paintings and statues displayed in Mr. Burke Youngblood’s nearby private art gallery. As their rented conveyance passed through the affluent Denver neighborhood, Mr. Cade’s niece, Courtney, had proudly gestured to the brick mansion and identified it as her uncle’s home.

Emma was about to re-employ the knocker when the door suddenly swung open.

The best means of compensating for both her humble origins and a distressing lack of height, Emma had learned, was to get immediately to the point. “I must see Mr. Cade at once.”

The large, disheveled man glaring down at her said nothing, nor did his unfriendly expression alter.

From the frayed condition of his drab blue robe, she deduced that he was a servant and not the notorious Gideon Cade of whom she’d been reading in the daily newspapers. According to vitriolic editorials, the ruthless and incredibly rich freighting tycoon was hardly likely to be traipsing about his mansion in such shoddy garb. From the scores of unflattering stories being circulated about him, he would far more likely have been found strolling about with a crown upon his head and wielding a smoking pistol for his scepter. A recent article had portrayed Courtney’s uncle as a cross between a vicious vigilante renegade and an arrogant foreign potentate.

Emma returned the servant’s belligerent stare. “I trust I do not need to repeat myself, sir.”

The yellowish splash of light provided by the lamp on a table behind him made the shocks of white hair sticking up from his scalp look like oily shafts of lightning. Despite his giant frame, the man glaring down at her resembled an irate troll guarding the castle gate against any who had the temerity to trespass upon his master’s domain.

“Have you any idea of the hour?” the scowling troll demanded, his bushy eyebrows converging over his remarkably huge and pitted nose.

“Certainly.” Emma pushed back the cloak she’d worn to blunt the night chill and consulted the timepiece pinned to her gray bodice. Unfortunately, the light was so poor she couldn’t make out the position of the hands upon the inexpensive watch. “My best estimate is that it’s half past one. Now, please be so good as to fetch Mr. Cade.”

“In the morning,” the troll intoned balefully.

“That’s right.” She refastened her cloak. She’d checked on Courtney at 11 p.m., expecting to see her settled in bed. The subsequent seven-mile walk here had consumed a lot of time. “Now that we’ve established the hour, you may summon Mr. Cade. I’m here on a matter of grave urgency.”

The servant chuckled gruffly. “If I disturb him again tonight, it will be grave, all right. Yours and mine.”

“Now see here—”

“Miss,” he said, interrupting her, his droopy eyes and tone unexpectedly conciliatory, “you best come back at a decent hour.”

Emma had no intention of leaving without telling Mr. Cade his niece had disappeared. She inched closer to the doorway. If she had to, she would push her way past him. Returning her gaze to the dishearteningly massive figure of the overzealous gatekeeper, she realized she would hardly emerge victorious in a show of brute force.

Perhaps, if she pretended to swoon, he might catch her and carry her across the threshold he presently blocked. It was more likely, however, that he would leave her lying on the step until dawn.

Thoughts of Courtney wandering Denver’s often rowdy night streets sent a tremor of increased distress through Emma. “Sir, you don’t understand. I’m an instructor at Loutitia Hempshire’s Academy for Young Ladies. I have terrible news and fear the worst.”

Astonishingly, the troll seemed to take her announcement in stride. He didn’t so much as raise one caterpillar-size eyebrow. Emma wondered if perhaps butlers and stray dogs shared a distant but common ancestry. What would it take to startle the morosely self-contained man? She doubted a cattle stampede of longhorn steers rampaging down Larimer Street would shake his unflappable reserve.

He rubbed his jaw. She didn’t know if he was debating the truthfulness of her claim or the relevance of the news to his employer. When his cannon-size nostrils began to twitch, she realized he must have picked up the mongrel’s foul odor. Fearing he was about to slam the door in her face, Emma decided bold action was required. She would awaken Mr. Cade herself.

With little forethought, she launched herself through the puny space left between the uncooperative servant and the doorframe. That she wasn’t big meant she could move quickly.

“Hey, now!” the troll yelled, making a lunge for her.

His beefy paws closed around her cloak, dragging her to a skidding halt. A second later, the sound of ripping fabric heralded a burst of freedom. She sprinted past him into the entry hall.

Though Emma scarcely had time to catalog her elegant surroundings, an impression of quiet opulence struck her. With subtle impact, she perceived immense chandeliers, gilt mirrors, velvet draperies and mahogany furnishings. The scents of freshly cut flowers, leather and linseed oil reached her. The thought flashed through her mind that the combination of tasteful fragrances was probably how a vault full of money smelled.

Once inside, Emma wasn’t sure what to do next, but she had only seconds to make up her mind before the troll caught up with her.

She noticed a curving staircase. Surely at the top of those stairs she would discover Gideon Cade, nestled snugly in his bed. She vowed to check every bedchamber until she found him.

“Not so fast.” The servant’s fingers closed around her arm.

Emma turned to explain why it was imperative that she speak with his employer. Before she could speak, a feral growl froze the blood in her veins. Her gaze swung to the open doorway where the stray dog had staked its territory.

“Oh dear.”

“A bit of an understatement, I’d say.”

Emma glanced at the man who held her. His florid face had paled to the color of parchment “Uh, I think you ought to let me go…before he attacks.”

“You’d best heed the lady’s advice, Broadbent.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Emma looked toward the staircase where a tall man now stood. His dark green dressing gown appeared to be made of silk. The garment probably had cost more than she earned in a year. Obviously, she was making the acquaintance of Gideon Cade. In the privacy of his own home, he’d evidently forgone wearing a crown. Nor did he carry a scepter.

Even though the horrible events that had transpired thus far tonight were not directly his fault, she felt a wave of resentment. In a fiercely uncertain world, it was obvious at a single glance that Gideon Cade was the kind of man who knew exactly where he fit in the greater scheme of things. She was certain he considered his place to be at the top, not only in business, but in other venues, as well. When he spoke, he expected to be obeyed. Without delay or debate.

“Broadbent, you’d best release the fair damsel you’ve captured.”

The snideness of the man’s observation was not lost upon Emma. She knew she was neither fair nor in that category of select females who might be called “damsels.”

“Your only alternative appears to be having your throat ripped apart,” he pointed out mildly. Carrying a lamp, he descended the final stair.

Over six feet tall, with wide shoulders that clearly didn’t need a tailor’s skill at padding to achieve their daunting proportions, he projected the aura of a commanding general be ing called upon to chastise a troop of inept soldiers. Even his thick pelt of mussed black hair added to the forbidding image.

“I’m inclined to agree with your assessment, Mr. Cade,” the servant acknowledged, responding with his own brand of ironic dignity.

Emma hid a smile. From the troll’s less-than-subservient demeanor, it was obvious he didn’t hold his employer in complete awe.

She felt the constraining grip loosen, then disappear. Returning her gaze to the doorway, she slowly lowered her arm. The beast ceased growling, yet remained at rigid attention. As if charged with pulsating energy, his dirty coat of black fur still bristled outward.

“Call off your animal.”

The velvet-voiced order came from behind her. Not wanting to make any sudden moves, she kept her focus upon the stray dog.

“He’s not mine,” she felt obliged to explain.

“From his protective stance, he views your relationship differently.”

The soft but steely voice was closer. It took all Emma’s control not to turn her head to keep track of the man. Having him at her back aroused her survival instincts to full alert. Still, she didn’t feel it prudent to take her gaze from the illtempered beast who had invaded Mr. Cade’s entry.

“It’s true,” she protested. “He’s not mine. I don’t even know if he has a name. Our only connection is the dinner scraps I’ve fed him.”

“With a stray animal, that’s enough to forge a bond for life.”

The gritty observation sounded as if it had been spoken directly into her ear. Realizing that unless the hound relaxed his attack stance there would be no reduction in the escalating tension between herself, the dog and the men, Emma forced a smile to her stiff lips.

“Uh, nice doggy…Everything’s all right now. The mean man let go of my arm.” She added the last remark for the troll’s benefit, lest he think she’d forgotten his rude treatment.

Almost imperceptibly, she saw the dog’s hostile bearing eased. He cocked his head, as he’d done on the front porch. She moved forward. “You’re just unhappy because you’re hungry, isn’t that so?”

The animal whined softly, then moved toward her. His toenails clicked against the hardwood floor until the sound was cushioned by the oriental rug. The revolting smell of wet dog hair soon filled the entry. She didn’t consider herself a particularly demonstrative person, and yet, despite the beast’s rank odor, she felt he deserved a pat on his head for coming to her defense. In her entire life, no human had performed such a selfless act on her behalf.

She lightly brushed her fingertips through his black fur. “That’s a nice doggy.”

Her consoling gesture elicited another heartfelt whine and the startling assault of the animal’s wet, scratchy tongue upon the back of her hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away from the contact.

“It appears, Broadbent, that ‘Beauty’ has tamed the ‘Beast.’”

“Aye, so it does, sir.”

At the wholly facetious compliment, Emma’s cheeks grew warm.

“While he’s evidencing such tender devotion, I suggest you escort him to the kitchen and provide him with something to eat, Broadbent.”

Following his master’s edict, the servant approached the hound and held out his hand. He let the dog sniff it. Soon Broadbent’s thick fingers were being energetically licked. Telling herself it was foolish to feel betrayed by the animal’s fickle affection, Emma’s arm fell to her side.

“Come along…” The servant paused and affixed Emma with a disapproving glance. “He really does deserve a name.”

“You name him.”

“Very well.” The man pondered for a moment, deepening the lined indentations upon his ruddy brow. Then his reflective expression cleared. “I’ll call him Duncan.”

The name, coming as it did from nowhere, meant nothing to Emma, yet she saw Mr. Cade stiffen.

“Is that acceptable, sir?”

Her gaze flicked between the waiting servant and his frowning employer. For reasons unknown to her, the name Broadbent had selected must hold special meaning for both men.

“I couldn’t care less what you call the mongrel.”

At the indifferent response, a look of sorrow seemed to touch the troll’s eyes. “Aye, sir. Come along, Duncan. I’d say you’ve waited long enough for your supper.”

After flashing a reproachful glance at her, Broadbent sank his fingers into the fur at the back of the dog’s neck. The animal allowed itself to be led a couple of steps before stopping. Having only a vague idea as to its basic disposition, Emma tensed again.

The servant wisely removed his hand from the animal. Whimpering softly, it trotted toward her.

“Go along with Mr. Broadbent,” she urged, feeling awkward at having others overhear her stilted admonition to the uncooperative canine. “He’s going to feed you. There now, be a good doggy. Uh…Duncan, I’ll be perfectly all right on my own.”

He held her stare, as if by looking into her eyes he could somehow fathom what was expected of him. She smiled reassuringly, aware from the corner of her eye that Mr. Cade was studying her.

Without any warning, the hound planted its paws on the rug and shook his hairy body free of the excess moisture he’d been obliged to carry. A misting spray of rainwater, mingling with disgusting, foul-smelling dog residue, enveloped both her and Mr. Cade.

Emma jumped back. “Oh! Stop, you naughty dog!”

Mr. Cade stepped aside to avoid the full brunt of his dirty baptism. Mortified by the animal’s rudeness, she closed her eyes.

“He really isn’t my dog,” she said, again compelled to disavow any connection to the unruly stray following Broadbent from the room.

“So you’ve said, Miss—” Mr. Cade broke off, his lethal gaze fairly boring into her. “I assume, whereas yonder hellhound has no name, you, on the other hand, come with both a first and a last one.”

The man’s sarcasm was a chore to overlook. Nevertheless, considering that desperate circumstances had brought her to his home in the wee hours of the morning, she strove to contain her growing dislike toward Courtney’s uncle.

“Of course I do.”

“And that would be…” he prompted mockingly.

His insulting tone made her feel like a common beetle who had strayed beyond its prescribed territory and was in imminent danger of being squashed beneath Mr. Cade’s finely stitched leather slipper.

“Emma January Step,” she pronounced through clinched teeth, intimidated against her will by the man’s arrogance.

He raised a black eyebrow. “And what is it you want, Miss Step, other than to invade my home and terrorize those in my employ?”

A hot blush singed her cheeks. “I apologize for the dog. I had no idea he would follow me.” She pushed at the strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes: “You see, I have a matter of the utmost urgency to discuss, and your servant wouldn’t summon you so I could explain what’s happened.”

“I must remember to give him a raise.”

“A raise?” she repeated, infuriated by the man’s puffedup attitude.

He nodded. “I value any employee safeguarding my privacy.” His lips curved mockingly. “Especially after I’ve retired for the night.”

Emma rolled her eyes. It was a bit much to hear the conceited man pronounce such high-handed drivel. Even without a crown, he was more overbearing than any far-eastern potentate she’d read about. Had Broadbent been present, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see Mr. Cade pitch him a bone, or perhaps pat the servant on his head. Goodness, it required little imagination to picture Broadbent licking his master’s hand in the same devoted manner as the dog.

“How much?” Emma inquired briskly.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Cade drawled softly, still viewing her with all the warmth he would have bestowed upon that upstart beetle.

“How much of a raise will you give Mr. Broadbent?”

Growing up as an orphan, Emma had learned one lesson above all others. People might occasionally make generous offers, but it was rare indeed for any of those teary-voiced promises to be fulfilled. It probably didn’t reflect to her credit, but she had a passionate aversion to hollow pledges and the people who issued them.

“Are you thinking of an additional dollar a week?” she continued, undaunted by Mr. Cade’s now glowering countenance. “Or did you have something more substantial in mind?”

“Miss Step, am I to believe you and your hairy mongrel invaded my home in order to negotiate an increase of salary for Broadbent?”

Recalling abruptly the urgent business that had sent her flying out the academy’s door in the wee hours of the morning, Emma winced. “No, sir, of course not. I’m afraid I have very distressing news.”

“And that would be…”

“It’s Courtney.” Emma closed the small distance that separated her from the girl’s uncle. “I regret to inform you, she’s run away.”

Chapter Two

Emma waited for an outburst of alarm from Mr. Cade. He stunned her by remaining unruffled.

“I see.”

Frustrated by his lack of emotion, Emma’s hands clenched. “As I told your servant, I’m a teacher at the Hempshire Academy, and your niece is one of my students. I spoke earlier in the evening with Courtney and shared some disquieting news regarding the school’s future. I decided to look in on her before going to bed. That’s when I discovered she was gone.”

“I see.”

If he pronounced that inane, wholly useless phrase again, she would slap his insolent face.

When that ferocious thought imprinted itself upon Emma’s mind, she flinched. Good grief, she was not the kind of woman to entertain visions of violence. She was a tutor of refined young women.

“I realize how upset you must be,” she said, deciding to credit the man’s lack of emotion to acute distress. “I imagine you are somewhat in a state of shock.”

“Am I?”

Emma nodded. “Perhaps a glass of…sherry would calm you.”

He tilted his head. “Do I appear to be uncalm, Miss Step?”

Actually, he looked irritatingly unaffected, but she could think of no other explanation for his lack of concern. It was inconceivable that she faced a monster incapable of caring about his own niece’s welfare.

Instinctively she reached out and touched his silk sleeve. “I collect that being awakened from a sound sleep and discovering a hostile dog holding one’s servant at bay would discomfit anyone. To be informed of Courtney’s disappearance on the heels of such a misadventure is bound to have discombobulated you, sir.”

“I wasn’t exactly in deep slumber.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I was already on my way downstairs, to get some work done in my study.” His speculative gaze lowered to where her fingertips rested upon his sleeve. “Do you still think I require a glass of sherry to…fortify me?”

Self-consciously Emma removed her hand. “I have it upon good authority that spirits may be used for such medicinal purposes.”

He inspected her features with a dispassionate intensity that scraped her composure. “Then I leave myself in your capable hands, Miss Step. If you believe I require a drink to deal with this situation, by all means let us adjourn to the library where we may indulge ourselves.”

Emma experienced a surge of relief. Perhaps Mr. Cade wasn’t as unfeeling as she’d supposed. “Lead the way, sir. Time is of the essence.”

He did not precede her, however. Rather, his fingers closed around her upper arm. Startled by the unexpected contact, Emma’s gaze flew up. His harshly sculpted features were blandly inexpressive.

The golden lamplight pooling about them in the vestibule accented the harsh lines of his formidable countenance. Her stomach curled. Uncomfortably aware of being alone with him in the silent house, Emma licked her suddenly dry lips. She realized her heart was beating as rapidly as if she’d just sprinted up three flights of stairs.

His hold tightened. “Come along, Miss Step.”

There was a silkiness to his tone that raised the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Surely it was only her imagination that made his touch and suggestion seem faintly improper.

She was the one who’d thrust herself into the alien situation of being alone with a man in the wee hours of the morning. She could hardly demand that he dash upstairs and put on a shirt, trousers and topcoat. It was entirely reasonable that he wore a dressing gown. She slid him a sideways glance. Still, she was certain the trousers would have made her less aware of the large male body at her side.

Making no comment, she allowed herself to be guided by his forceful grip down the hallway and through the first open threshold they passed. A small cocoon of light accompanied their passage, increasing the sense of intimacy tugging at Emma. The indisputable strength of the fingers wrapped around her arm made her feel as if the man were doing something more significant than leading her into a darkened chamber.

She shivered and told herself the dual shocks of the Hempshire Academy closing and Courtney running away were affecting her nerves.

Mr. Cade released her. She tried to rub away the tingling sensation in her arm. His shuttered gaze tracked the instinctive gesture, and she stopped. Turning from his disturbing scrutiny, she absorbed her surroundings.

Again she was struck by an impression of understated opulence. The shifting shadows cast by Mr. Cade’s lamp lapped at towering bookcases filled with leather volumes. There was the resonant clicking of an ivory-and-gold clock on the marble mantel above a cold, dark hearth. A lacquered Chinese box, a gold candlestick and a cut-crystal bowl graced a leaf-carved mahogany lowboy.

It was obvious that Gideon Cade had created an eastern oasis for himself in the West. From the corner of her eye, she was aware that he was lighting several more lamps. The subtle, strangely sensual sound of his silk robe rustling against his hard frame accompanied his actions.

He gestured toward one of the two padded high-backed chairs grouped before the desk. Vivid green-and-gold striped material covered padded armrests and seats. “Sit down, Miss Step.”

Emma complied. She wanted this discussion over with as quickly as possible. They needed to be searching for Courtney.

Instead of taking the chair behind his desk, Mr. Cade went to a cherry wood cabinet and opened its carved doors. There was the faint clink of shifting crystal. She saw the play of powerful muscles along his upper back beneath the robe.

When he turned, he held two glasses. One was a squat tumbler filled with a rich amber-colored liquid; the other was a fragile-stemmed vessel containing a thimble-size swallow of a dark reddish fluid. The startling contrast between the glasses made her keenly conscious of the contrast between herself and Mr. Cade.

His impressive stature and the energy radiating from his somber eyes dominated the chamber. The shadows might have retreated to the room’s farthest corners, but the tight line compressing his mouth made her think there were shadows to this man that would never be banished. His brooding, assessing eyes added to the effect of “secrets kept.”

He extended the dainty glass. “Here.”

For one contrary moment, Emma wanted to reach for the tumbler instead. The urge to ruffle Gideon Cade’s complacency caught her by surprise. Usually she made it a point to get along with everyone.

She hesitated only a moment before accepting the more delicate of the two vessels. No matter how tempted she might be, it wouldn’t be prudent to antagonize this man.

Her fingers curved around the glass. “Thank you.”

For a fraction of a second, she wasn’t sure he intended to surrender the drink. Perplexed, she looked beyond his strong, leanly sculpted hand and encountered his hard stare.

Again she had the feeling that he was inspecting her as if she were an insect who’d blundered into his exalted domain. She didn’t think she’d ever been studied with such penetrating awareness. She couldn’t imagine what caused those ruthlessly intelligent eyes to gleam with interest. There was nothing noteworthy about her.

She tugged lightly at the glass. Her fingers grazed his. The subtle friction did something unexplainable to her stomach. For a frozen moment, Emma’s surroundings faded to insignificance. It seemed as if she and the man towering above her were the only two beings left in the entire world. She had the feeling that the heart beating within his wide chest shared the same rapid rhythm as her own racing heart.

The pressure of his grip eased. She took the glass into her trembling hands and raised it to her lips. That her own nerves needed steadying was an abhorrent admission. For as far back as she could remember, her only true sense of security had come from the inner knowledge that she could keep her head when everyone else was in danger of losing theirs.

As she drained the drink, she decided it was Cade’s aggressive stare causing her uncustomary bout of selfconsciousness. She added rudeness to his growing list of faults.

He circled his desk and seated himself behind it. “Why the scowl, Miss Step? Surely the sherry isn’t that bad.”

The hint of humor tingeing his harshly defined features surprised her. She sensed Mr. Cade wasn’t given to casual smiling. The sweet aftertaste of sherry that lingered in her throat wasn’t unpleasant. “The drink is fine.”

“I’m relieved to know my liquor supply meets your standards.” He sipped slowly before setting aside his tumbler. “Now that we’ve both had the opportunity to calm ourselves, why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”

The mildness of his tone momentarily distracted her from the profanity. When it did register, her fingers tightened around the empty glass. Gone was the earlier amusement that had briefly tempered his arrogant expression. She restrained herself from chiding him about his foul language. To do so would be too much like challenging a wild panther with whom she’d inadvertently become locked in the same cage.

Best to placate the creature, she reflected, since she knew the news she carried would darken his already beastly mood.

“As I explained in your foyer, Courtney has disappeared.”

“Surely not into thin air.”

The sardonic quip dug deeply into Emma’s remaining reserve of patience. “Of course not. I told you, she’s run away.”

“How can I be sure you haven’t misplaced her?”

“But that’s preposterous,” Emma sputtered, deeply affronted.

“On the contrary, any institution run in such a slipshod fashion as the Hempshire Academy could easily misplace a student or two.”

“We haven’t lost her—she’s run away! And for your information, the Hempshire Academy is a wonderful school.”

“I have difficulty believing a ‘wonderful’ school would maintain such poor control over its students that it’s possible for a young lady to slip out in the middle of the night to roam the streets.”

A red haze lowered over Emma’s eyes. She shot to her feet, exerting every bit of willpower she possessed not to hurl her glass at Mr. Cade’s arrogant, thick head. “We can affix the blame later. For now, our attention must be directed at finding Courtney.”

“Sit down, Miss Step.”

His order, spoken with whiplike command had her knees buckling in compliance. Her mind kicked in, however, before her bottom connected with the chair.

“You should know that, unlike Broadbent, I won’t obey high-handed commands.”

“And you should know that I do not run into the night half-cocked. Experience has taught me it’s better to have a complete grasp of the facts before taking action.”

She was tempted to circle the desk, grab the perfectly pressed lapels of his dressing gown and shake him into mobility. The thought brought with it a sudden awareness of the white linen nightshirt beneath the green robe. The black chest hairs curling above the border of tiny pink rosebuds created a ludicrous contrast of masculinity verses femininity.

No article of clothing in her possession was half so elegant. That such a potent specimen of masculinity as Gideon Cade enjoyed parading about in such feminine clothing was difficult to accept.

Emma sank back into her chair. “What precisely is it you wish to know before we organize a search?”

“What makes you so certain she’s run away, what was the news about the academy’s future you imparted to her, and what made you come here tonight?”

Emma reached into her pocket, grateful that she hadn’t forgotten Courtney’s note. “This was all the explanation she left.”

She extended the folded paper. Reluctant to risk another disturbing encounter with his fingers, she considered flinging the note across the desk. He was already leaning forward, however, and she was coerced into allowing him to retrieve the paper in a more civilized manner.

She braced herself for the contact. His thumb and forefinger gripped the corner. Before she could let go, something compelled her to look up. His enigmatic gaze was locked squarely upon her. She wasn’t sure she remembered how to breathe. She loosened her hold. The paper slid from her grasp. There was no physical contact. Still, her stomach took a peculiar dip.

She forced herself to glance away from him and take a deep breath. When she looked up, he was smoothing the note’s creases. As he began to read the hastily scribbled message, his dark eyebrows drew together.

He looked up, catching her stare. “Well, one thing is clear.”

“What’s that?”

“Whoever teaches penmanship at your institution has failed miserably on Courtney’s behalf.”

“Is that all you can say?” Emma couldn’t believe the man could be so insensitive about the note’s contents. She’d committed the message to memory.

My dearest Miss Step,

Don’t be alarmed. I’ve gone to seek help for the academy’s desperate situation. I hope to return with good news. Fortunately, there’s someone I can turn to for assistance.

Your most devoted and loyal student.

Courtney Gertrude Cade

Emma touched a trembling hand to her hair. The rigid rein she’d exerted on her roiling emotions was slipping. “I thought if I came to you, you would want to find her.”

“Is that why the school’s headmistress sent you?”

“I—I saw no need to awaken Miss Loutitia.” The thought of informing Miss Hempshire of Courtney’s disappearance during this traumatic period of the older woman’s life made Emma shudder. Loutitia Hempshire was the kind of person who, even in the best of times, wasn’t able to keep her high-strung sensibilities under control.

“If she can’t keep track of her students, she deserves to have her sleep interrupted,” Mr. Cade stated dispassionately.

To Emma’s horror, warm tears blurred her vision. Not trusting her voice, she refrained from pointing out that having a hysterical school matron on her hands was hardly conducive to finding Courtney.

“Well, have you nothing to say?,” he inquired chidingly. “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of words? I wouldn’t have though you so weak-spirited.”

At the barely veiled insult, Emma tensed. Now she knew why people took such delight in deposing tyrants by bloody methods. She could imagine the satisfaction of wielding a sword against a bound and gagged Gideon Cade.

“While we’re debating the matter in the comfort of your library, Courtney is alone and unprotected.” Emma’s voice caught. “We have to find her. She’s young and innocent and totally at the mercy of any dishonorable man who might want to take advantage of her.”

“You don’t believe this exhibition of headstrong rebellion warrants whatever disaster befalls her?”

Emma recoiled at the heartless question. “No!”

“But what about the danger she’s placed you in?”

“Me?” she asked in confusion.

“By running away, Courtney caused you to leave the security of the academy and race recklessly into the night. Surely the terrors facing an innocent young girl would also endanger you, Miss Step.”

“Courtney’s welfare takes priority over my own.”

“Does it?” he asked softly.

She shifted uncomfortably. “I…I shouldn’t have left her alone after confiding the problems the academy was facing.”

Emma’s words dwindled to silence. Guilt grew within her at the knowledge that her own concerns had blinded her to how upset Courtney must have been. With the Denver institution closing, the girl would surely be sent to an eastern finishing school. It was a mystery to Emma, but evidently Courtney wished to remain in close proximity to her coldhearted uncle.

“My niece is old enough to be held accountable for her own actions.”

Emma refused to suffer the man’s insensitivity another moment. “Courtney is a bright and brave young woman who deserves our best efforts to find her.”

“She’s also willful,” he interjected quietly. “Come now, there’s no need for tears or self-recriminations, Miss Step. You’ve already expended your best efforts.”

Emma’s control finally snapped. “If you weren’t an unfeeling monster incapable of basic human sentiment, you would be looking for her right now!”

His dark eyes turned frigid. “Is that how you view me?”

“It’s how the whole world views you!” she shouted back. “Everything the newspapers say about you is true!”

It was the foulest insult she could think to hurl.

He shrugged. “I find what’s printed in newspapers generally isn’t worth the time it takes to read them. And as for my niece…”

He had Emma’s full attention now. “Yes?”

Drawing out the moment, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingertips. “Since she’s fast asleep upstairs in her bedchamber, there’s little point in searching for her, is there?”

Chapter Three

Gideon watched Miss Step’s eyes darken to a deep shade of smoky slate.

“What did you say?”

Her question trembled with barely contained outrage. An ordinary man would have been cowed by the fury shimmering in her wrathful gaze. Gideon felt an inner quickening. He didn’t consider himself ordinary, and the woman sitting across his desk, looking as if she would like to supply the rope at a lynching held in his honor, didn’t intimidate him. She provoked a different response—one that challenged him on a profoundly elemental level.

“You heard me. Courtney is upstairs asleep.”

Miss Step rose slowly. Her eyes continued to reproach him. Gideon was startled by the twinge of guilt that pricked him. He reminded himself he’d had good reason for not revealing the girl was safe. He’d wanted to teach the woman whom Courtney repeatedly described as a “paragon of magnificence” that, when one was in charge of a minor, one damned well ought to keep track of her!

“You…you…”

Gideon had the feeling the redoubtable Miss Step was rarely at a loss for words. He inclined his head. “Yes?”

“You are a fiend.”

He swallowed a laugh. If that was the worst she could come up with, she’d led a sheltered life. “I was merely teaching you a lesson.”

“You were playing a game of cat and mouse!”

The accusation carried a measure of truth. He didn’t mind a game of cat and mouse—provided, of course, that he played the role of cat.

“When one misplaces a young woman, one needs to suffer. That way, the episode will not be repeated.”

Her hands clenched.

He wasn’t given to fanciful observations, but in that moment he would have sworn twin lightning bolts flashed in her eyes, transforming the turbulent gray to shimmering quicksilver.

“When one is consumed with worry about the future, one can’t be expected to know in advance what a sixteen-yearold girl will do!”

“Come now, surely a woman of your age and experience must realize young ladies are generally an unpredictable lot.”

Miss Step’s creamy complexion became a shade of pink that was in stark dissimilarity to the streak of grime smudging her delicate jaw. She’d probably picked up the smear when she petted the flea-bitten mongrel who’d followed her to his house. It surprised him that he found her disheveled state appealing. No doubt his interest was held by the contrast of the pristine princess and the woebegone commoner sharing the same lithe body.

Gideon noticed other details about the furious woman. She was compact in stature and dressed in a drab gray gown that covered everything except her face and hands. Spatters of mud clung to the hem. The dress’s cut and material were clearly second-rate, though he had to admit there was nothing second-rate about how the still-damp garment outlined her feminine curves.

“I was worried about her! That’s why I went to her room to check on her.”

Gideon mentally counted the tiny fastenings running up the gown’s conservative bodice and sleeves. His gaze narrowed. There had to be forty black buttons holding her dress together.

“But when you found out she was missing, you didn’t alert the headmistress.” He gestured toward her. “If you were so concerned about Courtney’s welfare, why did you choose such a difficult gown to get into? It must have taken you an hour to secure those buttons.”

New color climbed her cheeks. His comment about the time it took to get into her gown had probably offended her. Should he make an observation as to how long it would take to get out of the garment, she would most likely swoon.

“I was already dressed when I checked on her.”

Gideon’s interest sharpened. Was it customary for the schoolmistress to keep such late hours? It wasn’t any of his business, of course. The only point of relevance between them was that the woman and the institution for which she worked had failed in their responsibility to safeguard his niece.

And yet Gideon wondered how Miss Step occupied herself at night. He often stayed up late, pursuing the amusements available to a man of his age, temperament and social position. There were fine cheroots to be smoked, vintage wines to be savored, games of cards to be played, and worldly women with whom to satisfy his more basic needs.

How did Miss Step pass the time between midnight and dawn?

“You keep late hours,” he confined himself to remarking. “Satisfy my curiosity and explain why you didn’t wake the headmistress?”

Miss Step pushed back the tendrils of light brown hair that had sprung from the coil fastened at the nape of her neck. In the process, she managed to spread the dirty smear from her jaw to her cheek. It was ridiculous to find her unraveling condition intriguing. Yet damned if there wasn’t something charming about the fastidious woman’s progressively unkept appearance. She reminded him of a delicately wrapped package being opened by invisible hands. Her wrappings might not be fancy, but beneath the frippery, Gideon suspected, the gift would be unexpectedly lovely.

“To understand that, you would have to know the woman.” Courtney’s teacher looked away. “Miss Loutitia is prone to…”

“To what?” Gideon asked impatiently, missing the touch of Miss Step’s gaze upon him. He liked the way her wide gray eyes exposed her changing feelings. The sense of sincerity she radiated spawned a powerful reaction within him, making him feel as if she were standing utterly naked in his library. The blood in his veins heated. As much as his mental picture shot shafts of fire though him, he found the prospect of peering into her unguarded soul even more exciting.

She looked up. “I’m afraid Miss Loutitia has a somewhat overemotional temperament. When things go the least bit wrong, she becomes hysterical.”

Gideon hadn’t met the man yet who wouldn’t rather face gunfire than an overwrought female.

“I can see why you’d want to avoid such a scene. Tell me, Miss Step, are you prone to overemotional outbursts?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. What is, simply is. I’ve learned not to rail at fate. Doing so accomplishes nothing.

Another silken strand of hair settled softly along the side of her face. A curious tightness gripped Gideon’s chest.

“I’ve made the same discovery.”

She moved toward the door. “Now that I know Courtney is safe, I’ll be on my way.”

“Not so fast.”

His words were harsher than he intended. Her back stiffened, straight and unyielding as an iron post set in rock-hard mortar.

“Since our business is completed, there’s no point in my remaining.”

You could always join me upstairs in my bedchamber. We could while away the next few hours between my sheets….

When that rogue thought materialized in his brain, Gideon’s skin grew hot. The militant Miss Step was the last female on this good earth about whom he should harbor lascivious feelings.

He pushed back his chair and stood. It had been an act of calculated rudeness to remain seated after she rose to her feet. He’d wanted to see if she had the fortitude to chastise him for his churlish behavior. He imagined restraining herself had been taxing.

“I’m sure you understand why I can’t let you leave, Miss Step.”

She whirled around. “What do you mean?”

It probably wasn’t a good sign that her widened eyes and the slight waver in her voice fueled his growing interest

“Good manners won’t permit me to let you go dashing into the night unescorted.”

She stared at him as if he’d just recited the preamble to the Constitution, or something else equally irrelevant.

“Good manners?” she repeated, clearly stunned.

He nodded.

“But you haven’t displayed a single bit of mannerly behavior!”

“Of course I have. You just weren’t paying attention.”

She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was. “Not more than three minutes ago, you remained seated after I had stood. Practically the first lesson a boy learns is to rise when a lady stands.”

Gideon was sure she felt better for getting the reprimand out. “A small oversight when compared to abandoning you to the likelihood of being murdered on Denver’s wild streets, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m perfectly capable of returning to the academy without getting myself killed,” she responded with cold disdain.

“Perhaps you are, but I’ve no intention of putting the matter to the test.”

“It’s not your choice!”

Damn, she was stubborn. What she didn’t realize was that after committing himself to a course of action, he never backed down. “This streak of childish rebellion is wearing my patience.”

“Then I’d best leave.”

The woman actually had the misplaced gall to try walking past him. Gideon’s hand shot out and closed around her arm. A look of indignant astonishment swept her features.

“My way”, he said softly. “We’ll do things my way.”

“Why, you conceited, overbearing tyrant.”

“And here I thought you were having trouble understanding me.”

He didn’t know why he was taunting her. But he did know he wasn’t going to yield to the powerful temptation of turning himself inside out to please her.

“You can’t make me believe this rusty bit of chivalry with which you insist on bullying me is anything more than an example of your perverse nature.” She tugged her arm. “Now let me go.”

Strange how her absolute lack of coquettishness made him incredibly aware of her femininity. Standing this close to her, with her upturned face just inches from his, he was bombarded by her subtle beauty. Her skin was flushed with color. Her soft, parted lips trembled. Her eyes, sheltered beneath thick, dark lashes, beckoned him to pull her more tightly to him.

“My ‘perverse nature’ likes to make sure I get a sound night’s sleep. I won’t be able to do that if I’m kept awake by visions of you running for your life from some drifter who never got that first lesson on manners.-Nor do I like the thought of you getting caught in another rainstorm. Unless you like my hand on you and want to prolong this useless argument, I suggest you accept my offer of a carriage ride.” He couldn’t resist adding, “With an appreciative smile.”

Her eyes spat fire. Her feminine ferocity was oddly invigorating. For too many years, cynicism and bitterness had formed the bedrock of his character. This woman straining futilely against his hold glowed, with enough earnest outrage to thaw the most frigid soul. Her obvious devotion to duty and her spirited nature lured him closer.

She struggled briefly before giving in to the inevitable. Her breathing was fast and shallow. The stench of dog had dissipated. For the first time, her female scent teased his nostrils. His body hardened.

“All right. I’ll accept your offer.”

Her brittle capitulation seemed a major victory. “Where’s the smile?”

She bared her teeth with surprising indelicacy. If she was tamed to his handling, it would be a pleasure to feel the tips of those teeth lightly scraping various parts of his anatomy. In her present state, though, he doubted his hide would escape serious damage.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Her eyes silently burned him at the stake. He watched her take a deep breath. He’d lost count of how many times during their encounter she’d done so. He would have liked to watch her chest inflate, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from her face.

“Are you going to release me?”

“Of course.” He did so reluctantly.

“I’ll wait here while you change,” she said coolly.

“Change?” They would be here until the next century if she expected him to change his basic nature.

“You’ll catch a chill if you go outside dressed as you are.”

For the first time since coming downstairs, Gideon became conscious of his attire.. He felt Miss Step’s gaze drift to the ridiculous nightshirt he’d been compelled to put on in order to greet his overemotional niece.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced the heat of embarrassment crawling up his neck. Having Miss Step see him in the frilled, embroidered nightshirt he’d received several Christmases ago from a former lover with peculiar taste in men’s clothing would be enough to make any man squirm.

The alternative would have been to come downstairs with nothing beneath the robe, which, of course, he couldn’t do with Courtney in the house. He usually slept naked and hadn’t even known he owned a nightshirt until he’d rummaged through his dresser. A cruel and malicious fate had decreed this nauseating beribboned garment to be the only thing with which he could quickly cover himself.

Gideon shoved his fingers through his hair in disgust. It was amazing that Miss Step hadn’t broken into gales of laughter at the sight of him in rosebuds and pink ribbons. It annoyed the hell out of him that she probably assumed it was his habit to wear such feminine-looking apparel.

He cleared his throat. “It won’t take me long to dress.”

“If you would just be reasonable about letting me—”

“We settled that argument. I won. You lost. Remember?”

He knew he sounded like the very tyrant she’d called him, but he refused to continue standing there dressed as he was. When this confrontation ended, he intended to have his pants on.

“I have an excellent memory,” she said with surprising calm.

Had she finally learned which of them was in charge?

“Wait here,” he instructed briskly.

She opened her mouth.

He raised an eyebrow, daring her to balk at his command. A half second passed. Obviously, she was weighing the ramifications of further rebellion.

“All right.”

It was nice to know that the universe had returned to its proper course, a course where Courtney and her intrepid schoolmistress yielded to his authority. “Help yourself to another glass of sherry. I won’t be long.”

Emma watched Courtney’s uncle stride from the room. She had no intention of having more sherry, or of cooling her heels while he went upstairs to dress. It was time the insufferable toad learned he could not bend everyone to his will. A flash of satisfaction swept through her as she thanked the Creator for the honor of being allowed to prick the overinflated bubble of Gideon Cade’s pride.

She wasted no time in vacating the library, moving quickly through the hall. It occurred to her that, if Miss Hempshire closed the academy as immediately as she’d announced she would, Courtney might not return to school. Emma experienced a pang of sadness that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye.

When she stepped into the entry, the sight of her torn and muddy cloak hanging from the coatrack next to the front door stopped her. It seemed as if a dozen years had passed since she first entered Mr. Cade’s residence. As she spread the timeworn garment over her shoulders, she remembered the dog.

Drat, she had no desire to burden poor Duncan with the likes of Courtney’s coldhearted uncle or his bizarre butler. Even though she hadn’t the means to support even herself for long in Denver, she impetuously decided to take the hound with her.

Emma altered her path and followed the direction Broadbent had taken when he led the dog away. She walked through a faintly lit hallway, past a spacious dining chamber and down a short flight of stairs. Another turn brought her into a large, well-scrubbed kitchen.

The dim light leaking from a trimmed lamp revealed large copper kettles hanging above an immense brick fireplace. There was also a substantial cookstove. On one of the wide counters sat a blue ceramic bowl over which a white cloth had been spread. A small bulge pushed upward at the draped cloth, indicating that bread dough was rising beneath it. Two apple pies cooled beside a deep steel sink. A large smoked ham lay next to the short-handled pump. Various tall cabinets and a sturdy wood table surrounded by half a dozen chairs added to the room’s aura of secure abundance.

At the rich aroma wafting from the apple pies, smoked ham and expanding bread dough, Emma’s steps faltered. She’d been so upset by Miss Loutitia’s news about the academy closing that she’d paced her bedchamber instead of going downstairs for supper. Emma’s stomach growled in recognition of how long it had been since she ate. She sympathized more keenly with Duncan for having to depend upon the kindness of strangers to supply him with food.

Forcing herself to ignore the thickly crusted apple pies’ siren call, she looked around the meagerly lit room in hopes of finding the stray hound.

“Duncan, where are you?”

Only her own rapid breathing disturbed the chamber’s silence. She saw the vague outline of a door through the shadowy darkness and walked toward it. She’d almost reached it when her right foot slammed into a chair leg. Pain shot from her toes through her entire body.

“Ow! Ooh, oh, that hurts!” She didn’t know which was louder, her cries or the raw scrape of the chair against the wood-planked floor.

Standing on one foot, she leaned forward and massaged her throbbing toes. It was difficult to see past the tears that had sprung to her eyes, but she forced herself to limp the rest of the way to the door. It opened to the outside. She was dismayed to discover a thick fog had drifted into town.

“Duncan,” she called again. Then she realized the fickle mutt probably didn’t comprehend that he’d been newly christened. “Here, doggy, it’s time to leave.”

Nothing disturbed the dank grayness that enveloped her. “I’m going now. I’ll be at the academy.” She was wasting her breath. Even if the dog was hiding nearby, he couldn’t possibly understand her.

She waited a moment longer, listening for a canine whine or whimper. Hearing nothing, she shifted her attention to the misty, otherworldly landscape that surrounded her. In even the best of circumstances, finding her bearings was challenging. In this macabre situation, she felt utterly disoriented.

She tried to visualize the position of the side doorway she’d stepped through in relation to the mansion’s exterior as it faced the street. It seemed that, if she walked straight ahead for a couple of yards and then turned right—no left—she would be heading toward the flagstone path she’d used to reach the front porch. When she found that path, she would go in the opposite direction and turn left…or was it right? No, a left turn would point her in the direction of the academy. Well, she hoped so, anyway.

Emma drew her thin cloak about her and tried to remember why she’d been so opposed to having Courtney’s uncle give her a ride in his carriage.

Oh, yes, he was an arrogant cur who terrorized others so that he could have his way. Also, there was a predatory look in his brooding eyes that made her skin tingle and her heart pound. She didn’t like how she felt when he was breathing down her neck, as if she were melting from the inside out and not in control of her mind and body.

Hoping for a stroke of good fortune, she surged forward into the fog. A fresh bolt of pain radiated from her right foot. It did little for her tranquillity to realize she would be limping all the way back to the academy. She tried to dispel the feeling that she was an injured warrior surrendering the battlefield to a superior foe. Besides, if she had been vanquished, it was only because he’d employed unfair tactics.

She took only a few steps before she smacked into what must have been a brick wall. Her injured foot registered its anguished protest. Emma braced one hand against the wall and reached down to comfort her battered toes.

The wall shifted unexpectedly, and she lost her balance. “Oh!”

Amazingly, the wall reached out to steady her.

“Well, Miss Step, now that we’ve established your word is worthless, shall we be on our way?”

As he’d certainly intended, the insulting question stung her pride.

She refused to feel one iota of guilt for trying to escape his odious company. “I was under no obligation to stay.”

“Only the obligation of having agreed to do so.”

“You…you bullied me into agreeing to wait.”

The powerful fingers gripping her arms tightened. She didn’t delude herself that she possessed the strength to pull free. He wasn’t hurting her. He was effectively demonstrating that his strength was superior to hers.

“I don’t resort to bullying to achieve my goals. I simply insist that those who deal with me abide by the laws of logic.”

Had her foot not been in such agony, she would have kicked the smug man soundly. And the blow would have landed where Johnny McGuire had taught her all men were vulnerable. While he was doubled over in pain, she would have sprinted away.

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked with as much calm as she could muster.

“What is it?” Definite suspicion laced the query.

“Put your lips together and keep them that way until we bid each other farewell.” That event could not come soon enough for her.

“Considering your age, don’t you think it’s time you stopped lapsing into such childish baiting?”

Emma choked down a hiss. Why did he insist on harping about her age? Just how old did he think she was? “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m twenty-four.”

“Really? I’d thought perhaps you were thirty.”

“Let me go.”

“Now I’ve upset you.”

Upset her? She was miles beyond upset. How dare he make such a cruel and thoughtless remark! He might have just as easily said she looked like a shriveled old maid with a hump on her back and had the word spinster branded on her forehead. Oh, she knew thirty wasn’t such an advanced age, but when a woman was single, she tended to be sensitive about such observations.

“Take me to your carriage.”

“I’ve noticed that even when you’re being reasonable, Miss Step, there’s a definite edge to your voice.”

He released his hold. Before she could celebrate the victory, he moved beside her and cupped her elbow in a guiding gesture. She gritted her teeth and began walking. Blasted, aggravating—

“Why are you limping?”

“Because one of your kitchen chairs attacked me before I could gain my freedom from this monstrous edifice you call a house.”

He stopped and knelt down. “What were you doing in the kitchen?”

“I was looking for that stupid dog, of course.”

He began to fiddle with the hem of her skirts. “You planned on taking him with you?”

“I considered it my duty to liberate him from—” She broke off and tried to back away. When had he suddenly become fascinated with her petticoats? “What do you think you’re doing? Stop that!”

She batted ineffectually at his roving hands. Instead of answering, he pulled her unceremoniously to the ground. She landed in a sitting position.

“I said to stop—”

“Hold still.”

“I will not! Get your hands off my limbs.”

“Relax, I’m just raising your skirts.”

“If you think I’m going to let you molest me in your yard, you’ve lost what little sense you have.”

He looked up. Because his face was so near, she had little difficulty making out his rugged features. “Miss Step, I have no doubt you are right. I do seem to have lost my senses where you’re concerned, however, I can assure you that I would never molest you in my yard. Believe me, there are more comfortable places to become acquainted with what’s beneath your skirts.”

“You blackguard! No matter how nefarious your behavior, all you dwell upon is your own comfort.”

“On the contrary, it would be your comfort I’d be considering. Now behave yourself. I want to judge how badly you damaged yourself while in my ‘monstrous’ house.”

“It’s too dark to see anything.”

“Damn, you’re right.” He pulled her skirt down.

She was in the middle of a sigh of relief when he stood and swept her into his arms. The world tilted alarmingly. “Put me down!”

“Miss Step, has anyone ever pointed out that you are an extremely bossy woman? In the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve barked out more orders than Sherman probably issued on his march to the sea.”

She was bossy? Clearly, the man suffered from delusions. She refused to say anything else until…She envisioned no circumstance wherein she would exchange further conversation with him.

“Would it kill you to cooperate?” His tone was at once aggravated and strained.

“If I’m too heavy, you’d best set me down.”

“It’s my intent to carry you inside,” he growled softly.

The low, hostile sound put her in mind of Duncan. “Then do so.”

“I will—as soon as you let go of the hairs on my chest.”

Emma’s face went hot. Immediately her fingers relaxed their death grip on his shirt. “Uh, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” came the gruff response.

He proceeded toward the house. Even her guilty embarrassment couldn’t compel her to twine her arms around his neck. With her hands folded in front of her, she suspected she was an awkward bundle to manage, but that was his problem. She’d been willing, after all, to limp along beside him.

She was relieved when they reached the slightly raised step at the side of the house. Being transported by Courtney’s uncle through vaporous, otherworldly mists was surely the stuff of nightmares.

While shifting her weight to one arm, he reached forward to unlatch the door. Even though she knew she wasn’t heavy, she was still impressed by his strength and admitted he was a splendidly formed man. Too bad his character didn’t measure up to the rest of him.

“If you’d put your arms around my neck, this would be easier.”

“Stop playing Sir Walter Raleigh, and you’ll have both hands free.”

“I bet you’ve lost count of the times you’ve been called overbearing.” He leaned to the side, managing to get the door open. “They must call you General Step at the Academy.”

He carried her through the side door into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the leashed male strength at his disposal. He sat her on the kitchen table and turned the nearby lamp to increased brightness.

She assured herself it wasn’t concern that tightened his expression. He raised her skirts again. She said nothing, even though her stockings and lace-bordered pantalets were exposed to his view. Instead, she crossed her arms and imagined she was tucked safely in her own bed.

“Which foot is it?”

He didn’t look up as he asked the question, and she continued to have an unrestrained view of his thick pelt of black hair.

His head jerked up. She was pinned by a pair of relentless dark eyes. Swallowing, she decided she would limit herself to strictly necessary speech.

“The right one.”

He looked down again. She felt him gingerly remove her shoe. Despite his obvious care, a flash of pain spiraled through her. She flinched and sucked in her breath.

“Sorry,”, he muttered, his head blocking her view of the proceedings.

His warm fingers strayed upward, above her knee, where the garter beneath her pantalets held her gray stocking in place. There was no point in ordering him to cease his outrageous liberties. Other than crowning him on the head with the smoked ham by the sink, she’d learned, there was no way he could be stopped.

The throbbing in her toes lessened as her awareness became centered on the strangely hypnotic feel of his gentle touch. She closed her eyes. The stocking came down slowly. The caress of air stirred against her bare foot. She raised her eyelids. The scandalous sight of her limp gray stocking dangling over one of Mr. Cade’s broad shoulders greeted her. Against the flimsy garment, the black suit jacket he wore looked as rigid as armor.

“Damn, you really hurt yourself.”

For no reason at all, tears came to her eyes. She did feel hurt, perhaps even battered. The fact kept intruding into her thoughts that in less than two weeks all she would have between her and starvation was the meager funds she’d secreted beneath her mattress.

He cradled her heel in one wide palm while pulling a chair forward. Never taking his focus from her foot, he sat down. “I don’t think you broke any toes, but they’re swollen and turning purple.”

With him sitting, she could see the results of the chair’s assault. At a time when she needed to search for employment, she was going to be reduced to hobbling from place to place.

“One thing’s certain, you won’t be running any footraces soon.” His tone was unexpectedly sympathetic.

The warm pressure of moisture built behind her eyes. What a wretched time for him to start acting kindly. It was easier to deal with Mr. Cade when he was at his nastiest. How dare he unsettle the last of her composure by sneakily changing tactics.

At that moment, she would have given her soul for a clean white hankie. Instead, she was reduced to wiping her nose with the edge of her cloak. Seeing her worn, muddied shoe tossed heedlessly a few inches from the heel of his brilliantly polished boot made her feel even lower than the beetle she’d fancied herself earlier. Bits of matted newspaper littered the floor. Sitting on the table with her bare leg exposed to her knee—which was where he’d shoved the hem of her pantalets—her dress flecked with mud and her toes turning purple, she felt downright pitiful. Courtney’s uncle would probably have rather had a sack of soiled laundry on his table than her own sorry self.

She sniffed.

He raised his head. The dark eyes lancing into her didn’t hold a trace of pity. No, it was something else, something elemental and…shockingly intense. Her stomach turned over. It abruptly occurred to her how improper it was for her exposed limb to be thrust forward for his examination. While her thoughts were diverted by her threatened circumstances, he’d removed his grip from her heel. It rested with bold familiarity upon his inner thigh. She forgot anything so mundane as throbbing toes.

He must have read something of her panic, because his fingers curved around her ankle before she could pull her foot from its inappropriate perching place. His thumb idly rubbed the sensitive skin along the inside of her heel.

“The best thing you can do tonight is stay off your feet,” he said in a reasonable manner that was at odds with the growing heat in his unwavering gaze. “Allow me to extend an invitation to stay here.”

Emma’s breath caught. Surely it was her own fevered imagination and woeful ignorance about men that was turning this bizarre incident into something more than Mr. Cade performing an act of simple Christian charity. He was merely playing the role of Good Samaritan. There was no reason to imbue his offer with impropriety. No gentleman would invite a woman who was a total stranger to conduct herself…improperly. Of course, she’d already concluded that his actions were significantly less than sterling.

“That’s a generous invitation, but I really must be on my way.”

Somehow his gaze became even more intense. “Why?”

Why? Well, because…For no reason at all, she trembled. “You know as well as I do that it’s impossible for me to remain.”

“On the contrary, it’s both highly possible and eminently sensible,” he countered. “Naturally, you would occupy the guest room next to Courtney.”

Emma knew she was flushing again. “I assumed as much.”

A strong sense of self-preservation, however, reminded her that there was no way a single female could share lodgings with a man who wasn’t her father or brother or husband. Considering her limited resources, an unblemished reputation literally meant the difference between life or death. If she was foolish enough to deviate from the straight and narrow path of circumspect behavior, all future doors of employment would be slammed in her face.

Despite Gideon Cade’s occasional lapses in gentlemanly conduct, he must know the strict rules governing the social etiquette between men and women. Either his thoughts were more chaste than hers, or he found her so unappealing that it would never occur to him that anyone could misinterpret his motives in having her stay. Emma found both possibilities deeply demoralizing.

She could not, however, ignore the fact that rich, devilishly handsome men didn’t entertain lascivious thoughts about plain, impoverished schoolteachers. And she knew for a certainty that she was plain. For as far back as she could remember, her adult caretakers had repeatedly said her appearance was sadly lacking.

“I take it you’re not enthusiastic about my suggestion.”

Mr. Cade’s thumb continued its subtly rhythmic stroking.

“I want to go home,” she said quietly.

Neither smile nor frown altered the straight line of his mouth.

“All right.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at her abandoned shoe. She hated him seeing the newspaper she’d used to compensate for the almost worn through soles. Having him know the extent of her poverty grated sharply on her pride. The idea that he might be silently laughing at her cut to the quick. Making no comment, he reached for the soggy piece of footwear. Had there ever been a night in her life when she felt more beleaguered? Seemingly lost in reflection, he sat the shoe on the table next to her.

While he looked for all the world like a cynical, jaded version of Prince Charming, she boasted no princesslike attributes. Loutitia Hempshire was no fairy godmother. Her waterlogged shoe in no way resembled a glass slipper. And the wayward mongrel who’d complicated tonight’s events was in no danger of being transformed into a magnificent stallion fit to pull a golden coach. On the bright side, though, there wasn’t an evil stepmother or sister in sight.

“Take heart, Miss Step. In less than an hour, you’ll be tucked safely in your own bed. By noon tomorrow, tonight’s disagreeable chain of events will be only a faint memory.”

Chapter Four

Emma sat beside Gideon Cade in his covered coach as it navigated Denver’s predawn mist. She cast a sideways glance at Courtney’s uncle. His profile didn’t reveal his thoughts. It was hard to believe this stranger had carried her in his arms, run his fingers over her bare foot and looked at her naked leg. It staggered her that, in the space of a few hours, she’d experienced so many intimacies at his hand. They’d exchanged the most barbed of insults.

Incredible… She was a woman who’d grown accustomed to being isolated. Yet a single encounter with the brash Mr. Cade had cracked the social barriers she’d erected to survive in a world that accepted her only on its terms. From a very young age, she’d taken those terms to heart. Be competent, be silent unless spoken to, and hold all personal emotions deeply within yourself.

One of Gideon Cade’s remarks returned—that the evening’s events would be quickly forgotten. Not by her. A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to erase this strange interlude with a man who’d managed to shatter the reserve that had become the bedrock of her character.

The carriage proceeded at a snail’s crawl toward the academy. Emma decided her companion was too big to share such cramped quarters with another person. His broad shoulders took up entirely too much room. There was no getting used to his thigh rubbing intimately against the side of her leg.

Nor could she relax with his arm draped across the back of their seat. His jacket’s sleeve brushed her hair. The subtle friction was enough to keep her off balance. In her present mood, she deemed his booted feet overly large and encroaching. He was probably taking up more than his fair portion of air, too. Though she had to admit that the faint whiff of hair tonic emanating from him was preferable to the smell of wet dog.

She hazarded a quick glance around him. He had plenty of room on his other side. Instead of scrunching her between himself and the carriage’s inner wall, he could have easily slid half a foot to his right. Contrary man.

“What can you tell me about the financial trouble facing the academy?”

The unexpected question made Emma start. She should have known he wouldn’t allow their ride to pass in silence. “Only what Miss Loutitia confided to me.” “Out with it, Miss Step. Don’t keep me in suspense.” Emma resented the hint of boredom that laced his inquiry. A matter of grave consequence to her was only mildly noteworthy to him. She wondered how he would like it if his world were suddenly turned upside down. Realistically, however, it was impossible to imagine anything of sufficient magnitude to threaten a man of Gideon Cade’s abundant resources.

“She told me there isn’t enough capital to keep the school operating for more than another ten days.”

“She must be an extremely negligent businesswoman.” “How can you say that? You’ve never met her.” “When you consider the girls attending her school belong to some of the wealthiest families in the West, it stands to reason only an incompetent could run the business into bankruptcy.”

“I won’t sit here and listen to you insult Loutitia.” “Even as short as you are, Miss Step, I think you would have trouble standing in my carriage.”

“I’m not short!”

“You’re not?” he drawled with maddening humor.

He was staring at her with those damnably assessing eyes of his. She stared right back at him. It was best that they got this business about her height cleared up.

“I am merely less tall than some.”

“Less tall?”

If he wasn’t careful, he might actually smile. While the thought of the implacable Mr. Cade actually doing something as human as smiling wasn’t totally disagreeable, she didn’t want the smile to come at her expense.

“You’ll probably think it a matter of semantics, but I happen to detest the word short. Nor is it accurate in my case.”

“It isn’t?”

“Certainly not. Tempers grow short, young men’s pants are short, and so are fall days.”

“I stand corrected,” he said softly.

Unprepared for his surrender, Emma blinked. The lamp that hung in the carriage was turned to sufficient brightness for her to notice the subtle easing of the harsh lines marking his face. The shadow of an evening beard darkened his jaw.

“I have an entire list of things that are short,” she ventured, in case he wasn’t convinced.

“It won’t be necessary to go through it. Why are you so protective toward Miss Loutitia?”

“Her offer of employment gave me the opportunity to begin a new life in the West.” At the reminder that she was about to become unemployed, fear squeezed Emma’s stomach.

“How did that come about?”

The man was full of questions. Answering them lessened the silent tension. “There was an advertisement in the Phil’ adelphia Sentinel announcing teaching positions west of the Missouri.”

“What were you doing before you responded to the advertisement?”

“Teaching.” She saw no need to elaborate. The school where she’d previously taught was run by a small religious sect. Everyone had been kind, but she wasn’t of their faith and had felt an outsider.

“So you came to Denver to begin a new life?”

“Yes.”

“No doubt you were looking for excitement and adventure.”

If tonight was any indication, she’d certainly found it. “Everything I’d read about Denver suggested there would be more excitement here than in Philadelphia.”

“The thought of cattle rustlers, claim jumpers and train robbers didn’t alarm you?”

“Denver has its own band of protectors looking out for its citizenry.” One of the lures that made the western town so fascinating had been the legendary group of men who’d banded together to combat the area’s lawless element. The eastern newspapers had made much of their noble exploits.

He regarded her in open amusement. “You’re referring to the ‘Guardsmen,’ I assume.”

She bristled at his disparaging tone. “I am.”

“I’m surprised you put so much stock in what newspapers print. There’s no proof the Guardsmen actually exist.”

“Of course there is. Almost every time someone tries to rob a stagecoach, they’re caught and turned over to the authorities.”

“That’s not proof there’s an underground group of vigilantes at work.”

At his mention of the word vigilante, Emma realized they had strayed to a dangerous subject. She abhorred vigilante justice. No man or group of men had the right to take the law into their own hands and administer their justice, especially at the end of a rope. Rumors were rife that Gideon Cade was such a man, that he ran his freighting empire with an iron fist and anyone who challenged him wound up dead.

During their extraordinary encounter, she’d forgotten with whom she was dealing. Emma shivered. “The Guardsmen are different.”

“Not that I’m admitting the group exists, but why?”

“Because, they don’t perform their own…er…executions.” Uttering the last word was a bit like reminding the devil of his agenda for wreaking havoc.

“And, of course, that’s what the newspapers imply I’m guilty of.”

She hadn’t expected him to openly refer to the charges that had been made against him.

“Getting back to the Guardsmen,” she said, wanting to avoid an argument that was bound to put them on opposing sides. “You have to admit their methods are ingenious.”

“Some might say farcical.”

“They would be wrong,” Emma replied, warming to her defense of the anonymous group. “Remember last week, when they left those trussed-up cattle rustlers at the church in the middle of the night?”

“Who can forget?”

She didn’t appreciate his levity. “Along with a list of their misdeeds, the names of two wranglers who’d witnessed the crime were provided. Had the Guardsmen not appeared on the scene to save those witnesses, they would have been killed. Now they can testify.”

“And that wouldn’t have happened without your masked band of do-gooders?”

“Of course not.” Really, the man could be quite dense. “Even if the wranglers hadn’t been killed, they would have been too intimidated to testify in court. Part of the Guardsmen’s success is based on the protection they offer people. I’m sure Sheriff Beckman and his deputies are extremely grateful for the extra help they’ve been receiving.”

“You think so?”

She nodded. “Of course. After all, it must be extremely disheartening for an officer of the law to have so much crime going on under his nose. I imagine he wishes he knew their identities so he could thank them personally.”

“Interesting idea.”

“Well, there’s one thing for certain.”

“What’s that?”

“Whomever they are, I’ll wager they’re some of the brayest and most intelligent men our country boasts. They deserve to be recognized for their courage and selfless devotion.”

Instead of commenting, Mr. Cade stretched. Somehow, in the process, his arm lowered, and the back of her head became cradled against him. She was about to extricate herself when he spoke again.

“I suppose you agree with the editorials that condemn me for operating a toll road to the mines.”

“Now that you mention it, it does seem a tad…er…excessive to charge men to travel to and from their own gold claims.”

Even though it was her custom to employ tact when dealing with others, Emma resented being wishy-washy with this man.

“Are you aware there wasn’t a passable road until I had one surveyed, dynamited and laid through the mountains?”

“Well, no, but—”

“And that I happen to own the land through which the road passes?”

“No, but—”

“And prior to my freighting teams, complete with drivers and men riding shotgun, miners were unable to get their gold to Denver?”

“But—”

“And without the rail spurs that took two years to build, it would take more than a century to transport the ore from the mountains?”

“Still—”

“Unlike your Miss Loutitia, I know how to run a business.”

His rigid tone discouraged rebuttal.

“She isn’t my Loutitia,” Emma pointed out. “But she’s successfully run the school for the past few years, and has a reputation for kindness.”

“Being known for one’s kindness hardly qualifies someone to run a business,” came his scoffing rejoinder.

“That’s just what one would expect from a coldhearted businessman.”

The words slipped out despite Emma’s best intentions to avoid a quarrel. The disagreeably arrogant man had a knack for provoking her. If there had been a way to call back the barb, she would have done it.

“I assure you my heart is no colder than any other part of me.”

What exactly did that mean?

“I spoke out of turn.” She was amazed she didn’t choke on the apology. “I merely meant that as a…businessman, you’re inclined to look at the facts as they’re written on sheets of paper. The rest of the world tends to look at things differently.”

“As you’ve separated me from the rest of the human race, explain how so-called normal people will view Loutitia Hempshire’s business failure.”

The command was brusquely issued. Had her observation wounded him? Immediately she chastised herself for being so foolish as to think she could hurt Gideon Cade’s feelings.

“Instead of condemning her, most people will sympathize.”

“An utterly pointless exercise.”

The man specialized in cold pronouncements.

“What do you plan on doing when the academy closes, Miss Step?”

The last thing she wanted to discuss was her uncertain future.

“I’m looking into several possibilities,” she said vaguely.

If only the academy could have kept its doors open for another year. By then, she would have saved enough money to invest in the new institution Jayne Stoneworthy was beginning. Both Jayne and she had been recruited by Miss Loutitia to come to Denver. Jayne, however, had decided she had enough funds to establish the fledgling school.

“That’s what people say when they don’t know what they’re doing.”

She shivered at the accuracy of his observation, aware suddenly of her clammy clothes, the chill in the air and her throbbing toes.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m f-fine.”

It was ridiculous. She wasn’t any colder than she’d been a moment before. There was no reason for her teeth to start chattering.

“Sure you are.”

Before she knew what he intended, he had vanquished the infinitesimal distance between them and was drawing her into his embrace. Stunned by his sudden boldness, she let precious seconds flit by without protesting. The now familiar sensation of powerful arms closing around her rocked her equilibrium. When the dust settled, she was seated upon his lap.

“You should have worn a heavier cloak.”

“If I had one, I would have,” she snapped, for once not trying to conceal her impoverished state. Futilely she attempted to dislodge herself from on top of him.

“Settle down, I’m just warming you up.”

She continued to try to wrestle free. “Ha! You can’t fool me.”

“I can’t?”

His voice was a husky murmur that flowed directly into her ear and seemed in danger of thundering out of her palpitating heart

“You’re the kind of libertine who takes every opportunity to get his hands upon a woman.” Every squirming movement seemed to deliver her more tightly into his embrace.

“You have to admit, you’ve given me plenty of opportunities.”

The carriage took an unexpected turn. Had he not held her so firmly, she would have been tossed to the floor.

“I haven’t given you anything!” She looked up at him in frustration. “You’re just acting true to form.”

He pressed a wide palm to her back. “What form is that?”

Because of the close way he held her, she was forced to notice his warmth. She refused to enjoy it. “That of a robber baron, of course.”

“Of course,” he conceded lightly, sliding a hand around her waist and securing her sideways on his lap.

She was effectively captured, her resistance limited to the hand she’d wedged between their snugly pressed chests.

“Stop shivering as if you were a kitten left on the step in January.”

His words were more accurate than he knew.

“I’ll stop shivering when you release me!” That didn’t sound right.

He rubbed his hands over her back and arms. “Hush now. There’s nothing wrong with sharing our warmth.”

His deep voice washed over her in heavy, shattering waves. Gideon Cade surrounded her. His thighs cradled her. His musky scent, at once alien and strangely enticing, teased her senses. Freeing herself from his bold trespass became of paramount importance.

She tried wiggling.

“Miss Step…Oh, hell, I refuse to say, ‘Miss Step’ one more time. Your first name is Emma, right?”

“Yes,” she answered absently. She was beginning to feel light-headed from her exertions. Nor was her corset helping matters. “But I haven’t given you leave to address me by my first name.”

“You’re a thorny little thing, aren’t you?”

Her thoughts turned to the practical logistics of gaining her freedom. There was no help for it. She was going to have to push against his chest. Before this contest was over, she intended to demonstrate he couldn’t put his hands on her every time he felt like it.

“You do realize there’s no point in trying to break free, don’t you?”

She detested his almost whimsical tone. “I realize you are indeed the bully I called you earlier.”

Her efforts to push free accomplished nothing. Desperation joined her growing sense of frustration. Being caught in his embrace against her will was too much a model of her life’s present disarray. Getting free represented gaining control over that which overwhelmed her.

“If you don’t release me this instant, I shall blacken your eye.”

His husky chuckle tickled her ear. “Better men than you have tried and failed to do so.”

She doubled up her fist.

“I’m giving you fair warning—”

The carriage stopped abruptly.

“Oof!” The involuntarily sound accompanied the air whooshing from her lungs. He took the opportunity to squeeze her more intimately against his unyielding chest.

“You all right, honey?”

His ill-mannered familiarity and his hands brushing fleetingly across her writhing person sparked a strange response from Emma. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, it wasn’t one of loathing. No, a series of alarmingly thrilling tingles now competed for her attention.

Both furious and frightened by the powerful tremors skating through her, she felt the last layer of her control disintegrate.

Without any warning—either to herself or to the thug holding her against her will—her clenched fist smacked him in the jaw. One second she was his prisoner, and the next she was…Well, she was still his prisoner, but now he held her with one arm wrapped around her, instead of two. Her fist throbbed as painfully as her toes. Good grief, by the time full daylight struck, she was going to be confined to a bed.

“I’ll give you that blow, Emma.”

Slowly he allowed her to slide from his lap and reclaim her space on the seat next to him. He might concede that she’d had every right to hit him, but Emma was horrified by her unrestrained behavior. She rubbed her aching fingers and wondered if she had been around Miss Loutitia too long and was in danger of becoming one of those females prone to hysteria.

Her only question was how this vigilante robber baron would choose to retaliate. After all, it was rumored he hunted down those who crossed him. She swallowed. From the way her fingers stung, she’d clearly struck him a vicious blow. No doubt his head was still ringing from the pain, and that was why he was staring at her as if she were a new species of mammal.

A mysterious source of light permeated the carriage’s interior. Mr. Cade’s features were cast in a reddish glow that created the sinister illusion that she was gazing into Lucifer’s harsh features, lit by the fires of never-ending perdition.

A fierce pounding assaulted the coach’s door. “The school is on fire!”

The driver’s announcement brought with it the blistering sensation of heat. The horses whinnied their distress, and the vehicle lurched forward.

“See to the team, Hennesy,” came Mr. Cade’s curt command. “Wait here, Emma, while I find out what’s going on.”

He stepped from the carriage, closing the door behind him. Sound exploded around her. A coarse litany of shouts shredded the cocoon of silence that had engulfed her and Courtney’s uncle. She looked through a small window. Clusters of men lined up in bucket brigades.

Dismissing Mr. Cade’s order that she remain inside the coach, Emma swung open the door and jumped from the carriage. The flash of pain in her foot barely registered.

Towering columns of flames held her rapt attention.

Had it not been for the recent rain, she suspected, the entire block would have been lost. She jerked herself free from the conflagration’s hypnotic spell. The sudden need to make sure everyone had escaped safely swept through her.

“Emma! Emma!”

The sound of her name being frantically screamed above the blaze’s crackling roar had her looking in all directions. Through the wild din of confusion, Jayne Stoneworthy rushed toward her.

“Thank God, you’re alive!” Jayne cried when she reached her. The fellow instructor’s smoke-blackened robe was torn. Tears and a layer of soot streaked her face. “We thought we had lost you….”

Emma accepted her friend’s tearful embrace. “I’m fine.”

Jayne straightened and rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. “We haven’t been able to find Courtney.”

At her fellow teacher’s stricken features, Emma’s heart twisted. “Courtney’s safe, too.”

“I don’t understand. Where were you, and where’s—”

“Miss Step!”

Loutitia Hempshire’s shrill shout cut Jayne off. Emma had no difficulty making out the headmistress’s plump form as she waddled purposefully toward her through the melee of men, wagons and bystanders. Loutitia’s nephew, Lyman Thornton, was having difficulty keeping up with his aunt. The leanly fit gentleman trailed a full three feet behind the redfaced, panting woman.

With her flowing nightgown and billowing robe sailing out behind her, she resembled a ship being pushed by a full gale. “Miss Step, here you are at last. We’ve been looking all over for you.” Loutitia barely stopped before running into Emma. “Where on earth were you?”

“I was—”

“Oh, never mind!” the woman shrieked. “It’s gone. It’s all gone!” She dabbed at her eyes with a grimy handkerchief. “The dreadful fire has destroyed everything. Oh, what will become of me?”

“Since you were already planning on closing the school, its loss can’t be that painful.”

The callous remark came from Loutitia’s nephew. Unlike the people milling about, Lyman Thornton was dressed in something other than sleeping apparel. His coat, shirt and trousers showed no evidence of soot or water stains. Evidently, the owner of Denver’s largest hotel hadn’t seen the necessity of assisting the water brigade.

“But I intended on taking my furnishings,” she wailed. “Oh, my beautiful French bed, my lamps, my armoire—” Her voice broke on that last treasured possession. “My armoire is ashes.”

The older woman sobbed into her handkerchief, as heartbroken as if listing the names of her own children who had perished in the fire.

Her nephew remained coolly unaffected. “Come now, Loutitia, the insurance will cover our losses. And, as the French haven’t stopped making furniture, I’ll see you get another ostentatious bed to take to when a fit of the vapors strikes.”

Miss Loutitia raised her damp face from the hankie. “And a new armoire, too? Do you promise?”

“Whatever you want,” he said negligently. Emma noticed that his wavy brown hair was neatly combed. The only indication that he’d dressed in haste was his open shirt collar.

Loutitia blew her nose. “Oh, I don’t know how you can be so inhumanly calm.”

“Practice, dear Aunt, practice.”

“That and the fact you didn’t lose anything in the blaze,” she sniffed. “Goodness, you planned on tearing down the building to make room for that new hotel you’ve been talking about ever since you informed me Hempshire Academy could no longer remain in business.” Loutitia took a hiccupy breath as she turned her attention to Emma. “We were afraid you didn’t make it out alive. I guess I shouldn’t chide Lyman for always being so calm. He certainly wasn’t, my dear, when it appeared you’d been trapped inside.”

Emma was aware of Lyman Thornton’s regard. During the few weeks she worked for his aunt, she’d wondered what she’d done to spark his curiosity. Much to her consternation, he’d developed the unsettling habit of standing in the background and observing her. Rarely did he take the opportunity to engage her in conversation. He seemed content just to watch her. She didn’t know what to make of him. Because he was wealthy, smoothly handsome and a pillar of the community, she knew his interest wasn’t of a personal nature.

“As you can see, I’m fine.” Emma looked toward the fire. It amazed her that in a matter of minutes it could recede from an inferno to the smoldering hiss of dying flames. The morning sun came out, banishing the fog. As the smoke settled, a blackened ruin stood in place of the academy. “Did everyone make it out safely?”

It was a question she should have asked sooner. She visualized the faces of her students and co-workers, realizing she’d delayed voicing it because she didn’t know if she could bear the answer.

A look of despair welled up in Loutitia’s puffy eyes. “I’m afraid we lost the Cade girl….”

“Courtney’s all right,” Emma said quickly, wanting to spare Loutitia an extra moment of grief. “She’s at her uncle’s house.”

“Thank God!” More tears streamed from the headmistress. “Of all the students to have lost…I was terrified when Mr. Cade found out, he would…Well, there’s no telling what a man like that might do.”

It was at that juncture that Emma saw Gideon Cade standing behind the older woman. Flames every bit as deadly as those that had lapped at the academy smoldered in his angry gaze.

“It was horrible to be awakened by the shouting and screaming,” Loutitia continued. “Smoke was everywhere. I thought I was going to die. It was…” She dissolved into more sobs.

“Come, it’s time I take you home,” Thornton said.

“My home’s burned to the ground!” she cried pitifully.

“You were planning on living with me after the academy closed,” her nephew reminded her.

She sighed. “I know, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Just a moment, Miss Hempshire.”

Emma watched Jayne Stoneworthy, Loutitia and Lyman Thornton turn in unison toward Gideon Cade. That he towered above the women, and even Loutitia’s nephew, was probably something Cade took for granted.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Cade?” Loutitia inquired timidly.

“Are you certain everyone is accounted for?”

She nodded. “Yes, Miss Stoneworthy and I tallied the number of teachers and students before they left for the various hotels that agreed to take them in for the night. Everyone made it out safely.”

“Do you know how the fire started?”

Her plump hands fluttered uselessly. “I have no idea.”

“We’ll probably never find out,” Lyman Thornton interjected. “A candle could have been set too close to the draperies, a log in one of the fireplaces could have shot a spark that caught, a lamp could have tipped over—any number of things could have happened.”

“I’m just grateful no lives were lost.” Loutitia wiped her eyes with the twisted handkerchief. “It’s bad enough my armoire was destroyed.”

“Yes, Aunt, tonight has been a terrible ordeal for you.”

“I’m really not sure I’m going to be able to recover.” Loutitia looked helplessly at her nephew.

“I’ll take you home now.” He glanced at Emma. “Naturally, you’ll be joining us.”

Until that very moment, Emma had given no thought about where she would sleep. Nevertheless, his assumption startled her. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I imagine I’ll stay with the other teachers at one of the hotels.”

It was only as she spoke that the dire nature of her plight struck Emma. She had no money, no clothes, and nowhere to go. A trunk being dropped on her head couldn’t have struck with greater impact.

At the age of twenty-four, she was stranded in a strange city where she’d lived a few weeks, out of work and destitute.

Chapter Five

Emma Step brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Throughout their early-morning encounter, Gideon had watched a myriad of emotions cross the schoolmistress’s mobile features. For the first time since he’d met her, fear touched her gaze. Her vulnerability aroused protective instincts he was chagrined to discover he possessed.

“Don’t worry about imposing upon us,” Lyman Thornton persisted. “Having you in our home is the least we can do. Right, Aunt Loutitia?”

“Certainly you’re welcome to stay the night, dear.”

“It’s already morning,” Lyman corrected. “You’ll be more comfortable with us than at one of the hotels. It’s bound to take time to reestablish yourself here, Miss Step. You’re welcome to remain our guest for as long as you wish,” he added persuasively.

Gideon had never cared for Lyman Thornton. Like the majority of Denver residents, he was an eastern transplant. They’d never conducted any business transactions, but their paths had crossed more than once socially. The man projected a snobbish attitude that grated on Gideon’s nerves. The irony didn’t escape him that Emma had charged him with the same fault. Thornton’s suggestion that she stay in his home indefinitely pushed Gideon’s passive dislike to active hostility.

He had no intention of letting Thornton stampede her into moving in with him. Especially when, considering Loutitia Hempshire’s flightiness, the older woman would be a washout as a chaperone. Judging from Miss Step’s pallor, and the way she stood huddled in her shabby cloak, she was in no condition to make decisions for herself.

It shouldn’t have mattered to Gideon what happened to Courtney’s teacher. He frowned. Since the academy no longer existed, the woman was his niece’s former teacher. Not even the flimsiest connection existed between them. No argument could be put forth that she was his responsibility.

And yet, he found himself unable to abandon her to Thornton’s suspect hospitality. Something had passed between the queerly appealing woman and himself. Her earnest, prickly, damnably intriguing manner had nudged him to a peculiar awareness that wouldn’t let him walk away from her.

“Miss Step appreciates your offer, Thornton.” Complications… Knowing he was inviting a swarm of them into his organized household wasn’t enough to nail his lips shut “But she’s decided to stay with my niece and me.” ’Miss Step’s head came up. Some of the dullness faded from her eyes. “I certainly have—”

Since he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like what she had to say on the matter, he silenced her by sweeping her into his arms.

“Oh!”

The startled gasp had to be less of a protest than the one she’d been about to utter. He noticed again how light she was. A robust breeze could have blown her into Kansas.

She attempted to squirm free. “Now just a minute…” “She hurt her foot earlier this evening,” he informed the clearly shocked group. “She’ll be able to recover more quickly at my place.”

It didn’t matter that his explanation made no sense. People rarely challenged his decisions.

Proving there was an exception to every rule, Thornton spoke. “I don’t think Miss Step appreciates being manhandled. As. for her foot—”

‘Terrible accident,” Gideon interjected. “The pain makes it difficult for her to speak.”

“I can talk perfectly—”

Gideon patted the back of her head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Mmmph…”

With her cheek pressed against his chest, her objection emerged as a muffled squeak.

Suspicion clouded Thornton’s hostile expression. “If she injured her foot, a doctor should examine it.”

“Good idea,” Gideon responded. “If it isn’t better by morning, we’ll send for one.”

Miss Step ceased her efforts to free herself. He waited a half second for her to launch a verbal battle, demanding he release her. None was forthcoming. “Well, it’s getting late. We’d best be on our way.”

Gideon strode toward his carriage. Hennesy hadn’t returned. He’d probably joined the bucket brigade dousing the last of the smoldering wreckage that had been the academy. Smoke, and the promise of more rain, ripened the morning air. The driver’s help wouldn’t be needed much longer.

Gideon jerked open the carriage door. Emma Step remained a stiff and unyielding package. Even though she wasn’t struggling to free herself, she still refused to put her arms around his neck. If that was all the form her rebellion took, he counted himself lucky. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her yell for help, rather than allow him to carry her anywhere. Maybe the puny blow she’d delivered to his jaw had siphoned some of her spunkiness.

Taking care not to jostle her foot, he deposited her inside the carriage. Her lips were compressed into a tight line. There was a defiant gleam in her eyes as she glared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him or his considerate gesture. Damned female was too stubborn for her own good, that much was obvious. It irritated him that she didn’t seem to realize how fortunate she was that he’d taken her under his wing.

If the gray gown she wore was any indication of the quality of her clothing that had been burned, Gideon was ready to declare the fire a community service. He remembered the surge of anger he’d experienced when he removed the miserably constructed walking slipper from her injured foot. In the split second when he first saw the newspaper she’d used to add a layer of protection to the worn sole, he’d tried to dull his sense of outrage with a quip about her putting the negative editorials printed about him to good use.

Then he’d noticed the proud tilt of her chin so at odds with the look of hot embarrassment flashing in her eyes. At that point, he’d wanted to pitch both her shoes in the hearth. It hadn’t mattered that she was a stranger to him. He’d been struck by the bizarre urge to buy her several pairs of shoes, and some new stockings—ones with pretty bits of lace instead of neatly darned patches. While he was at it, he’d make sure she had a pair of pantalets that didn’t look as if they’d been fashioned when Martha Washington was First Lady.

He ducked his head inside the carriage. “The last two times I’ve asked you to wait for me, you’ve struck out on your own.”

He wanted her to know he’d kept count of her mutinies.

She stared straight ahead. He discovered he didn’t like being treated as if he were invisible. “I’m getting Hennesy. You will be here when I return.”

She maintained her silence.

“I’m not leaving until you promise to do as I say.”

More silence.

“Stop frowning. You’ve got enough wrinkles as it is.”

As he figured, that had her head pivoting toward him.

“You are the rudest, the nastiest, the most vile man whom it has ever been my misfortune to meet”

“I just said that so you would pay attention. You don’t have any wrinkles.” If she owned a mirror, she would know that.

“Well, you’ve succeeded. You definitely have my attention.”

Probably the same kind of dangerous attention Delilah had directed to Samson before she sheared him like a sheep. “Look, we both know I could stand here for hours telling you how lovely you are.”

Her eyes narrowed. He wondered why he should be surprised. Whereas most women turned to warm honey when they received a compliment, Emma January Step imitated a blast of arctic air.

“Do I appear to be an imbecile?”

There was only one safe answer. “No.”

“Then, once and for all, cease your remarks about my appearance!”

Obviously the night’s events had caught up with her. Rational thought was beyond her. He decided to employ a different tactic.

“Be reasonable. You’ve been up all night, and a hell of a night it’s been—what with Courtney running away, you hurting your foot and the academy burning down. Why don’t we call a truce? After you’ve had some rest and taken stock of your situation, I’ll deliver you wherever you want to go.”

From the slight thawing of her formerly frigid gaze, he sensed he was making headway.

It occurred to him that life would be a lot easier if he and Emma were from an earlier period of time. Maybe the Dark Ages. Back then, if a man chanced upon a woman as damnably intriguing as she was, he could carry her off to his castle, declare her his possession and then go about the business of organizing his next battle.

There was a lot to be said for simpler times. But then, the chances were that a woman as sharp-tongued as Emma would have been burned at the stake before she reached her eighteenth birthday. Back then, people hadn’t taken kindly to witches, even if they shared an uncanny resemblance to more angelic beings. He let go of the image of her in a tower bedchamber reluctantly.

“When Courtney wakes, up, she’ll be devastated about the school being destroyed,” he continued. “I know she loved it there.”

He took shameless advantage of the tender sensibilities Emma had evidenced when she believed Courtney was wandering Denver’s streets.

“The fire will come as a shock.” A pensive expression claimed Emma’s features. “I do care about your niece, Mr. Cade.”

“Gideon,” he corrected, suspecting it would be a while before she felt comfortable calling him by his given name—more than the couple of days she probably envisioned staying in his home. “Courtney kept most of her belongings in her room at the academy, Emma.”

He remembered the wagonload of girlish clothes and assorted possessions Hennesy had transported from Courtney’s upstairs bedchamber to the school. Gideon’s conscience stirred. His niece really would be devastated that her things had been destroyed. He recalled one photograph, in particular, that of her parents holding her when she was a baby. Locked in his memory was the image of Courtney carrying the framed picture when her former governess had accompanied her to the academy. Where before his motives for having Emma stay with him had been vague, Gideon acknowledged she would be better suited than he to console his niece.

“Ask me.”

He looked into Miss Step’s otherworldly eyes and decided clarity was needed. “What?”

“Ask me if I’ll accept your invitation for shelter.”

Judging from her pallor, her own losses weighed heavily on her thoughts. Nevertheless, she was apparently considering Courtney’s needs. He admired the woman’s generous spirit and the resurgence of her natural feistiness.

“Please come home with me—for my niece’s benefit?”

And mine. I’m not done finding out who you are, Emma.

As if trying to divine the motive for his persistence, she studied him intently. Since he lacked the answer himself, he didn’t object to her scrutiny.

“I’ll come under one condition.”

That he never put his hands on her again? He didn’t delude himself into believing there was a chance on this good earth that he would let her disappear from his life before discovering how the inside of her mouth tasted. He was betting on berries. The tart kind that had a man reaching for more.

“What’s the condition?”

She gestured, pointing beyond the open carriage door. “Do you see that woman over there?”

He looked to where Lyman Thornton still stood, staring at them. A slender woman of medium height, wearing a sootstained robe, had just turned from him and his aunt

“Yes.”

“That’s Jayne Stoneworthy, an acquaintance of mine. I want you to invite her to stay at your home, also.”

Her hellhound would probably be next, Gideon thought, dourly. Evidently, Emma January Step was a collector of lost souls. The thought of establishing a home for unattached females held no appeal, but he’d learned long ago that success sprang from consolidating victories as they materialized. The lesser issues could be debated later. “Consider it done.”

Gideon Cade had scarcely agreed to her impetuous request before he turned from her, striding purposefully, toward Jayne’s retreating figure. Emma leaned wearily against the carriage seat. Every instinct she possessed told her that now was the opportunity to escape Mr. Cade’s domineering company. The only problem was that she wasn’t sure what would fill the void of his bullying tactics.

She was too exhausted and overwhelmed to go tramping about town, looking for a hotel to take her in. Nor would such a trek be beneficial to her battered toes. She could have accepted Lyman Thornton’s offer of shelter, but something about the man disturbed her. Though what could be more disturbing than trading insults with Courtney’s uncle remained a mystery.

Thornton, a hotel, or Gideon Cade? She tried to consider her limited options logically. Thornton was creepy—not logical, but reason enough to avoid him. If she went to a hotel, they would expect her to begin paying almost immediately for her lodging. She had no money. Gideon Cade was so supremely arrogant, he invited fantasies of insurrection. Thevote wasn’t even close. What did it say about her that she preferred arrogance to creepiness?

She surrendered to a full body yawn. Gideon Cade had another asset that swung her decision in his favor. In the short time since she came to know his niece, the girl had come to mean a great deal to her. Something about Courtney’s quiet but inherently cheerful disposition had drawn Emma to her.

Emma’s gaze drifted to what was left of the academy—a charred mass of rubble. The building looked as if it had been struck by several cannon blasts. A lump swelled in her throat. She’d seen dark times before, she reminded herself, remembering when the orphanage she grew up in had “graduated” her to independence. It had been a frightening experience to leave the Burnby Heartshorn Foundling Home, but she’d done it.

The difference between then and now was that the staff had arranged several interviews for her. That was how she’d come to be employed as a companion to Beatrice Kenswick. That position had provided free room and board. The money she earned had financed additional classes at a secondary school where she became certified to teach. From there she’d become an instructor at Reverend Wade’s Fundamentalist School of Higher Learning.

Looking back, Emma could see quite clearly how she’d come to be where she was today. When she looked ahead, though, she saw only a hazy blur of nothingness.

Emma watched Mr. Cade catch up with Jayne Stoneworthy and engage her in conversation.

He’d urged her to called him Gideon…. She couldn’t, of course. It would be too personal a liberty.

As he escorted her friend toward the carriage, Emma was struck by Jayne Stoneworthy’s graceful beauty. Mr. Cade had suffered no compunctions about emphasizing her own plainness with his exaggerated compliments, but Jayne was lovely enough to justify such flattery.

Their burly driver, Hennesy, joined Mr. Cade and Jayne as they proceeded to the carriage. Emma scooted across the seat to make room for her friend as Courtney’s uncle assisted her inside. It would be a relief riding back to Mr. Cade’s home without trying to outmaneuver his entirely-too-familiar hands.

“Here’s your friend.” With an economy of motion, he climbed into the carriage and sat across from them. His long legs neatly bisected the distance between herself and Jayne. “She seems, however, to have her own idea about where she plans on spending the next few hours.” The carriage lurched forward.

Jayne patted her arm. “Emma, it’s sweet for you to be worried about my welfare, considering your own desperate circumstances.”

Emma tried not to flinch at her friend’s use of the word desperate. Perhaps it was foolish at this point to try to preserve a modicum of dignity where Gideon Cade was concerned, but the thought of him pitying her stung the tattered remnants of her pride.

“I wouldn’t call my situation desperate,” Emma protested firmly.

Jayne gathered Emma’s hands into hers. “I wish there was some way I could hire you to teach at my school!”

Emma briefly closed her eyes. Good grief, it appeared that every aspect of her private life was to be trotted out for Gideon Cade’s contemplation. “You’ve already explained that—”

“I know I have.” Jayne interrupted Emma, foiling her plan to change the subject. “But the fire changed things. Goodness, most of my possessions were already moved into the new school building, but you’ve lost everything.”

“I’m aware of that, but—”

“You can’t go through this alone.” Jayne worried her bottom lip. “I know I told you that I couldn’t afford to pay you a large enough salary to live on. That’s why the instructors I’ve hired are married women. If I put my mind to it though, I can find the extra money needed to secure a place for you on my staff.”

Emma was painfully conscious of Gideon Cade’s speculative gaze as he listened to Jayne. “I won’t trade on our brief friendship. Besides, your own situation is too precarious to start taking in charity cases.”

“Oh, Emma, I have to do something.” Tears filled her fellow teacher’s eyes. “No matter what happens, I want you to know you have a place with me.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“But what will you do? Where will you go?” Jayne wiped her eyes. “You don’t have any family to help you,” she continued, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re totally alone in the world.”

Emma refused to meet Mr. Cade’s stare. It was one thing to receive Jayne’s genuine compassion, another to endure his pity.

“Nonsense. I have you for a friend. Miss Hempshire will refer me to another employer, and…and…”

And what? Should she add Duncan, stray mongrel and all-round rogue mutt, to her diminished list of worldly assets?

“I have nothing to offer but room and board for your labors, Emma. If you can accept that, you’re hired. Don’t worry about the loss of your clothes. I’m a little taller than you, but we can take up my hems. As for your other possessions, I’ll loan you enough money to get by until…well, until the school begins producing an income.”

At Jayne’s generosity, a feeling of expanding warmth filled Emma’s chest. But her friend was trying to get a fledgling business started. Emma knew the offer of a loan, along with room and board, would be too great a burden to manage.

Emma blinked back threatening tears. She couldn’t jeopardize Jayne’s chance for success. “You’re too generous for your own good. We both know the charity you’re offering would put too great a strain on your resources.”

“It’s not charity,” Jayne said hastily. “You’re a wonderful teacher! I’ve wanted you on my staff from the beginning, just as I wanted you for a partner. All the fire did was…hasten things a bit.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.