Praise for Kate Welsh:

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS ‘A mistaken identity and a deathbed promise throw two strangers into marriage and mayhem. Welsh’s latest is a heartwarming novel about greed, revenge, love and desire.’ —RT Book Reviews

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR ‘The plot is compelling, with several subplots that add complexity to the story. The well-developed characters are likable, and make the reader care about what happens to them.’ —RT Book Reviews

His move west was supposed to mean he’d be blazing a new path for himself. Alone.

No reminders of his past. No associations that tied him to anyone. But there she sat—looking so alone and forlorn. How could he not offer help when she could leave her past behind too and he could easily help her do it?

“You don’t know where to run, do you?”

Her hands still clutched the pouch containing the jewelry. “No,” she said.

And that one bleak, hopelessly spoken word sealed his fate.

About the Author

As a child, KATE WELSH often lost herself in creating make-believe worlds and happily-ever-after tales. Many years later she turned back to creating happy endings when her husband challenged her to write down the stories in her head. A lover of all things romantic, Kate has been writing romance for over twenty years now. Her first published novels hit the stands in 1998.

Kate was Valley Forge Romance Writers’ first president, and is currently their vice-president. She lives her own happily-ever-after in the Philadelphia suburbs, with her husband of over thirty years, her daughter, their one-hundred-pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever Ecko, and Kali, the family cat.

Kate loves hearing from readers, who can reach her on the internet at kate_welsh@verizon.net

Previous novels by the author:

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS

A TEXAN’S HONOUR features characters

you will have met in

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Texan’s Honour

Kate Welsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Prologue

Ireland

May 10, 1843

Midnight

It was officially Alexander Reynolds’s twelfth birthday. The mantel clock, in the bedroom he always used on visits to Adair, had struck the final note of midnight. But he was too excited to sleep. At dinner, his Uncle James had told him the book Alexander had been begging for was in the library and his for the taking. He’d also promised Alexander a birthday surprise in the morning.

His uncle, the Earl of Adair, who was very busy caring for the family and its interests, always made time for him and his own son, Alex’s cousin, Jamie. Alexander’s father, Oswald, spent all his time bitterly complaining that he himself wasn’t the earl.

Alex pushed those sad thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about his father. He wanted to be happy for one whole day—from midnight to midnight. And he didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Sliding from bed, Alexander crept along the hall, down the back stairs. He carefully opened the door to his uncle’s library. Uncle James was there, sitting in the tall mahogany chair behind his desk. He’d fallen asleep there, as he often did. Just as Alexander was about to tiptoe into the room, he heard his father’s voice. He couldn’t see him and was relieved because if his father saw him he’d be angry, and neither he nor his mother ever angered his father if they could help it. Alex started to back away.

But what his father was saying froze Alex in place. “Wake up, brother. I wanted you to know I’m sending you to your grave. And that sickly whelp of yours won’t be far behind. He’ll come down with something deadly or maybe I’ll arrange an accident. I’ll be earl within the year.”

“No. Please,” his uncle begged.

Before Alex could react, a gunshot echoed in the room and a crimson stain blossomed on the curtains near his uncle’s desk. Then Uncle James slumped forward and his head hit the desk with a sickening thud.

Terrified, grieving and sick to his stomach all at the same time, Alexander backed away from the door and crept to the backstairs. In his bare feet, he ran silently back to his room, shaking all the way.

As he made his way to his room, he heard servants rushing through the house. He climbed into bed, shivering and trying to think. He didn’t know what to do. If he told someone what he’d seen, would they hang his father? Would that be so terrible? he had to wonder. But whom could he tell who would be sure to punish his father and save Jamie?

His mother was too cowed by his father. She couldn’t even stop him from beating Alex. He just turned on her and she ran away crying. Suppose his father killed all of them? Would that be Alex’s fault?

The butler, or the estate manager? No. Not anyone on the staff? No one would take a servant’s word over his father’s. And if Alex did say something to persons of authority on his own, suppose no one believed him? If his father could kill his own brother and said he was going to kill little Jamie, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t kill Alex for telling what he’d seen. He didn’t care about that, he realized. Except that it would leave Jamie alone, standing in the way of Oswald’s desire for the earldom. Jamie would be at his mercy. Without Alex to help him, Jamie wouldn’t stand a chance.

It was too late to help Uncle James, or even get justice for him. But Alex would guard his cousin with his own life.

Alex swore to Jamie he would do just that when the next morning he found Jamie crying in his room over the news of his father’s suicide.

That was how—on his twelfth birthday—Alexander Reynolds’s childhood had ended, forcing him to keep a terrible secret and a sacred promise.

Chapter One

New York City

September 1878

“Mister Reynolds,” his cousin’s butler said as he entered the study. Alexander looked up from the map he’d been studying as the tall gray-haired man continued, “A young woman claiming to be a friend of the countess has arrived. She seems a bit … nervous, sir. I thought perhaps you would be kind enough to explain that the earl and countess have sailed for Ireland.”

“It is rather late.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Alex took a sip of his cognac, cautious as always to assume the careless persona he showed the world. Soon he would be free to let go of that facade. Soon that character and everything that had created him would be in the past and he could figure out who the hell he really was.

“Not looking forward to disappointing the lady, Winston?” he pretended to tease. “You never have that problem when I ask you to send a persistent mamma on her way.”

Winston stiffened to his tallest, most formal self. “This is different. Disappointing teary-eyed, exhausted females is not my forte, sir.”

“You think it’s mine?” Alex asked carefully. Was it?

“Not at all. But as I mentioned, she seems to be worried. And fretful. I suppose I could awaken Heddie—”

“No. No,” Alex said on a sigh. Mrs. Winston worked hard every day and was doing more than usual closing up Jamie’s house and with little help. He on the other hand had been doing nothing but marking time until what he thought of as his real life began.

Dammit. Why couldn’t this woman have waited another day to show up on his cousin’s doorstep? “I suppose I should earn my keep around here.”

Winston’s left eyebrow rose imperiously. “I believe you did that into perpetuity in San Francisco. You saved the lives of the earl and countess, their child and the lives of the entire household staff.”

And all he’d had to do to accomplish that was to kill his own father. Alex knocked back the rest of his snifter of Jamie’s best cognac.

The guilt from that night and from the years of hesitation and half measures that had preceded it threatened to crush him. He would have done it years earlier had he known it would come to that. He hoped so at least. It would have saved others endless heartache, his own years of regret and several lives.

“I’d best be off to handle this dirty work for you,” Alex joked, forcing his thoughts into the present. “Where did you leave the young lady? Not on the doorstep, I hope.”

“Sir! Of course not. I showed her to the front parlor.”

Alex forced a grin. Sometimes it was exceedingly tiring to pretend a lightheartedness he didn’t feel. “I never thought otherwise. Take a breath, Winston.” He stood to go in search of … “The young lady in question, Winston, what is her name?”

“Mrs. Patience Wexler Gorham.”

Alex rose. “I should hurry, I suppose. It has been my experience that women named Patience have little of the virtue to call their own.”

Winston nodded smartly, then withdrew. Alex strode down the stairs and along the hall of the New York town house. The house spoke of his cousin Jamie’s success. But, even more, of his determination to get out from under Alex’s father’s shadow.

Alex had always pretended to be the carefree one but somehow Jamie had managed to blossom into all that was sunshine and light. He smiled. Seeing Jamie so happy made everything he’d done since he’d turned twelve worthwhile.

Meanwhile Alex had spent years as a phantom and now he couldn’t quite find his way out of the darkness. It was his turn to crawl from behind the shadow that had been Oswald Reynolds, just as Jamie had done. The next step on that journey was leaving New York to begin his new life on the Rocking R, the Texas Hill Country ranch he’d bought. He was counting on the completely foreign, totally sunny atmosphere to free him of some of the weight on his shoulders. Of the darkness in his soul.

Because he couldn’t seem to do it for himself.

He stepped into the doorway of the parlor, a lovely, light-infused room with Louis Quinze furnishings, gleaming white woodwork and golden brocade-inset wall panels. Three exquisite crystal chandeliers kept it bright even at night.

But the beauty of the decorating paled in the presence of the lovely creature standing near the fireplace. He stared for a long moment at her reflection in a mirror on a side wall. Her profile was delicate, her green eyes heavily fringed with dark lashes and her hair a rich auburn.

Alex’s heart bumped in his chest when he cleared his throat and she spun to face him. Disappointment flooded those crystalline eyes. Winston, you rotter.

He cleared his tight throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gorham,” he said. “I come the bearer of unfortunate news. My cousin, Jamie, and his wife sailed this morning for his estate in Ireland.”

“No,” she cried. Her creamy complexion went instantly pale. “Oh, no! What am I to do now?” She looked suddenly as if all the starch had gone out of her. Wobbling a bit, she made a grab for the mantel.

Alex knew an overwrought woman when he saw one. The hand gripping the solid surface would hold her upright only so long. He reached her just in time to catch her before she could pitch forward on her face. He scooped her up then laid her on the settee. But she didn’t awaken. Not even when he went from patting her hand to stroking the lovely creature’s smooth cheek. He looked down upon her and found himself, just for a moment, tumbling headlong into love.

Then he got his head round straight. Lust. This was only lust. And look what pain that had wrought in his life so far! He’d lost all right to the child born of what he’d thought was love, but now knew to have been that baser emotion.

“Oh, dear. I was correct, then. The young thing is more than a bit upset,” Winston said from the hall, pulling Alex out of haunting memories.

“I’d say that is the greatest of understatements. Call your wife, would you, Winston? I think the lady may need a woman when she wakes.”

“But, sir, what are we to do about her after that?”

Alex sighed. This was a complication, to be sure, but what else could he do? “It is quite late and we can hardly send her out alone into the dark of night. I don’t think the earl would mind if we gave her a room till morning if she is in need of lodging.”

“I believe Lady Meara’s room could be readied in a thrice, sir. Heddie made it up and put the dust covers in place this afternoon.”

“I’m as sorry as I can be about having to awaken your wife but I think proprieties should be followed as much as possible.”

Winston nodded. “I’ll wake the wife and send her along then I’ll go and uncover everything. You can bring the young lady up while my wife dresses.”

Alex sighed in relief. “Thank you, Winston. I confess I’m completely at sea as to what to do for her. Or to say to her.”

“Perhaps you might listen when she wakes, sir.”

Alex frowned. Not what he wanted to hear. He could actually feel himself being pulled into a situation he wanted nothing to do with. Yet … “I suppose that means first I would be expected to ask what it is she came here to accomplish.” He wasn’t sure what good he’d be to her. He was barely any good to himself these days.

He received a reprieve of a sort because Mrs. Gorham—Patience—had not awakened by the time Winston returned. The butler reported that he’d readied the room and that his wife was dressing as quickly as possible.

Not knowing what else to do for the young woman, Alex lifted her slight weight into his arms and carried her up to little Meara’s room. He laid her on the counterpane and stepped back.

Looking around the room he smiled helplessly. It held the stamp of Meara, the child he could never claim as his own though he was her true father. Several years earlier Jamie had married the woman Alex had loved. She had given birth to Meara seven months after their nuptials. Alex, absent from England at the time, had had no idea he’d left Iris pregnant when he’d gone off on a mission. She’d died some months after Meara’s birth in a fall from a horse. Legally Meara was Jamie’s daughter. But more important, Jamie loved Meara no less than if she was his natural child. In fact, Jamie said he loved her more because she was Alex’s daughter. Alex shook his head in consternation. The inner workings of his cousin’s mind were ever a mystery.

His heart aching for all that would never be, Alex walked to the window and looked out, concerned to see a man walking up and down the street, checking yards and obviously searching for something. He glanced at the bed.

Or someone.

A moan from their guest told him his temporary housemate had decided to join him. He walked to the bed, grabbing a small chair on his way, and sat next to her.

Her eyes drifted open then widened in what could only be named terror. Judging from the way she sprang into a sitting position and shrank away to the other side of the bed, no doubt the person who had her so frightened must be a male. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” she gasped and looked around frantically. “Where am I?”

“At the home of your friend, Amber, in her stepdaughter Meara’s room,” he told her. “You swooned when I told you the earl and countess had gone from America to Ireland.”

She blinked and colored before she took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “Oh, yes. Of course. I’m so terribly sorry to have caused such an uproar. I traveled all day and I haven’t eaten. I won’t trouble you further,” she added and began to scoot away toward the other side of the bed and the door. “I must get on my way.”

Alex wrapped a staying hand around her delicate arm, tilted his head and considered the pretty young woman for a long moment. He took in her frozen expression, as well, and carefully let go of her arm. “Where will you go? You seemed not to know what you would do now that the countess is away.”

Tears welled up in her startling eyes, magnifying the multihued qualities of their green color. He had never seen their like. “But that isn’t your problem,” she whispered as if forcing the words forth.

“But I fear it is of interest to a certain man moving furtively along the street, checking yards.”

She sucked in a breath and cast her fear-filled gaze toward the window.

“Perhaps you need help, even if only from the cousin of the earl?” Alex asked, shocked to his toes to hear himself ask the question. Why could he not learn to mind his own business? He was to leave in the morning.

She blinked and hesitantly leaned back against the headboard. “Alexander? You’re Alexander?”

He forced a smile, though he loathed that name having heard it on his father’s lips one too many times. “My reputation seems to have preceded me. I hope what you’ve heard hasn’t been all bad.”

“On the contrary. Amber calls you a hero. She wrote about the problems in San Francisco and how you saved them all from certain death. I am sorry it cost you so much personally.”

Alex pushed thoughts of that night out of his mind. He relived it often enough in his nightmares. “I did only what I had to do. The question is how may I help you? We—Winston and I—already assume you’ll stay the night.”

She looked at her hands where she’d rested them in her lap. “That is very kind of you but I don’t wish to put you out. Or to cause you trouble. My father is a powerful man.”

“I assure you, powerful men rarely frighten me. I cut my teeth on a father who probably makes yours look like a petulant angry kitten. We seem to have troublesome sires in common. So tell me. What is so forbidding about yours that you would flee him?”

She sighed, staring at him as if weighing her options. The expression in her startling eyes clearly put him in the dubious category of the lesser of two evils. Truly, nothing new to him.

“I am a recent widow. My marriage was more on the lines of a prison sentence—though the prison itself was quite lovely.” She looked down again as if ashamed of her next statement. “My husband was very disappointed in me as a wife. To spite me, he went through his fortune in his last years. He left me penniless at his death. I had no choice but to return to my father. Father blames me for the problems in my marriage and now has arranged another marriage. Soon.”

Alex was incredulous, though why he would be after his treatment at his own father’s hands he did not know. Perhaps because she was so utterly angelic he couldn’t imagine any man, especially her father, not being softened by that endearing grace. “Your father blamed you?”

“My husband spoke ill of me to Father. And my father also holds a great grudge against me. My husband refused to allow me to travel, you see. Impatient to see her only daughter and how I was enjoying the wonderful marriage my father had arranged for me, my mother and brothers came to visit. She departed swiftly when she saw how unhappy I was. They were killed on their return trip. All of them.”

Alex’s own father had certainly been capable of such disloyalty. “And so your father blames you for their deaths and not your husband or the driver of the carriage?”

“My husband was a friend of Father’s and, as I said, he often spoke ill of me so I would have nowhere to go if I tried to flee my marriage. He claimed I’d grown full of myself and that I’d declared Mother would need to visit me if she wanted to see me. At least she left knowing the truth.”

“You said you’re recently widowed. For how long, if I may inquire?”

“Three months.”

He blinked. He knew Americans were less formal in general than the English but not in the upper echelons of society. Bedraggled as she had been on arriving, she was clearly from that group. “And yet, you said he wishes you to marry again soon.”

“The man is another of his friends though quite a bit younger. Mr. Bedlow has long wanted me.” She shivered and, though Alex could tell she tried to hide the reaction, he saw nonetheless.

“Father told me he has arranged our marriage for two weeks from now.”

“Am I to understand you don’t wish this man’s attention?”

She cast her gaze at her knotted fingers. “I refused the marriage, and more specifically the man, so Father locked me in my room. He told the servants they were not to feed me until I agreed to marry Mr. Bedlow. He made a mistake, though. Amber had come into my life at Vassar.” Patience’s smile was just a touch mischievous. “She taught me to climb trees. And the tree outside the terrace of my room has grown quite a bit since I lived there before my marriage. It was an avenue of escape. And I took it. I must admit, as afraid as I was of falling, my greatest fear was that if I fell and therefore failed to make my getaway, the fall might not kill me.”

Alex was truly horrified at the thought of a young woman preferring death to marriage to the man chosen for her. He wondered if his mother had had similar feelings when she’d been told of the marriage his grandfathers had arranged. And now he knew his father had eventually killed her. Or rather Alex had, by sharing the knowledge of his father’s misdeeds with her. If only she hadn’t found the courage to stand up to Oswald Reynolds over the earl’s murder.

If only he’d kept his own counsel.

Just then Mrs. Winston bustled in carrying a tray. “Time enough in the morning to make plans and decisions. Off with you now, Mr. Alex,” she ordered. “And here’s a bit of a snack, dearie. The husband says you fainted. Nothing a bit of soup and tea won’t cure.” She pinned Alex with a hard glare when he didn’t move. “What is it you’d be waiting around for, Mr. Alex?”

After assuring Patience that she’d be safe for the night, Alex stood and left, cursing his own cowardice. Had he not called upon Jamie’s love-able harridan of a housekeeper in the first place, he’d still be sharing a few more moments with their guest. Then he cursed his own stupidity and reminded himself that the only things he felt for Mrs. Gorham were lust and pity and he’d sworn not to let either emotion rule him in the future.

Patience stared after the admittedly handsome Alexander Reynolds as he left, having chivalrously promised to keep watch on the house while she slept. He’d been so kind. And had not even blinked an eye at all she’d revealed.

But really—what had possessed her to blurt out her shameful personal history? She tried to gain solace from the knowledge that she hadn’t spelled out the full spectrum of the degradation her husband had subjected her to.

But the question remained. In spite of all she already knew about Alexander Reynolds from Amber, she was unsure if she could trust him or any man ever again.

“You can trust that one,” Mrs. Winston said.

Patience jumped nearly a foot and her head instinctively snapped around to stare into the kindly face of the housekeeper who’d shooed Alexander away. It was as if she’d heard Patience’s thoughts. Her doubts. “How could you know what—?”

“What you were thinking?” the woman finished, her gray head canted. “Uncertainty is written all over your face, dearie. And I know he’s trustworthy because I’ve seen a lot in the years I’ve worked for the Quality. Their station doesn’t always mean they’re good people. The earl and his cousin are. Now, let’s get you fed and ready for bed, shall we, Mrs. Gorham?”

That name almost always thrust her back into those humiliating days that had ended only three months ago. No matter how much she managed to block out the memories, those awful days were still there waiting to haunt her when she least expected. She’d heard it said that time healed all wounds, but she was sure anyone who believed that had been given a decent amount of time. Instead, she had more poisonous memories to keep the others company. The newer ones, however, hurt worse because they were wounds delivered by her own father’s betrayal.

With slightly narrowed eyes, she concentrated on the older woman, fighting the painful thoughts. After a long moment she managed to say, “I know it is considered a breach but please call me Patience.”

The kindly woman smiled, gentle understanding in her warm expression. “Then you should call me Heddie.”

“Gladly,” Patience said.

“Now that we have that settled, come sit over here, and eat. I want nothing left on that tray when I come back, hear?”

Patience nodded then let the woman help her to a small sitting area as she fought back tears. No one had fussed over her this way since her mama’s death. Had she lived, would her mother have rescued her as she’d promised that fateful day? Patience would never know. Just as she would never know if the accident that had taken her mother and brothers’ lives had been an accident at all. She’d always feared her husband had had a hand in forcing that carriage off the cliff. The evidence of the tracks on the road had told the story of negligence at best, murder at worst. But she hadn’t been questioned. She didn’t believe there had even been an investigation at all.

“Eat up, now. I’m off to find something for you to sleep in.”

Patience dug in as ordered. The simple fare was delicious, the soup tasty and warm, the bread crisp and sumptuous. It had been so long since she’d eaten.

Although she’d been taught to take small bites in order to converse with guests throughout a meal, this evening, all alone, Patience fairly wolfed the food down. Her mother would have been mortified. Tears filled Patience’s eyes. Penelope Wexler was long gone.

Mrs. Winston returned not long after and dropped a nightgown on the bed. “There you go, dearie. Oh, done already? My you were near starved, weren’t you?”

Embarrassed, Patience dropped her gaze. “I’m so sorry. You must think me terribly unmannered to have all but inhaled my food that way.”

“What I think is that you were in great need of nourishment. Now let us get you out of those clothes so you can get some sleep. Mr. Alex sent up some brandy. You should drink it. It may help you sleep. Problems can be handled in the morning.”

Patience nodded and stood. Heddie helped her undress and put on the nightgown that must belong to Amber, judging from the small size and exquisite quality. Wondering what was to become of her, Patience climbed back onto the bed Mrs. Winston had turned down. The brandy did help and she fell into an exhausted sleep rather quickly, though it was a sleep haunted by the past and future.

She wakened several times with a start, thinking the man Alexander had seen out of the window had somehow found her. Each time she roused she was greeted by a small gas flame glowing in a wall sconce across the room. It illuminated the area enough so she could see that no one but her was in the room.

Hours later the morning sunshine slanted through the bedroom window, rousing Patience from her restless slumber. Though her sleep had been disturbed by nightmares, she had still slept. She hadn’t felt this rested since that awful interview with her father when he’d proclaimed her fate and banished her to her room until she capitulated.

She pursed her lips and swung her feet to the floor. He must be furious, surely having discovered her missing by now. And with Amber gone for Ireland, Patience had no one to turn to.

What am I to do?

If only there was some way for her to get far enough away. She walked to the window and cautiously peeked through the airy curtains, wondering if the man Alexander had seen was indeed someone in her father’s employ. Was he still lurking out there? Her stomach knotted. If he was, how would she be able to escape again?

The bedroom door opened slowly and Patience whirled, half-expecting one of the men from her nightmares to be standing there. But it was only Heddie backing in with a tray in her hands. The mixed scents of coffee, warm bread, bacon and fried eggs entered with her.

“Mr. Reynolds asks that you stay in your room until he’s taken care of some pressing matters. He wants to make sure it’s safe for you to come down. He was quite adamant.”

“How can it not be safe inside the earl’s home?”

“He said he isn’t sure about your rights under the laws here in the United States. Or his for harboring you. He thinks it would be unwise for you to risk being seen until you have a plan and he knows no one can legally force their way inside to look for you.”

Her heart fell. She knew the answer to that. She had no plan and no rights with a father as powerful as hers. With his connections at city hall things went his way in spite of the downfall of Boss Tweed and the Tammany Hall political machine. That was why she had run here. Amber’s husband, the Earl of Adair, had as much power here and abroad as her father. She’d hoped the earl would be able to help her find a safe haven. She was beginning to fear there was no such place.

“I should dress and be on my way,” she told Heddie Winston. “I don’t think Mr. Reynolds understands whose runaway daughter he’s taken in. I am nothing more than Lionel Wexler’s chattel.”

Mrs. Winston smiled kindly and shook her head a bit. “You should know Alexander Reynolds isn’t afraid of your father, dearie.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t believe he’s afraid of anyone. Considering the man who raised him, I can’t imagine there is a person alive who could intimidate Mr. Alex.”

She took the tray to the sitting area where Patience had eaten last night. “Now you sit right over here and eat your meal. When you’re done, have a good soak. The bath is the door at the end of the hall. I’ve left a robe in there and I have someone brushing your dress out and fixing the torn hem. She’ll bring it up when she’s finished and then she’ll draw your bath. I’ll see she tidies up in here while she waits to help you dress.” Heddie turned back and motioned to the slipper chair. “I washed out your chemise and I’m about to iron it the rest of the way dry. Everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”

Patience ate what she could, no longer as ravenous as last night. Trying not to notice the time passing, she bathed, dressed and let the young maid fool with her hair. Then she paced. Three hours after Heddie Winston left her, Patience had run out of tolerance with hiding in a child’s room. She had begun to feel like a prisoner again.

Opening her reticule, she spread the jewelry her mother had brought along on that fateful visit just before the accident that had taken her life. It had been her grandmother’s and her mother’s. She fingered it now, remembering with a sharp pang the day her mother had given the items to her. And the shame she’d felt as she’d hidden it, guarding it under a loose floorboard in her closet. She’d made sure no one knew she had it, especially after her mother’s death and her father’s subsequent desertion. For the five remaining years of her marriage, she’d kept it hidden from her husband, at first unable to use it for escape. Following her mother’s departure that day, he’d kept her a virtual prisoner.

Finally he’d had a heart attack that had left him so wasted, the worst he’d been able to do was strike her on the back of the legs with his cane as she passed him. She’d learned to wear extra petticoats that made the attacks as ineffectual as he’d been in bed.

He’d blamed her for that, too!

And so she’d endured, knowing she had nowhere to go, hoping Edgar Gorham wouldn’t live much longer, thinking she’d be able to use his wealth to build a life for herself once he was gone. He’d lived two and a half years longer, though, and all she’d been able to do was fight against his attempts to crush her spirit. She was unsure of how well she’d succeeded.

She fingered the pieces of her heritage nestled in a handkerchief, hating the thought of selling the only visible tie she had to her mother and grandmother. But she had no choice. She could not enter another marriage to a man she despised. She needed to thank Alexander and be on her way.

Chapter Two

Alex stood at the window of Jamie’s study, looking down at the busy street below. He watched as Palmer, his man of business, entered the carriage and drove off. Palmer had given him a good picture of the man their guest was up against. The news wasn’t good. Other than Amber and Jamie, Patience Gorham probably hadn’t a friend in the world who’d go up against her father.

Or Howard Bedlow.

And she was up against them both.

Dammit!

A noise behind him drew his attention. Reflected in the window’s glass, Patience stood in the doorway to the study. “Got impatient did you?” he said and plastered on a grin before turning. Thank God he’d had a bit of a forewarning. The way he felt at that moment he’d have sent the girl scurrying out the front door.

Into danger, no doubt.

Alex cursed under his breath. He’d been wrong. With some nourishment and rest, she was even lovelier than he’d remembered. And more than a bit alluring.

“I’m sorry to disobey your order but I must get on my way,” she said. That soft melodic voice that had followed him into sleep washed over him.

At dawn, Winston had relieved him of his watch on the house so he’d gotten a couple of hours of sleep but she’d been there waiting for him in his dreams, with her rich silky hair, those heart-stopping eyes and that voice that got him hard every time he heard it. And this time was no exception. Which left him feeling like the worst sort of cad. The poor thing was terrified of men—himself included.

He forced his mind off his hunger for her and onto her situation. It was good that no one had come pounding the door down, sure she was inside. Now that it was nearly nine in the morning, he was almost sure no one had seen her arrive last night. But he was just as sure there would eventually be an inquiry since apparently Patience and Amber corresponded.

“Disobey my order?” he asked. His heart ached at this window into the kind of life she must have led thus far. He was sure it was the kind of life his mother had been forced to live.

“Mrs. Winston said I was to stay above stairs.”

Alex sighed. “You have no obligation to do as I say, Mrs. Gorham. I merely suggested you remain there for your safety. But you may do as you wish.”

Though it seemed forced, she gave him an ironic little grin. “Would that that were true. I came to thank you for your hospitality. And to ask if you know of a shop where I could sell my jewelry.”

Alex considered her. “A pawn shop? You know you won’t get half what it’s worth, don’t you?”

She clutched her reticule to her stomach looking pained and sad. “That cannot be helped. I need the funds to get away.”

The jewelry means a great deal to her. It couldn’t be a gift from her late husband, then. With her desperation so clear in her eyes, she would be a lamb for the shearing to any pawnbroker.

He gestured toward the divan and, breaking protocol, he took a seat in the chair nearest her so she would know he had no intention of crowding her. “I must warn you, that sort of establishment is probably being watched.”

She shook her head. “My father has no knowledge that I have it. My mother gave it to me just before her death. I was to use it to get away from Mr. Gorham should I feel endangered.”

“As that means you never felt that desperate, I am glad you still have it. May I ask where it is you plan to go? Will you try to follow the countess to Ireland?”

“No. The wharfs are surely being watched. I had thought to make my way out of the city by rail.” She bit that lovely full bottom lip with her even white teeth.

He wanted nothing more at that moment than to nibble that lip, as well. The thought made his breath catch.

Then she spoke again. “That is how I got here, but if the wharfs are watched, I suppose the rail stations are by now, as well.”

Alex forced his desire for her into the background of his thoughts again. But his resolve to help her had only strengthened in the last minutes. He supposed everyone had a weakness. His was apparently a need to help those being forced into desperate circumstances by ruthless men. He didn’t know if it was altruism or if he was condemned to spend his life proving to himself and others he wasn’t like his father.

He hated the idea that Oswald Reynolds still had that kind of power and influence over his life. Alex stared ahead, trying to put away the notion of offering more help than he’d already given.

His move west was supposed to mean he’d be blazing a new path for himself. Alone. No reminders of his past. No associations that tied him to anyone but Jamie and his family. But there she sat looking so alone and forlorn. How could he not offer help when she could leave her past behind, too, and he could easily help her do it. “You don’t know where to run, do you?”

Her hands still clutched the pouch containing the jewelry. “No,” she said.

And that one bleak, hopelessly spoken word sealed his fate.

Winston appeared in the doorway perhaps with a reprieve. “Sir, there is a gentl—A person looking for a young lady. He claims she is off in the head.” Winston glanced rather pointedly toward Patience when she gasped. “A danger to herself and others.”

“I am not …” She popped to her feet, still holding the reticule in a desperate clench. “I swear, I am not anything of the—”

Alex stood and lifted a staying hand to stop her rush of words. She had suffered enough and shouldn’t be forced to beg for her very life. To Winston he said, “I will handle this. Is that all?”

“I left him on the stoop.”

“That was unusually rude of you, Winston.”

“Yes,” Winston agreed and Alex would swear he’d nearly smiled.

To Mrs. Gorham, Alex said quietly, “I will send him on his way. As to his claims, I can detect a lie when I hear one even if it isn’t firsthand. A lady like you would never invent the tale you have told me. I had a mother who was a lady and all that was kind and gentle. I know you felt diminished by what you were forced to reveal. This is not an order, ma’am, but for your safety, you should go with Winston and put your trust in those trying to help you.”

She simply nodded and hurried down the back hall following Winston.

Alex proceeded to the front door. He took a deep breath and schooled his features into that of the carefree lighthearted swell he’d pretended to be for so long. It was another part of his life he intended to leave behind.

A large man with a pinched face and a slightly unkempt appearance stood at the door, a step below. He straightened from his slovenly posture against the rail, looking mulish and annoyed.

Too damn bad, Alex thought as he gazed sardonically down his nose. Leaning on the doorjamb, Alex crossed his arms negligently. “I understand you’ve come seeking the Earl of Adair,” Alex said, making sure that no matter how relaxed he seemed to be he still blocked the doorway with his body.

“I’m with the Pinkerton Agency. We’ve reason to believe our client’s daughter came here looking for the earl’s wife. I’ve been sent to retrieve her.”

“Retrieve the countess?” Alex asked mildly, all the while considering the implication of the Pinkertons looking for one lone woman. Apparently Lionel Wexler was determined to get her back and by any means necessary.

The Pinkertons usually worked for powerful corporations against those who threatened their revenues or hunted dangerous criminals intent on menacing their clientele’s bank accounts and property.

Alan Pinkerton himself was a ruthless man. A few years ago he’d blown up a home where the mother of the notorious James brothers lived. Their younger half brother had been killed and their mother had lost an arm. Pinkerton denied the arson had been planned from the first but not many who lived by a strict moral code seemed to believe him.

“‘Course I’m not lookin’ for the earl or his lady,” the agent snapped. “I’m seeking Patience Gorham.”

Trying to appear just a bit vacuous Alex said, “Oh. I don’t believe I know that name. What is this about again?”

“She’s off her nut she is, sir. Mr. Wexler wants her back home safe and sound.”

Alex pretended to be startled. “Goodness. This sounds serious.” Then confused. “When is it you think she would have arrived on my cousin’s doorstep? And this Wexler chap is looking for a woman named Gorham but she is his daughter?”

The man’s gaze sharpened. “Thought you didn’t know her? Why so interested if you don’t know her?”

“Don’t know her. But I don’t live in my cousin’s pocket, either. I have my reasons for asking. When would this have been?”

“Yesterday or maybe the day before. Her papa isn’t sure when she escaped her room. Climbed down a tree like a child. Shows she’s not right in the head. Could’ve been killed or caused a scandal.”

The man had to be parroting Wexler’s concerns because Alex doubted this man had a clue how much of a scandal this would be were it to get out. Unfortunately, it was probably Patience who would be the one tarnished by the gossip this man was spreading. “I think you shouldn’t be letting that get out, in that case. I doubt her father expects you to go about damaging the poor daft girl’s reputation.”

The man had the good grace to look abashed.

But Alex was still left striving to keep his expression one of mild concern and not one of utter outrage. To how many others had this cretin bandied her sanity and good name about like an old society biddy?

Then the full import of what the man had said sank in. If they didn’t know when Patience had left, she must not have been given food for at least the two days in question. Nor had anyone bothered to check to make sure she was all right in her pretty prison cell.

It was a wonder she’d gotten this far before fainting. Suppose she’d fallen beneath the wheels of the train at the busy station or the hooves of a carriage team. Alex clenched his hands behind his back.

“This may be very bad,” he told the Pinkerton. “The countess added a maid to her staff only yesterday. Can you describe this woman?”

The man checked his notepad. “Uh … smallish. Red hair. Dark red, her papa said. Green eyes. ‘Bout all they told me so far. They’re working with a printer to make up handbills with her likeness on ‘em.”

“They? Her parents?” he asked, knowing her mother to be diseased.

“Her intended and her papa.”

Alex raised an eyebrow lazily. “Goodness, he must be a brave man to agree to marry a crazed woman. Or he must owe something to her father.”

“The maid, sir? There is a reward. And Mr. Pinkerton wants to impress this gent that hired him.”

“Well, I am sorry to tell you but the description does put me in mind of the new maid.”

The man put his foot on the top step but Alex put a hand to his chest, blocking his advance. “You didn’t wait for me to deliver the bad news. The earl and his family sailed yesterday for his estate. With their staff.”

“Where is it? This estate?”

For me to know and you to waste time finding out. If this ruffian worked on a false lead for a good while, Alex could use that time to get Patience out of the city. Let Wexler and the other one pay the Pinkertons to go chasing a wild goose.

Putting on his best, bored aristocratic expression Alex said mockingly, “He’s an earl. Where do you think his estate is?”

The man cursed roundly, turned away and stalked off down the marble steps without another word. He met with three others a few doors down. Alex smiled as the detective gave his cohorts the news. “You’re welcome, you vulture,” he said under his breath and stepped back inside.

Now to find out if Mrs. Patience Wexler Gorham was brave enough to consider starting over in Texas.

Patience returned to the study, responding to a summons from Alexander Reynolds. Her nerves were still jittery after hearing the lies her father was willing to tell about her. Contrary to her previous belief, a heart could break more than once. But she had no time to nurse it.

Alexander stood as she entered the room. Heddie Winston trailed after her and surprisingly joined her husband on the divan. Having servants party to a meeting was an oddity but Alexander seemed quite at home with the situation. She rather liked that about him. Actually she liked a great deal about the man Amber had told her about. She wondered if he was really the man she saw and if his kindness was not just a facade, as her husband’s had been.

He gestured to the high-back chair where he’d sat during their earlier interview. Patience sank into it gratefully, her knees still a bit weak.

“Thank you for cooperating earlier, Mrs. Gorham,” Alexander said and leaned against the desk.

“As you pointed out, doing as you asked was for my benefit. What is it you wished to tell me? Does it appear I can successfully flee?”

“I may have managed to shift your father’s search from this neighborhood and, in fact, from these shores for a while. Right now they believe you arrived here in time to escape to Britain as part of the earl’s entourage. But that will last only so long.”

Patience felt suddenly a bit lighter. “That means it may be safer for me to sell my jewelry to use for train fare.”

“Safer but not entirely safe,” he cautioned. “The Pinkertons are wily and may still question New York’s pawnbrokers. Besides which, it isn’t right that you should be forced to sell that jewelry. I assume it’s all you have left of your mother.”

Patience nodded, any elation gone at the prospect of selling the pieces to ensure her safety as she had promised her mother. In its place flowed memories and pain at the thought of letting them go.

On nights when her husband’s cruelty had been nearly too great to bear, she’d crept to her closet to finger her grandmother’s emerald-and-ruby set. She’d close her eyes and remember the Christmases around the tree at her grandparents’ home. Nana had always worn the jewels on Christmas, their vibrant colors just right for the occasion.

Standing in her closet, Patience had held tight to her mother’s diamond necklace, the one Mama had given her that fateful morning they’d set off for home. “If you need to get away before I can convince your father to intervene, you must use these,” Penelope Wexler had begged.

“This isn’t about sentiment. It is about survival,” Patience said now, repeating her mother’s last private words to her.

“Yes, it is about your survival,” Alexander agreed. “I have an idea how to accomplish that and more. First you should know there is a part of your situation I am afraid you don’t know. Your betrothal was announced in the Times this morning.”

Patience gasped then had trouble forcing the air back out. “I refused. How could he do that?” She shook her head. “Mr. Bedlow is going to be furious when he learns I ran away. He is a man who cherishes his pride. This will make him a laughingstock. He will never give up. Never!”

“If you’re willing to take a chance, this additional information may not matter but I felt you had a right to know if you didn’t—which you clearly did not. My idea is why I’ve asked the Winstons to sit in on this talk. I’ve purchased a ranch in Texas Hill Country. The Rocking R is near a small town called Tierra del Verde. I am to leave for the Newark, New Jersey, train station in less than two hours. From there I am to go to Philadelphia where I will board the earl’s private car to travel from Philadelphia as far as San Antonio, Texas. You are welcome to join me.”

Patience stared at him—elation warring with fear. Alexander Reynolds, she knew from Amber’s letters, had lived most of his life in the pursuit of one thing—seeing to his cousin’s safety. But Alexander was also a man. Patience couldn’t ignore that basic fact. How could she travel from New York to Texas in a train car alone with a man? Any man? Even Alexander Reynolds?

Mr. Gorham had seemed all that was kind and gentle until their wedding night, when he’d been unable to perform and had blamed her. That night and all the nights after. He’d tortured her nightly, squeezing and pinching her breasts till they’d been bruised purple. Men, once alone with a woman, became animals.

Alexander cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “I know this idea is a shock, but I must urge you think on it. If you traveled alone, you would be at the mercy of any number of strangers.

Strangers you would know nothing about and there would be no one with you to assure your safety. Even if you were lucky enough to travel unmolested, you would be in plain view. You are a lovely young woman and will draw the eye of everyone you encounter. That would make you extremely easy to track.

“The Pinkertons are very good at what they do. You will never elude them on your own. And that your father is powerful enough to hire them is even more of a worry for your chances alone. The betrothal announcement speaks to his confidence in finding you and bringing you to heel.”

As her heart pounded with fear, Alexander looked toward the Winstons. “And I have a proposition for both of you. It may come to light eventually that we three have aided Mrs. Gorham in her flight. Lionel Wexler, Mrs. Gorham’s father, is a powerful man used to getting his own way—as is her betrothed. Neither man will be happy with anyone who has aided her. If Jamie decides not to return to New York from Adair, you will both be released from his employ. I fear you might have difficulty obtaining new employment here in the East.”

“The day I let something like that stop me from doing what’s right is the day I’ll cease to be a good Christian woman,” Heddie Winston blustered. “Isn’t that right, Jordie?” she said to her husband. Apparently a man of few words, Winston merely nodded. “San Francisco was good to us. We’ll just go on back there.”

Patience blinked back tears of gratitude to these three strangers. “Please know I am grateful for all your kindnesses to me. But at the same time I am so sorry to have brought this trouble to your doorstep.”

Alexander spoke again. “It may be of no consequence to any of us. I have an idea to avoid any and all backlash from this.” Still looking at the Winstons he said, “I wondered if you two would consider accompanying Mrs. Gorham and me to Texas to work for me there. We would all travel in the earl’s private train car. There is plenty of room. And I think Mrs. Gorham would feel more comfortable with chaperones along. I’m told the car has two staterooms, four berths, a comfortable sitting room and a small dining area. But it is some distance by coach from San Antonio. There is no Indian activity in the area so you needn’t fear attack on the way. Still, I will see that men from the ranch are there to act as outriders for us on the rest of trip.

“Before any of you answer, let me tell you what awaits you at journey’s end. Tierra del Verde is a small town by any standard we are used to but it is quaint with Spanish influences in its architecture. The people I met while there are amiable and honest. It is hoped the railroad will extend that far and beyond but there is no knowing how long that will take. A while, I think. Which will be good for our purposes.”

He looked toward her and Patience found herself riveted by the kindness in his eyes. “There is a need for a teacher there, Mrs. Gorham. I’m sure your education more than qualifies you to fill the position. You could earn a living and begin your life anew.”

Patience felt a great spurt of joy at the thought of being a teacher. Then Alexander went on.

“The ranch is called the Rocking R.” He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Winston. “I’ve built a very nice house and need a head housekeeper and, of course, a butler to keep everything running smoothly.”

He seemed to have it all figured out, though Patience was nearly sure he would have no real need of a butler and he knew it. Patience wished she could resent his cool head and quick thinking. But he’d solved her problem and might have just offered her a real life. She couldn’t turn him down nor could she wait to hear the Winstons’ answer. She was sick to death of being a coward. She wanted to be more than she’d become in the last five awful years.

Taking a deep breath, she fisted her hands at her sides beneath the cover of her skirts where no one else could see and said, “I’d be honored to accompany you, Mr. Reynolds. I would love to be a teacher.”

Winston spoke before Alexander could respond. “Heddie and I were talking about how much we envy you your adventure, sir. We’d be proud to be in the employ of so fine a man. And if the young lady is going to be with you then it is better that Heddie and I will be going along, as well. Propriety should be observed or she will never get that position as the teacher.”

Alexander looked a bit surprised at that last statement. He nodded, somewhat uncertainly. “It seems there were things I had not considered. If we are all in agreement, then, we have quite a bit to accomplish in very little time. I am all packed so I can easily aid you, Winston. Mrs. Gorham, if you would be so kind as to help Mrs. Winston with her things, we are sure to make the train to Philadelphia. We will stay there tonight and begin the trek south tomorrow.”

“Oh, my,” Heddie said. “Mrs. Gorham is only free to help me because she has no clothes of her own.”

Patience blushed. She wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing. To place herself further in charity to these good people or to admit how underhanded she had been forced to become in order to escape her own parent. And to further have to admit how weak she’d become for lack of nourishment by the time she’d neared Amber’s address.

Unable to look so brave a man in the eye, she cast her gaze at Alexander’s feet and said, “I may have some things of my own. I … um … I tore my sheets and knotted them to make a rope so I could lower my portmanteau to the ground. It grew too heavy to carry any farther as I came to the park near here. I hid it beneath a pine tree at the entrance. It could still be there, I suppose.”

Alexander moved toward her. She watched his feet grow closer until he sank onto his heels before her. She couldn’t help but be alarmed by his nearness but almost against her will, she looked up and stared into his clear blue eyes. In them she read nothing but sincerity. “I find myself awed by your bravery and determination,” he said. “You have no reason to hang your head in shame. The men charged with your safety have much of which to be ashamed, however. And more even to answer for. I give you my word. I will keep you safe. Even from myself.”

He pivoted a bit on the balls of his feet and stood before walking back to his perch on the edge of the desk. “I will try to retrieve your portmanteau before aiding Winston. But I think I will take a sack along to put it in. It wouldn’t do for a lurking Pinkerton to recognize the pattern of your bag and grow suspicious.”

Alexander clasped his hands together with a snappy little clap. “Shall we get to it, then? This will be a record in readying for so life-changing a trip.” His face brightened with a mischievous sort of grin and his eyes sparkled. It buoyed her heart for some odd reason she still lacked the courage to consider. “And think what fun we’ll have outwitting them all. I’ve had a great time so far with Pinkerton’s finest.”

Alexander strode out but Patience couldn’t move. All she could do was stare after him as he moved out of sight.

“What is it, dearie?” Heddie asked.

“He is serious? He finds this amusing?”

“Oh, I doubt that, ma’am,” Winston said and stood. “I believe he’s trained himself to hide his true feelings. Imagine he had to, considering that father of his. Now, we should get at it. Perhaps, my dear,” he said, taking Heddie’s hand and assisting her to her feet, “perhaps you could see to the dust covers and Mrs. Gorham could pack your things.”

“I have a better idea,” Patience said. “Heddie, suppose we unite to do your packing, then we’ll work on the dust covers together, as well.”

“Oh, dearie, I can’t have you doing a servant’s work.”

Patience shook her head, so many feelings bombarding her she couldn’t separate the strands of relief, fear, excitement and sadness from each other. She had allies now. But even they were at risk from her father and Howard Bedlow. She was off on the adventure of her life—about to meld into the vastness of the western frontier. But it was such an unknown. “I have a feeling if I am to become a teacher, I had better get used to doing all sorts of housework. Oh, I cannot wait to be just plain Patience Wex—” She frowned. “I think a new name may be in order, as well, if I am to disappear completely.”

“If I might be so bold, ma’am. You could travel as our daughter. As a member of a family, you would cease to be a lone woman to be singled out in the minds of others. You would be the daughter of the butler and maid at the Rocking R.”

Patience was touched at the chance he’d taken with his pride. She could easily rebuff his offer because, to society’s eyes, his suggestion overreached his station. But she felt only gratitude. She smiled, truly understanding Alexander’s mischievous grin. Her father would never imagine she would trade her place in society to become the daughter of a butler and housemaid. “Winston, you’re a genius. Patience Winston.

I like the sound of it. My monogram handkerchiefs will even make sense. Thank you. What then should I begin to call you both?”

Winston gave her a small smile. “My father was called Papa by my sisters.”

“Papa it is, then. I don’t call my father that nor do I wish to be reminded of him. Thank you, Papa.” She looked at Heddie. “I called my mother Momma. And dear as you are to me for all your help last night and today, I couldn’t call you that.”

“I understand,” Heddie said, laying a hand on Patience’s shoulder. “Mr. Alex told me your mother is gone. Hmm … Mother sounds too formal for the child of a housekeeper.” Her brow furrowed in thought then seemed to blink back tears. “Would you be comfortable with Mum, dearie?”

“I would be honored as long as you don’t feel put upon.”

“Put upon? I am more than happy to hear that name. I was blessed with a girl child but she didn’t live long. It is the greatest sorrow of my life.” Heddie blinked again and sniffed as Winston patted his wife on the back, comforting her.

Seeing the sweet affection the stern butler showed toward his wife, reminded Patience of how empty of tenderness her life had been these past years. She lived with an ache inside her that went so deep she didn’t know how there was room left for anything else.

“We haven’t another moment to waste if we are to be on time for the train. Let’s get ready for our adventure,” Winston said, then tugged on his vest and straightened his spine. He was back to his formal self.

She and Heddie followed without complaint but Patience had to stifle a grin. The old phony wouldn’t fool her again with his cold, stiff demeanor. He was as good and kind a husband to Heddie as any woman could hope for.

Children and a good and kind husband had been Patience’s girlhood dream but they were beyond her now. Her new dream was to live her life in peace—mistress of her own future. If the West could give her that, she would ask no more.

Chapter Three

The train station in New Jersey was awash with activity so Alex hung back watching for anyone who might take note of Patience. Apparently, busy men were blind to beauty. No one but him seemed to see her as she walked up ahead of him, between Heddie and Winston.

Alex couldn’t help but watch the enticing sway of her hips. This trip was going to be torture. He couldn’t help but want her, though he knew full well nothing could ever come of it. He took comfort in the knowledge that once the trip was over she would reside in town and he could avoid her for the most part. Knowing the temptation of her would be removed once they reached Tierra del Verde was his saving grace.

Shamed at the need she created in him, Alex dragged his eyes away. How could he lust after someone so wounded and damaged? Was he no better than his father? He would never forget the pitiful sounds of a young maid his father had cornered in the study before they moved to Adair. He’d been only nine years old and hadn’t believed his father when he’d claimed what he was doing was play, but he’d run when ordered. He’d never seen the girl again.

But he had heard that awful sound many times over the years. The move to Adair had changed nothing. By the time Jamie had banished the bastard from his estate, the only maids still working at Adair had been in their sixties.

Alex forced his mind away from the horrors of the past and onto the mission at hand—to save Patience from a man much like Oswald Reynolds. He watched her and analyzed how she must appear to the people milling about the station. Though he supposed she seemed a bit shy it helped her seem much younger than her twenty-six years. And still no one turned a hair as she passed.

It appeared her disguise was a success. Alex had easily found Patience’s portmanteau in the park but the contents had been of little help to her masquerade because all of her dresses were too elegant to belong to a servant’s daughter. Luckily, Mrs. Winston had remembered that the countess had left some dresses behind in New York. They were from her life as a schoolteacher in Pennsylvania’s coal country before her marriage to Jamie.

According to Mrs. Winston, Patience had donned the faded, homemade garments without the slightest hesitation. Determined to become a new person, for anyone within earshot to hear, she’d even begun calling the Winstons “Mum” and “Papa.” It was actually a brilliant plan for her to adopt their surname.

The last of her disguise hadn’t been as easily achieved as letting out the hem of Amber’s old dresses. Patience’s hair was too unique to be allowed to show. But a little boot polish carefully combed into her hairline had altered the coppery strands to drab brown. With the rest of those glorious tresses tucked up into her straw bonnet, she passed muster.

Still staying alert to any notice Patience drew, Alex continued to scan the crowd. No one paid her any particular attention. She was just a pretty girl traveling with her parents, but he did see someone take note of him. His blood began to pound in his head. As casually as he could, he let his gaze slide back past the man intently studying him. It was the oaf who’d appeared at Jamie’s door earlier in the day.

A few moments later, Alex stopped and purchased a New York Times from a newsboy, allowing the newly formed Winston family to enter the passenger car well ahead of him. He was rather sure no one would think he was a member of their party but the Pinkerton oaf might recognize Winston.

As Alex turned away from the newsboy, the Pinkerton stepped in front of him. “You didn’t say nothing about traveling.” It was an accusation pure and simple. But since Alex had caught the agent’s attention, Patience and Winston had slipped by unnoticed.

Alex blinked then narrowed his eyes in haughty annoyance. “Do I know you?”

“I was at your door just this morning,” the man said. His tone hinted that Alex either wasn’t particularly bright or was hiding something.

Allowing distant recognition to show in his expression, Alex replied, “Oh, yes. Seeking the countess’s new little maid, weren’t you? However, I must point out—you were actually on the earl’s doorstep, not mine. As none of it had a thing to do with me, I dismissed the entire conversation and returned to my packing.”

“You didn’t say nothing about packing, either. Where you heading?” the Pinkerton demanded, still clearly suspicious.

Alex’s heart pounded. He had to knock this hound off his scent. “You bloody Americans are so infernally rude. Why should I have mentioned my movements to you? As I noted, you were not at my doorstep but the earl’s. This business has nothing whatever to do with me. As I also stated, I owe you no explanations of my personal plans. Now if you will excuse me, I have a train to catch before my trunks go on without me.”

He walked off, heading away from the train bound for Philadelphia, where Jamie’s private car awaited and toward another one that was boarding. He stopped a passing conductor and asked an inane question so he’d have the opportunity to turn back toward the Pinkerton. Alex breathed a sigh of relief. The man had already passed the Philadelphia-bound train and was moving farther from Alex’s position, as well.

He thanked the employee for his help and hurried off to hop aboard the train bound for Philadelphia. He made it just as the conductor shouted a last call for riders to Philadelphia. A quick turn and survey of the remaining crowd showed that no one seemed to have taken any notice of him.

He could only hope he was right and that his ruse had worked.

It was midday of their second day on the rails. Jamie’s eighty-foot-long private car was opulent by anyone’s standards. On entering from the front of the coach, one encountered two staterooms and two bathrooms along a narrow hall plus fold-up sleeping berths for four crew members. Both he and Patience had tried to give their stateroom to the Winstons, but the older couple had refused and claimed two berths in the crew area he hadn’t thought he’d use until Patience almost literally fell into their lives.

A kitchen and formal dining area came next, though he hadn’t planned to use the kitchen, either. They took meals from the train’s kitchen, delivered by an efficient porter named Virgil Cabot.

Lastly there was a parlor area Virgil had called an observation room when he had shown them around just after they’d arrived. Behind that lavishly appointed section, with its larger-than-usual windows, was a covered observation platform. He’d asked that Jamie’s car be the last on the train so the platform promised wonderful panoramas on their way west. None of them had wandered out there as yet, though, preferring to remain unobserved as much as possible for Patience’s sake.

Alex looked toward that lovely young woman, her head bent to her stitching as she spoke in soft tones to Heddie. Once again he felt his entire body tighten with need and that need wasn’t only sexual. He was deeply touched by her plight and her determination, as well. That was a dangerous combination for him. Because she wasn’t just any young widow. She was under his protection and as untouchable as a virgin.

He found himself forever in debt and grateful to Heddie and her quiet husband. It was heartwarming the way she’d swooped in like a mother hen to gather a lost chick under her wing. Winston simply exuded benevolence toward Patience with frequent and surprising smiles.

Unfortunately watching the older couple interact with her was a poignant reminder of the warmth and kindness he’d lost with his mother’s death and the loneliness that had never left him since.

Patience laughed at one of Winston’s dry quips. My, but she was bright as a new penny today! Thus far she’d spent a lot of her time peppering the Winstons with questions about their lives and devising ways to fit her into their past. Alex couldn’t hear exactly what she said as she rehearsed the story of Patience Winston’s life but the murmur of her voice kept drawing his thoughts to her. And sparking his curiosity about how they planned to explain where a daughter had been during the years they’d worked in the houses of upper-crust families.

He doubted any inquiries would happen but it paid to be prepared.

He found his gaze constantly drawn to Patience even when she was merely reading or hemming another of Amber’s discarded dresses as she was at that moment. It didn’t seem to matter that she wasn’t doing anything remarkable. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Nor could he help notice the more miles that piled up behind them, the more relaxed and less shy she seemed.

Except around him.

With him she made only the stiffest of polite conversation at meals. It was clear she’d rather he were not there. It was a lowering thing. Most women went out of their way to converse with him. He had to admit her avoidance stung even though he understood it.

But her behavior caused him to worry about more than his stinging pride, too. If the way she acted around him was her normal way around men, all her preparations would be for naught. Because he realized her demeanor didn’t come across as shy, but instead as fearful, and when she had to deal with others it would stand out, calling attention to her.

So after a while he had two reasons—one altruistic and the other supremely selfish—to sit across from her in the parlor portion of the car when the Winstons vacated their chairs to sit in the dining area. He had to get her to feel more comfortable around him.

Alex refused to examine too deeply why it seemed so necessary. It could only be to help further her masquerade and he knew it. He wasn’t sure a woman could ever heal from the kind of damage her husband and now her father had inflicted on her.

“So how far have you come in writing the life story of Patience Winston?” he asked.

She looked up from her notes, startled.

Afraid.

Then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, seeming to reach deeply into the same inner well of courage that had helped her face death in her tree-climbing escape. Again she found enough bravery to look at him steadily. “We plan to tell everyone I was born on a New Jersey farm owned by Heddie’s older sister. She was wealthy, widowed and childless.”

“And this can fit with the Winstons’ lives and personal histories?”

“Yes. Heddie and Winston went there after her sister Esther’s husband died. Heddie was expecting at the time but the child didn’t live more than a few weeks.”

Alex glanced toward Mrs. Winston where she sat toward the front of the car. “That is so very sad.”

Patience nodded. “After that, Heddie took up a post as head housekeeper for her sister’s home and Winston became the butler. The farm began to fall on hard times because the foreman stole a great deal from Esther.”

“It happens,” he said in an airy tone that had him wincing. He no longer wanted to be that man who hid his every deep thought behind a wall of careless comments. Patience stared at him, a tiny frown showing in her usually unlined forehead. She was as alone behind her walls as he was behind his. He didn’t know her well enough to scale hers or break down his before her, either. Instead he motioned for her to go on.

It took her a short moment of examining her notes before she looked up and began again, all signs of disappointment in his character gone. “Heddie and Winston left in pursuit of income to send back to help pay debts and keep the farm going and to keep Esther in the privileged lifestyle she’d come to expect. The farm was to go to them upon her death except it went for taxes instead. That is where truth and fiction depart.”

She looked at her lap, drawing his gaze to her knotted fingers. “The story will go,” she continued, “that they left their daughter—me—with Aunt Esther to be raised genteelly. Aunt Esther had me educated by governesses in her home where she kept very much to herself.”

“Good. That will explain your cultured speech and manners. I’d worried.” He’d worried about her classic beauty, too, but didn’t want to make her ill at ease again by mentioning it.

“The Winstons worried, as well, which is why we formulated the tale this way.”

“So, go on with your story. How is it that you’ve joined up with your parents on a trek to the West?”

“When Aunt Esther died two years ago, I joined them in San Francisco and was hired by your cousin as a governess.”

“We had better make sure Jamie and Amber know of this. Amber is an involved parent who still teaches Meara on her own.”

Patience nodded. “I have begun a letter to send to Amber so she knows in case there is an inquiry into the Winston family. Heddie apparently took Miriam Trimble’s place as housekeeper because Mrs. Trimble was too elderly to keep up with both the staff and act as nursemaid to the earl’s daughter.”

Alex chuckled. “I would love to hear Mrs. Trimble’s reaction to that being said of her—the old warhorse.”

A frown crinkled Patience’s forehead, her brows pulling together in a V. “Warhorse? But she has been described to me as all that is kindness. Amber loves the woman.”

Now he laughed. “As does Jamie. She was a mother to him for nearly his whole life. And a better mother no boy could have asked for. Mrs. Trimble was a mouthful for a little tyke. You should know he called her Mimm and still does.”

“Oh. Yes. Amber calls her that, as well. Thank you for the correction.” She looked down at her notebook and scribbled a footnote.

Alex held tight to his lighthearted facade, refusing to let it crack. “I had another experience with her. She used to call me the spawn of Satan. Even did it once in the presence of the daughter of a British peer. The name followed me in society from that day until I came to America. Mrs. Trimble apologized after what happened in San Francisco, so all is happy between us.”

Her eyes softened and he could have sworn she lifted her hand as if to touch him in comfort but she let it fall in her lap. “I am so sorry. I know how much it hurts to be misjudged,” she said instead.

Though he wished with all the loneliness inside him that she had found the courage to reach out to him, he shrugged in a purposefully careless gesture. “I didn’t care,” he lied, feeling a bit like a petulant child denying what was true to spite an authority figure. “I had my way to protect Jamie and she had hers. Together, though very separately, we managed.”

She stared at him for a long moment then looked away, withdrawing into her thoughts and leaving him to wish he had admitted that Mrs. Trimble had hurt him with her mistrust.

Keeping his careless facade alive grew more difficult around her than it had ever been. Conversely, he thought he was supposed to be shedding the mask now that he had embarked on his new life, but he couldn’t seem to manage it with Patience there. He could come to care for her and her rebuff might actually hurt. Right then, casting off the mask would be too much like casting off an old friend. It kept him safe and protected from rejection and contempt.

Should he have said a simple yes? That, of course, it had hurt? Should he confess that his own mother had been dead? That though he had taken on an adult’s role in Jamie’s life he’d still been a child himself? That he’d needed comfort and the kind of support only an adult could have provided? He hadn’t understood all that at the time, though. Instead, he’d been alone and had felt as if the weight of his corner of the world rested on his shoulders. Especially since then and now he feared his mother’s death had been his fault.

Determined to get Patience talking again Alex asked a question with a rather obvious answer, but it was the best his tumultuous thoughts allowed. “So were you supposed to have been in California when Jamie arrived there with Amber?”

Patience shook her head. Why was he insisting on this conversation? It might look casual to the Winstons but she saw determination in his gaze. She almost asked but decided answering his queries was the easiest course to take. And he had been helpful adding one or two facts they’d forgotten to account for. “No. We are to say my parents, the Winstons, were hired by Mrs. Miriam Trimble before the earl and Amber arrived just as they truly were. I am to have traveled there later to meet up with my parents after Heddie’s sister, Aunt Esther, passed. I will say I arrived after the fire and became Meara’s governess.”

She resented her father enormously at that moment. It was his fault she had to lie this way. Resentment warred with shame because she lacked the means to fight him openly instead of resorting to deception.

“Something about this doesn’t sit well with you,” Alexander said.

How had he known? “You’re very perceptive. I was taught to abhor liars. And now I am one.”

He looked angry for a moment then his gaze softened. He leaned a bit forward and set his forearms on his thighs. It put him at her eye level.

She wanted to scoot off the sofa and run but forced herself to remain still. She didn’t want him to see her for the coward she was even though she refused to examine why.

“Your father didn’t seem to have the same problem when he began to spread it about that you have gone mad,” he told her. “You mustn’t let the content of a Sunday sermon on lies endanger you, no matter how much you agree with the sentiments.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. If she didn’t stick to the plan, her father and Howard Bedlow would win. She set her lips together and nodded before notching her chin upward and straightening her back the way her mother had always done when she’d stood up to Patience’s father. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. But, still, you cannot argue that I won’t be lying. I’ll be lying to all my new neighbors and even to the children I hope to teach. I’ll be living a complete lie. I’ll be a lie.”

“But you will be keeping yourself safe and you may be giving the Winstons their fondest dream. Did you see Heddie’s face that first night in New York when she tossed me out of your room? She was like a mother bear defending her cub. I have been watching the three of you. There is some sort of instantaneous connection between you. I am quite sure they have in mind an adoption of a sort.”

She found herself chuckling over the vision that prompted. “I am a bit long in the tooth to be adopted, don’t you think?”

“I see no problem with the notion at all.” He grinned and sat back, falling into his usual lazy posture. “And I cannot imagine describing you as long in the tooth. You look like a girl just out of the schoolroom.”

She fought the need to squirm like an untested girl under his direct gaze. He’d said he’d been watching her with the Winstons. Well, she had been watching him, too.

She didn’t think he or his posture were as casual as he pretended. To her, his carelessness seemed studied. As if he, too, had learned to hide who he was. Making her wonder if he was a wolf? Or an ever-protective collie? She frowned at the metaphor, not liking that either made her the pitiful sheep.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

Called back from her thoughts, Patience realized she’d not only strayed from the topic at hand, but she’d also left the conversation altogether. She cleared her throat. “I do find myself comfortable with the Winstons,” she decided to admit. She forced herself to relax into the back of the burgundy brocade sofa. She refused to care if she stepped beyond the strictures of her society. She was no longer a part of all that. And it was just fine with her. It had to be.

“It’s an odd thing,” she continued. “I am suddenly able to let who I am inside show on the outside. And I am growing to like the feeling. They are wonderful people and it is an honor to be called their child.”

“Good.” He tilted his head, his eyes so intent she felt exposed. She nearly stood to go and join the Winstons. “Consider this,” he went on and she settled back against the seat again. “The Winstons lost a girl child. Judging from their age it was probably about the time of your birth. You must be the fulfillment of their every dream. You have the capacity to give back to them what fate took and be a great joy to them in the gift of yourself.”

“I think it is perhaps the other way around. They have become very dear to me in a very short time. So I suppose it is settled.” She put a hand to her chest. “I am Patience Winston, late of San Francisco and points east.”

He grinned and inclined his head. “Miss Winston.”

Relieved, she smiled at him. “Now that you have salved my conscience, perhaps you could fill me in a bit on your niece. I know from Amber that she is a sweet, lively and bright child. I believe Amber said she is fair with blond hair and blue eyes. Do you know her very well?”

He pulled out the watch and stared down at it for a long moment before detaching it from the chain. “Jamie gave me this the day before he sailed. Set in the cover is a miniature of Meara.” Opening it, Alexander smiled. His expression looked a tad wistful and entirely enchanted.

She reached out for the watch when he held it out, careful not to allow any contact when she took it from him. She was sure she’d never want a man to touch her in any way ever again.

The child smiling up at her from the watch’s cover was indeed a sweet-looking, blond-haired girl who looked startlingly like her uncle. Patience looked up. “There is a strong family resemblance. Meara could be your child.”

Alexander’s gaze stilled and widened a bit then he blinked. “But she is Jamie’s. We, all three of us, look like my grandmother.” He slouched a bit and this time she was sure his careless pose was purposeful. “And we are all thankful to fate that we don’t resemble my grandfather. He looked rather like a fat, out-of-sorts troll.” His smile was mischievous and irreverent. “Actually, he may have been.”

Wondering again what Alexander hid behind the devil-may-care facade he presented the world, she handed the watch back but forgot to be careful. Her hand touched his. She gasped and dropped the watch, snatching her hand away.

What was that?

Touching him had felt the way she imagined lightning would were it to strike one’s person. Dangerous. She had to tighten her abdominal muscles to stop her stomach from its unruly series of somersaults. Her gaze flew to him as he straightened, having bent forward to pick up the dropped watch. He looked haunted but she was sure it was impossible that he had felt what she had.

Men did not fear women. What she’d felt was fear and the need to run.

Stop it! she shouted in her mind. You’re safe here with these people. It’s Father and Howard Bedlow you fear. Did Amber’s letters teach you nothing of good people? If you continue to tar all men with the same filthy brush, you will go as mad as Father says you are.

She didn’t run no matter how compelled she felt to do so.

Alexander finished settling the watch in his waistcoat pocket then looked at her again. “So now you have a picture in your head of your charge,” he said as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She could see only kindness and a bit of sadness in his clear blue gaze. And then she remembered.

Spawn of Satan.

She had hurt him just as those other people had. This had to stop. She could not injure others because she harbored unreasonable fears. She forced herself to hold his gaze.

If philosophers were correct and the eyes were the windows of the soul, then Alexander’s aquamarine eyes showed only goodness. She would not retreat in fear. She had to find a way to converse not just with him, but with other men near her age once again lest they see fault in themselves or her.

“Your niece is lovely. Do you think we have woven the tale well enough to fit with the lives of not only the Winstons, but also with the movements of the Earl and Amber?”

“It should certainly stand up to frontier scrutiny.” He chuckled. “I now know more about my new employees than I know about most of my so-called friends back in London. And I can say I like the Winstons quite a bit, especially since they are so willing to give aid to someone not of their station.”

He smiled and this time it seemed genuine and not that false smirk. “You seem to have quite a bit of influence with the Winstons. Do you think you could get them to spend the rest of the trip at leisure? By Heddie insisting upon making up the berths and setting the table for meals, she is supplanting Virgil, the porter assigned the car. She is also driving me mad with all the dusting whenever we reach a station. Dust is part and parcel of train travel but Heddie refuses to give in to the inevitable.”

She tilted her head and sighed deeply. “I have already tried.”

Now he sighed as exaggeratedly as she had. “As have I. And I believe Winston refuses to be outdone by his wife. He intercepts the poor man as soon as he steps inside the door with our meals.”

“They’re what my mother always called a force to be reckoned with. I’m afraid they’re beyond me.”

Alexander shrugged, an ironic gleam in his eyes. “As you have retired from the field, I shall tip the man handsomely when he arrives with dinner. That way if he isn’t to continue on after Chicago he won’t be slighted. On my first cross-country trip I learned ex-slaves working as porters live mostly on their tips. I won’t be responsible for the man’s family doing without.”

“That’s very good of you.”

Shaking his head he spoke at so low a murmur she had to lean forward to hear. “I only have the monetary resources I do because my father embezzled from Adair’s coffers. Instead of seeing to the tenants’ well-being, he gave me funds to buy a commission in the army. Instead, I invested in Canadian railroads and eventually paid Jamie back but I cannot shake the guilt. No one will ever again do without because of me.”

He looked away and stared moodily out the window, making her think he felt awkward for having spoken of his father’s illegal activities. Or he felt they’d run to the end of the subject of her new life story, and of his tragic life.

Now that she was free to move away she hesitated. He looked so awfully tortured, though she couldn’t imagine how she could help or why she should considering trying. About to get to her feet now that she’d thought through the foolish impulse, he spoke absently with his attention still beyond the glass.

“I’ve been thinking your Christian name could be a problem.” He glanced at her, blue eyes somber, then back at the scenery speeding by. “Changing it could be one, as well. You might not answer to another as instinctively as you should.” Again he spared her half a glance as he said, “I think it would be better not to speak it in public until we reach our destination.” Again his visual attention drifted out the window. “It could catch the attention of someone who’s heard of the search for a woman named Patience. Perhaps the Winstons could use a pet name for you.”

“My mother used to read Mother Goose to me.” The wistful memory made her smile. “She called me Patty for Patty Cake—my favorite nursery rhyme. I could be Patty to them during travel. I believe I would automatically answer to that.”

She was unsure if he’d heard her but was equally sure he was trying to gather the tattered vestiges of his devil-may-care persona. Did he know how unusual it was that he’d learned the porter’s name and bothered to use it? Or that he’d given away who he was under the mask once again. “On that last trip across America, didn’t you learn that people call all of the porters George after George Pullman? I believe coachmen in your country are all called John Coachman.”

Then he looked back at her and nodded, an insolent grin in place. “So, Patty, do you play chess?”

“I meant I should be called that by Heddie … no, Mum,” she corrected before he could tease her for forgetting her role as the Winstons’ daughter. She was almost sorry—but not quite—that she’d worried for his feelings. He was a man and men took advantage of any weakness they glimpsed. “I meant they could call me Patty. Are you always so impertinent?”

“Oh. Yes. Always,” he said and grinned.

“I shall remember not to take you seriously in that case. As for chess, I was the unofficial champion at Vassar for my last two years.”

“Amazing.” He flipped over the table top between them. The flip side hid a chessboard. “Black or white, Miss Winston?” he asked and slid open the drawer containing the ivory and ebony pieces.

She took up the ivory pieces and set up her side of the board. At first she played her usual restrained game, allowing Alexander to win. He teased her for losing to an unschooled barbarian, reminding her all men became barbarians when alone with a woman. But they weren’t alone and he all but begged for a rousing game. So she played to win and it felt wonderful. She made first one daring move, then another and another.

Watching Alexander try to anticipate her next move brought a strange kind of gladness to her heart. Then she began to recognize that feeling again. It was like learning to ride the bicycle her father had brought from England when she was eighteen. Achievement. Triumph. Victory.

Alexander fought hard, yet he didn’t seem to mind when she ultimately won. It was the first time she’d enjoyed chess in years. Against Edgar she’d had to walk a fine balance between losing and not making it obvious she had done so intentionally. The few times she’d miscalculated either way, she’d paid in bruises.

She could admit now that somewhere inside her she’d been elated to see Edgar Gorham so humbled and furious at being bested by the wife he called a failure at every turn. Had she not been so embarrassingly bruised later, Patience might have done it more often. Fear had taken over, though, and it was she who’d been humbled.

“Now what, I must ask myself, is that smug little smile about?” Alexander asked.

Fear poured unchecked through her. Did she look smug? Had she annoyed him? Her heart pounded. The blood drained from her head. Time and place seemed to shift and she was back with Edgar in the mansion in Syracuse. She could no longer hold on to the present.

“Was I smiling?” she whispered, her voice warbling around a lump in her throat the size of New York City.

Then she looked up and her gaze met Alexander’s sparkling eyes. His teasing smile. And she was back on the train headed west. It was September the thirteenth. Relief replaced fear and she could breathe again.

This panic that washed over her at the unexpected sound of a man’s voice was a reflex she had to learn to fight or she was sure to bring notice upon herself. She saw it now. Concern flooded his gaze as surely as the terror had flooded her senses. She could not let them do this to her any longer.

Moving her hand forward, she lifted her remaining bishop and slid it forward till it mated his king. “Checkmate.”

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