Nobody's Darling

Helpless to stop himself, Billy reached to brush a tear from her cheek. His thumb lingered against the creamy velvet of her skin. “I only said those terrible things to scare you off. Because I believed you were too good for the likes of me.”

Esmerelda drew herself up. Her chin still quivered, but she held it high and proud. “If that’s what you believed, William Darling, then you were right. I am too good for the likes of you.”

She turned, sweeping away from him without a backward glance. Even after she’d melted into the crowd, the aroma of peaches still hung in the air, pungent and sweet.

Billy bent to pick up the card she had dropped. The queen stared back at him in mute reproach, a scorched hole marring her noble breast.

Drew clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Perfect shot, eh, lad?”

Billy nodded ruefully, massaging his own chest. “Right through the heart.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“ ‘The Cowboy and the Lady,'” Esmerelda’s grandfather read, a sneer curling his thin lips.

Esmerelda choked in an effort not to spew a mouthful of her morning chocolate all over the back page of his newspaper. The gesture would have dismayed him deeply, since Potter had just presented him with his beloved Morning Post, still warm and crisp from its obligatory ironing.

As she dabbed at her lips with her linen napkin, her grandfather lowered the paper to give her a concerned look. “Are you quite all right, dear?”

She managed a wan smile. “I’m fine, Grandpapa. The chocolate’s just a little bitter this morning.”

Not nearly as bitter as the look she gave her aunt down the length of the dining room table as soon as her grandfather raised the paper. She hadn’t spoken to Anne since last night’s debacle, choosing to ride home alone in a hansom cab rather than endure the earl’s wounded sniffs and the Belles’ tittering inquisition. In response to Esmerelda’s glower, Anne set down her own tea, her hand shaking so hard that the cup rattled violently against the saucer.

The duke snorted. “It seems some chit made quite a spectacle of herself last night in Drury Lane. Actually allowed herself to be dragged on stage. ”The Cowboy and the Lady‘ indeed! No lady would conduct herself in such a scandalous manner. She was probably some actress or prostitute masquerading as a lady.“

“Reginald!” Anne nodded in Esmerelda’s direction. “You mustn’t use such language in front of the child.”

Esmerelda pushed her plate of kippers and eggs away, losing what little appetite she had.

Her grandfather shook his shiny head. “I can’t believe anyone would plunk down good coins to see a Wild West Extravaganza. It’s a disgrace what they consider entertainment these days. If they’re going to glorify those American savages, they might as well bring back some decent English sports like bearbaiting and cockfights.” Despite his derision, his gaze eagerly leapt to the next column. “It seems they’ve christened this mysterious sharpshooter ‘the Darling of London.' What do you think inspired them to come up with such a preposterous—“

Esmerelda upset her china cup, sending a river of lukewarm chocolate streaming into her grandfather’s lap. She jumped to her feet with a piteous cry of dismay. Anne responded to her frantic cue by rushing around the table to her brother’s side. Ignoring his napkin, she snatched up the newspaper and began to mop his lap with it.

“Leave me be, woman,” he snapped, shoving Anne’s fluttering hands away from him. “You’re only making it worse.”

“Oh, Grandpapa!” Esmerelda exclaimed, struggling to blink up some contrite tears. “How could I have been so clumsy?”

As he gazed down at the sopping mess in his lap, his ears slowly darkened from pink to red. Esmerelda wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke come pouring out of them. He’d never once lost his legendary Wyndham temper with her, but when he lifted hands covered with sticky shreds of newsprint, she fully expected him to come lunging across the table to throttle her.

He managed to swallow back his rage, although his indulgent smile lacked its usual sparkle. “Not to worry, my dear. Even the most graceful of us are sometimes prone to blunders.”

He rose, took up his cane, and gingerly shuffled across the dining room. He made it all the way to the door before throwing back his head and bellowing, “Potter!”

Esmerelda and Anne nearly jumped out of their guilty skins. As the sodden thud of his cane faded, they sank back into their chairs, dizzy with relief.

“Thank you,” Esmerelda said stiffly.

Her aunt took a bracing gulp of her tea. “It was the least I could do.”

“The very least,” Esmerelda agreed, feeling less than charitable. “We may have diverted him from the society pages with their hints and innuendos, but how long is it going to be before someone tells him exactly who that lady and her cowboy were?”

Anne waved away her concerns. “Reginald is a very influential man. His circle of acquaintances have always lived in terror of his censure. No one will dare breathe a word of scandal about his beloved granddaughter in his presence.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m sure they’ll be more than delighted to whisper about her behind his back at the ball next week.” Esmerelda rose to pace around the table. “How could you do it, Aunt Anne? Wasn’t it enough that he broke my heart once? How could you bring him here to break it again?”

Anne cast her a beseeching glance. “When I wrote Sheriff McGuire and suggested he bring Mr. Darling here, I truly believed it was for the best. You were so very unhappy.”

“Well, congratulations. Now I’m miserable.”

Esmerelda sank into the chair next to her aunt and buried her head in her folded arms. Anne reached over and stroked her hair. Something about that awkward touch made Esmerelda remember Zoe Darling tying a faded ribbon in her hair. Made her remember how her own mother used to divide her unruly strands into neat braids before bedtime each night.

She lifted her head, seeing her aunt’s kind, stern face through a veil of tears.

“I saw the way he was looking at you last night, Esmerelda. If a man had ever looked at me that way…”Anne’s wistful sigh melted into a rueful laugh. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t still be here, playing nursemaid to my overgrown child of a brother.”

“He told me he never meant any of those unkind things he said. But how can I believe him? What if he’s lying?”

“What if he’s not?”

Utterly at a loss for an answer, Esmerelda rose and started for the door.

“Dear?”

She turned to find her aunt’s face lined with concern.

“Isabelle D’Arcy told me St. Cyr may very well be planning to declare for you at the ball.”

Esmerelda straightened her shoulders, using supreme effort to turn her self-pitying sniffle into a sniff of disdain.

“Perhaps I’ll accept his suit. That would show the arrogant Mr. Darling that he can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to fall into his arms.”

Esmerelda shuddered as she watched the earl of St. Cyr help himself to a fistful of shrimp balls from a footman’s silver tray. Catching her appalled gaze from across the ballroom, he smirked and wiggled his greasy fingers at her. He took her grimace as a smile of invitation, but before he could cross the ballroom, he was mercifully distracted by the sight of another footman bearing a freshly laden tray. Licking his bulbous lips, he took off in pursuit.

Esmerelda ducked behind a marble column and adjusted her half mask, wishing the ivory silk and feather trifle provided more of a disguise. Although the masquerade ball was being given in her honor, she felt more like the hired entertainment than the hostess. The cream of London society undoubtedly found her predicament highly diverting.

As Anne had assured her, not even the most vicious gossip among them had dared to confront the duke about his granddaughter’s scandalous behavior at the Wild West Extravaganza. But that hadn’t stopped them from accenting their lavish ballgowns and elegant black evening dress with mocking reminders of her folly. In lieu of velvet and silk masks, some wore colorful bandannas in the dashing style of the Darling gang. Others wore masks of gingham and calico. One solemn fellow had even managed to scrounge up an entire Union uniform.