"I still find it hard to believe that there are lords and ladies running loose about Wyoming," Janna said.
Silver smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, it's true. What's worse, I'm related to most of them by blood or marriage." She looked out the window. "Those specimens are Cousin Henry's guests. They don't actually live in Wyoming. They just came here to hunt." She sighed and shook out the folds of her skirt so that it fell properly. "I'd better go meet them. Case has impeccable manners, but he tires of the game very quickly. I don't want Melissa to drive him away before the ball even begins. He's a marvelous dancer. Almost as good as Ty."
"I can't imagine a woman driving Case anywhere."
"It's my fault, really," Silver said as she hurried out the bedroom door, her ballgown billowing gracefully. "I made him promise not to hurt Melissa's feelings. Case takes promises very seriously. Come down as soon as you're ready, but don't be too long. Everyone is dying to meet you. Women are so rare in this place. Especially young and pretty women."
Janna looked in the mirror for a moment longer. A stranger looked back at her, a woman not unlike her mother in elegant appearance, but a stranger all the same. Janna wondered if she would ever become used to dresses and rustling folds of cloth. Even after nearly a month, she was still aware of the muffling yards of material swathing her legs and the contrasting snugness of bodice and waist. Even if the cloth had allowed her to run, the tight waist would have made deep breathing impossible. The shoes were the hardest to bear, however. They pinched.
She looked toward the armoire, where her father's hand-me-downs hung. She had washed and mended the clothes very carefully, for they were all that she could call her own. Her moccasins were patched as well, using doeskin she had traded a few of her precious herbs to obtain. Her canteen, medicine pouch and ragged blanket roll were set aside, waiting to be picked up on a moment's notice.
Maybe I won't need them. Maybe Ty will look at me and see a woman he could love. Maybe…
With hands whose creamy softness still surprised Janna from time to time, she reached into the medicine pouch and pulled out the sketch of her mother. Broodingly Janna looked from her reflection in the mirror to the sketch and then to her reflection again.
Will what he sees please him? Will he turn to me out of love rather than duty?
After a few minutes Janna set the sketch aside and went downstairs through the huge ranch house, which had been restored after a fire had all but razed it. She walked through rooms whose furniture had been shipped from England and France and whose rugs had come from China. She barely noticed the elegant furnishings. Nor did the sparkle of crystal reflecting candle flames catch her eye. In her mind she was once again in the secret valley, where Ty was holding out his arms to her with a smile on his face and love in his eyes.
Janna went through the ritual of introductions and polite words, moving with a natural grace that enhanced the seductive rustling of silk around her body. Men were drawn to her, both because of her restrained beauty and the natural thirst of men in a rough country for that which was soft and fragile. Janna was like the ruby between her breasts-clear yet enigmatic, sparkling yet self-contained, the color of fire yet cool to the touch. When the violins played she danced with men from neighboring ranches, men both titled and common, men who shared a common interest- Janna-and a common complaint-her lack of interest in them.
"May I have this dance?"
With a subdued start, Janna focused on the man who was standing between herself and the blaze of candlelight from the buffet table. For one heart-stopping instant she thought that Ty had come back; then she realized that the familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette belonged to Case.
"Yes, of course," Janna said, extending her hand to take his.
Moments later she was whirling and turning to the stately strains of a waltz played by Silver on the grand piano. The music was rich and civilized, a brocade of sound embroidered upon the wilderness night. Case danced with the casual perfection of a cat stalking prey.
"I've been watching you," he said.
Janna looked up at his pale green eyes. "That's not necessary. I gave you my word. I'll keep that word."
He nodded. "I wasn't worried about that. I was afraid that you'd get to believing all the polite nonsense Silver's cousins and guests are pouring into your ear."
With a smile that hovered on the brink of turning upside down, Janna shook her head. "I know what I am and what I'm not," she said huskily. "I'm not the 'fairest flower ever to bloom on the western land,' among other things. Nor am I a fool. I know what men hope to gain by flattering a woman." She met Case's eyes and said evenly, "Your brother didn't lie to me in any way, even that one. He always stated quite clearly that my feminine attractions were… modest."
Case looked at the proud, unhappy set of Janna's mouth. "That doesn't sound like Ty. He always had a line of flowery speech that was the envy of every man around."
"Flowers and silk go together."
"And you weren't silk, so he saved the flowers and got right down to business, is that it?"
Janna's eyelids flickered. It was the only sign of her pain, but Case saw it. As Ty had warned her, Case was the best hunter of all the MacKenzies. Nothing escaped his cool, dispassionate eyes.
"No, I wasn't silk," Janna agreed huskily.
"But you are now."
She smiled sadly and said nothing.
One of Cousin Henry's guests cut in. Janna tried to remember his name, but nothing came to her mind except the memory of the young man's intense, hungry eyes watching the ruby brooch shift and shimmer with her breaths. She prayed for the waltz to end, freeing her.
"Are all western women so charmingly quiet?"
Janna opened her mouth to answer. Nothing came out except a soft, startled sound when the waltz ended in an abrupt jangle of notes. She looked over at the piano in time to see Silver lifted into Logan's arms for a kiss that conceded nothing to silk or ritual politeness.
"They're back!" Janna said.
She looked around frantically but saw only one tall, roughly dressed man mingling with the guests-Blue Wolf, not Ty. Then she felt a tingling all the way to her fingertips. She turned and saw Ty standing at the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed. Slowly he straightened and began walking toward her. As he closed in on her, there was no welcoming smile on his bearded face. There was only anger.
"Willie," Ty said coldly, "your nanny is looking for you."
For a moment the young aristocrat holding Janna thought of taking the insult personally; then he shrugged and handed Janna over to Ty.
"Apparently this dance belongs to the rude frontiersman?"
When Janna didn't object, the man bowed and withdrew. Ty ignored him completely, having eyes only for the bruja who stood before him gowned in silk and shimmering with gems.
The waltz began again, played by four hands. Ty took Janna into his arms, holding her too close for propriety. He moved with the graceful, intricate, sweeping motions of an expert dancer. An equally expert partner could have followed him, but Janna was new to ball gowns and dips and whirls. Inevitably she stumbled. He took her weight, lifted her, spun her dizzyingly until she had to cling to his arms for support.
"Ty, stop, please."
"Why? Afraid those fancy Englishmen will see you holding on to me?" Ty's narrowed green eyes glittered coldly at Janna through his black eyelashes. His voice was equally icy. "Not one of those titled fops would touch you if they knew your past. When they see past the silk they'll be furious at the joke you've played on them."