The Duchess and Desperado by Laurie Grant Page B

over the mountains beyond Denver as they stepped outside the hotel and toward the waiting landau.
    Morgan stopped without warning, nearly causing Sarah and her uncle to careen into him.
    â€œI gave an order for the top to be put back up, but I see your driver didn’t do it,” he said, gesturing to the folded-down roof of the landau, which was made in two sections to go over the facing seats when desired.
    â€œHer grace’s instructions were for the top to be down,” Ben, her groom, growled back from beside the carriage. He had been doubling as coachman when required during this journey.
    â€œThe top’s got to be put up, Duchess,” Morgan said, his face implacable. “Please just step back inside the hotel until I’ve fixed it.”
    Ben wouldn’t like the newcomer telling him what to do, Sarah thought, dismayed. “Oh, but is that really necessary?” she asked Morgan, then wished she could call back the words. She sounded like a child being denied a sweet at teatime. Perhaps if she explained... “It’s such a pleasant night! I’d fancy feeling the breeze in my hair on the way to the reception.”
    â€œWould you?” His face was unreadable in the twilight, but his next words were clear enough. “As long as you leave the top down, that man who tried to shoot you this afternoon might fancy getting a clear shot at your head or your heart, Duchess.”
    She couldn’t stifle a gasp at the graphic image.
    â€œSurely it’s not necessary to speak so bluntly to a gentlewoman,” snapped Frederick.
    Morgan looked down at Lord Halston. “Your lordship, I reckon I don’t know any other way to speak. You want someone to make big speeches, you hire someone else. But I’m telling the duchess it ain’t safe to ride around in an open carriage when someone tried to shoot her just hours ago.”
    Sarah said crisply, “Uncle, this is the very thing I’m paying Mr. Calhoun to tell me. Ben, I’m sorry, but the top will need to be put back up. Mr. Calhoun, we’ll just wait inside as you’ve suggested until it’s done.”
    Calhoun’s nod of approval should not have mattered so.

Chapter Six
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    T he drive to the territorial governor’s residence, an imposing brick two-storied building on the northeast corner of Welton and Blake Streets, did not take long and was without incident. Morgan hopped down from his perch beside the truculent coachman, and the curtain over one of the landau’s windows was pushed back.
    â€œGoodness, it’s going to be a crush,” Sarah Challoner said, referring to the people spilling out over the governor’s porch and thronging the upstairs balcony.
    â€œJust wait in the carriage a moment, Duchess,” Morgan said in a low voice as he looked up and down the street, and scanned the shrubbery and rooftops of the neighboring houses. He could see nothing moving in the rapidly fading light. He didn’t like the idea of Sarah Challoner mingling with all those people without his searching them first, but he knew that wasn’t possible. “All right, let’s go ahead, but I’m sticking right by you.”
    â€œDo you suppose you could address your employer properly as ‘your grace,’ at least in public?” hissed Lord Halston as he emerged from the depths of the carriage.
    Two men, dressed in evening black, separated themselves from the milling crowd on the porch and came forward, and Morgan recognized the taller and thinner of the two as the mayor, who’d greeted the duchess at the train station.
    â€œYour grace, we’re happy you’re here,” John Harper said. “May I present Edward McCook, governor of the Territory of Colorado?”
    The other man, whose face was decorated with a heavy mustache, bowed gravely. “Your grace, my apologies for not meeting your train, especially in view of what I’m told took