“Mamá will be beside herself thinking we've perished in the storm.”
“You might just perish yet if you try to ride back to town through this snow. If it clears by noon, I'll see if I can get us through in the sled. If not”—he shrugged— “you'll just have to let Mamá stew.”
“But—but surely you can see how damaging this could be to a lady like Miss Summerfield. Think of her reputation if it ever got out that she spent days without a chaperone locked up in your house,” Oliver said, trying another tack.
Chase raised one heavy black eyebrow. “Especially considering I'm in it.”
“Well, I didn't mean...that is...” Oliver's florid complexion grew waxy as he looked up at the tall, powerful man whose austere swarthy face bore obvious testimony to his savage origins. “What I mean is that being here with only three men is most improper. Of course, I could do the honorable thing and marry her.” He brightened suddenly at the inspiration. “Yes, of course I could!”
“Or I could.”
The words dropped like stones between them and the younger man looked goggle-eyed at Chase, as if the idea were beyond preposterous. “But you don't even know her!” Oliver protested. “Stephanie and I have been courting for some time now and I have always intended to offer for her,” he added righteously.
“I've known her since she was six years old,” Chase replied calmly. “Say what you really mean, Ollie, old chap. That I'm unfit to touch a white woman.” His voice was laced with an undertone of menace.
“Now see here,” Standish replied, gulping for breath and backing away from Remington, who remained standing by the hearth. “I never said any such thing, but now that you bring it up, you do have a libertine's reputation.”
Chase threw back his head and laughed. It was not a nice laugh.
“Don't you two gentlemen think as an interested party that I might have a vote,” Stephanie said, padding into the middle of the tense confrontation. Both male heads swiveled toward her in surprise, but before either could speak she continued, “My reputation is my own concern and I shall not be coerced into a marriage meant only to silence the wagging tongues of silly gossips.”
Flames shot from those dark golden eyes. Chase leaned against the basalt stones of the fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest, admiring her as she stood there with his robe dragging the ground around her feet, a pair of beat-up old house slippers many sizes too big for her sticking out beneath it. Despite being cinched tightly at her slender waist, it gaped open at the neckline. She clutched it closed with both hands as the rolled-up sleeves flopped around her elbows. A dim shaft of light from the hearth caught the bronze highlights in the silky hair that cascaded around her shoulders.
“Now, Stephanie,” Oliver temporized, hesitantly drawing nearer to her, “you must know that I have always held you in great esteem—as does Mamá.”
“But she might not after this little episode,” Chase interjected most unhelpfully.
Stephanie looked over at him. Smirking with typical male arrogance, one booted foot crossed over the other, he rested a broad shoulder against the mantel. “I ought to take you up on your gallant proposal and see just how long your bravado would last,” she spat. He only made it to aggravate Oliver and to assuage that infernal pride of his, not because he really cared about her...or did he? She studied him, suddenly wary as he pushed off from the mantel and stalked toward her.
“I might just surprise you,” he said softly, surprising the hell out of himself.
Essex chose that propitious moment to open the front door and stamp inside staggering under a load of firewood. “I believe the snow is
“You might just perish yet if you try to ride back to town through this snow. If it clears by noon, I'll see if I can get us through in the sled. If not”—he shrugged— “you'll just have to let Mamá stew.”
“But—but surely you can see how damaging this could be to a lady like Miss Summerfield. Think of her reputation if it ever got out that she spent days without a chaperone locked up in your house,” Oliver said, trying another tack.
Chase raised one heavy black eyebrow. “Especially considering I'm in it.”
“Well, I didn't mean...that is...” Oliver's florid complexion grew waxy as he looked up at the tall, powerful man whose austere swarthy face bore obvious testimony to his savage origins. “What I mean is that being here with only three men is most improper. Of course, I could do the honorable thing and marry her.” He brightened suddenly at the inspiration. “Yes, of course I could!”
“Or I could.”
The words dropped like stones between them and the younger man looked goggle-eyed at Chase, as if the idea were beyond preposterous. “But you don't even know her!” Oliver protested. “Stephanie and I have been courting for some time now and I have always intended to offer for her,” he added righteously.
“I've known her since she was six years old,” Chase replied calmly. “Say what you really mean, Ollie, old chap. That I'm unfit to touch a white woman.” His voice was laced with an undertone of menace.
“Now see here,” Standish replied, gulping for breath and backing away from Remington, who remained standing by the hearth. “I never said any such thing, but now that you bring it up, you do have a libertine's reputation.”
Chase threw back his head and laughed. It was not a nice laugh.
“Don't you two gentlemen think as an interested party that I might have a vote,” Stephanie said, padding into the middle of the tense confrontation. Both male heads swiveled toward her in surprise, but before either could speak she continued, “My reputation is my own concern and I shall not be coerced into a marriage meant only to silence the wagging tongues of silly gossips.”
Flames shot from those dark golden eyes. Chase leaned against the basalt stones of the fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest, admiring her as she stood there with his robe dragging the ground around her feet, a pair of beat-up old house slippers many sizes too big for her sticking out beneath it. Despite being cinched tightly at her slender waist, it gaped open at the neckline. She clutched it closed with both hands as the rolled-up sleeves flopped around her elbows. A dim shaft of light from the hearth caught the bronze highlights in the silky hair that cascaded around her shoulders.
“Now, Stephanie,” Oliver temporized, hesitantly drawing nearer to her, “you must know that I have always held you in great esteem—as does Mamá.”
“But she might not after this little episode,” Chase interjected most unhelpfully.
Stephanie looked over at him. Smirking with typical male arrogance, one booted foot crossed over the other, he rested a broad shoulder against the mantel. “I ought to take you up on your gallant proposal and see just how long your bravado would last,” she spat. He only made it to aggravate Oliver and to assuage that infernal pride of his, not because he really cared about her...or did he? She studied him, suddenly wary as he pushed off from the mantel and stalked toward her.
“I might just surprise you,” he said softly, surprising the hell out of himself.
Essex chose that propitious moment to open the front door and stamp inside staggering under a load of firewood. “I believe the snow is
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