of satins and silks.
The valises were open on the bed. One was full of books, a spyglass, small boxes of fishing lures, the segments of her split bamboo fly rod, a packet of embroidery needles and floss, and other items. Curious, Wolfe began lifting the books one after another.
«Coleridge, Burns, Blake, Donne, Shakespeare…» Wolfe set the heavy volume aside. «Leave this here. Willow has the Bard’s complete works.»
«I should have guessed a paragon would.»
«Leave the good clergyman behind, as well.»
«John Donne?» Jessica lifted dark mahogany eyebrows. «The paragon is well read.»
«The paragon’s husband, in this case. When you meet Cal, you’ll understand. He is a dark angel of retribution. Messrs. Donne and Milton suit him quite well.»
«Then ’tis fortunate Caleb married the paradigm of paragons,» Jessica said dryly. «What of the rest?»
«The poets?»
«Yes.»
Wolfe shrugged. «Bring them, if you must.»
«I thought you liked poetry.»
«I do. I happen to have a good memory.» Wolfe touched the volumes with gentle fingertips. «I can visit caverns measureless to man whenever I turn my mind to it. I can see the tiger’s fearful symmetry burning in the forest of the night whenever I like. And I can do it without giving my packhorse galls.»
Jessica smiled almost shyly at Wolfe. «If you’ll recite my favorite poems to me over the campfire, I’ll leave the books behind.»
He flashed her a black, sideways glance and saw the memories of other campfires in her aquamarine eyes, of the happy times when he and she had laughed together and traded lines of poetry while Indian guides and hunters alike crowded around, held by the rhythms and visions of men long dead.
«If you want poetry, you’d better take the books,» Wolfe said, turning away. «My days of reciting verse are over.»
Jessica’s smile faded. She turned back to packing. When she hesitated between two riding outfits, Wolfe took the heavier one and put it in the valise.
«You’ll need your warmest underwear,» he said. «The high country will be cold.»
«I looked for the trail clothes I left here years ago, but couldn’t find them.»
«I gave them to Willow last summer.»
Jessica’s mouth flattened. «Generous of you.»
«I gave her the boy’s saddle you used, too. Riding astride in buckskins is fine for a Western woman or a headstrong Scots child, but you’re neither. You’re the Lady JessicaCharteris, daughter of an earl. You will ride sidesaddle as befits your exalted station.»
«I’m JessicaLonetree.»
«Then you’ll ride as your husband thinks best.»
«Sidesaddle? Through those vast mountains I’ve heard so much about?» she asked, flinging an arm out to the west, where the Rockies thrust steeply into the sky.
«Exactly.»
«That’s unreasonable.»
«So is our marriage.»
«Wolfe,» she began softly.
«Say the word, lady Jessica. It has only threesyllables.Sayit.»
He waited for her tosayannulment.
There was a pause before she said distinctly, «Sidesaddle.»
«What?»
«Sidesaddle. Three syllables, I believe?»
Quickly, Wolfe turned away before Jessica could see the reluctant flash of humor in his eyes. He sorted through the piles of finery with ruthless hands, trying not to notice the gossamerpantelets and camisoles, trying not to remember how Jessica had looked with her ruined peignoir torn away from her breasts, revealing the marks of a man’s brutality on her luminous skin.
Odd that I didn’t hear Jessica screaming down the house thatnight, Wolfetold himselfsardonically.Butthen, it was a bloody lord’s teeth raking her rather than ahalfbreed bastard’s hand discovering how soft she was. All the difference in the world.
With a vicious word, Wolfe threw the undergarments into the valise. Another riding outfit followed. Jessica added woolen stockings. The valise was full to overflowing.
«You’d better throw some stuff out of the other valise,» Wolfe said, fastening straps. «You have only two changes of clothing.»
«Excellent. There will be that much less to wash.»
Wolfe smiled fleetingly, knowing Jessica couldn’t see his face. When he looked up from the valise, no trace of the smile remained on his face. His elfin enemy was entirely too good at finding chinks in the armor of his anger.
«I’m serious about the clothes,» he said, gesturing to the mounds of fine wool and silk dresses and dainty satin shoes that lay at the foot of the bed. «Wouldn’t you rather have these along than a fishing rod and books?»
«My silk dresses don’t know a single poem, and I doubt that I could catch even one of the fabled Rocky Mountain rainbow trout by casting a shoe at it.»
At first, Wolfe thought Jessica was teasing him again. Then he realized she meant it. She would rather take her poetry and fishing gear than one of her elegant outfits. It was the kind of choice the oldJessi would have made, but not one Wolfe had expected from the aristocratic creature who had been so perfectly coiffed and perfumed for her twentieth birthday ball.
«Change into your riding clothes while I see to the rest of the preparations,» Wolfe said.
He turned away, paused, then came back and jerked the fur cover from beneath the heaped dresses. When he looked up, Jessica was watching him with curious, wary eyes.
«We might have to sleep in snow,» Wolfe said curtly. «If you put this inside your sleeping bag, you should stay warm enough.»
Jessica blinked, surprised by Wolfe’s thoughtfulness when he was so obviously out of sorts with her. «Thank you.»
«You need not look so shocked, your ladyship. I want an annulment, not a funeral.»
She stared at Wolfe’s broad, retreating back and let out a long breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding. Frowning, she reached around behind her back to undo the infuriating buttons. There were less of them than on her travel dress, yet the fastenings were still too many and too inconveniently placed for a woman dressing alone. She thought of calling upon Wolfe for help, but discarded the idea instantly. Though she knew little about men and lust, she had gathered that the less clothes a woman had on, the hotter a man’s blood ran and the more angry he became if rutting was denied him.
Memories of the past night raced through Jessica, making her tremble with more than fear. The pleasure Wolfe had given her was unique, exquisite. If rutting gave him a similar pleasure, it was no wonder he was so angry at being denied. Living with him, forcing him to breathe the very air she breathed, was unfair. She hadn’t known that before, but she knew it now.
We can’t spend a lifetime like this.
Then Jessica thought of what the alternative was if she agreed to an annulment and returned to England and Lady Victoria’s well-meant, relentless attempts to marry off her ward to whatever minor lord was old enough, wealthy enough, and eager enough for children to overlook Jessica’s common Scots mother.
The thought of enduring such a marriage brought to Jessica a chill determination to be free that no amount of reason or coercion would change. Wolfe may have preferred an annulment to a funeral, but Jessica did not.
There were worse things than death. She was as certain of that as she was of her own heartbeat. She visited those things in her sleep, where forbidden memories and horrible nightmares intertwined, and the inhuman
