The Duchess And The Desperado. Laurie Grant

at the more humbly dressed women on the station platform.

      As she looked in the direction he had nodded, she saw several well-dressed men threading their way through the milling, pointing crowd toward them.

      “I believe the welcoming committee’s finally caught up with us at last,” she murmured.

      A tall, thin, worried-looking man with a mustache and a bearded chin, dressed in a frock coat and carrying a stovepipe hat, led the quartet that charged down onto the tracks and threaded their way between the boxcars to reach them.

      “The Duchess of Malvern, I presume?” At Sarah’s nod, he said, “Your ladyship, I’m terribly sorry to be late, and sorrier still when I was informed of what just befell you. I’m John Harper, the mayor of Denver.” There were beads of sweat visible on his balding forehead when he bowed.

      Sarah heard Lord Halston clear his throat, and swiftly darted a quelling look at him, guessing he was about to inform the mayor of Denver that a duchess was properly addressed as “your grace,” never “your ladyship.” Americans had no knowledge of how to address the peerage, and there was nothing to be gained by pompously shaming them in public.

      “Mr. Harper, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, offering her hand. He hesitated, as if he did not know what to do with it, then shook it instead of kissing it. Sarah hid a smile. “It was a rather startling welcome, but I am convinced it was a case of mistaken identity, and so we shall forget it.”

      She didn’t miss Harper’s gusty sigh of relief, as if he had feared to be held responsible. “Yes, obviously no one could wish to shoot at you, ma’am. It must have been a mistake. But we shall take every precaution for your safety while in our fair city.”

      Sarah bestowed a deliberately dazzling smile on the mayor, aware that Morgan Calhoun watched her curiously. “I am so pleased to include Denver on my tour of America. Your scenery is magnificent, sir.”

      Harper beamed, as if the mountain range behind them was due to his own hard work. “Thank you, Duchess,” he said, then belatedly remembered to release her hand. “I’m sorry to be a few minutes late in meeting your train. The press of duties, I’m afraid. Governor McCook sends his regrets, too, but of course he will have the opportunity to apologize in person at the reception supper tonight at his residence. I’ll be there, too, of course, and you must make me aware of your slightest need. Denver doesn’t have a real British duchess visiting every day, you know,” he finished enthusiastically.

      “I will look forward to it,” she said, struggling to look regal rather than amused.

      “In the meantime, her grace is tired from the journey, of course,” interjected Lord Halston in his officious way. “Has transportation to her hotel been arranged?”

      “Of course. Just this way to the carriage, ma’am, and you can tie your horse to the back. She’s a high-spirited thing, isn’t she? And there’s a wagon to follow behind with your luggage and that of your party—”

      “Yes, but just one minute, before we leave,” she said, and turned back to Morgan Calhoun. “Mr. Calhoun, I’m in your debt. Would you be so kind as to call upon me this afternoon at five for tea? Lord Halston will have your reward ready for you then. Uncle, where is it we are lodging?”

      “We have a suite of rooms at the Grand Central Hotel, your grace, but I don’t think—” began Lord Halston even as Calhoun was protesting, “There’s no need for any reward, Duchess—”

      “Well, we can discuss it when you come, can we not?” Sarah interrupted, giving Calhoun her brightest smile. “Please come, Mr. Calhoun, won’t you? I’d very much like to thank you properly.”

      Calhoun’s face was a study in indecision. “Well, ma’am, I don’t thi—”

      “I mustn’t keep them waiting longer,” she said, nodding toward her party. “At five, then, Mr. Calhoun?” Without waiting to see if he nodded or shook his head, she turned and walked in the direction of the waiting carriage.

      Chapter Three

      

      

      “Why on earth would you encourage such a ruffian, niece?” Lord Halston said, once the carnage conveying Sarah, her secretary, her dresser and himself had pulled away from the station. “Why, for all we know, he could be in league with the sniper.”

      “What an absurd thing to say, uncle. If that were so, he could have killed me behind the boxcar, couldn’t he?”

      Sarah frowned, but it didn’t discourage Lord Halston. “You heard the man,” he said. “He didn’t think there was any need for a reward, and I quite agree. He was just doing the decent thing—and rather too enthusiastically, if you ask me. It wasn’t at all necessary to throw you to the ground, in my opinion. Your dress will never be the same again. And Sarah,” he added, forgetting the presence of her secretary and dresser as he addressed her with the familiarity of a relation, “it’s not at all the thing to have such a man calling on you, as if you owed him anything more than the thanks you already gave him....”

      Once he began fuming, Uncle Frederick could go on and on like a clockwork toy that refused to wind down. Sarah held up a hand. “Uncle, do stop. I’m getting a headache all over again! And I do not agree—I think saving a life requires much more than a civil thank-you,” she told him as she gazed out the window at the mostly brick buildings of the young city She’d read of a fire several years ago that had destroyed much of the town, causing Denverites to use brick when they rebuilt. The streets, however, were still dirt.

      “He said he wouldn’t take any money,” Lord Halston persisted.

      “Perhaps we shall persuade him to change his mind, uncle,” Sarah said, proud that she sounded serene and unruffled. “But if we do not, we shall at least treat him to an excellent meal. It looks as if it’s been a good while since he’s had one.”

      She could not have said why it was so important that she see the American with the drawling voice, mocking green eyes and that air of danger that he carried about him like an all-enveloping cloak, she only knew that it was important to her that she see him again, and this time in safe, secure surroundings. She wanted him to see her with the grime of travel bathed away, dressed in one of her prettiest tea gowns—perhaps the dusky rose one.

      He might not come, of course—her impulsive invitation had caused Morgan Calhoun to look as startled as one of those wild American mustangs they’d seen running across the plains when the train whistle had startled the herd. He might be intimidated by her obvious wealth and decide he had no clothes fit to wear to take tea with a duchess. Wary, he might figure that the only way to refuse taking money from her was never to see her again. And if he chose not to come, there would be nothing she could do about it. She would never encounter him again.

      It shouldn’t matter, of course Thierry would be waiting for her at the prearranged city at the end of her tour, and though her uncle and the rest of her party didn’t know it now, she would be returning home a married woman—married to the man of her choice, not the stuffy-but-eligible Duke of Trenton the queen had deemed suitable for her.

      What a handsome couple they would make, she and her âThierry, the dashing Comte de Châtellerault. But even Thierry, who had a Gallic tendency to jealousy, could not be upset that she wished to reward a valiant man who had saved her life, could he?

      “You don’t seem inclined to take your near-assassination very seriously, either,” Lord Halston went on in an aggrieved tone. “Good heavens, three shots were fired and yet the dreamy-eyed expression on your face would lead one to believe you were picturing a beau!”

      His continued ranting, just when she wanted to plan what she would say if Morgan Calhoun did come to tea, made Sarah irritable. “What would you have me do, my lord—weep and wring my handkerchief?” she demanded. “I have said I thought the whole matter a mistake and would forget it, and so I shall. Please have the goodness not to bring