A Christmas Waltz. Jane Goodger

eaten something awful. “No. Maybe not such a good idea. You could stay here. We have an extra room.”

      Amelia looked shocked. “With two single men? My maid isn’t with me. I should have mentioned that. She came with me as far as New York, but she fell in love with one of the ship’s crewman and asked if she could stay in New York. Of course, I said yes.” Amelia, in the throes of adventure and love, had practically begged her maid to take a chance with the young sailor. It had been so romantic to watch the two of them fall in love. She’d been so happy, she wanted everyone to be in love as much as she was.

      “You brought a maid with you?”

      Amelia looked at him as if he were mad. Everyone knew a proper unmarried girl traveled with a maid—at the very least. It had been quite adventurous and quite improper of her to come all the way from New York on her own. “Of course, I did. How else was I to get dressed? As it is, I only have two gowns that don’t require assistance to get in and out of. And they are sorely in need of replacement.”

      He grinned at her with the devil in his eyes. “I can help you now that you’re here,” he said.

      Amelia laughed. “I’m sure you wish I’d let you. But no. Until we are married, it wouldn’t be proper.”

      “As I recall, darlin’, I almost had you undressed that once.”

      Amelia blushed, recalling that time during his visit to Meremont that she’d actually had the nerve to invite him into her room. She’d only done so when he’d promised not to touch her, a promise she knew—and was secretly glad—he’d been unable to keep. Just thinking about the things they’d done made her entire body flush. “Yes, it was quite improper,” she said, but she was completely unable to retain her spinster demeanor for more than a second before laughter bubbled up again.

      He pulled her against him so she was aware of his arousal, and he bent to kiss her. “I’ve missed you sorely,” he said against her lips. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, and Amelia, sighing in relief and pleasure, felt herself falling into a pool of lust just as she had so many times before when Carson had stolen kisses.

      They separated quickly when a door opened behind them.

      “Carson, your brother says to get a room ready for the girl.” Standing before her was an older woman with dark hair sprinkled with gray, and sharp brown eyes that at the moment seemed to be shooting daggers at Carson.

      “Amelia, this here’s Agatha. She’s our housekeeper, and she helps Boone out in his office and the store sometimes. Agatha, this is Miss Wellesley.”

      “Lady Amelia, actually, though I suppose I shall have to get used to informalities. I am Carson’s intended,” Amelia said, slightly baffled by the familiarity between the two. No matter how much she adored her servants back home, none would have ever called her by her given name. It was almost unthinkable.

      Agatha’s deeply wrinkled face split into a grin. “Ain’t you fancy,” she said, as if delighted by the discovery. “Your brother wanted to know if that is a good idea. I suppose the hotel won’t do for Lady Amelia. Not with your…”

      “Thanks, Aggie,” Carson said, interrupting the older woman.

      Amelia smiled, as it dawned on her that perhaps she could stretch propriety a bit since she was in the Wild West. If the Kitteridges had a housekeeper, she could certainly act as a chaperone. “This is perfect. Why didn’t you tell me you had a housekeeper? Agatha will serve as a chaperone, won’t you, Agatha?”

      “Chaperone?” she asked haltingly, as if she’d never heard the word before.

      “You shall make certain that Carson takes no more liberties with me,” she said, giving Carson a stern look.

      Agatha smiled. “I could do that,” she said agreeably, ignoring Carson’s mock scowl, then looked instantly worried. “What about the night? I live down yonder with my husband.” She worried her hands in a blue and red apron she wore over her faded yellow dress. “My Dulce, my daughter, will do. She’s a widow and all she does is mope around the house doing nothing but complain that she has nothing to do.”

      “No,” Carson said, and instantly, Agatha scowled.

      “Why ever not?” Amelia asked. “I do need a maid. I didn’t realize how much until I let mine go.” She eyed Carson, who seemed adamantly opposed to the idea. “I suppose I’ll have to stay in the hotel.”

      Carson and Agatha said “no” in unison.

      “There is a puta there,” the housekeeper said darkly, glaring again at Carson.

      “What’s a puta?” Amelia asked, and Carson nearly choked.

      “It’s Spanish for a lady who is, um, free with her favors,” Carson said.

      “Not free,” Agatha said.

      Amelia felt her cheeks turn red. “I understand, Agatha. Don’t worry.” She turned to Carson, who looked pained. “What is wrong with Dulce?”

      “Nothing’s wrong that a little hard work won’t cure. And I’m thinkin’ you’ll be a fine influence on her. Dulce could use a bit of polishin’ up,” Agatha said, letting out a sound that was decidedly cackly.

      “I never said there was something wrong with Dulce,” Carson said in a placating tone. Then he spoke to Agatha in fluent Spanish, which Amelia found quite bothersome. However, it wasn’t difficult to tell that whatever it was he was saying, Agatha didn’t much like. After a few minutes of rapid-fire Spanish, Agatha looked smug and Carson looked decidedly dejected.

      “I’ll go tell Dulce the good news,” Agatha said happily.

      “What was that all about?” Amelia asked when Agatha had gone. “I hope you know it is terribly rude to speak in a foreign language in front of someone who knows no Spanish. I didn’t even know you could speak another language. You don’t know French or German, do you? Italian? I’m fairly proficient at each, but not Spanish.”

      “I picked it up here and there. We had a bunch of those Spanish fellows in the Wild West show. Darn good cowboys. And Agatha’s married to a Spaniard.”

      “What do you have against her daughter?”

      “Do you know what Dulce means in Spanish?”

      Amelia shook her head.

      “It means ‘sweet.’ That girl is about as sweet as a lemon before it turns yellow.”

      Soon after Agatha disappeared into the house, Boone came out looking unhappy. “Why don’t you go get Miss Wellesley’s bags,” he said to Carson, then turned to Amelia. “I hear your living arrangements have been resolved.”

      “At least until the wedding,” Amelia said brightly.

      Boone gave Carson a quick look, which Amelia saw but couldn’t quite interpret. “Right. Let me show you to your room. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do given the alternatives.”

      Amelia began to follow Boone, then turned to Carson.

      “Didn’t you think about this at all when you sent for me?”

      “I just figured it’d work itself out,” he said, grinning.

      For some reason that grin, that used to make her heart melt, was slightly grating. It was almost as if Carson thought he could grin everything away. If he murdered a man in cold blood, no doubt Carson would truly believe he could wink and smile at the jury and get off scot-free.

      Boone led her into a cool hallway that seemed almost dark compared to the brightness outside. “The garden is lovely,” Amelia said.

      “It’s a nice bit of color.”

      They passed a door with frosted glass and the word “Office” stenciled in black on it. In the corner, in much smaller letters, were the words: Boone Kitteridge, M.D.

      Amelia