Lost For Love ~ A For Love Novel ~ 5

“It feels so good to be clean,” Kirsty sighed as she pinned her hair. “And in civilized attire.”

Trinity snorted. “We’ve gone so long in breeches; I forgot how troublesome a corset and dress would be.”

“Troublesome as they may be, we look stunning,” Kirsty replied. “It’s been ages since I’ve danced.”

Trinity rolled her eyes. “What time are we supposed to be meeting everyone for dinner?”

“Seven thirty,” Kirsty answered, checking her hair in the gilded mirror. 

“We’d best go down then,” her sister replied. “Or we’ll be late.”

Kirsty nodded and turned to her youngest sister, who sat pouting on the bed. “Come now, Modesty, you’ll get wrinkles from frowning so much.”

“Why can’t I dance at the ball?”

Kirsty sighed. Modesty had asked that question at least a dozen times already. “I’ve already told you. You haven’t had your coming-out season yet. You can’t dance at a ball.”

“But those are English rules,” she grumbled. “We’re in America.”

“Be that as it may, you must follow the rules.”

“The rules are stupid,” she mumbled.

Kirsty chuckled. Were she in Modesty’s shoes she wouldn’t be very happy about it either. “You’ll have your chance next spring,” she told her sister.

They made their way downstairs and into the dining room. There were more people dining than she expected for a hotel in such a vast wilderness, but they soon spotted Matthew and Felicity at a large table near the back. The men stood and she had to stop at the sight of them. Jack had put on his best clothes for the evening. He had traded his denim pants for tight, brown trousers, a crisp, black shirt, a black vest with gold designs, a black frock coat, and black riding boots that looked freshly polished. He didn’t have his six guns around his waist, but she saw that beneath his coat, he had kept his chest holster and guns. He was without that awful cowboy hat and he’d shaved that scruffy face of his. The hard lines of his face softened when he saw her and smiled.

“Ravishing as always, my lady,” he murmured as he tipped his hat.

“This old thing?” she tittered, feeling a fluttering in her belly as he took her hand and led her to an empty chair. She sat and noticed that Trinity had halted near the table, her mouth hanging open. She followed her sister’s gaze and found her jaw had dropped as well.

Sam was well aware of the stares as he inclined his head. So far, they’d only seen him in buckskin breeches, a shirt, and a woven and beaded vest beneath a dark coat. He was sure he looked ridiculous in the marquess’ borrowed attire. The black trousers felt loose on his legs, though he was assured the fit was superb. The starched white shirt beneath the burgundy vest felt uncomfortable and stiff. He felt suffocated by the puff tie around his neck, though he did rather like the charcoal frock coat. The black leather gaiters on his feet were a size too big but surprisingly comfortable. He’d turned down the felt derby hat and had tied his hair back with a ribbon instead.

“Do I not look acceptable?” He asked after a moment. Trinity still hadn’t moved. 

At his question she blinked and her mouth snapped shut. “You look quite dashing, Samuel,” she murmured, giving a small curtsy. “I hardly recognized you.”

Sam felt his face grow warm though he knew his skin was nearly too dark for her to see him blushing. “You look like a sunset over the mountains,” he told her, seeing her blush easily.

“In other words, you look pretty damn lovely,” Jack interpreted, and chuckled as her blush deepened. “You’ll have to excuse Sam. Everything he says is a comparison to the earth. Sometimes compliments don’t come out like you’d expect.”

“The sunset over the mountains this evening was quite a sight to behold,” Trinity whispered, her blush darkening. “So, the compliment was not lost on me. Thank you, Samuel.”

He inclined his head again and held his hand out to help her sit. They enjoyed dinner in the conversation-filled dining room before heading to the ballroom. It was crowded with people and soldiers and the music was lively as they danced. Jack held Kirsty’s arm as she watched the dancing.

“I just realized that you never taught us how to two-step,” she murmured as she watched the partners dancing.

He smiled at the memory. Nearly two years had passed from when she’d taught him how to waltz in England. They’d been setting a trap for the Lady Ripper Killer and Jack had needed to learn how to blend in to an English ballroom. He had promised the women he’d teach them the two-step, if they ever came to America. The trap had been successful. They’d stopped the murderer, though Kirsty had nearly been raped and killed in the process. He frowned at the thought. Because he’d gone home and Kirsty, had stayed in England.

“It doesn’t look that hard,” Kirsty murmured, seeing his face harden. “It’s only one less step than the waltz.”

He forced a smile. “It’s not that,” he assured her. “Just something I remembered for a second there.” He looked back at the ballroom. “It’s not as simple as one less step but I’ll give you a run-down of how it works.” He nodded towards an officer dancing with a well-dressed woman. “It’s just like walking, see? He steps forward with his right; she steps back with her left. They step back on one, two, and three but hold on four, then he spins her,” he grinned when the officer did exactly that. “Then one more step before doing it again.”

“That looks dizzying,” she whispered, thinking it was the most entertaining dance she’d seen.

“I suppose it can be,” he conceded with a grin. “It depends on the confidence of the couple.”

“You must show me how to two-step, Jack,” she murmured, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “I insist.”

“Ma’am,” he drawled as he tipped his hat. He didn’t wait for her to answer, or for a new song to begin, before he swept her onto the floor. She stepped with him easily and laughed as he gave her a quick spin every fifth beat. Of course, the song ended too soon and she had turned to applaud the musicians but he refused to let go of her hand. She turned back to him with a brow lifted, the smile still evident on her face. “Dizzy?” he whispered and she grinned.

“Hardly,” she replied, lifting her chin. “Perhaps a little breathless though.” 

His grin widened. “Would you like some fresh air?”

Her eyes widened then narrowed at what he implied. “We’ve only just arrived,” she whispered, her voice quaking. 

“It’s so crowded in here that no one will notice us slipping out the terrace doors,” he whispered as the musicians began to play again. This time, it was a waltz, and he pulled her close as he spun them towards the doors. He pulled her through them quickly and led her to the lawn behind the hotel. Steam was rising from the hot pools behind the hotel and he took her to a towering pine with a bench below it.

“I didn’t think the fresh air would smell faintly of rotten eggs,” she complained. 

He chuckled as she sat. “It’s the sulfur from the springs,” he explained. “There’s spots around the park that smell far worse.”

“Why did you bring me out here, Marshal?” she whispered.

“I had planned on kissing you senseless,” he admitted, loosening the top button of his shirt. “But the smell is really throwing off the mood.” He chuckled when she tried to smack him.

“Perhaps I didn’t want you to kiss me,” she hissed as he caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

He lifted a brow. “If you really didn’t want me to, I wouldn’t,” he murmured. “But you do want me to.”

“You assume too much, Marshal,” she growled, yanking her hand away.

He chuckled. “I think I’ve got a pretty good read on you.” He was about to lean in to kiss her when a ghostly scream rent the air. She gasped and moved closer to him and he chuckled as he wrapped his arm around her. The scream reached a high pitch before trailing off, echoing across the valley.

“What was that?” she whispered as her heart pounded in her chest.

“A bull elk bugle,” he told her. “The rut is only a few months away. He’s getting a head start letting other bulls know that he won’t let them near his harem.”

“It sounds so frightening,” she shivered in his arms.

“It can be heard miles away,” he told her. “He’s probably not even close.”

“I want to go back inside,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He pulled back to look down on her. “Did it scare you that much?”

“Everything is so wild here,” she answered. “And it’s so dark at night, it seems even more so.”

“I’d keep you safe, Kirsty,” he assured her.

“What if you weren’t there?” she asked. 

“Out here in the wilderness?” he scoffed. “Like there’s a chance I’d let you out of my sight out here.”

She chuckled and leaned back into his chest. “You’re not frightened of anything, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he corrected. “There’s a few things that scare me.” She lifted an eyebrow that clearly said she didn’t believe him. He sighed. “Every time my niece or nephew gets sick, it scares me. I’m responsible for them now, and illness is something I can’t control.”

“What else?” she asked. 

“I’m afraid of you,” he murmured.

“Me?” she scoffed. “Surely, you jest, Marshal,”

“I never joke about things that scare me, Kirsty,” he replied, his voice low. “The thought of you getting hurt out here gives me nightmares. The thought of you in the arms of another man curls my toes. I can’t control this need I have to take you and that scares me.” He looked down at her again. Her face was pale, her eyes open in surprise. “I don’t like what you do to me, Kirsty.”

She swallowed before she spoke, and her voice was a low whisper. “Perhaps I do like what you do to me, Marsh…” her words were cut off as his lips crushed down on hers. A small moan escaped her and he took the kiss deeper as she clung to him. He growled suddenly and pushed her away. “Did I…” she swallowed, the sensations in her belly making it hard to speak. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Christ no,” he growled. “I have no control with you, dammit.”

“That’s a bad thing?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” he hissed. “We’re from two different worlds, Kirsty,” he muttered. “You’re only here for a short time before you go back to your perfect, pampered life in England. There’s no place for me there, not like I would even consider that kind of life. And you don’t belong here.” She hissed as if his words had hurt her. “You were born for ballrooms and tea parties. Not this kind of life.” He gestured around them. “It’s been fun darlin’ but it wasn’t serious.” He saw the tears welling in her eyes and his heart clenched. Dammit, he’d never been able to say the right thing around her. “Kirsty.” 

He reached for her again but she stood and fled back to the ballroom. He let his hand drop and watched until she disappeared through the French doors of the hotel. “Dammit,” he growled as he got up to follow her.