Read Online A Lady of the West by Linda Howard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Howard
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because of you?â
Angelina blinked her great dark eyes, for the first time realizing that her gloating triumph hadnât been very smart. She wasnât intelligent, but she was cunning in her self-interest. She remembered how theMajor had bragged for months about the real Southern lady coming to marry him, and shivered, thinking of how brutal the Major could be at times, when it seemed as if he enjoyed sex more if he could hurt her in some way. She knew he liked to hurt her, and she didnât want to provide him with any excuses to do so.
Her lips trembled, and she moved closer to Roper. âWill she tell him?â
He was unmoved by her distress, for heâd noticed that she took advantage of her nearness to rub her breasts against his arm. âShe might,â he said to make her worry about it, and mounted his horse before she could rub anything else against him.
Roper shook his head at himself as he rode off. He was a hard man; heâd seen his father murdered, his mother raped and killed when heâd been only thirteen years old. Roper had killed his first man when heâd been fourteen, when the man had tried to rob the two boys of their pitiful store of food. For twenty years the brothers had worked for their revenge, biding their time, gathering money and making plans. Nothing had been allowed to stand in their way. Nothing had mattered but putting Frank McLain in the ground and reclaiming their heritage. Roper kept his nose out of other peopleâs business and expected them to keep theirs out of his. That was why it was so out of character for him to interfere, and heâd done it twice in a matter of minutes, all for the same woman. What did he care if Garnet got in the little sisterâs bloomers? Heâd never have interfered if Victoria hadnât tried to face Garnet down, but she had, and he hadnât been able to stand by and let Garnet abuse her. He was the one man on the ranch Garnet wouldnât stand up to, but now heâd have to watch his back every minute.
All for a woman. Heâd had women since he was fifteen, but they were always casual encounters that had never meant more to him than the temporary easing of his sexual needs. He loved women, though heâd never been
in
love; he loved their softness, thesweet musky scent of their skin, their lighter voices and smaller bodies, the clinging of their hands around his strong neck and the way their legs locked around his hips, their soft cries as he gave them pleasure. He always tried to please his woman, no matter how casual the bedding; it was a reflection of his own strong, sure sexuality that he enjoyed the act more when the pleasure was mutual.
But of all those women, heâd never wanted one the way he wanted Victoria. It was more than physical, though God knew that was strong enough and getting stronger. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to protect her. He didnât know what made her different, but she was. She was also forbidden to him. She was a lady, and the wife of his enemy. He had blood on his hands, and would have more: the blood of her husband.
He found that it didnât matter. He thought of the way sheâd lifted her chin with evident pride even though she had just been slapped in the face with her husbandâs infidelity. He thought of the way she protected her sister, and of the way she looked him full in the face when so few people did. She was alone and vulnerable, trapped in an unhappy marriage, but she had courage.
Damn it, why didnât she go back to Augusta where she belonged? Maybe if she was out of his sight, he wouldnât think about her, and she couldnât threaten his plans.
Victoria went straight to her room and sat on the chaise, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths to calm herself. She had never before felt so angry and humiliated. Gradually she realized that she was angry
because
of the humiliation, not because she had learned that her husband
Angelina blinked her great dark eyes, for the first time realizing that her gloating triumph hadnât been very smart. She wasnât intelligent, but she was cunning in her self-interest. She remembered how theMajor had bragged for months about the real Southern lady coming to marry him, and shivered, thinking of how brutal the Major could be at times, when it seemed as if he enjoyed sex more if he could hurt her in some way. She knew he liked to hurt her, and she didnât want to provide him with any excuses to do so.
Her lips trembled, and she moved closer to Roper. âWill she tell him?â
He was unmoved by her distress, for heâd noticed that she took advantage of her nearness to rub her breasts against his arm. âShe might,â he said to make her worry about it, and mounted his horse before she could rub anything else against him.
Roper shook his head at himself as he rode off. He was a hard man; heâd seen his father murdered, his mother raped and killed when heâd been only thirteen years old. Roper had killed his first man when heâd been fourteen, when the man had tried to rob the two boys of their pitiful store of food. For twenty years the brothers had worked for their revenge, biding their time, gathering money and making plans. Nothing had been allowed to stand in their way. Nothing had mattered but putting Frank McLain in the ground and reclaiming their heritage. Roper kept his nose out of other peopleâs business and expected them to keep theirs out of his. That was why it was so out of character for him to interfere, and heâd done it twice in a matter of minutes, all for the same woman. What did he care if Garnet got in the little sisterâs bloomers? Heâd never have interfered if Victoria hadnât tried to face Garnet down, but she had, and he hadnât been able to stand by and let Garnet abuse her. He was the one man on the ranch Garnet wouldnât stand up to, but now heâd have to watch his back every minute.
All for a woman. Heâd had women since he was fifteen, but they were always casual encounters that had never meant more to him than the temporary easing of his sexual needs. He loved women, though heâd never been
in
love; he loved their softness, thesweet musky scent of their skin, their lighter voices and smaller bodies, the clinging of their hands around his strong neck and the way their legs locked around his hips, their soft cries as he gave them pleasure. He always tried to please his woman, no matter how casual the bedding; it was a reflection of his own strong, sure sexuality that he enjoyed the act more when the pleasure was mutual.
But of all those women, heâd never wanted one the way he wanted Victoria. It was more than physical, though God knew that was strong enough and getting stronger. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to protect her. He didnât know what made her different, but she was. She was also forbidden to him. She was a lady, and the wife of his enemy. He had blood on his hands, and would have more: the blood of her husband.
He found that it didnât matter. He thought of the way sheâd lifted her chin with evident pride even though she had just been slapped in the face with her husbandâs infidelity. He thought of the way she protected her sister, and of the way she looked him full in the face when so few people did. She was alone and vulnerable, trapped in an unhappy marriage, but she had courage.
Damn it, why didnât she go back to Augusta where she belonged? Maybe if she was out of his sight, he wouldnât think about her, and she couldnât threaten his plans.
Victoria went straight to her room and sat on the chaise, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths to calm herself. She had never before felt so angry and humiliated. Gradually she realized that she was angry
because
of the humiliation, not because she had learned that her husband
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