with cold-eyed resentment.
"I'm sure, sir, your wife will be grateful." Hazard's eyes were calmly open.
For the space of a heartbeat, the older man hesitated while Hazard absorbed the shock of his anger. But this was the man, everyone had heard, including Judge Attenborough, who'd killed three men last month. One did not carelessly annoy a man reputedly able to draw and fire five times in three seconds. Having made the decision, Attenborough's hand reached out and gripped Hazard's slender bronzed hand. "Enjoy yourself, Mr. Black."
Hazard's voice was steady. "Thank you. I will."
Collective breaths were exhaled throughout the room in sufficient volume to cause a gentle sigh to waft about the vaulted ceiling. The musicians who had been playing an indistinguishable tune in an indistinguishable tempo, so softly as to be scarcely audible, promptly resumed their rhythm and volume. The guests resumed dancing. Conversation erupted, deliciously agitated over the barely averted public scandal.
The tall Absarokee with glossy black hair just brushing his neck exchanged a few more polite phrases with the judge, who, with justice, treated him with suspicious reserve. His young wife foolishly regarded Hazard with doting eyes, which be studiously avoided while he bade husband and wife a good evening.
From the receiving line he went directly to the gaming room. Hazard Black didn't return to the ballroom until shortly before midnight, and when he did, his brow was creased with a frown. A note interrupting his card game was cause of the brooding look. As if rumor wasn't damned near tinder point already tonight (and he had smoothly brushed off enough pointed allusions during his gambling to know what was consuming everyone's thoughts) Lucy, apparently having lost all discretion, had sent a note in with one of her servants. She was one of the most sexually aggressive women he'd ever known. No doubt being married to a sixty-year-old man influenced that disposition; but Hazard Black never knowingly looked for trouble, and the only reason he was meeting her on the veranda per her written request was to avoid the more daunting prospect of having her march into the gaming room in pursuit.
The large veranda extended around the entire two-story building and fortuitously was ill-lit beyond the ball-room doors. Shrubbery screened the porch, and if a rendezvous was imperative, as Lucy's note implied, at least the location was private. Hazard purposefully strode to the small alcove near the back entrance; he and Lucy had swung on the swing on that veranda, hidden behind the tall bushes, the night they first met.
He found her near the back door, her forehead pressed against the jamb, a lacy handkerchief held up to her tear-stained cheeks. As he came up behind her, his flaring temper over the callous indiscretion of her note diminished. She looked so sad, so forlorn, and he knew her life with Attenborough wasn't all she wished. Gently gripping her soft shoulders, he buried his face in the curls at the back of her neck, murmuring comfortingly into the perfume of her skin, feeling the tension ease from her strained shoulders. Turning in his grasp, she threw her arms around his neck and cried, "Jon, I can't bear to see you and not touch you."
Looking into moist eyes, he said, "I'm sorry I avoided you, sweet." His voice was low, level, friendly. "But you must have heard the gossip tonight. It's bold as hell, and if Attenborough is pushed enough, he might feel obliged to call me out." Judge Attenborough was from an old Georgia family and still felt honor was defended with dueling pistols. "I don't want that and you don't want that. He could get hurt, maybe killed. Please, Lucy," he cajoled, "be sensible."
Whether Hazard would be defending his mistress, his courage, or merely his right to live his own life, the result would be the same. The Chief Justice would probably be dead and his wife the cause. Scandal could
"I'm sure, sir, your wife will be grateful." Hazard's eyes were calmly open.
For the space of a heartbeat, the older man hesitated while Hazard absorbed the shock of his anger. But this was the man, everyone had heard, including Judge Attenborough, who'd killed three men last month. One did not carelessly annoy a man reputedly able to draw and fire five times in three seconds. Having made the decision, Attenborough's hand reached out and gripped Hazard's slender bronzed hand. "Enjoy yourself, Mr. Black."
Hazard's voice was steady. "Thank you. I will."
Collective breaths were exhaled throughout the room in sufficient volume to cause a gentle sigh to waft about the vaulted ceiling. The musicians who had been playing an indistinguishable tune in an indistinguishable tempo, so softly as to be scarcely audible, promptly resumed their rhythm and volume. The guests resumed dancing. Conversation erupted, deliciously agitated over the barely averted public scandal.
The tall Absarokee with glossy black hair just brushing his neck exchanged a few more polite phrases with the judge, who, with justice, treated him with suspicious reserve. His young wife foolishly regarded Hazard with doting eyes, which be studiously avoided while he bade husband and wife a good evening.
From the receiving line he went directly to the gaming room. Hazard Black didn't return to the ballroom until shortly before midnight, and when he did, his brow was creased with a frown. A note interrupting his card game was cause of the brooding look. As if rumor wasn't damned near tinder point already tonight (and he had smoothly brushed off enough pointed allusions during his gambling to know what was consuming everyone's thoughts) Lucy, apparently having lost all discretion, had sent a note in with one of her servants. She was one of the most sexually aggressive women he'd ever known. No doubt being married to a sixty-year-old man influenced that disposition; but Hazard Black never knowingly looked for trouble, and the only reason he was meeting her on the veranda per her written request was to avoid the more daunting prospect of having her march into the gaming room in pursuit.
The large veranda extended around the entire two-story building and fortuitously was ill-lit beyond the ball-room doors. Shrubbery screened the porch, and if a rendezvous was imperative, as Lucy's note implied, at least the location was private. Hazard purposefully strode to the small alcove near the back entrance; he and Lucy had swung on the swing on that veranda, hidden behind the tall bushes, the night they first met.
He found her near the back door, her forehead pressed against the jamb, a lacy handkerchief held up to her tear-stained cheeks. As he came up behind her, his flaring temper over the callous indiscretion of her note diminished. She looked so sad, so forlorn, and he knew her life with Attenborough wasn't all she wished. Gently gripping her soft shoulders, he buried his face in the curls at the back of her neck, murmuring comfortingly into the perfume of her skin, feeling the tension ease from her strained shoulders. Turning in his grasp, she threw her arms around his neck and cried, "Jon, I can't bear to see you and not touch you."
Looking into moist eyes, he said, "I'm sorry I avoided you, sweet." His voice was low, level, friendly. "But you must have heard the gossip tonight. It's bold as hell, and if Attenborough is pushed enough, he might feel obliged to call me out." Judge Attenborough was from an old Georgia family and still felt honor was defended with dueling pistols. "I don't want that and you don't want that. He could get hurt, maybe killed. Please, Lucy," he cajoled, "be sensible."
Whether Hazard would be defending his mistress, his courage, or merely his right to live his own life, the result would be the same. The Chief Justice would probably be dead and his wife the cause. Scandal could
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