Chapter 17 #2
“Why, Sloan, are you afraid of me?” she drawled.
“Marlene, I do admit, I fear the damage you can wreak with your razor-edged tongue as much as I fear bullets, arrows, and knives.”
“You jest, and you’re being cruel!” she told him. “Please, come have a drink. My brother will protect you. It’s important.”
“All right, Marlene.”
She slipped her arm through his, leading him from the dusty field of play toward her brother’s quarters, where she had kept house for him since her husband’s death.
“Charlie?” she called cheerfully as they entered the small, pleasant parlor. “Charlie, Sloan is here!”
There was no reply.
“Well, he’ll be right along. What can I get you, Major? Whiskey, brandy—rum?”
“Nothing.”
“Come now, Sloan, don’t be rude.”
“Marlene, what is it you have to tell me that’s so important?”
“Sloan, I will not say a single word until you tell me what you’re drinking!” she insisted, pouting.
“Whiskey.”
“Whiskey, it is,” she said with a smile.
She poured his drink, then seemed to float across the floor to him, her skirts a whisper of silk.
Her sleek dark hair was elegantly swept into a coil at her nape, displaying the perfection of her neck and shoulders, and the classical beauty of her face.
She was a completely poised woman, well aware of her position in society, and secure and confident in the extent of her beauty.
And she was still very beautiful. She could be exotic and tempting, and she was a talented lover. At one time, he had found her intriguing. Hell, at one time, he had wanted to marry her. She had taught him a lesson in life that he had never forgotten.
She was absolutely wanton in bed. He wondered curiously at that moment if he might feel the least bit tempted by her.
He paused, feeling her fingers brush his hand as she gave him his drink, watching the fire in her green eyes when they met his with a sultry promise.
Hmm…
Amazing. He wasn’t tempted in the least. There was a viciousness, a ruthlessness, in her. Marlene hadn’t a lick of concern for her fellow man.
“I wonder if you’ve ever known how very sorry I am!” she breathed to him, standing very close.
“Marlene, you needn’t be sorry. I’m not.”
She frowned. “How strange…life is so ironic. Father was a monster back then. He forced me to marry Clifford Howard.”
“Clifford Howard gave you a very nice life.”
“He was never you. He was never—” She broke off with a sigh. “Well, you know.”
“He was never Sioux?” Sloan inquired politely.
“That’s not at all what I was saying, and you do know exactly what I mean!”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Oh, Sloan! We were magnetic together. Once I had been forced into marriage…well, I ached for you every night.”
“Marlene, how dramatic! But I doubt that’s true. If it is, my sympathies lie with our dear departed congressman.”
“Dear Sloan! Please, don’t be so vindictive!”
“Marlene,” he said impatiently, “I’m not vindictive in the least. The past is gone. Things worked out for the best. They have a habit of doing so.”
“Oh! How can you say such a thing!” she cried.
He threw up a hand with impatience. “Marlene—”
“Oh, God! Sloan!” she cried suddenly, pitching herself against him with such force that he had to grab her in order to steady them both.
As it was, his drink swirled dangerously in his glass.
He drank it down and set the glass on the mantel, trying to disentangle himself from her hold upon his upper arms.
“Marlene—”
“Sloan, I had thought, when Clifford died, that I could have a life again, that we could have a life! Oh, Sloan, you’ll never know how thrilled I was at the prospect of…
of picking up where we had left off. I can’t tell you my horror when I heard that after so many years, you had married!
And yet, I know you, Sloan. I know that there were circumstances that surely forced your marriage—”
“Marlene,” he interrupted firmly, managing at last to grasp her arms and free himself from her hold. “Have you taken a good look at my wife?” he inquired.
“She’s a child—”
“She’s a woman, Marlene, and a very beautiful one.”
Marlene gasped, her eyes dazzling with tears. “Oh, my God, she is younger than I am—”
“Marlene, that doesn’t have a damned thing to do with this. I have married.”
“So you have married! But you can’t deny that there were some strange…circumstances. I know that you loved me once, Sloan, I know—”
“Once, Marlene. Not anymore.”
“Sloan, I don’t care!” Marlene said quickly. “I don’t care that you are married; God knows, I had wanted to be your wife, but I will gladly be your mistress. This doesn’t need to matter in the least. Oh, God, Sloan, you have to forgive me the past—”
“Marlene, I do forgive you the past. Completely. But no matter what the circumstances of my marriage, I am in love with my wife. And I need to go home now.”
She drew away from him in a sudden fury, striding back toward the liquor cabinet and pouring herself a large brandy. She swung around to look at him.
“Are you still sleeping with that Cheyenne woman? Does your precious wife know about the mistress you’ve kept for years?”
“I’ve had mistresses, Marlene. And, yes, I believe my wife is well aware of my past.”
She was looking past him, out to the fort grounds. Darkness was falling now, but whatever she saw seemed to please her. She lifted her glass to him. “Cheers, Major! And by the way, I think I know exactly how you and your new lady love met. I did just come from Gold Town.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Just what exactly is that supposed to mean, Marlene?”
“Well, in truth, I met my father there.” She shrugged.
“He gave me a letter from your grandfather. But I do have many friends—especially among the servants at the Miner’s Well. It seems that a young lady—or a young whore—slipped into your room there one night and didn’t slip back out until morning.”
“If you have a letter for me from my grandfather, I’d like to have it, please,” Sloan said flatly.
Marlene slipped a letter from her pocket and walked over to Sloan, handing it to him.
She smiled again. “You’ll get tired of playing the bridegroom, Sloan.
Tired of having your pretty little wife nagging you about your every movement.
When she becomes too much, I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting. I know you, Sloan.”
“Marlene, I do hope you find a more productive way to spend your time,” he told her.
She was still smiling. “Excuse me. You know how to find your way out.”
She disappeared up the stairs that led to the bedrooms.
Exasperated, Sloan turned, opening his letter as he left the house.
On her way up the stairs, Marlene Howard hastily ripped at the bodice of her gown. She raced to the window overlooking the grounds, pulled the drapes, and threw open the window. With her gown ripped open, all but completely exposing her breasts, she leaned out slightly, watching Sloan leave.
Sabrina Trelawny stood across the parade grounds, talking with Jean Jenkins. Marlene was quite certain that Sabrina could see her husband coming from the house.
And Marlene herself…
Half-naked at the window.
She’d exposed herself just enough, Marlene decided, and she ducked back inside, hastily closing the drapes as if just realizing that she might be seen.
She leaned pensively against the wall for several long moments. It wasn’t that she had underestimated her adversary; Sabrina certainly had her assets. But somehow, the marriage had been forced, and a man forced into marriage was seldom happy once he began to feel the constraints....
She walked to her dressing table and quickly studied her assets.
She pinched her cheeks, bringing color to them.
Her smile faded ever so slightly when she noticed the start of tiny lines around her eyes.
Very tiny. Years ago, she’d had her chance with Sloan.
She’d gotten distracted when she had seen something shining more brightly, that was all, and she simply hadn’t realized that it was fool’s gold.
Well, the years had changed her, she thought pragmatically. She wasn’t young, and she wasn’t innocent. It was a tough old world out there, and she was going to do her damned best to get what she wanted from it. Sabrina was beautiful; she had her youth and innocence.
But Marlene had experience and staying power.
She could wait.
Sabrina struggled not to gasp out loud.
Not to shriek with fury.
And not to go running across the parade grounds to assault Sloan then and there.
Because he was back. She had known he was back. She’d heard he’d been playing baseball and had made a fabulous hit.
He had come back and played baseball…
And gone to see Marlene.
She forced herself to remain still, to focus on Jean. Jean so seldom initiated a conversation, and she had stopped Sabrina. Sabrina pretended to be listening avidly to every word Jean had to say about the proper way to get bread to rise.
There was no denying the fact that Sloan had come from Marlene’s house.
And there was no denying that Marlene had been at her window, almost entirely bare-breasted, watching him leave.
Sabrina wanted to sink into the ground around her.
She carefully and casually looked around, trying to ascertain if others had seen Marlene.
She asked herself if it mattered what others thought, or if the knifing deep inside her was all that counted.
She was so stunned and hurt that she couldn’t think.
Sloan hadn’t even seen her yet. He was engrossed in a letter he was reading, walking slowly back toward the wooden dwelling that housed their own quarters. She watched him go.
“Well, I was so delighted that the general wrote and asked especially for my bread,” Jean was saying, “even though it is so simple a recipe, anyone can follow it.”
“Jean, I’m quite sure that no one can make it quite as well as you do.”