Cinderfella Read online

  Ash glanced quickly across the room. Verna was standing between Elmo and Oswald, and she was staring at him with pursed lips while fanning herself furiously and looking as if she might burst from that too-snug lavender gown. Did she recognize him? Surely not. Stuart Haley stepped into the room and watched with a frown on his face. Dancers passed between them, so that he came in and out of view.

  “I see a lot of happy faces, dancers laughing, smiling, enjoying themselves,” he said as he returned his attention to Charmaine.

  “They’re entirely too excited,” she said primly.

  Ash leaned in close, as close as he dared. Charmaine had no idea who he was and he could pretend, for a while, that he was someone else entirely. It was a game, purely an escape. “Are you getting excited, Charmaine Haley?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t pull away, as he’d expected she might. “What an improper question that is.”

  He laughed softly. She might pretend to be shocked, but there was new color in her cheeks, and fire in the eyes he glimpsed behind the mask. “Improper? What do you care about propriety? You say the waltz is improper, but you’re dancing with me. Proper or not, you’ve been dancing all night, haven’t you?”

  The music stopped and the dance was stilled, but Ash didn’t release his tenuous hold on Charmaine and she didn’t back away. They stood in the center of the dance floor, poised for another decadent waltz. Was she breathing as she waited? He didn’t think so.

  Oswald was making his way across the dance floor. When the music began again, and the dancers began to move, Oswald came to an awkward halt. Unsure. Angry. And then he stepped forward to tap Ash on the shoulder.

  “This dance was promised to me,” he said as primly as any old maid.

  “Too bad,” Ash whispered.

  “But Miss Haley. . . . ” Oswald began. He shut his mouth quickly as Ash turned his head to stare at his lazy stepbrother.

  “Go away,” he ordered softly, and Oswald did.

  When he looked down at Charmaine, she had a wide grin on her face. It was the kind of smile that might visit a man’s dreams for the rest of his life.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve already endured one dance with that gentleman this evening, and believe me, one was enough.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He talked about nothing but some boring book he was reading. Why, novels are a terrible influence on young men and women. Romantic nonsense that leads to the physical and spiritual downfall of many.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it is. And besides,” her smile widened, “he stepped on my toes four times in one dance.”

  He spun Charmaine around, once, twice, again. “Clumsy lout.”

  It had been years since he’d danced, but it all came back to him easily. His mother’s insistence that every man needed to know how to dance and to recite at least one poem had met some resistance from the sensible John Coleman, but he’d never denied his wife anything. The dancing Ash remembered. The poem was another matter.

  “Who are you?” Charmaine asked as they whirled past brightly dressed dancers.

  “No one,” he whispered.

  * * *

  “I’m going out there to stop this nonsense,” Stuart whispered hoarsely.

  “No.” Maureen placed her hand on her husband’s arm, and he was immediately still. Charmaine and the man she danced with — had been dancing with for some time now — made quite an arresting picture. Startling black and white amid a sea of color, they moved with grace and harmony.

  “People are beginning to talk,” Stuart hissed angrily. “Every time someone goes out there to ask Charmaine to dance, that . . . that man warns them off. And who the hell is he, anyway?”

  Maureen kept her hand on Stuart’s arm and he didn’t move away, even though he obviously wanted to storm across the dance floor to his youngest daughter. “You wanted Charmaine to meet someone here tonight, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he conceded softly.

  “Look at her, Stuart,” Maureen whispered. “Has there been any other man here tonight who’s been able to light up her face like that?”

  He hesitated, watching his daughter dance with the tall dark stranger. For the first time tonight, for the first time since her arrival in Salley Creek, she looked truly happy. “No.”

  “And have you seen another man here who’d make Charmaine a suitable husband? One of those idiot March brothers, or Doc Whitfield’s nephew William from Emporia? Jake Rogers, who’s old enough to be Charmaine’s father, by the way? Perhaps one of those crude cowboys from the Goodman ranch. Why, did you see what that one young man —”

  “I get your point,” Stuart grumbled.

  “Good.” Maureen smiled brightly as Stuart turned his face to hers. “Now, on to other matters. I’m positively starving. Would you kindly escort me to the dining room for a bite of supper?”

  “Again? You just ate an hour ago.”

  “I’ve been dreadfully hungry lately,” she said as she led Stuart into the dining room. “Throwing a party is hard work.”

  “Evidently,” he grumbled as they left the dance floor.

  It was amazing. No matter what she said he didn’t seem to mind. And he was actually listening! Sometimes he agreed with her, and sometimes he didn’t, but she didn’t mind a little argument. In fact, she loved a good one.

  And they hadn’t left the dance floor since she’d turned around and found him standing there. He moved well, this stranger who refused to give her his name, with power and a simple grace. She felt oddly safe in his arms.

  “I imagine that you, sir, are simply agreeing in order to please me.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Let’s be honest for a moment. Men are predictably single-minded where women are concerned. You’re quite charming, and I’m sure you’re very aware of that fact and have used it to your advantage many times in the past. You’ve no doubt been successful with ladies who are not educated as to their rights.”

  He didn’t seem at all shocked or offended. Amazing. Of course, how was she to be sure with that mask covering so much of his face?

  “And what rights are those, exactly?”

  Charmaine smiled, and he grinned back. “The right to make one’s own decisions. To plan one’s life and follow that plan with the same diligence any man would.”

  “I think you’ve made the mistaken assumption that men always get what they want and women never do.”

  “So, it’s a mistaken assumption, is it?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Then explain why men are free to work where and however they choose. Any profession, any place on earth. They control the money, they own the property, they make all the decisions, and the poor lowly female is expected to comply with the wishes of her husband or her father as if she had no will of her own. Why, women are no better than slaves in most households.”

  In most instances she would bring up the subject of marital continence here, but the very idea of having that discussion with this man made her blush. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, just thinking about it.

  “And here I’ve been living all my life under the mistaken assumption that women want to be taken care of.”

  “Ha!” she countered, glad to send her thoughts in another direction. “Not all women are looking for a man to take care of them. What a preposterous notion.”

  “You don’t need anyone to take care of you, do you, Charmaine Haley?” he asked softly.

  “I most certainly do not.”

  “Then let’s just dance.”

  The next dance was particularly fast. The music was lively, the dancers who crowded the floor livelier. Charmaine and her stranger reeled and twisted, turned and hopped until she was breathless. Literally.

  She stopped moving, and her partner stilled with her. The music played on.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, leaning down
to place his face close to hers. “You’re flushed.”

  “I need to sit down,” she said. What she really needed was a deep breath of fresh air, and that wasn’t going to happen until she got out of this darn corset. “And something cool to drink would be nice.”

  He was leading her toward the dining room. Charmaine looked up to find Verna Coleman and her two boys blocking the pathway to the punch and the chairs that lined the dining room walls. They weren’t smiling.

  Before she could bemoan the necessity of facing that particular family, the stranger spun her about and slipped through the dancers to the open patio doors.

  The fresh cool air was heaven, after being in that crowded room all night. Charmaine closed her eyes and took a deep breath — well, as deep a breath as she could manage. It was wonderful — and then she heard Verna Coleman’s bitter voice.

  “I think they went out this door.”

  “This way,” she whispered, grabbing the stranger’s hand and pulling him into the darkness away from the patio. They passed through the garden, around a sharp bend in the well-tended path so that they would be out of sight. The music faded, the voices became distant and then died, and finally Charmaine slowed her step. She didn’t release the stranger’s hand until she stepped onto the gazebo at the edge of the garden.

  She sank onto the bench and closed her eyes. Blessed quiet. Cool air. If only she could shed the tormenting corset, all would be right with the world.

  The stranger sat beside her. Close, so close his arm brushed hers. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, not knowing if he could see her in the darkness. The moon shone on half his face, on that leather mask and dark hair. “I just couldn’t breathe,” she whispered. The lowered voice was appropriate here in the darkness.

  He raised his hand to touch her cheek, there below the mask. “You’re warm.”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t protest when his hands slipped to the back of her head to untie the silk ribbons that held the mask in place. The cool air against her face felt heavenly, his fingers against the skin there even more so.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he whispered.

  Her heart skipped a beat. His words were romantic nonsense, as this entire evening had been, a practiced flirtation. Still, just for tonight — “I am not, and you shouldn’t say such things —”

  “You are,” he interrupted. “And tonight I say whatever I want.”

  His fingers traced her face, danced down her cheeks and across her jaw, brushed over her lips and back again. “Will you let me kiss you, Charmaine Haley?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, without hesitation, without thinking at all.

  His lips on hers were soft and reluctant, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind. They brushed lightly over hers, and then they settled in nicely, moving gently over her mouth. The sensation was intoxicating.

  He tasted and smelled very pleasant, warm and amazingly different from anything she’d ever known, until this was all she knew. His taste and his smell, the feel of his mouth on hers, the beat of her heart and his.

  Charmaine raised her hands to the back of his head, intent on removing the mask and revealing his face. He stopped her, his large hands gripping her wrists and pulling them away from the leather thongs that held his mask in place. He kissed her wrists, the palms of her hands, and he didn’t release her.

  “I want to see your face,” she pleaded.

  “No,” he whispered, bringing his mouth to hers again.

  “But why?” The question was a mere breath against his lips.

  He sighed, softly, uncertainly. “I had planned to show you my face before the night was over, but now I can’t. It would ruin everything.”

  “Why? How could it possibly —”

  He silenced her with a kiss. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone,” he said. “Tonight is all we have, is all we’ll ever have, and I don’t want to spoil it.”

  There was a terrible finality in his words, and Charmaine’s heart pounded with excitement and an unexplained terror. She’d never see him again. Something akin to panic rushed through her, a real dread at the certainty that she’d never feel this way again. She allowed her lips to fall against his, seeking without shame the overwhelming sensation she felt when his mouth touched hers.

  His hands released hers and danced up her arms, over her shoulders to her neck. Long fingers delved into her hair, and with his tongue he parted her lips and teased her with more. This was more than wonderful, it was magical. Her body was singing, her blood was dancing, this was . . . this was everything Howard had warned her against.

  She drew her head back sharply, drawing away from the lips that taunted her. The stranger was unprepared, and as he had his fingers twined in the pearl necklace she wore, it snapped, and pearls went everywhere. They bounced on the gazebo floor, fell into her bodice, rebounded off his black frock coat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” she repeated as she came to her feet. “I can’t . . . this is wrong! This is exactly why waltzing is sinful and should be outlawed.”

  In the moonlight she could see his smile, and there was something about that smile that was hauntingly familiar. Of course, he had smiled several times throughout the evening. “This has nothing to do with waltzing, Charmaine Haley,” he whispered.

  The intriguing stranger stood, slowly unfolding his long body from the bench, and Charmaine wanted nothing but for him to kiss her again. He took a step forward, toward her, but instead of taking her in his arms, he winced and stopped his progress.

  “What is it?” Charmaine whispered.

  He sat down on the bench and slowly removed one boot. When the black boot was in his hand he shook it, and then he turned it upside down. A single pearl rolled into the palm of his hand.

  “I see,” she said, stepping forward to get a better look at the pearl resting in the palm of hand. It looked so much tinier in his wide, dark palm that it had as one of many around her throat. She was almost upon him when she stepped on another one of the pesky pearls. She knew it was a pearl, because the bottom of her shoe slid over it so smoothly — and so quickly.

  If she hadn’t been wearing a darn corset, she would have been able to right herself in time, but as it was she fell stiffly forward and into the stranger’s ill-prepared arms. The boot he’d been holding in one hand went flying, and as he caught her around the waist they went tumbling over the side of the gazebo. Strong arms tightened around her, and when they fell, his body cushioned the blow for her.

  He landed flat on his back, and she landed atop him with a knee on either side of his waist and her skirts bunched around her thighs. After a breathless moment she actually began to laugh softly. It was fortunate that they’d had no audience. What a ridiculous sight they must have made, tumbling over backwards that way!

  Her heart was pounding, her hair was falling in disarray about her face, and her expensive gown was falling off of one shoulder.

  A hand came to her face, and her laughter died. Long fingers touched her cheek briefly and then moved to the back of her head, and after a pause where taking a breath was impossible, the stranger pulled her face to his and kissed her again. Hard this time, insistent, his tongue invading her mouth as she sat atop him. She had never been so close to any man before, never had her body pressed to his and her mouth joined in this impossible way. The rush of longing that coursed through her body was unexpected and unwanted and much too powerful for her to ignore.

  “I’ll kill you.”

  It took Charmaine a moment to realize that the husky voice had not come from the man beneath her. Evidently he realized it at the same time, because they popped up together, straightening hair and skirts and a slightly askew bodice as they came to their feet. It didn’t help matters any that the hem of her skirt was tangled in the stranger’s diamond stickpin, and it took them several seconds of shared fumbling to undo the entanglement.

  “Daddy, I can explain,” she said quick
ly as she turned to face him.

  “No explanation is necessary,” her father said. “I can see quite well.” He drew a gun from beneath his coat and pointed it in their direction. “Step away, Charmaine.”

  “No.” She stepped in front of the stranger, knowing her father would never risk harming her. “Not until you put that gun away.”

  He shook his head.

  “Mr. Haley,” the stranger began.

  “You shut up!” He waved the gun wildly. “Nobody touches my daughter, do you understand? Nobody!”

  “Run,” Charmaine whispered. The stranger didn’t move. Instead of running away he rested a large hand comfortingly at the small of her back, silently joining her in her defiance of her father. She looked over her shoulder, for one last glimpse of what she could see of his face. The mask and the moonlight thwarted her. “Run.”

  “I’ll never forget this night,” he whispered, and her heart stopped.

  Before she could respond, before she could even think of a response, he was gone. He had finally taken her advice and run.

  Her father swung his gun around quickly, firing a wild shot into the darkness, and the town clock chimed.

  Midnight.

  Eight

  The clock was pealing the last reverberating strain of midnight, as Ash limped on one booted foot and one in only a sock to the alley where he’d left Pumpkin.

  Well, everything that could possibly go wrong had. His plan to embarrass Charmaine had gone out the window the first time she’d smiled at him. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted this one night to be perfect — for her and for him. For Charmaine to be horrified that the man she’d danced with all night was just Ash Coleman — that was not part of any perfect evening.

  He unhitched Pumpkin from the post, jumped into the saddle, and leaned forward with a few soft words for the horse. And then he heard the voices, Stuart Haley’s loudest and most furious bluster dominating them all as they headed this way.

  If he didn’t get out of this alley, he’d be dead.

  With another whispered plea and a nudge of his heel to Pumpkin, they were off, flying from the alley and onto the street to surprised shouts. And then the gunfire started. After a moment of panic he realized the resounding shots came from only one gun. Stuart Haley’s, no doubt.