Morgan gave a wary okay to her offer, then went back to watching the duchess.
The dark-haired Helen was back within moments, somehow managing to bring two cups of punch and a plate full of finger sandwiches through the crowd without mishap.
“Much obliged,” Morgan said, taking a grateful sip, and blinking in surprise as he tasted liquor mingled with the fruity liquid. Rum, he guessed.
“This is rather...potent,” he said, his eyes leaving the duchess for a moment to rest on Helen Wharton and the cup she was raising to her lips. “I hope there was something a little less...strong for you, ma’am?” He’d better limit himself to one cup, and sip that sparingly, or soon he’d be too blind drunk even to see the duchess, much less protect her.
Helen laughed merrily. “There is a punch for the ladies, but I’m drinking the same thing as you are. I’m afraid I find the other stuff rather insipid. Here, have a sandwich.”
He accepted the morsel from her, then searched and found Sarah Challoner in the crowd. The receiving line finished, she had joined the same group of businessmen that Helen Wharton’s brother had been standing among. Just then William Wharton returned, bearing punch and sandwiches, which he offered to the duchess.
“Hospitality seems to run in your family,” Morgan observed.
“Yes...I ran into my brother at the refreshment table. He’s quite taken with your duchess. Says she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”
Morgan sure couldn’t disagree with that, so he said nothing, just kept his eye on the duchess as the mining magnate went on chatting with her. His conversation was evidently very stimulating, for Sarah Challoner was animated, her color high, her blue eyes sparkling. Then he saw that something Wharton said had amused her, for she tipped back her head and laughed. The sound was lost in the noisy room, but Morgan fancied he could hear its silvery music.
Lord, he wished he were a rich man so he could stand talking with Sarah Challoner like this, and have her laughing at some clever thing he said.
Then he saw Wharton gesture toward the balcony, and Sarah’s narrow-eyed stare in its direction before she nodded.
From here he could see that the balcony was empty of other guests, and someone had blown out the torches that had illuminated it at their arrival. So the rich fellow imagined he was going to lure Sarah Challoner out into the darkness?
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he growled to the woman beside him, handing her his cup without even looking at her and striding forward to intercept the couple heading for the balcony.
“Pardon me, Du—your grace,” he amended, planting himself in front of the couple. The duchess had her hand on Wharton’s arm, a fact that fueled his ire.
The two halted, Wharton blinking at him as if Morgan had two heads. “Mr. Calhoun, is something wrong?” Sarah Challoner asked.
“No, ma’am, but I can’t have you...I don’t think...that is, you shouldn’t go out on the balcony.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s dark out there. No one who’d want to harm me could even see me.”
“Harm you? What do you mean?” Wharton asked. Then, when he received no answer, he glared at Morgan, his face reddening, a pulse beating in his temples. “Now, see here, fellow, just who do you think you are to be ordering her grace around?”
Morgan ignored him. “Ma’am, there’s a full moon, and your dress is a pale color. A sniper wouldn’t need much more.”
Sarah Challoner lifted her chin—always a sign of imminent rebellion, he’d discovered—and her lips thinned. “Oh, don’t be tiresome, Mr. Calhoun. I’ll be fine. Mr. Wharton merely thought I might like some air.”
I’ll just bet he did, Morgan thought, fixing his piercing gaze on the mining magnate until the other man’s eyes fell.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to agree with Mr. Calhoun, your grace,” said Lord Halston, who had suddenly appeared at Morgan’s side in time to hear the last exchange. “It would be most unwise.”
“My dear duchess, what on earth are they talking about? Have you been threatened?” Wharton demanded.
Her face smoothed out as she looked at Wharton. “It’s nothing, Mr. Wharton. Truly. They’re just being cautious. Isn’t there some quieter room to which we can go and chat some more? I vow, all this noise is giving me a headache!”
“Certainly, your grace,” Wharton said with a genial smile—a smug smile that Morgan wanted to wipe off the man’s ginger-cat face with his knuckles. “The governor has a small library downstairs where we may be private, I’m sure. If that’s all right with your...guardians,” he said with deliberate provocation.
Morgan’s fists clenched at his side as he struggled to be polite. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Halston bristling and white-faced. Good for you, Halston.
“I reckon that’s all right, if I can go with you and check out the room first, and then I’ll stand outside the door and make sure no one else comes in,” he said.
“Well, it’s not all right with me,” Sarah Challoner snapped, her eyes blazing with blue fire at Morgan and Lord Halston alike. “You two are smothering me, and I won’t have it. There is absolutely nothing amiss in my speaking to Mr. Wharton privately, and if you wish to continue in my employ, Mr. Calhoun, you’ll stay upstairs, is that clear? Come, Mr. Wharton, show me this library.”
Morgan stared at her retreating figure as she left the reception room. Life was too short to put up with a woman so obstinate she wouldn’t even accept guidance when she’d asked for it. He could be back at the boardinghouse within the hour and heading for the mountains day after tomorrow, a free man. And the duchess could go to blazes.
Then he felt Lord Halston’s hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to apologize for my niece’s behavior, Calhoun. I’ll speak with her later, get her to see reason. I—I’d take it as a personal favor if you wouldn’t quit without giving her another chance.”
Morgan couldn’t have been more surprised if Lord Halston had suddenly sprouted a halo and wings, and it was the surprise that cooled his anger. “All right,” he conceded, “if you’ll talk to her, I’ll stay. I’m not going to go through this every time she disagrees with me.”
“She’s very headstrong,” the marquess admitted. “A result of her being raised as heiress to a duchy. The late Duke of Malvern treated her as if she were the son he’d never had. Once it was apparent she would be duchess one day, he encouraged her to make decisions on her own just as if she were a man. As her oldest male relative, I’ve tried to guide her as best I could, but...” He shrugged. “Sometimes that strong will leads her into error.”
“I just hope that stubbornness doesn’t get her killed,” Morgan muttered, and stalked away to find a drink—a real one, not just that damn punch.
Crouched in the darkness outside the territorial governor’s residence, the assassin waited on the roof of the mansion next door to the governor’s. The owners of the mansion, who were present at the reception, didn’t know he was there, and since their servants had been lent to McCook for the evening, too, he’d had no difficulty stealing inside and making his way to the roof. He was dressed in black from head to foot. Even the barrel of his Winchester rifle had been rubbed with grease and then coated with soot so as not to give off a betraying gleam.
He’d taken up his position on the roof long before the duchess had arrived. He could have shot her as she strolled into the house with her uncle and that watchdog she’d hired, but he’d decided it was too risky. There