out.
Focused on his task, Van angled her unresponsive body over his shoulder, then unfastened the buttons on the back of her gown. He pulled down the fluffy sleeves to her elbows. Then he doubled over to lay her on her stomach on his bed. Taking care not to rip any seams, Van pulled the gown past her waist, hips and feet.
She stirred slightly and her eyes opened to half-mast. Van took advantage of her dazed state and asked, “What’s your stepfather and fiancé’s name, sunshine?”
“Thurston and Avery,” she mumbled before she collapsed.
When Van gently turned her onto her back, he found himself staring at the lacy neckline of her chemise that barely concealed her breasts. He groaned aloud. This was pure visual torment. Grumbling in frustration, he tugged off her petticoats, then shook out her dress and hung it in the wardrobe closet.
When he turned back to his bed, his gaze settled on the long expanse of her legs and the high-riding chemise that barely concealed her hips. While he tugged off her kid boots he kept his eyes on the task, for fear his betraying gaze would drift up to sneak a peek at whatever undergarment—if any—lay beneath that skimpy chemise.
Hungry need hammered at him while he played handmaiden. But Van accomplished his task, then drew the sheet over her curvaceous body. He wanted to crawl into bed with her, if only to sleep off the effects of exhaustion and a tad too much whiskey. It was his bed, after all, and the settee was too short to accommodate him. His only option was bunking on the floor—which he’d done too damn often the past few weeks during his last assignment.
His thoughts flittered off when he heard the distinct knock on the door. Wheeling about, Van made a beeline through the sitting room to whip open the door.
Bart craned his neck around Van’s shoulder. “What did you do to her? And what does she want?”
He shut the door after Bart burst inside. “Do come in,” he smirked. “Now which question should I answer first?”
“Let’s start with what you did to her,” Bart said in an accusing tone.
“I put her to bed.”
Bart blinked owlishly from behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Yours?”
Van ambled over to pick up his glass, hoping the shot of whiskey would cool the hot, unappeased desire clamoring below his belt buckle. It didn’t.
“Yes, my bed. I don’t know which room is hers and I sure as hell didn’t plan to cart her unconscious body door to door to check availability or consult the nosy clerk.”
“I see your point.” Bart retrieved the spare glass from the table and poured himself a drink. He stared speculatively at Van. “So what is it that she really wants from you?”
Van took a sip, thankful Natalie was asleep and he and Bart could speak freely. “She proposed a no-strings-attached marriage that will give her independence and control of her modest inheritance. I am to receive a generous fee for signing my name on the license.”
“You are kidding,” said Bart. He stared toward the door of the adjoining room. “She’s an extremely appealing and intelligent woman. Why isn’t she interested in what most women want? Marriage, security and family?”
“Sunshine isn’t most women,” Van clarified.
“Yes, yes, I can see that, but what do you think motivated this rash scheme of hers?”
“Supposedly, her greedy stepfather arranged her wedding for his financial benefit to her unfaithful fiancé…if her story is to be believed,” Van summarized.
He’d heard of shady dealings such as this before. The thought of Natalie Whoever-She-Was suffering a similar fate angered him. He admired her for being assertive and taking charge of her destiny. She had devised a way to have her freedom. Just as he had faced the unknown to avoid confinement on the reservation.
“She explained her situation and I got her to name names, though I doubt she’ll remember what she told me since I ensured she drank enough to loosen her tongue,” Van continued. “She let it slip that she’s from New Orleans and her first name is Natalie. Or so she said. She might have more than one alias.” He stared intently at Bart. “I don’t intend to call her by that name until she confides in me, however. See what you can find out about someone named Thurston or Avery. I don’t know if those are first or last names. Also, check those newspapers you subscribe to about a recent runaway bride. I want to know exactly who we are