By the time Drake had turned toward his brother and sister-in-law, the transformation was complete. The smile he sent to the tall, dark-haired woman was filled with warmth. Only Hope seemed to notice that the warmth did not touch his eyes. Angelique was too busy preening to recognize the falseness, and Charles merely stood gripping a bloodstained white linen handkerchief around his hand as he glowered at them all.
“Angelique,” Drake greeted, ignoring the outraged look that crossed his brother’s face. He inclined his head to the woman, untangling Hope’s fingers from his arm before stepping from her side. Angelique’s victorious smile lit up the room. Hope’s heart tightened.
“I should be quite angry with you,” Angelique murmured, accepting the fleeting kiss Drake placed on her flushed porcelain cheek. “The least you could have done was send word. We’ve thought you dead for these past months, you know.”
“And did the thought upset you?” he asked candidly, running the back of his hand over her jaw. Hope shivered, remembering all too well the feel of his weathered knuckles grazing her own eager flesh.
“It upset some of us,” Charles interjected hotly, before Angelique had a chance to answer. A muscle twitched beneath his left eye, reminding Hope of Drake when he was angered. “Some of us did not mind so much.” He turned his attention to a flustered Hope, and she found herself pinned under his steel blue gaze. “And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked coldly. “I heard her introduced as your wife, but perhaps I heard wrong?”
“You heard right,” Drake replied casually, his eyes never leaving Angelique, who preened like a contented cat under the unwavering attention. He offered no more information, but continued to pierce Angelique with his stare.
Charles gave a snort of disgust as he extended his hand to Hope. “I’ll presume you have a name, but my brother is too unmannerly to give it. Charles Frazier,” he introduced himself, taking her damp hand in his and pumping it lightly. “Yourself?”
“Hope Benn—er, Frazier,” she corrected quickly, through suddenly parched lips. She snatched her hand back as soon as politeness allowed, not at all liking the feel of his soft palm beneath her fingers. As inconspicuously as possible, she wiped the feel of him off on her skirt. No, Hope thought, Angelique’s skirt—for it was abruptly apparent from whose closet the gown had been borrowed.
Angelique tore her gaze from Drake’s, and regarded Hope head to toe with a glance just shy of loathing. “Hope?” she purred, a false smile turning her lips. Her nostrils flared with distaste. “How... quaint.” She looked back at Drake, dismissing Hope as though she were of no consequence. Slipping her hand beneath his elbow, she rubbed the breasts that threatened to spill free of the daringly low décolletage of her gown against Drake’s upper arm. “I am simply dying to hear all the details of your trip, darling. You’ve been gone so long.” The thick lashes lowered coyly. “And we’ve so much time to make up for.”
Hope gritted her teeth and tried not to scream. Always an intelligent man, Drake Frazier suddenly seemed not to possess a logical bone in his body. Perhaps it was the feel of soft flesh rubbing suggestively against his sleeve that was robbing him of all form of common sense? She hid her clenched fists in her skirt. Or perhaps it was finally being reunited with the true object of his affection—instead of a poorly built substitute?
Whatever the reasons for his bizarre behavior, Hope thought that if she was forced to stand here and watch this disgusting display for one more minute, she would surely be ill.
Angelique leaned close to Drake and whispered something in his ear that brought a smile to his lips. He never smiled that way at me, Hope thought as the orchestra began the first strains of another waltz.
Thrusting her chin up high, Hope turned to Charles. Her accent thickened considerably, and there was a glint of determination sparkling in her eyes. “Mr. Frazier,” she said with a coquettish grin that put Angelique to shame, “unless you think it too forward of me, I would be honored if you would lead me though the next dance.”
How easy it was to slip back into the role of genteel southern belle, Hope thought, as Charles regarded her with veiled surprise.
Inclining his head, he held out his arm for her to take. “Why, Mrs. Frazier, I’d be delighted,” he replied smoothly. His arrogant smile showed he was quite pleased with this unexpected turn of events. “Moreso if you would do me the honor of calling me Charles. After all, we are family now,” he added, patting her hand. “That in itself should allow us to be more familiar. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Swallowing her revulsion, she placed her hand on his sleeve and nodded. “Charles it is,” Hope said, meeting Drake’s stormy glare. Her gaze shifted to an amused Angelique, then back to Drake. “You don’t mind, of course, if I dance with your brother?”
Although phrased as a question, it was anything but. Drake gave a brisk nod, his attention distracted by her connivance. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Hope as Charles led her to the center of the dance floor. Against his will, it returned time and again.
“Mr. Frazier—Charles,” Hope said as she placed one hand on a shoulder almost as broad as Drake’s. The other was captured inside the curled fingers of his wounded hand. The linen handkerchief scraped against her palm. “You do dance well, I hope. I mean, you aren’t given to treadin’ on toes?”
“Toes?” he asked. With effort, he wrenched his gaze from his brother’s back as Drake and Angelique disappeared through the open French doors leading to the veranda. He led into the first steps of the dance, turning his full attention to the curious creature in his arms. “Why do you ask?”
With an impish grin, she glanced down at the bare feet peeking from beneath her hem. Charles followed her gaze, his eyes widening when he saw the shell-pink toes. “What happened to your slippers?”
“Your wife’s wardrobe wasn’t that generous,” she replied, as though she were telling him how much a wagon load of corn would fetch in the market booth.
To her surprise, he tipped back his head and let loose a laugh that rumbled from somewhere deep in his broad chest. The crystal blue eyes sparkled. “I thought the gown looked familiar,” he said as he swept her through a half-circle. “I just couldn’t place it. How on earth did you get it?”
“Stolen,” she replied in a clandestine whisper. “As, I’m sure, are my husband’s clothes.” Her gaze raked his form, noting how close his build was to Drake’s. Not quite as rugged, nor as broad, but close all the same. “Yours?”
“Ah, now those I recognized,” he nodded. “And yes, they are mine.” His gaze hardened, a little.
“You have a wonderful tailor,” she said, thinking that she liked Drake far better in a pair of tight denims, a threadbare flannel, and a worn leather vest and Stetson. “Tell me something,” she said lightly, her skirts rustling around her ankles as she was propelled away from, then back into, his arms. “Does it bother you that my husband has abducted your wife? And that, as we speak, they are probably strolling some secluded spot in the garden, catching up on old times?”
Hope wasn’t disappointed. The arm encircling her waist tightened and the blue eyes clouded with anger. It was exactly the reaction she had expected. He had been too charming, too careless in his reaction to the entire situation. Now she could see the truth. Charles Frazier was more disturbed with the way the evening was progressing than he cared to let on.
And what other feelings is he hiding? she wondered.
“Should it bother me?” he said finally, his voice tight. “After all, you might say I am doing the same with his wife.”
“But it isn’t the same,” she corrected shrewdly. “Those two go way back—or so
I’m told—whereas we don’t have any old times to catch up on.”