The Temptress (Montgomery/Taggert 8)

Chris made a sound that was half a cry of rage and half a scream of protest.

“If you hurt her, Tynan, you’ll answer to me,” came the voice of the man in the wardrobe who had been surprisingly quiet for the last several minutes.

The man called Tynan held her for a few more minutes, then with what seemed to be a heartfelt sigh, he released her and turned away toward her bureau all in one motion.

Chris grabbed the corner of the spread on the bed but she didn’t need it since he stood with his back to her, toying with the items on the bureau top. With the spread wrapped around her, she edged toward the wardrobe, opened the left side and withdrew a clean riding habit.

“I need my other garments from inside the chest,” she said to the back of him. From what she could see of him she could tell that he was big, broad-shouldered, had dark hair and that his clothes were completely new. From his boots to the gun and holster slung low on his hip, to his brown leather vest and his blue chambray shirt, all of it was new. He hadn’t spoken since he’d released her and now he merely stepped aside, staring at the wall as if it were of great interest.

Chris withdrew undergarments from a drawer, all the while trying to see his face but she couldn’t, and when she moved back into the room to put on her clothes, he went back to the dresser. She dressed as quickly as possible, tightening her corset strings with such speed that she knotted them and had to spend extra minutes untangling the laces.

“All right,” she said when she was dressed, expecting him to turn around.

But he didn’t turn toward her, going instead to the wardrobe and unlocking it. Out stepped a tall blond man who did nothing but look at Chris.

“Help her get packed. I’ll meet you outside,” Tynan said and before Chris realized what he was doing, he was out the window and she was alone with the blond man.

It was an awkward moment, but the blond man stepped forward, smiling. He was very good-looking, with bright blue eyes that looked as if they were accustomed to laughing and a smile that Chris was sure had melted the hearts of many women.

“I’m Asher Prescott. I’m sorry about what happened there,” he said, motioning toward the wardrobe, but he didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked quite happy about everything. “We really are from your father and our assignment is to bring you back no matter what excuse you give. He is very worried about you.”

She gave him a weak smile. “That sounds just like my father. I’ll go, I was ready to leave, but I do need to pack a few things,” she said as she walked in front of Mr. Prescott to pick up the toilet articles on the bureau top. As she did so, she saw that one of the items Tynan had been toying with was her hand mirror. And, as she looked from the mirror to where she had been dressing, she realized that Tynan had been watching her while she dressed.

A quick surge of anger ran through her but then she smiled, dropped the mirror into the carpet bag she’d taken from the bottom of the wardrobe, and went to the desk to take the papers of her story on Hugh Lanier.

After a second’s thought, she sat down and wrote a quick letter to Hugh, explaining the purpose of her visit, and telling him why she had to do what she must.

Chapter Two

Chris followed Asher Prescott through the window, where, at the edge of the trees, two horses awaited them.

“Miss Mathison,” Mr. Prescott began, “may I say what a pleasure it is to—”

“You can do your courting later,” came a voice that Chris recognized instantly. She looked up at the man on horseback hidden in the shadows. “We have to get out of here, so let’s ride.”

Both Chris and Asher obeyed that voice without delay.

• • •

Chris and Asher rode close to each other all night and all the next day, through trees as big around as horses, past small villages, both Indian and white, past logger camps, past saw mills. Always, they stayed away from people, moving southeast and allowing as few people as possible to see them. They traveled across paths that were so narrow that they had to lead the horses. Tynan always stayed far ahead, leading them, scouting the trail, looking for places where too many people watched. Only once did they stop. Tynan gave a low whistle and Mr. Prescott put up his hand to halt Chris, then went ahead to see what Tynan wanted. He came back to say that ahead was a party of loggers taking their noon meal and so they had to rest until the men were gone.

Asher pulled jerky out of his saddle bags and a canteen and gave a piece of the dried meat to Chris.

Chris leaned back against the trunk of a tree, her body feeling weak with exhaustion. “I think there’s something wrong with that Tynan of yours,” she said to Asher, watching him from under her lashes. Sometimes the best way to get information from someone was to pretend to not want it. “I think he must be scarred or disfigured in some way or else he wouldn’t be afraid to show his face.”

“He’s not my Tynan,” Asher answered, looking affronted. “If he belongs to anyone, it’s to your father. He hired him.”

“Do you know why we’re going through the rain forest?” Chris asked, trying a new tact. “It seems like such a long way around.”

“It is,” Asher answered, gazing off into the trees.

Chris had been a reporter for several years and she was used to interviewing people and she’d developed a sixth sense about when someone was lying. Perhaps this man wasn’t exactly lying but he certainly wasn’t telling the whole truth.

Before Chris could ask another question, there was a whistle from within the trees and, as obedient as a dog, Prescott rose from the ground and started packing.

“Tell me, does anyone ever see this Mr. Tynan?” Chris asked as she mounted her horse.

Asher looked startled. “Why are you so interested in him?”