Esmerelda touched a hand to her damp chignon, wondering why she’d even bothered to don her finest Sunday-go-to-meeting walking dress and a full complement of underwear. The dress had been an extravagance she had convinced herself was a necessity, since she wanted to look presentable to her pupils’ parents whenever she hosted a recital to show off the talents of their little darlings. The mellow peach hue of the wool nattered her complexion and wove shimmering strands of auburn through her mousy hair.

“I simply want to look my best when Bartholomew and I are reunited,” she told her skeptical reflection in the cheval glass. It had nothing to do with igniting that lazy gleam of appreciation in Billy’s eyes.

Disgusted with herself for lying, she marched to the window and shoved up the sash, hoping to catch a glimpse of a lanky, tawny-headed cowboy weaving his way through the crowds below.

Eulalie might lack the brick streets and ivied grace of Boston, but raw exhilaration perfumed the air. Esmerelda closed her eyes and drank in a deep breath, the mingled scents of sawdust and desert wind stirring her blood in a way the clouds of coal dust hanging over Boston never had.

She was so taken by the sensation that she might not have heard the soft rap on the door if Sadie hadn’t pried open her droopy lids and let out a welcoming “Woof!”

Nearly tripping over the inert hound, Esmerelda tore across the room and eagerly flung open the door.

Her disappointment was so keen she collected only a scattering of impressions: a neatly knotted necktie where a dusty bandanna should have been; a dark suit and double-breasted waistcoat woven of the finest serge; a gleaming pocket watch on a gold fob. A tooled leather gunbelt peeked out from the parted folds of a handsome coat.

Realizing how imprudent she’d been to open the door to a stranger, she barely glanced at his face. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. You must have the wrong room.”

She had already narrowed the opening between door and frame to a mere crack when one shiny black shoe protruded through it. “My deepest apologies, ma’am,” he drawled. “They told me at the desk that this was where the crazy girl from Boston was staying.”

Esmerelda stumbled backward in shock, leaving the door free to swing wide open. Her visitor leaned one brawny shoulder against the doorframe, his gray-green eyes sparkling with pure devilment.

“Mr. Darling?” she croaked.

“Billy,” he gently corrected before sauntering past her.

Esmerelda had never dreamed that Billy’s predatory grace would lend itself to such polished elegance. While he squatted to greet Sadie with a scratch behind the ears, she eased the door shut, struggling to steady both her hands and her rioting emotions.

When she turned to face him, he straightened and drew off his dapper bowler, revealing dark gold hair that had been cropped of some of its natural curl and smoothed close to his head. His face had also been shorn of its rugged stubble, baring the clean masculinity of his features. His jaw was more stern than she’d supposed, which only made his easy grin more beguiling.

Noting the direction of her gaze, he ruefully stroked his chin. “I decided to take the advice I gave Virgil and invest in a nickel bath and shave. It wouldn’t do to roam around town like the spitting image of my Wanted poster. There are too many men out there looking to make an easy dollar.”

“Men like you?” Esmerelda knotted her hands behind her to keep them from reaching up to explore the naked curve of his jaw.

He acknowledged her barb with a mocking nod. “Men like me.”

“Where did you find the suit? I wouldn’t think it would be possible for a tailor to so quickly fit a man of your, um…” Eloquence deserted her as she blinked up at him, feeling like a porcelain doll in his shadow. “… proportions.”

Billy stroked his broad thumbs down the lapels of the coat. “I purchased it from the local undertaker.” Esmerelda took a hasty step backward.

He caught her elbow to steady her. “Don’t worry. The suit’s fresh from a boiling at the Chinese laundry. And he promised me the fellow who owned it before me won’t mind one lick. It’s a trick I learned from Jasper. He buys all his finery there.”

Esmerelda managed a breathless laugh. “Your brother probably gets a discount for providing them with so much business.” Flustered by Billy’s touch, she drew her arm away from his and started for the scarlet cord of the bellpull. “I’ve already eaten,” she lied, “but I’d be delighted to order you some lunch.”

“I can’t stay. I’ve got a job to do.” Esmerelda changed course, heading for the wardrobe where she’d unpacked her scant belongings. “Then I’ll be right with you.” She dropped the room key into her reticule and hooked the tiny purse’s braided cord over her arm. “Just let me find my bonnet and gloves and we can—”

“Not this time, Esmerelda.” She swung around to discover the sparkle in Billy’s eyes had sharpened to a grim glitter. “The streets of a town like this are no place for a woman like you.”

Esmerelda took one step toward him, then another, sensing even as she did so that she was courting a far more devastating danger than any that could be found on the streets of Eulalie. “They are if I have a man like you to protect me.”

Hanging his bowler on the doorknob, Billy took her by the shoulders, not to draw her nearer as she’d both hoped and feared, but to hold her at arm’s length. The intensity of his grip revealed that his charm was nothing more than a thin veneer over some unspoken desperation. “There are some things even I can’t protect you from.”

Instead of shying away as he plainly hoped she would, Esmerelda gently cupped his forearms in her palms and tipped her head back to meet his fevered gaze. “If I believed that, Mr. Darling, I never would have hired you.”

He drew her inexorably nearer, the rasp in his voice deepening to a smoky growl. “And would you still have hired me if I’d demanded payment in advance?”

Before she could catch her breath, Billy sought his answer from her parted lips. Esmerelda expected his kiss to be crude and punishing, but his lips simply grazed hers, as if to steal a taste of some forbidden sweet he desperately craved, yet feared he could never get enough of. Her lips melted beneath that delicious seduction.

Only then did he dip his tongue into the moist hollow of her mouth. Only then did he deepen his demand, urging her own tongue to respond in kind. Desire purled through her blood, thickening to warm nectar in the most scandalous of places.

Billy was no bounty hunter in that moment, but a ruthless outlaw, out to rob her of all she considered worthy and dear—her steadfast devotion to propriety and her stern self-denial. She might have been able to resist him had he sought only to take. But the ferocious tenderness of his kiss promised that he had much to give. More than she had ever dared hope for.

His mouth slanted over hers, one kiss melting inevitably into another. Her fingers crept up to shyly caress the fine hairs at his nape. He smelled nearly as delicious as he tasted—like leather and shaving soap mingled with a tantalizing hint of male musk.

He was the one who ended the kiss. Esmerelda could only cling helplessly to him, thankful for the possessive pressure of his arms around her. She couldn’t have stood on her own had she wanted to. Although she’d never imbibed so much as a drop of cooking sherry, she felt drunk. Drunk from a single sip of pleasure that had only whetted her thirst instead of quenching it.

Billy rubbed his cheek against her hair, taking a ragged breath. “I guess we’ll just have to consider that a little bonus.”

Exhaling just as shakily, Esmerelda rested her cheek against his chest. His heart was pounding just as madly as hers beneath the woven serge of his vest. Her trembling fingers plucked and kneaded the fabric, seized by a foreign longing to caress and explore the warm masculine expanse of skin and muscle underneath.

That was how she discovered the small flaw in the fabric. It lay directly over his heart, nearly invisible to the naked eye. As Esmerelda drew back to finger the neatly mended tear, a chill of foreboding cascaded down her spine.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, the plea coming from some elemental place deep within her. She tipped her head back to gaze into his eyes. Eyes that were heavy-lidded and glittering with desire for her. Esmerelda was shocked to discover in that moment just how far she would be willing to go to keep him safe in her arms. “If you walk out that door without me, I’m afraid you won’t come back.”

He cupped her elbows and gently set her away from him, his grin returning with its old heartbreaking ease. “I have to go. I wouldn’t be much of a tracker if I let myself get distracted by every beautiful duchess who crossed my path.”

Esmerelda realized with a start of alarm that he had taken advantage of her delicious languor to abscond with her reticule. Even as he bestowed that angelic smile upon her, he was fishing through it with methodical deliberation.

“Stay.” Her voice cracked, then faded to a whisper. “If you do, I’ll make it…”

His fingers froze in their task. His smile faded.

Esmerelda closed her eyes, unable to meet his wary gaze while she bartered away the only thing of value left to her. “… worth your while.”

She might have imagined his helpless chuckle, but she didn’t imagine the tender brush of his lips against hers. “You already have, honey. You already have.”

The door slammed. The key turned. Esmerelda opened her eyes to find both Billy and his bowler gone. She rushed to the door and frantically twisted the knob. Just as she feared, he had locked it from the outside, leaving her a helpless captive.

Esmerelda pounded on the door, shouting until she was hoarse. When no one came running to rescue her, she realized that Billy must have peeled some more bills off that fat wad of cash he always carried and paid the hotel manager to ignore her cries.

She collapsed against the door, dizzied by frustration and fear. Dear Lord, what had she done? She might finally find Bartholomew, but at what cost?

She opened her mouth to shout again, then abruptly closed it. Her mama had always taught her that her voice was a precious instrument, never to be strained without good cause. A determined smile slowly curved her lips. Outwitting Billy Darling just might be the best cause of all.

As Billy strode down Main Street, the crowds shied away from him. A well-dressed gentleman wearing wire-rimmed spectacles crossed the street to avoid him, while a mother snatched her tiny daughter out of his path, whispering frantically in the little girl’s ear. Although he pretended indifference, Billy was only too aware of their desperate swerving and fearful glances.

He might be able to change his clothes, but he could do nothing to disguise his gunslinger’s gait—that lazy roll of the hips that made it possible to flip aside the hem of his coat, draw his Colt, and fire before his opponent had time to make his final peace with God.

Nor could he dim the predatory gleam in his eye, a gleam that always sharpened whenever he sensed his prey was nearby. As he passed the brothel where he’d left his brothers, he tipped the bowler forward to shadow his face, praying they were too busy spending both their money and their seed to spare a glance out the window.

His nape prickled as he crossed the street, making him wonder if Winstead had men out there somewhere, watching his every move. The notion made him itch to bolt. He might carry the badge of a deputy U.S. marshal in the breast pocket of his vest, but outlaw blood still pulsed through his heart, tarnishing everything shiny and beautiful that he dared to touch.

Everything but Esmerelda. He had gone to that hotel room determined to take her to the bank with him. He’d been fully prepared to drag her if necessary and force her to witness the havoc she had wreaked with her schemes and her lies.

But the minute she’d flung open that door, a welcoming smile softening her prim lips, he had realized that he could no more deliberately endanger her life than he could draw his own pistol and put a bullet through her heart.

Billy inhaled a ragged breath, trying desperately to clear his head. The musky sweet fragrance of peaches still haunted him. It clung to his clothes and his skin everywhere he had touched Esmerelda, tempting him to turn around and march right back to that hotel room. To throw open the door, lock it from the inside, and spend the rest of the day and night making hot, delicious love to her.

He could still see her as she’d stood before him—her eyes pressed shut, the cinnamon lace of her lashes resting against her cheeks. A convulsive swallow had rippled down her graceful, white throat when she’d begged him to stay. She’d looked less like some calculating temptress than a sacrificial virgin. In that moment he had known it no longer mattered whether Bart Fine was her brother or her lover. He didn’t care if she’d had one man or a dozen. He didn’t have to be the first man she took to her bed. He only wanted to be the last.