"Since you're such a veritable font of informa-tion," she began again in a tight voice, "would you mind telling me how Longnose got to Miles Dry-den?"

"Who's Longnose?"


"The Englishman."

"So that's his name." He sounded surprised. "No wonder he didn't want it known."

Jocelyn made a sound of exasperation. "I haven't the faintest notion what the man's blasted name is, nor do you, obviously, but what the devil does that matter? I asked you how he got to Dryden. You re-member him? The man you killed today?"

"So she has a temper, too."

It was a statement, not a question, so she threw one right back at him, "He understands English."

Another chuckle greeted that dry retort. She really was amusing him for some reason, while he was frus-trating her to the point of screaming. But she absolutely refused to rant or rave, no more than she would beg or cry, none of which would accomplish anything, she was sure.

"Dryden?" she prompted once more.

"Why do you want to know?"

"He was suspected of many things, but not once of being one of your little band of miscreants. After all, he wasn't the usual sort of riffraff that Longnose hires… no offense intended."

"No, of course not."

She ignored the interruption, though she was pleased to note his thick skin was pierceable. "He was merely a harmless fortune hunter, not a mur-derer," she pointed out.

"Old Dewane, he seemed to think otherwise, which was why he approached your harmless fortune hunter when he recognized him, before he even cleared it with the boss. And seems he was right on the nose, since your harmless fortune hunter came through for us, didn't he?"

"Was this before or after he'd been invited to join our group?"

"After. We caught up with you in Silver City, the morning after you got there. Dewane and his brother were checking out your hotel to see if there was any way to get to you when he spotted Dryden talking to your lady friend in the lobby. The rest you can figure out for yourself."

And she could, not that any of if really mattered except to satisfy her curiosity. You had to have op-portunity to learn from your mistakes, and these men were determined to see that she didn't have any more opportunities, of any kind. Or were they — truly de-termined, that is? Was their loyalty unshakable, or could it be bought?

She decided not to wait to find out. "I can pay you more than the Englishman."

"I know."

"I'm talking about a fortune." There was no answer. "You don't care?"

"No."


"How can you say that?" she demanded incredu-lously. "You just killed a man for money."

"You talk too much."

"Well, you did, so money must mean something to you."

"Not much."

"Then why did you kill him?"

"You talk too much," he repeated.

"And you not enough!" she retorted.

"Look, lady, it was like this. The man deserved to die. He turned you over to us, didn't he?"

"He didn't know for what purpose."

"Don't kid yourself," he told her in disgust. "He was told you wouldn't be around to point the finger at him afterward. He merely tried his own scheme first — one, I might add, he's made into a profession."

"What do you mean?"

"According to Dewane, he was a card cheat who'd been run out of just about every town west of the Missouri before he changed his career to marrying old widows for their money, then getting rid of them when the money ran out."

"Divorcing them, you mean?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Now will you shut up?"

Her jaw was getting sore from so much teeth grind-ing. "If you don't care for my conversation, sir, you can put me back on my own horse."

"Nice try, lady," was all he said to that.

She did finally fall silent. She wished they had let Sir George go, as they had Miles' horse. She hated to think what would happen to him if her luck actually did desert her this time. She almost asked Angel if he would keep Sir George, but decided he would make no better owner for the magnificent stallion than Longnose would.

Saunders, who had been riding a short distance ahead of them, eager to get where they were going, topped a small rise and let out a shout. Instantly, Jocelyn’s blood turned cold, suspecting what she would find on the other side of that rise. She wasn't wrong. There was a steeper drop, enough to conceal the six men in the process of setting up a camp — until now.

Saunders' shout had stopped them at the various tasks they had been doing, so that when Angel topped the rise, they were all looking up in that direction, and every eye was riveted on his prize.

Involuntarily, Jocelyn leaned back into Angel's chest. Thoughts of escape weren't very bolstering at the moment; weren't very conceivable either. All she could do was wonder in what manner Longnose meant to kill her. Would he just shoot her to get it over with quickly, or would he want her to suffer a while first?

She saw him right off. He stood apart from the others, tall, slim, ramrod straight, both hands resting on a silver-handled cane. He obviously hadn't been involved with the camp setup as the others were, an activity likely too menial for his tastes. His clothes also stood him apart from the others. He was wearing not only a dove-gray three-piece suit, but a stylish overcoat of worsted wool as well. He was also a good ten years older than any of his companions, somewhere in his early forties, she would guess.

So this was her nemesis at long last. He didn't look like a cold-blooded killer to her. His men all fitted the mold, but he didn't. He looked perfectly harm-less, in fact, and so out of place it was ludicrous.

Jocelyn might have smiled at that thought, for she was rather out of place herself in her heavy velvet riding habit, frothy lace neck scarf, and tall black riding hat, but she didn't feel like smiling. Longnose might not be what she had expected, but he was still the man who had doggedly pursued her for three years with his loathsome intent.

Jocelyn tensed as Angel headed down the slope to join his friends, who were no longer staring in silent awe. Some of their comments broke through her fran-tic thoughts, and even made her take her eyes off Longnose long enough to notice them. They were all her enemies by association, and if she did somehow manage to get out of this, it wouldn't hurt to know them by sight.

But looking them over only depressed her. They were a hard, dangerous-looking bunch, well suited to this line of work. She'd get no help there, and, she realized now, she really would need some help. She hadn't thought there would be so many of them, or that several of them would be looking at her with lustful gazes. Dear Lord, her courage was fast de-serting her, as were her hopes of escape.

"Well, hot damn! I didn't think she'd look like that, did you?"

"Ya whar 'spectin' an ol' broad maybe?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"You can forget what you owe me, boss," someone else yelled out. "I'll take the horse!"

There were a few chuckles, but they didn't stop the personal comments that were unnerving Jocelyn.

Un-consciously, she pressed even closer to Angel as he moved slowly toward Longnose.

"Damn, I ain't never seen hair that red."

"Too skinny."

"Who cares?"

"She gonna get passed around first or what? That's all I wanna know."

It was a question more than one of them wanted answered, apparently, for they looked toward the

Englishman. But he said nothing yet. He was still staring at Jocelyn, and he was smiling now.

That stiffened her spine. So he was gloating, was he? And he was thinking of handing her over to these lowlifes first for their amusement? _

She was ready when Angel stopped and lowered her to the ground. If Longnose had been just a bit closer, he would have had the point of her boot laid to his chin. That would have forced his hand. But there were other ways to provoke him into killing her immediately, before his men got serious in their de-mands. She was not about to suffer through a mauling and then be killed. That was asking too much.

But the moment Jocelyn determinedly started to-ward her countryman, she was whipped back around to face Angel. He had dismounted behind her, and she saw with some surprise that he wasn't nearly as tall as he had seemed in the saddle. Seeing him for the first time so close, she realized he wasn't much older than she was. But there was a wiry strength hidden beneath that rain slicker that fell to his boots.

She felt it in the steely grip on her arm. And he was angry. That she saw in those cold black eyes of his.

The feeling was confirmed by a soft, furious hiss that startled her. "Don't do it."

"What?" she asked warily.

"You were going to sock him one, weren't you?"

Her eyes flared incredulously. "How the devil did you know?"

"I could feel you preparing for battle."

She stiffened again, and demanded of him in a terse whisper, "Let go."

"Guess I was wrong when I figured you had some smarts. Figured you'd be working on delaying tactics rather than suicide, to give your guards a chance to find you in time."

She managed to jerk her arm away. "It's a matter of priority, of what one holds most dear."

"And you hold pride dearer than life?"

She blushed to hear it put that way, and to hear his disdain too. Blast the man, he was right. She should be willing to do anything to put off the inevitable. Was there really a chance she might be found in time?

Angel seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry about it. Today's not your day to die, honey."

She opened her mouth to demand he explain that cryptic remark, but another voice spoke first. "So good of you to join us, Your Grace."

She turned around slowly and waited until Longnose had closed the distance between them. She had to look up now, but that was all right. For some rea-son, even though she didn't understand what Angel had meant, she wasn't afraid with him standing behind her.

"Not at all, Longnose." She gave him a regal nod. "I should thank you for inviting me. I would have been quite devastated to have missed your little gath-ering."

For one reason or another, his men found her remarks hilarious. He certainly didn't. His cheeks suf-fused with heated color, and his icy gray eyes prom-ised her a truly gruesome death. She had provoked him, and without having to damage her hand doing it. But before he did anything about it, she heard Angel mutter a vile oath behind her, and then she was forc-ibly moved aside.

Elliot's hands itched to get around her neck, but he wasn't so far immersed in that fantasy that he didn't notice Angel's movement. The man now stood par-tially in front of the duchess and was very casually folding back his coat to allow easy access to the gun on his hip.

The significance of that was not lost on the older man, but it didn't worry him in the least. Angel was only one man in eight, after all.

Elliot should never have taken him on in the first place, but it was rather late to concede that point. He'd been aware when he met him that he might have trouble with this one, a man so different from the others.

But he was the tracker Owen had found in Benson, and he'd picked up the duchess's trail almost immediately, enabling them with some hard riding to catch up with her.

There was really no need for trouble now. Elliot was, in fact, grateful to Angel for distracting him. To end this glorious triumph in a burst of rage was not the least bit fitting, nor what he had envisioned. The duchess deserved much more than that. So if the lad wanted her, if that was the reason for his subtle chal-lenge, he could have her. They could all bloody well have her. And when they were done with their sport, he would slowly choke the life from her while he had her himself.

Elliot smiled, savoring that thought, and was fur-ther delighted to see the duchess disconcerted by it.

Good. Her previous audacity had been unexpected and not at all appropriate. He wanted to see her fear, needed to see it.

"You have a bizarre sense of humor, Your Grace. I trust it won't desert you too soon." And then Elliot dismissed her for the moment, asking Angel, "Was there any difficulty with Mr. Dryden?"

"None to speak of."

"Excellent. I was beginning to wonder about him, but he's done his part admirably and will now further aid us by buying us time."