Page 6 of Fairest of Heart

Yet it required physical effort to keep from twisting in the saddle and staring over his shoulder. Would she still be there? Or would she have disappeared back into whatever fairyland she had come from?

Where had she come from? Titus frowned. There were no towns nearby. Very few ranches or farms this far out from Glen Rose. She’d had no horse or mule. Her apron had been streaked with dirt, and bits of grass and debris had clung to her dress and hair as if she’d rolled down a hill or been tossed from a moving wagon. Could she be the victim of foul play, left alone in the middle of nowhere to make her way to the nearest homestead or town? Should he turn back? Ask her if she needed help?

Titus clenched his jaw. Should’ve thought of that before he rode off. The dog’s situation might be critical, but a person’s well-being—especially a female person’s—outweighed that of an animal.

There’d been no indication she was in any distress, though. In fact, she’d seemed almost celebratory. Spinning in circles. Smiling with a purity so rare it had momentarily stolen his wits. If Rex had reared a second time, Titus likely would have slid straight off the horse’s rump and landed on his backside in the dust.

Which made no sense. He was immune to pretty faces. After what happened to his brother, Tate, he despised beautiful women. And, no doubt about it, the mystery girl had been beautiful. Shiny black hair gathered loosely atop her head and tied with a red ribbon. A few loose strands curled around her oval face. Her complexion had been too pale for a woman used to working outdoors, yet the pink blooming in her cheeks radiated vitality. This wasn’t an indolent, pampered woman afraid to let the sun mar her porcelain complexion with freckles. She was a fair-skinned pixie alive in her element. A kindhearted pixie moved to tears by a dying dog’s plight.

Who was she?

He’d likely never know, despite the fact that the detective in him was already cataloging clues. Serviceable boots and a plain, shapeless dress. Not a woman of means. A servant in a wealthy household, perhaps? One who didn’t work outdoors overmuch? She spoke well. As if she’d been educated. So maybe not a servant. A poor relation? Or maybe she only dressed that way when she decided to ramble across the countryside and spook unsuspecting horses.

She obviously possessed an adventurous spirit, judging by the dirt and debris on her person. The small cloth bag she carried didn’t bulge, so she couldn’t be on a long journey. Her people must be nearby. Whoever her people were.

Forget her, he ordered himself as he spotted the road that would take him to the Diamond D Ranch.

Rangers hunted criminals, not mysterious pixies. So unless her name showed up in the black book headquarters handed down, he had no business giving her a second thought.

Narcissa LaBelle pried the ruby free of its setting and held it between thumb and forefinger. Extending her arm, she moved the gem into the path of a sunbeam that had found its way into her tent.

“Hello, beauty.”

Light danced through the facets, sparking an eruption of fire inside the small stone.

“That’s right. Glitter for Mama.”

A purr rumbled in Narcissa’s throat as she beheld her latest acquisition. She’d not expected to meet up with a man of means in the tiny, depressingly named town of Eulogy, Texas. But the moment she’d laid eyes on Mr. Hubert Hathaway, she’d recognized his worth. The ring on his hand. The pin on his lapel. The lustful gleam in his eye. He’d been perfect.

Narcissa placed the gem atop a square of black velvet spread upon her dressing table, then turned her attention to the silver stick pen now void of its focal point. She opened a slender drawer to her right, pulled out a handkerchief, and slid the pin inside the folds. Cecil would see to the silver for her. Melt it down. Transform it. Give it a new role to play—that of nugget. Gold. Silver. She had quite a collection. Gifts from admirers who knew of her fascination with the big strikes. That was the story she’d tell should anyone discover the sack in the bottom of her locked chest.

The California Gold Rush in the ’40s and ’50s, the Comstock Lode in Nevada in the ’60s and ’70s, and the silver boom in Leadville, Colorado, in the ’80s. Such transformative events. A man could change his fortune in the blink of an eye. All he needed was ingenuity, intelligence, and the willingness to take risks.

Narcissa possessed all three.

Lifting her chin, she gazed at herself in the large vanity mirror propped atop her portable dressing table. She stretched her neck and twisted her face first to the left, then to the right. Was that a new line around her mouth? She relaxed her smile into a seductive pout. Better. The line disappeared. Mostly.

Narcissa continued her inspection, her gaze snagging on a gray sprig above her temple. No! Were there others? She leaned close to the mirror and examined her hairline, her fingers shaking. What if there were some in the back that she couldn’t see? She couldn’t afford to be marked by age. Not yet. Narcissa fumbled for her tweezers. Latching on near the hair’s root, she snatched the vile offender from her scalp and tossed it onto the ground where it belonged.

Shaken by the encounter, she breathed deeply and calmed the demon inside who taunted her with visions of old crones possessing bent backs and warts on their noses. She smoothed the skin over her cheekbones with her fingertips, then added a touch of color from the rouge pot to brighten them further.

“There, you see? Nothing to worry about. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Narcissa lowered her eyelids in a sultry stare and swiveled on her cushioned stool to view herself from the left, the side with the beauty mark men found so intriguing. Plumping her lips in a provocative moue, she kissed the air, then ran a hand down the length of her neck, pleased by the swanlike elegance. Tugging down the neckline of her bodice slightly, she eyed the abundant curves swelling above the snug fabric. Still her best feature.

No one in this wilderness could rival her. There might be pretty, fresh-faced girls in the vicinity, but none of them knew how to wield their looks like a weapon. How to invest their assets and create a return that would allow them to leave this dusty place behind.

Like any good miner, Narcissa knew where to dig. How to plan. To scout out investors who would provide the funds she required. Funds that would take her to Europe, where she would play the most important role of her career. American heiress. A widow, perhaps. Wealthy. Refined. All of society would be her stage. Men would flock to her. Desire her. But her heart would beat for only one. Her true love. An elderly nobleman or a ridiculously rich merchant. A gentleman in want of a wife, a grand beauty to impress his associates and grace his home. His very large, very opulent home. A place for her to live happily ever after.

Narcissa stroked the edge of the mirror as if it were a pet.

Oh yes. She had plans. And thanks to her latest investor, she was one step closer to achieving them.

Picking up the spare corset that lay draped across her lap, she moved it into the light to better see the small opening she’d pulled threads from earlier. She fit her little finger into the opening, a narrow pocket designed to hold a piece of boning. But this corset used more lucrative support. Narcissa lifted the small ruby from the saucer and slid it inside the corset seam. Working it down the length of the pocket with her fingers, she smiled when it came to rest against the other stones already inside. At this rate, she’d have the boning channel filled before they left Texas.

She ran her finger over the small bumps hiding beneath the white cotton coutil fabric and licked her lips. “It’s the little things that make life worth living.”

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