Texas Blonde

Chapter Thirteen

Felicity paused in the parlor doorway, posing selfconsciously as she awaited Richard's reaction to her appearance. He rose slowly from his chair, a stunned expression on his face.

"Darling, you look ravishing," he exclaimed after a long moment of silence, and rushed forward to take her hands. "You'll be the most beautiful woman at the party."

Felicity smiled graciously at his compliment, although his casual endearment made her uneasy. A married woman should not allow such intimacy from another man, but she decided to ignore her qualms. Richard had proven he was her very best friend during the difficult two months since Joshua's desertion. Her cousin had certainly earned the right to call her "darling."

Then, with alarm, she realized he was closing in for a kiss. Even Richard had not yet earned that much intimacy, and she turned her head just in time, offering her cheek instead. The terrible part was that she had almost wanted him to kiss her mouth. Her pride had taken such a beating from Joshua's continued failure to contact her that she fairly ached for some reassurance that she was still attractive to someone. Richard would be only too willing to give her such assurance, she knew, and sometimes she was unbearably tempted to let him. But not this time.

Richard stepped away again, giving her a teasing smile that reproved her for avoiding his kiss, but he wisely said nothing about it. To do so might provoke an argument, and he had no intention of upsetting her on this of all nights. Instead he stood back and admired the picture she made in her new ballgown.

The dress was blue silk, the exact color of her eyes. Mademoiselle Fabian had designed it specifically for Felicity, to display her to perfection, and the woman had succeeded magnificently. The bodice and the edge of the skirt were adorned with crystal bugle beads that glittered dazzlingly and tinkled musically every time Felicity moved, giving the illusion that she was surrounded by some sort of shimmering aura. Richard thought she looked like a fairy princess.

Her golden hair was swept up into an elaborate coiffure, leaving her long, lovely neck exposed. Richard fantasized for a moment about kissing that neck before he noticed the necklace fastened around it. Diamonds. New diamonds. He had never seen the piece before.

"What a gorgeous necklace," he said. "Is it new?"

Felicity's hand flew self-consciously to the jewels. "Yes," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "Grandfather gave them to me this morning. I tried to tell him they were too much, but you know how he is. He just wouldn't let me refuse them."

"Yes, I know exactly how he is," Richard assured her, smiling. "And he's right to be like that. You should have beautiful things." His smile faded into earnestness. "You were born for this kind of life, my darling. Don't you realize that?"

Felicity stared at him in renewed alarm. What did he mean? But before she could ask him, Bellwood tapped on the parlor door.

"Excuse me, but I hear the guests beginning to arrive," he told them.

"We'd better get upstairs, then," Richard said, taking her hand and tucking it into the curve of his arm. "We have to greet them in the ballroom."

The ballroom was on the third floor of Maxwell's mansion, and as they made their way up the stairs toward it, Felicity did not know whether to blame her breathlessness on the climb or on the excitement over the coming party or on Richard's remark about how she was born for this kind of life. It was true that she could not help being tempted by all the luxuries her grandfather offered, but she loved Joshua and the life they had together. She would go back in a minute if she only thought Joshua wanted her to.

The thought of her husband brought with it all the pain his departure and subsequent silence had caused her. She had tried not to grow bitter, but as each day passed without word from him, she began to feel more and more abandoned. Her last letter describing this very party had been meant to stir his jealousy, but he had not responded at all. He had even ignored the news about her photographs being displayed at the Exposition. She was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain her belief that Joshua still cared about her.

"Why are you frowning?" Richard asked just as they reached the top floor of the townhouse.

Felicity consciously forced her lips into a smile. "I was just wondering if my dress is all right," she lied, nervously smoothing down the fine fabric and telling herself she was foolish for thinking such awful thoughts on this, the night her grandfather had planned to honor her before all of Philadelphia. She would forget about Joshua Logan and all the hurt he had caused her. She would have a wonderful time and worry only about preventing her grandfather from mentioning her photographs.

But what she saw when she entered the ballroom made all of that impossible. Her photographs were everywhere.

Her grandfather greeted her and Richard as they entered the room. "Surprise, my dear," Maxwell said. He was clad in evening clothes that were only slightly loose. In the weeks since Dr. Strong's first visit, Henry had made a rapid recovery. Only the small amount of weight he had not yet regained indicated how ill he had been. He smiled at her stunned expression as she stared around the room. "Now you see why we could not allow you up here this morning," he added.

Felicity nodded vaguely. She was too busy looking at her photographs to reply. Yes, they were all there, mounted and hung on the walls around the entire ballroom, silent reminders of the life she had determined to forget for this one evening. "Why on earth did you do this?" she asked at last, still numb from the shock and thinking inanely how the pictures looked out of place in the elegance of the room. She had an inexplicable urge to take them all down and hide them.

"I told you I wanted to make the announcement about your photographs being displayed at the Exposition tonight," Henry explained.

Felicity made an exasperated noise. "This," she said, making a gesture to indicate the pictures, "is not an 'announcement'!"

Henry shrugged apologetically. "I wanted everyone to see what a clever girl you are."

"Oh, far more than clever, Henry," a male voice said from the doorway. "The word 'genius' was bandied about rather freely at the last meeting of the Photographic Society."

Felicity turned to see Alex Evans escorting a middle-aged woman into the room.

"You remember Alex, don't you, Felicity?" Henry said.

Felicity forced herself to maintain her composure. "Yes, of course," she replied with a polite smile, giving the gentleman her hand. "So nice to see you again."

"And this is his wife, Elizabeth," Henry added.

When everyone had greeted everyone else, Evans turned to Felicity. "I perceive that you do not approve of your grandfather's surprise."

Felicity was not quite certain exactly what her feelings were on the matter. "I just wish he had consulted me," she said, giving Maxwell a sharp look, which he ignored. "This is really the first time my work has been shown publicly, and I just realized that I feel very uneasy about it."

"But you agreed to let Alex show your pictures at the Exposition," Henry pointed out. "Many thousands of people will see them there."

"But I won't be standing in the room with them," Felicity replied. She had also realized that she considered her work a very private matter, and she was beginning to feel somewhat exposed.

Henry patted her arm reassuringly. "I'm sorry to have upset you, my dear, but there's no need to be concerned. Everyone will love your pictures." There was no time for her to respond. More guests had arrived, and Isabel bustled into the room in a flurry of pink ruffles, looking as if she might faint for real. Felicity had to go to her rescue.

As she stood in the receiving line, Felicity met and greeted the guests with only half of her attention. The rest of it was focused on the photographs hanging around the room and the memories those photographs conjured. Joshua and the men, posing stiffly. Joshua and the rambling house that she loved. Joshua overriding Candace's objections and forcing her to have her picture made. Joshua and Felicity in their wedding clothes, trying not to laugh as Cody made the exposure. And Joshua alone, with desire shining in his eyes. How could she stand having strangers gawking over these private mementos?

And gawk they did. Everyone, it seemed, had come with no other purpose in mind but to examine her pictures. And one corner in particular was drawing more than usual attention. Finally, Felicity could stand the suspense no longer, and she left the receiving line to find out which picture had caused such a stir.

The group clustered there parted as she approached, creating an aisle between herself and the photograph in question. The next moment, Felicity found herself face-to-face with Joshua Logan, the man she loved with every fiber of her being. The man who had broken her heart. Anger and pain surged through her even as she acknowledged that she would give ten years of her life if he would just walk into the room at that moment.

"Oh, my," one woman was saying, "if any man ever looked at me like that, I'd simply die."

"But think what you'd be missing," another woman chided wickedly, causing a ripple of laughter among the group.

"Who on earth is he, my dear?" Elizabeth Evans asked Felicity.

"He's my husband," Felicity said defiantly, unable to suppress her churning emotions. Yes, she would give ten years and more to be in his arms once again. Longing shafted through her with aching swiftness. All the hurt and anger she had felt melted down into an empty pool of loneliness in the heat of his paper gaze.

"Was this picture taken before or after you married, Mrs. Logan?" the woman who had threatened to die inquired.

Felicity thought the question impertinent and rude, but she smiled with saccharine sweetness. "It was taken the day he first made love to me," she replied, momentarily forgetting to conduct herself like a perfect lady.

The woman gasped and her face turned an unbecoming shade of purple, but Felicity acted as if she did not notice. "Do you have any other questions?" she asked innocently.

The woman beat a hasty retreat, but the rest of the group closed in around Felicity. They all had questions, but none of them were rude. They wanted to know things like how long she had studied photography and who had taught her, and they had dozens of questions about the subjects of her photographs. Felicity turned her back on Joshua's picture and concentrated on the answers in an attempt to blot out the memories of her husband.

"You simply must do a portrait of me," Elizabeth Evans said later when some of the furor had died down. The two women had stopped to examine one of the portraits of Blanche Delano.

"But I don't have any of my equipment with me," Felicity protested, thinking what a wonderful subject Mrs. Evans would make. Felicity had often regretted not bringing her camera to Philadelphia since she would have loved to have a portrait of her grandfather, too. Perhaps if she took photographs here, they could help erase the memories these other pictures evoked.

"Nonsense," Elizabeth insisted. "Alex has a dozen cameras at home. He probably hasn't touched half of them in ten years. He even has a room set up for doing all those mysterious things that must be done in darkness. You're more than welcome to use any and all of it. Isn't that right, Alex?" she asked her husband, who had just joined them.

"Only if she promises to give me some pointers in plate making," he qualified.

Felicity protested that he probably did not need any pointers, but he insisted that he did.

Elizabeth interrupted their discussion. "What's this I hear about Alex wanting to put your pictures into the Photograpy Pavilion?"

Felicity found herself blushing at the reminder of the honor Mr. Evans had bestowed upon her. "Your husband thinks my work is good enough…"

"Of course it's good enough. That's not the problem. I just don't think the Photography Pavilion is the place for it. There will be over ten thousand pictures on display in that building. Your work would never get the attention it deserves among so many. Felicity," Elizabeth said, leaning close as if confiding something urgent, "there's also going to be a Women's Pavilion at the Exposition, where the accomplishments of women will be displayed. May we hang your pictures there? They're bound to get more attention…"

"Wait a minute!" Alex protested, but both women ignored him.

Felicity was considering what Elizabeth had said. She was right; with over ten thousand pictures being displayed, hers would be lost. For a moment she thought that might not be a bad idea. But Elizabeth wasn't finished with her arguments.

"You'll be the only woman photographer represented, Felicity. You owe it to all women everywhere to be recognized particularly for your ability. Someday you're going to be famous, and in becoming so, you will help other women enter the field, too."

As much as Felicity's nature rebelled at the thought of being singled out in such a way, and as much as she doubted Elizabeth's prediction about her future fame, she had to agree with her new friend's reasoning. If she could help other women, she should do so. "You're right. I think I would prefer my work to be exhibited in the Women's Pavilion."

Alex groaned dramatically as Elizabeth flashed him a victorious smile.

Felicity was just about to apologize to him when a familiar face appeared over his shoulder.

"Mr. Gordon!" she exclaimed.

Asa Gordon excused himself for interrupting, but the Evanses did not seem to mind, especially when they saw how happy Felicity was to see him. Elizabeth was eager to withdraw with her triumph, and she led a disgruntled Alex away. Felicity took both of Asa's hands in hers and had to fight the urge to fling her arms around his neck. The sight of him reminded her of home and good times, back when she and Joshua had been together.

"You promised to come and see us," she chastened him.

"And here I am," he replied with a smile.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she said, shaking her head. But she was too happy to quibble.

"Our city must agree with you," he said, looking her over from head to toe. "I wouldn't have believed it possible, but you're even more beautiful than ever."

"And you're looking rather handsome yourself," she said, dimpling as she returned his examination. "I hardly recognized you in that outfit."

Asa glanced down sheepishly at his newly purchased evening clothes. "I hardly recognize myself, but they wouldn't let me in here if I hadn't dressed the part."

Felicity laughed at his dismayed expression, making him chuckle in return.

"How is Josh these days?" he inquired then.

Felicity fought the swift stab of pain the mention of her husband caused and valiantly kept her smile in place. "He's fine… I guess. I… I haven't heard much from him lately," she said, avoiding Asa's perceptive gaze.

But he easily read her distress. "Is anything wrong?" he asked in genuine concern.

"Oh no," she assured him brightly. "I'm sure he's just busy with the roundup. You know how men can be about letter writing." She saw the worried look on his face and feared his probing questions. To distract him, she said, "Have you seen the pictures of Blanche?"

Asa's gaze followed her gesture to the photograph hanging nearby, and for a moment his eyes clouded. "That one is my favorite," he said softly, reminding Felicity that he had seen these pictures before, in Texas.

"I should have given you one," she said, wishing she had. "But somehow I thought you'd have the real thing to look at and wouldn't need it." Felicity put her hand on his arm. "What happened between you two?" She instantly regretted her question when she saw the pain flicker across his face, the pain of loss which she too easily recognized, but she had no chance to apologize. Richard was bearing down on them.

"Gordon, what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Richard!" Felicity cried, protesting his rudeness. "Is that any way to speak to a guest?"

"If he is a guest," Richard said, his handsome face twisted in outrage. "I don't recall seeing his name on the guest list."

"Henry invited me," Gordon replied with a confident smile. "I'm sure if you ask him, he'll be glad to verify it," he added, glancing over toward the alcove where Henry Maxwell was seated, holding court with Dr. Strong hovering nearby, ready to send him off to bed if he showed any signs of fatigue.

Richard's gaze followed Gordon's, and at that moment Henry looked up. Seeing Gordon, he smiled and waved him over. "Excuse me, please. I'm being summoned," Asa said, still smiling. "Save me a dance later, won't you, Mrs. Logan?"

"Of course," Felicity replied, giving Richard a defiant glare. "And I want you to be my dinner partner, too," she added, ignoring Richard's horrified gasp.

"I would be honored," Asa said, grinning triumphantly at Richard before turning away.

"How could you, Felicity?" Richard demanded when they were alone. Richard was to have escorted Felicity to dinner.

"How could you?" she replied furiously. "You were unspeakably rude to Mr. Gordon."

"That man has no place here," Richard insisted.

"He's my friend," Felicity said. "I'll thank you to remember that the next time."

Richard opened his mouth to reply but caught himself just in time. This was exactly the kind of confrontation he had sought to avoid earlier. This evening was to be Felicity's triumph and, consequently, his own. Swallowing his anger, he dredged up a placating smile. "I'm sorry. You're absolutely right. I'm afraid that when I saw the two of you over here having an intimate tete-a-tete, I became so jealous' that I lost control of my reason for a moment."

"That was obvious," she replied, not placated a bit.

"I'll apologize to Mr. Gordon, too," Richard offered generously, although the words almost stuck in his throat. But at that moment he would have crawled over broken glass to restore himself to Felicity's good graces. He wanted nothing more than to make this the happiest night of her life.

"See that you do," she said, and started to turn away.

"Wait!" Richard called frantically. When she turned back, he summoned every ounce of boyish charm he possessed and asked humbly, "Would you prove that you have forgiven me and grant me the next dance?"

He really did look repentant, and Felicity was too softhearted to bear a grudge. Besides, he had been so good to her for so long, he was certainly entitled to one mistake. Felicity consented, giving him her hand and a warm smile of forgiveness. The dance was a waltz, and for the first few bars they moved together in silence. Richard, it seemed, had been successfully humbled. Or so she thought.

A moment later, he pulled her close and whispered, "I was right. You really are the most beautiful woman here."

His compliment touched a responsive chord deep within her. It had been a long time since a man had held her close and whispered sweet things, but Felicity could almost hear Joshua's voice saying those same words as his gray eyes smiled down on her, glittering with desire.

Richard's warm breath on her ear sent little shivers down her spine, and she made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. They were brown, not gray, but they burned with the same intensity she had often seen in Joshua's. The same intensity that Joshua's eyes held in the photograph hanging nearby. The memory kindled an unnatural heat in her own body.

As if sensing her reaction, Richard pulled her closer still so that her breasts teased against his chest, sending a disturbing message coursing through her quickening blood. She drew a startled breath and inhaled his musky, masculine scent, a scent that stirred long-suppressed emotions to life.

Richard studied her face, easily reading those emotions. "It's awfully warm in here," he said after a moment. "Let's go out on the balcony for a while."

It was indeed warm, and Felicity readily agreed. She needed some fresh air to clear her senses and to break the erotic haze that seemed to be turning Richard into Joshua right before her eyes. But she had not counted on the intimacy of the quiet balcony or the romantic ambience of the warm spring night. Stepping out into the silent darkness seemed to enfold them in a very private, very peaceful cocoon.

Richard slipped his arm around her waist as they moved to the railing and stood looking out over the treetops of Rittenhouse Square. Felicity knew she should step out of his embrace, that she was courting danger to stand so close to him, but his arm felt natural and right around her. His nearness was a comfort, and she needed comfort from the heartache Joshua had caused her. She had gone too long without the touch of one who really cared for her.

"Felicity?" he whispered, and in that moment she knew he really did care for her. He loved her as she needed to be loved. Her mind whispered, "Joshua," but the thought was too painful, and she had to blot it out. She lifted her face in desperation as Richard's mouth came down on hers.

His kiss was infinitely sweet, offering solace against the agonizing emotions the evening's activities had evoked, and she surrendered to it. For too long she had been denied such tenderness, and as one parched with thirst, she drank in this soothing release.

But the tenderness lasted only a second. Feeling her response, Richard tightened his embrace and tried to deepen the kiss, tripping an alarm inside her head. This wasn't Joshua! What had she done? she wondered frantically. Suddenly frightened over her own lack of control, Felicity struggled free of him.

"Richard! You mustn't!" she gasped, as horrified at her own behavior as she was at his.

"I can't help myself!" he insisted earnestly, reaching for her again. "I love you, Felicity. You must know that."

She avoided his grasp, shaking her head in silent denial. But it wasn't his love she was denying. She did know of that. It was her own reaction to that love she wished to disavow. "Don't say that, Richard," she begged.

"I have to say it, my darling," he said, capturing her again and holding her when she would have escaped. "I want to marry you."

Felicity gaped at him. "I'm already married," she cried in a last attempt to bring him to his senses.

For a second she thought she had succeeded as she felt the tension drain from his body. "Are you?" he asked coldly.

His question sent shivers of apprehension racing over her. "What do you mean?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"I mean that your so-called husband left you here almost two months ago. How many times has he written, begging you to come home?" Richard asked, his voice raw with hatred for the absent Joshua. "Can you really be married to a man who no longer wants you?"

"That's not true!" Felicity cried. Richard's image blurred before her as she struggled to be free of him and of his taunting.

"But it is true," Richard insisted, unspeakably thankful that Logan had dug his own grave by not writing his wife any love letters. If Richard had known what a useful tool that would be, he might even have plotted to intercept such letters… if he could have borne to cause her such agony himself. "Forget about him, my darling. I want you and I love you! I'd never leave you, not for a moment…"

"Stop it!" Felicity shouted, breaking free from him at last. "Stop it, Richard! I don't want to hear another word!"

"Mrs. Logan?" Asa Gordon's voice startled them both, and they looked up to see his bulky form standing in the doorway to the ballroom. If he had seen or heard anything untoward, he gave no indication. His voice was perfectly normal when he said, "They're serving dinner now. Are you ready to go down?"

Felicity felt a hysterical urge to laugh at the absurd reasonableness of the request, but she quickly suppressed that desire. Instead she glared up at Richard. "You had better go along and find yourself a dinner partner, Cousin Richard," she said, signaling him that their discussion was at an end. She only hoped he would realize the folly of ever reopening the subject.

"But Felicity…" he objected, giving Gordon an irritated glance before turning back to her. When he did, his chocolate eyes were full of pain and remorse, but she could not let that move her.

"Please go, Richard," she said, leaving him no choice but to do so.

When he was gone, Asa Gordon hurried to her side. "Are you all right?" he asked. The urgency of his tone told her that he had indeed seen at least part of what had passed between Richard and herself.

"I will be, in a minute," she managed to murmur as she searched for the hidden pocket of her gown which concealed a handkerchief.

"Here," Asa said, offering his own.

She took it gratefully and wiped away her tears, making what repairs she could to her face. "I must look awful," she lamented. "How can I go back in there again?"

"You look lovely," he told her with a reassuring smile. "And don't worry, if anyone suspects anything, they will just assume I offended you in some way."

His remark brought a reluctant smile to her lips. "Thank you," she whispered, returning his handkerchief. "Please, stay close," she urged as they reached the door back into the ballroom.

"I'll never leave you, not for a moment!" Asa promised, managing a creditable imitation of Richard's fervent vow and tucking her arm into his.

Before she could react to his outrageous remark, he swept her into the bedlam of the ballroom. Asa did not stop, not until she was safely ensconced at a table downstairs, thus sparing her the ordeal of speaking with any of the other guests. He purposely selected a table in a remote corner of the back parlor, too, and seated her where she would be shielded by his bulk.

Soon one of the servants brought their meal, and Asa began to eat, pretending not to notice that Felicity didn't even bother to pick up her fork. When no one joined them after a few minutes, Asa felt free to speak.

"Josh loves you very much," he said.

"I… I thought he did," Felicity replied, blinking away fresh tears as she realized how very much she wanted to believe Asa's statement. "But he hasn't written to me. Not once the whole time he's been gone." She lowered her eyes to where her hands twisted in her lap so Asa would not see her pain.

But he had sensed it anyway. "Why did he leave?" he asked, keeping his tone conversational in an attempt to put her at ease.

Felicity twisted her hands again. "He needed to be home for the spring roundup…" she began, stopping when she could think of nothing to add to that feeble excuse.

Asa did not reply, and after a moment Felicity realized he was waiting for her to look up. She did, and the tender expression in his eyes surprised her.

"Mrs. Logan, that doesn't make any sense at all. Why would he just up and leave you here, all alone? He must have known how Winthrop feels about you. Even a blind man could figure that out. If he left, he must have had a good reason. Maybe something happened at the ranch."

But Felicity was shaking her head. "No, he would have told me," she insisted. "He knows I wouldn't want to stay here if there was trouble at the Rocking L…" Felicity's eyes widened as realization finally dawned. "No, he wouldn't have told me, for that very reason!" she cried. "If there was trouble, he'd want me as far away as possible!"

Asa nodded sagely. "He must have gotten some kind of message."

Felicity frowned as she tried to recall. "No, nothing, except…" Then she remembered. The day they had quarreled about going home, Bellwood had interrupted them with something. Had he had a message of some kind for Josh? Had he been carrying a letter? No, just a tray… a tray with something on it, something that must have been a letter. She did know that immediately afterward Joshua had changed his mind about allowing her to stay. In fact, he had insisted upon it. "Yes, that's what must have happened," she told Asa excitedly, but then she thought of something else. "But that still doesn't explain why he hasn't written to me."

Asa shrugged that off. "Like you said, you know how men are about writing letters. Or maybe he's afraid that if he writes, you'll get homesick and come home. Knowing Josh, he's got a good reason for not writing."

For the first time in many long weeks, Felicity began to believe that he just might. "Oh, Mr. Gordon, what should I do?" she asked after a moment, knowing that if she trusted her own judgment, she would take the next train to Texas. But she wasn't certain that was the right decision.

Asa slanted her a grin. "Well, first off, I'd say try not to be alone with young Winthrop anymore."

Felicity felt her face grow hot and averted her eyes in shame, but Asa patted her arm reassuringly.

"Then second, I'd say you should just wait. When it's safe for you, I'm sure Josh will tell you to get your little bustle back home or else," he said with a wink.

"But how can I just sit here, waiting and not knowing anything?" she protested, trying not to picture Joshua in danger.

"You'll just have to," Asa said, "and you can keep writing to him. Whatever's going on down there, it'll be a help to him knowing you're thinking of him."

Felicity could have groaned when she remembered how long it had been since she had sent Joshua a letter. Almost a month, and her last letter had bragged of how her grandfather was making a place for her in Philadelphia society. What must poor Joshua think? There he was, fighting heaven only knew how much trouble, and she had tormented him with hints that she had begun to prefer living here to sharing their home in Texas. There was no other thought that would torment him more, either, as she well knew. How childish she had been. She wanted nothing more than to rush to her room immediately and pour out her heart in the most passionate love letter ever written.

Unfortunately, at that moment Alex and Elizabeth Evans found her. "Do you mind if we join you?" Elizabeth asked, not waiting for a reply as she took a seat beside Asa. "We need to discuss how best to display your pictures. Now, what I had in mind was a whole wall in the Women's Pavilion…" she explained to Felicity.

But Felicity listened to the plans for her photographs with only half an ear. She was already composing the letter she would write to Joshua.

Much later, when all the guests had gone, Felicity stood alone in the empty ballroom before Joshua's picture. Reaching up, she traced his beloved features with her fingertip. How could she have been so stupid? Hadn't Joshua told her how much he loved her? Hadn't he proved his love over and over? She had let her own pride and Richard's enmity blind her to the obvious truth.

And how like Joshua to hide the truth from her. His need to protect her had taken extreme forms, extending even to celibacy. Why hadn't she guessed immediately that his change of heart about leaving her here was a result of that part of his character and not proof of indifference? When she remembered how he had made love to her that last night, she knew she must have been insane to ever doubt his feelings for her.

"I love you," she whispered to the picture, and then she hurried from the ballroom. Richard had gone downstairs to escort the last of the guests out. She had managed to avoid him all evening, but soon he would return, seeking her, she knew. She wanted to be safely locked in her bedroom when he did.

The next morning, Felicity was sitting in the back parlor slaving over her letter to Joshua when Bellwood's discreet knock interrupted her. "You have a letter, Mrs. Logan," he announced, presenting it to her on a small silver tray.

His words sent a thrill of excitement through her as for one moment she believed this to be Joshua's summons home, but that thrill turned to dread when she saw the handwriting on the envelope. It wasn't Joshua's handwriting. The return address said the letter was from Blanche. Why would Blanche be writing? She tried to tell herself it was only a friendly note, but there had been no friendly notes in all this time. Why would Blanche write now unless to tell her something was wrong?

With trembling hands Felicity tore open the envelope. "My Dearest Friend," the letter began. "I have recently learned that you are ignorant of events here…"

Quickly, Felicity read through the long explanation. At last, with tears in her eyes, she let the pages fall into her lap and sighed with relief. Joshua was all right. That was the important thing.

"Bad news, Mrs. Logan?" Bellwood asked solicitously. "I can send for your aunt."

"What? Oh no," Felicity assured him, hastily wiping the tears away. "It's very good news indeed." And then she remembered something Blanche had said in her letter. "Bellwood, did Mr. Logan receive a letter right before he left?"

Bellwood's inscrutable face grew even more inscrutable. "I'm sure I can't recall, ma'am."

"He did, didn't he?" she accused. "It came the day before he left, and it was from the same lady who wrote this letter," she added, holding up the pages she still clutched. "It's all right, Bellwood. I know he told you not to tell me."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Bellwood lied, but badly, so she would know the truth.

"No, of course you don't," she said with a grateful smile.

When Bellwood had gone, she reread Blanche's letter several times, gleaning every tidbit of information from it. When she had finished, she found that there was only one thing she did not know: If the danger was now over, why hadn't Joshua sent for her yet?

She was still puzzling over this when her aunt came in some time later. "Who is your letter from, dear?" Isabel inquired politely.

"From my friend, Mrs. Delano," Felicity replied absently. "You remember, I told you about her."

"Oh, yes, that striking-looking woman in the photographs," Isabel said, taking a seat opposite Felicity.

Her aunt sat there, smiling vacantly, waiting for some cue from Felicity as to where the conversation might be heading. Felicity decided to point it in a serious direction, something she had never before tried with Isabel. Perhaps she was wasting her time, but she badly needed to talk to someone, and Isabel was handy. "I may be leaving soon," she ventured.

Isabel seemed startled but not horrified. "Oh, dear," she said. "Papa will be upset, but then, that is to be expected. He'll want you to stay, you know. I think he even expects it, although that's foolish of him, isn't it? He may have a difficult time dealing with your defiance of his wishes, too. No one has defied him since your mother left here."

Felicity stared at her aunt. This was not the first reference Isabel had made to Claire's rebellion, but Felicity had always assumed that Isabel had exaggerated the conflict between her mother and her grandfather. Now that Felicity thought about it, however, her grandfather had alluded to that conflict on more than one occasion, too. "Aunt Isabel, what was my mother like?"

Isabel blinked in confusion for a moment. "Why, that's hard to say. I mean, she wasn't like me at all, and she wasn't like you, either."

That came as no surprise. Felicity knew her mother must have been much more spirited than Isabel to have run off with Caleb Storm. She also knew from what her father had said that her mother had been far more saintly than Felicity ever hoped to be.

Isabel's smooth brow furrowed as she considered. "Claire was wild. Very outspoken. Why, you never knew what might come out of that girl's mouth. And she wasn't afraid of anything, not even Papa. She would make him furious, and when he shouted at her, she never even batted an eye. She was, I guess, most like Papa himself. That's probably why he loved her so much…" Isabel's voice trailed off as she noticed Felicity's shocked expression. "Is something wrong, dear?"

Felicity shook her head. "No, nothing's wrong. Please, go on," she urged.

Isabel seemed to have lost her train of thought, so Felicity prompted her. "How did my mother and father meet?"

Isabel smiled at the memory. "When Claire went to have her picture made. I went, too, of course, and we both fell madly in love with the photographer. Caleb was so handsome. But, of course, he was socially unacceptable to someone of our standing. There was no question of his coming to the house, so Claire met him secretly."

Felicity tried in vain to picture the stooped and haunted man she had known as a handsome, virile lover who had swept a young debutante off her feet.

"Then Claire came home one night and announed to Papa that she was going to marry Caleb Storm. I've never seen him so angry. We feared he might have apoplexy. He threatened her with everything. He even threatened Caleb's life, but she was undaunted. The next morning she was gone. We never saw either of them again." Isabel sighed as her pale blue eyes seemed to gaze into some distant past time to examine a memory there.

"Papa was never quite the same after that," Isabel remembered. "I tried to make it up to him, but I wasn't Claire. No one could ever replace her… until you came along." Isabel smiled again and patted Felicity's hand. "But you won't let him keep you from your young man either, will you?"

"No, no I won't," Felicity murmured, as much to herself as to Isabel. She had been sitting here wondering what decision to make about going home when the answer was only too obvious. She must go to Joshua. Whatever his reasons for leaving her, whatever his reasons for not calling her home, he was still her husband and she loved him. If their marriage was to endure, they must be together. And by returning to him of her own free will, she would prove to him once and for all that she was not like his mother, that she would never choose her family over him. "Is Grandfather awake yet?" she asked, rising from her chair. "I think I'd better tell him right away."

Her conversation with her grandfather was just as difficult as she had anticipated, although he had apparently learned that threats were not the most useful way of bending a young woman to his will. Instead he questioned Josh's feelings for her in no uncertain terms and played on her sympathy for his own delicate health.

At last she said, "Please, Grandfather, don't make me choose between you."

Henry's step faltered as he paced across the room, and he stopped and stared at her in wonder. When he had studied her face for a moment, he shook his head resignedly. "That is what I'm asking you to do, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, and it isn't fair," Felicity said, kindly but with iron determination. "I love you both, but Joshua is my husband and my place is with him. That doesn't mean I'll never see you again. We'll come back to visit you often, and you can come to Texas to see us, too, now that you're well."

Henry's shoulders slumped in the face of her determination. "Yes, you've given me back my health. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. But I was hoping… I thought perhaps you and Richard…"

But Felicity shook her head. "No, Grandfather, never me and Richard. I like Richard very much, but I love Joshua and he's my husband. I want to be with him."

"But what about your photographs and the Exposition? Surely you want to be here for your moment of glory," he tried desperately.

That was her one real regret, but she had already decided where her priorities lay. "Mr. and Mrs. Evans will be only too glad to oversee the exhibit for me. I don't have to be here. The photographs will stand on their own merit."

Henry reluctantly agreed. "It's just that I can't stand the thought of losing you…"

"I'm not Claire, Grandfather," Felicity assured him. "I'm not going to disappear from your life."

"No, you're not Claire," Henry agreed at last, lifting a hand to stroke the golden cloud of her hair. "You have her spirit, but you have a lot more sense than she or her father ever had."

"You have plenty of sense when you choose to use it," Felicity pointed out with a small smile.

She watched unnamed emotions play across his face for a moment, and then he said, "I think I'd better use some now, then. There's something you need to know about Joshua, about why he left here. He made me promise not to tell you, but I should have told you anyway. The reason I didn't was because I wanted you to be unhappy with him, and I'm sorry for that now. It seems there's some kind of trouble at his ranch. It may not be safe for you to go back yet…"

Felicity listened to his explanation, letting him show his concern for her, before she told him she already knew about everything. She did not leave him until much later, after she had assured him the trouble at the ranch was solved and he had helped her plan her trip and they had made promises to see each other again very soon. As she closed the door of his room behind her, she realized that she only had one more thing to do before leaving Philadelphia. She had to see Dr. Strong.

Josh roamed aimlessly around the empty house as twilight began to shadow the rooms. How he hated the long, lonely evenings when the men had retired to the bunkhouse and Candace had returned to her cabin. This was the time he used to spend with Felicity, and memories of her were everywhere in the echoing house.

In his restlessness, he carefully avoided the corner of the parlor where his desk sat, the desk where he had composed so many unmailed letters to his absent wife. Since the night of the fire, when he and his men had finally destroyed Ortega's gang and driven them off for good, Josh had changed his mind a dozen times about the best way to get Felicity home.

At first he had decided the only thing to do was go to Philadelphia and fetch her, but events had prohibited him from such an action. He and his men had spent several days combing the countryside for Ortega and the few outlaws who had escaped.

Josh had conducted the search with mixed hopes for success. While he wanted to capture Ortega once and for all, he was afraid that Jeremiah would be with the bandit. Even though his half-brother was far from innocent, Josh could not have brought him to justice, not when he owed the man his life.

But circumstances had spared him such a duty. Ortega and Jeremiah seemed to have vanished into thin air. Eventually Josh and his men returned home, content to know that although Ortega was not captured, at least he was conquered.

After that, Josh had to clear away what was left of the barn and oversee the raising of a new one. The whole community turned out for the event, and yesterday the new barn had been completed.

During all that time, Josh had begun to realize how foolish he would look if he returned to Philadelphia like a supplicant to beg Felicity to come home. By now she must be a veritable fixture in Philadelphia society, Henry Maxwell's protegee and Richard Winthrop's constant companion. The thought infuriated him. During those days, he had drafted several summonses which demanded she leave her grandfather and come home to Texas. All of them had ended up in the fire because he had known, however much he might deny it, that calling her home by mail was the coward's way out.

No, if he wanted his wife back, he must go to Philadelphia himself. If she was angry with him-as well she might be judging from her silence-then she could be angry in person. And if she still refused to come home, then he would simply bring her. A husband had certain legal rights that even Henry Maxwell's influence could not negate.

Damn it, yes, that's what he would do. He would go to Philadelphia. In fact, he decided, heading for his bedroom, he would leave tonight. There was no sense in waiting for the stage from Prospect. He could be halfway to San Antonio by morning if he left now on a good horse.

He was throwing things into a carpetbag when he heard a wagon rattling into the ranch yard.

"Hello, the house!" Blanche called.

Josh swore. Not Blanche, not now. She'd just stopped by this afternoon on her way to town. She'd been nosing around, asking questions about when Felicity was coming home. What in the hell could she want again so soon?

"Joshua!" Her voice seemed to reverberate through the evening stillness. "Come out here! I've brought you something from town!"

Blanche had indeed stopped by the ranch earlier. Her main purpose had been to make sure Josh was home, and to inform Candace of Felicity's arrival. Then, as instructed, she had gone to Prospect to await the stagecoach.

Felicity leaned out the window of the stage as the town of Prospect came into view. Miraculously, it was unchanged, although how that could be when she herself was so changed, Felicity could not imagine.

And Blanche was waiting for her, just as her telegram had requested.

"I see you got my message," Felicity said breathlessly when Blanche at last released her from a bear-hug greeting.

"Of course I got your message," Blanche said, looking exasperated. "But did you have to sign it, "Your Dearest Friend"? "Why didn't you use your name?"

"Because," Felicity said with a grin, "then my return would have been public knowledge. There's nothing private about telegrams."

"No, not when Oscar is the telegraph operator," Blanche agreed. "But why all the secrecy?"

"I told you, I want to surprise Joshua," Felicity said. She hadn't allowed herself to examine the motives for such a surprise. Perhaps she just wanted to be there to see his face that first moment when he realized she had come back to him. If she had sent the telegram to him, that moment would have occurred when she was a thousand miles away. If he had been the one to meet her, his true feelings would have been disguised behind a polite veneer. This way, she would see every one of those feelings just as Joshua experienced them.

By the time Felicity's trunks had been loaded into Blanche's wagon, everyone in town knew she had returned. She kept telling well-wishers that she wanted to surprise her husband. She only hoped that the news did not beat her out to the ranch.

"Do you want to get a bite to eat before we go? It's almost suppertime," Blanche asked when the loading was finished.

"No, I couldn't eat a thing. I'm too excited. I just want to see Joshua," Felicity said, and so they left immediately.

On the long ride out, Felicity kept her mind off the coming meeting with Joshua by entertaining Blanche with stories of Philadelphia life and tantalizing descriptions of her new clothes, which Blanche would just have to wait until another time to see. Blanche in turn filled her in on all that had happened during her absence.

When they both had finally run out of anecdotes, Blanche let a few moments of silence go by before she asked, "Did you see much›of Mr. Gordon while you were there?"

In her own excitement, Felicity had forgotten completely that hers was not the only romance she had determined to mend once she returned to Texas. "No, as a matter of fact, I only saw him once, and that was at the party where my photographs were shown. He asked about you."

"He did?" Blanche asked, betraying far more interest than she had intended to, judging from the way she bit her lip.

"Yes, he did, Blanche Delano, and he acted just as strangely as you're acting. What happened between you two, anyway?" Felicity demanded.

"Nothing," Blanche said with obvious regret, but when Felicity started to light into her again, she explained. "He made me mad when he tricked me, and when he didn't apologize, I figured I was right in thinking he was nothing but a lying cheat. I'd almost convinced myself I was better off without him when he finally did apologize that last day in San Antone."

"If he apologized, then what's still wrong between you?" Felicity asked in exasperation.

Blanche shook her head. "He apologized, but he didn't seem to want to take it any further than that," she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"What!" Felicity cried.

Blanche gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I know it's hard to believe that any man could resist my charms," she said with irony, "but he obviously just didn't like me well enough to stay and work things out."

"That isn't true!" Felicity protested. "I saw his face when he asked about you, and I know he likes you. He more than likes you!"

For one brief moment, Felicity saw hope flicker in Blanche's green eyes, but it died just as quickly. She shook her head again. "If he did, he'd be here, wouldn't he?"

Felicity opened her mouth to protest again but caught herself just in time. There was only one person who could convince Blanche that Asa cared about her, and he was in Philadelphia. Felicity couldn't help wondering how long he'd stay there if he knew how eagerly Blanche would welcome his return to Texas.

"Joshua! Hurry up. I don't have all night!" Blanche called again.

Felicity fidgeted nervously in her hiding place. Blanche had told her to stand behind the wagon until the stage had properly been set for her presentation, but Felicity didn't think she could stand the suspense much longer. If Joshua didn't come out soon, she was going to run inside and get him.

At long last, she heard the front door open and Joshua said, "What brings you back again so soon, Blanche?"

The sound of his voice seemed to vibrate through Felicity's entire body, quivering along the nerve endings that anticipation had scraped raw. Only one more second and she would be in his arms, she reminded herself as she fought the urge to race around the wagon toward him.

"I brought you a little something from town, something that will cheer you right up," Blanche reported.

Joshua doubted that very much, but then he heard Blanche mutter, "Come on out," and he noticed a woman's skirts moving from the opposite side of the wagon. For one horrible moment he thought Blanche might have brought him some kind of female companionship in a misdirected effort at neighborliness. He had already opened his mouth to protest when he recognized his wife.

"Felicity," he said, stunned. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was he seeing her face on other women's bodies now? But no, it was her body, too. It was encased in a prim little traveling suit he had never seen, but it was her body nevertheless. And her voice that spoke to him.

"Hello," she replied with a tentative smile. She took a step forward, but stopped uncertainly when he did not move. He was standing at the top of the porch steps, and the setting sun glinted off the silver of his hair. He was as handsome as ever except that he hadn't shaved in several days. Perhaps that was what made him seem so sinister, so forbidding, and why she hesitated to approach him. But why didn't he approach her?

Felicity. Her name seemed to echo inside his head like the roll of thunder. She was here. She was really here, and the implications of her presence shook him to the very foundation of his being. She had come home to him- without being forced, without being begged, without even being asked.

"Isn't somebody supposed to kiss somebody?" Blanche inquired impatiently after a long moment.

"God, yes," Josh muttered as he descended the stairs in one leap and took Felicity in his arms.

The mouth that claimed hers was blessedly familiar, and she gloried in the taste, the scent, and the feel of him against her. He crushed her to him so that her feet left the ground, and she clung with every ounce of her strength. Her joy magnified every sensation, the scratch of his beard, the silkiness of his silver hair as her fingers threaded through it, the iron pressure of his chest against the softness of her breasts, the urgent evidence of his desire.

"Now, that's a lot better," Blanche decreed, startling them back to reality and reminding them that they had an audience. Reluctantly they separated, but not completely, as if afraid that if they broke contact, this glorious moment would fade like a dream. "You haven't said how you like my little surprise, Joshua," Blanche taunted.

"I like it fine…" he began, but his pleased grin suddenly twisted into a frown. "How did you get here?" he demanded of Felicity.

"The same way I left," she said, still breathless from his kiss. "I took the train to San Antonio and then-"

"You came alone? You came on that stage from San Antone alone?" he asked, outraged.

"Well, yes…" she admitted, puzzled at his anger.

"Why on earth did you do a fool thing like that? Do you know how dangerous that is?" His hands tightened on her arms as if he wanted to shake her.

In her former life, Felicity might have bitten her tongue and swallowed the sharp words that sprang to her lips, but those days were gone for good. She was her mother's daughter now. "Would you rather I hadn't come at all?" she inquired haughtily. "Did you want me to stay in Philadelphia?"

Josh blinked in surprise at her tone. "No, of course not," he said. "But you should have waited for me to come for you."

"And how was I supposed to know you were coming for me?" she challenged.

Josh opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it with a snap when he realized he had no answer for that question.

"Kiss her again, Joshua," Blanche advised. "Then she won't be able to sass you."

Josh glanced at Blanche in annoyance. "It's getting dark, Blanche. Shouldn't you be heading on home?"

"Mr. Logan! Where are your manners?" Felicity said tartly. "Blanche, you're perfectly welcome to come in and even spend the night if you want."

Blanche laughed aloud at Josh's disgruntled expression as he dropped his hands from Felicity's arms and stepped back to stare at his wife in perplexity. "It would serve you right if I took you up on that invitation," Blanche said. "But I know my company would not be appreciated tonight. I'm only waiting for some able-bodied men to unload these trunks from my wagon, and then I'll be on my way."

Josh quickly rounded up the required men, who were all almost as overjoyed to see Felicity as he was. The disturbance drew Candace from her cabin for a tearful but happy reunion, so it was a while before Blanche was able to make good her promise. When the three large trunks containing Felicity's new wardrobe had finally been deposited in the house, Blanche took her leave.

"And Joshua, do let the poor girl get a little sleep tonight," Blanche added with a wink just before she slapped her team into motion.

Under normal circumstances, such a remark would have made Josh grin, but the circumstances were far from normal. Felicity was back, and just seeing her and holding her for a moment had stirred all his desire for her to life again. But her return had changed nothing as far as their physical relationship was concerned. He still could not make love to her.

"Let's go inside," he said when Blanche's wagon had left the yard and the others had begun to drift away so that Josh and Felicity could be alone. "Are you hungry?"

Felicity shook her head. "No, I'm too excited to eat," she told him with a smile as he conducted her into the house. She paused a moment, drinking in the sight of this room that held so many memories for her. The rocking chair Joshua had bought her still sat beside the hearth, the chair where she was to have rocked their child. She shivered slightly at this painful thought.

"Are you cold? I can make a fire," he offered, hearing the odd formality of his own voice but unable to shake off the feeling of awkwardness that caused it. He wanted to take her in his arms again, to taste her and feel her and kiss her, to assure himself that she was really here, but he knew such an action would be foolish and dangerous in the extreme. To hold her was bound to lead to other things, and he knew his control was tenuous at best.

"No, I'm not cold," she said, turning to face him. She, too, heard the formality in his tone, and when she studied his expression, she could plainly see that something was very wrong. "Aren't you happy to see me?" she asked, her old apprehensions returning in a rush. Perhaps her suspicions had been correct. Perhaps he really did not want her back. "Didn't you want me to come home?"

"Of course I wanted you to come home," he assured her quickly, seeing the hurt in her eyes. "And yes, I am happy to see you." He longed to go to her, to soothe away that hurt, but he did not dare, not yet. Perhaps in a moment, when he had better control.

For a second she automatically suppressed her response, instinctively seeking to hide her concerns from him, but she almost instantly recognized the folly of such an action. She had hidden her concerns for too long. Now was the time for honesty. "You don't look very happy," she accused. "You look like you wish I hadn't come at all. How long were you going to wait before you sent for me?"

Once again her words startled him. She had certainly turned into a spitfire since the last time he had seen her. Or maybe she was a lot angrier than she appeared to be. She had every reason for such an anger, he had to admit. At least he had the means to pacify her. He gave her an apologetic smile. "I wasn't going to send for you," he said, instantly regretting his teasing remark when he saw the pain of rejection flicker across her lovely face. "I was going to come for you," he quickly amended. "Here, look," he added, motioning her over to his bedroom door.

When she was close, he gestured toward the bed, where his half-packed bag sat. "I was getting ready to start for San Antone when I heard Blanche yelling outside."

Felicity lifted her face to his. "You were coming to get me?" she asked, hardly daring to believe the truth of that statement lest her hopes be dashed yet again.

He nodded. "I figured after I didn't write to you all that time, it might take more than just a letter to get you back."

"Oh, Joshua!" she cried, flinging her arms around him. "All you had to do was write, just one letter, and I would have walked all the way here!" For one glorious moment she held him, inhaling his clean, masculine scent and reveling in his strength.

Josh returned her embrace for blissful seconds, savoring the sweet softness of her. He heard her voice as if from far away, and he had to concentrate to understand the words.

"Why didn't you write? I know you didn't want me to know what was going on here, but you could have sent me a love letter…" She felt his body go rigid, and he pulled away from her.

"How did you know what was going on here?" he asked, forcing himself to concentrate on that so he wouldn't think about carrying her off to the big bed he knew awaited them in the next room.

"Blanche wrote and told me everything after the fire…"

"Blanche! That busybody! She had no right to meddle in our affairs," Josh shouted, grasping at the anger that helped cancel out his more dangerous emotions. "And that reminds me, was it her idea for you to come home by yourself?"

"No, that was my idea," Felicity said, a little taken aback by his fury.

"Don't you have a lick of sense? Anything could have happened to you on that trip," he fumed.

"But nothing did," she pointed out, still puzzling over his anger.

"Why didn't you at least let me know you were coming? I could have met your train," he said, running one hand through the silver of his hair.

"Because I wasn't sure you wanted me to come," she said, watching closely for his reaction.

"You weren't sure…? Why not?" His gray eyes reflected his bafflement.

"Because you left me in Philadelphia after telling me we could never live together as man and wife again, and then you didn't write to me, not once in almost two months. What was I supposed to think?"

Once more Josh saw the pain of rejection cloud the blue eyes he loved so much. The elemental urge to ease that pain drew him to her. "Oh, Lissy," he whispered. She was almost in his arms when he caught himself and stopped short, stepping back quickly. "You weren't supposed to think I didn't want you," he said instead, his voice hoarse with the strain of holding himself back.

She stared at him incredulously, trying to make sense of the disparity between his words and his actions. If he did want her, why was he acting as if he couldn't bear to touch her? "Do you still love me, Joshua?"

"Of course I do," he replied instantly.

"Then why don't you kiss me?" she demanded, unconvinced.

Josh closed his eyes; seeking the strength that seemed to have permanently deserted him. "There's nothing I'd like better," he said, steeling himself for the invitation he knew he would see on her face before opening his eyes again. "But I don't think I could stop with just a kiss."

Felicity's eyes widened as comprehension dawned. She smiled a slow, secretive smile. "But, Joshua, you won't have to stop!"