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  “Stop your vile tongue this instant!”

  Harmony bit back the next words that longed to tumble from her lips. This was not what their mother would have wanted. Furthermore, Agatha obviously harbored her own resentments, and fueling her sister’s fires was not the smartest thing to do on the first day of a very long stay with her.

  Trying to relax back in her seat, Harmony consoled herself with the thought that at least she had not had to spend the last six years with Agatha around. They had never gotten along, and it had been a relief when Agatha had decided to move to England, the birthplace of their now deceased maternal grandparents and great-aunt. Victorian England, as Agatha had informed her family, was more suited to her moral temperament and standards. Knowing she had never been happy on the wild, vast sprawl of the Simmons ranch, their father had willingly financed Agatha’s move, and had, despite Agatha’s inheritance, continued to subsidize her until his death. At that time Agatha had inherited another very comfortable sum. But it hadn’t been enough. It was never enough.

  Harmony’s eyes narrowed as she gazed once again at her sister. What was wrong with her? Was she so empty inside that she tried to fill the void with material things?

  She was only twenty-seven, but looked forty, Harmony mused. Was it because there was no laughter, no gaiety, no joy in her life? And was that what Harmony was now condemned to as well?

  The thought made her shudder. What had her mother been thinking, to put her younger daughter’s inheritance under the control of the elder until Harmony turned twenty-one? How could her mother have done it to her?

  But even as she wondered, Harmony knew. She had said as much near the end of her life. She had wanted the sisters to try and find their way back to each other. They would be left with only each other. But would it work? Had their mother been wise or merely blissfully foolish?

  As she continued to look in her sister’s direction, Harmony doubted their mother’s plan, if that was what it was, would succeed. But she was willing to try. It was what Mother had wanted, and it was the last thing she would ever be able to do for her.

  Harmony could almost feel her mother’s long, thin, elegant fingers squeeze her hand for the final time. Her flesh had felt papery thin. Harmony could barely see the rise and fall of her chest beneath the white muslin gown.

  “Promise me, Harmony,” her mother had breathed. “Promise me you’ll try. Agatha … hasn’t known the love and warmth of family as … as you have. Help her. Please …”

  Tears rose in a warm rush to Harmony’s eyes and she turned her head so Agatha wouldn’t see them. But who were the tears for, she wondered? Harmony dashed them away and gazed out the window.

  Were they for her mother? Herself? For Agatha, perhaps? As hard as she tried to think they might be, however, Harmony was unable to feel any compassion for her hard, unloving sister. Agatha had left the ranch and her family of her own accord. She had freely chosen to live elsewhere and Harmony felt no sympathy for her. Yet she had promised their mother …

  Harmony pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed away the evidence of emotion on her cheeks. It would no doubt bring a stinging reprimand from her sister and weaken her resolve to fulfill the promise to their mother. Replacing the handkerchief she turned her attention to the passing scenery. This was her world now. It would be well to take note of it. To try and take it into her heart and get to know and love it. It would make the passage of time less painful if she could come to love the land where she lived.

  London’s teeming avenues had been left behind and they entered a pleasant, green landscape. It was similar to, yet different from, countryside she had seen in America. Harmony drew her elegantly arched brows together thoughtfully.

  “The scenery here is so … so tame,” she said abruptly in an attempt to reach her sister in whatever distant place she had gone in her mind. “So orderly and neat. Back home it seems more … well, primitive, I guess.”

  “Exactly,” Agatha responded promptly. “It pleases me that you are able to note the difference. Everything here in England is more orderly and less … primitive, as you say. It is the essential reason I chose to reside here.”

  “Yes. I can see how it would suit you,” Harmony said without sarcasm. “It’s beautiful. Still, I miss the ranch. The mountains, the wide open spaces, fields of tall grass bending in the wind.”

  Harmony cut herself off before the memory could summon back her tears. Agatha stepped immediately into the silence.

  “The ranch is being held in trust. You can return to it at your majority. Though I don’t see why, once having experienced true civilization, you would want to.”

  No, Harmony thought. Agatha wouldn’t.

  “You are going to learn to lead an entirely different kind of life here,” Agatha continued with mounting enthusiasm. “A godly and righteous life. No more galloping about on horseback like a wild Indian. Chasing after cattle. Or shooting a gun.” Agatha grimaced in distaste.

  “What’s wrong with knowing how to ride and shoot?”

  “You can’t be serious, Harmony!” Agatha appeared dumbstruck.

  “Mother and Daddy thought it was fine,” Harmony replied calmly. “Why don’t you?”

  An unbecoming blush crept up the crepelike skin of Agatha’s neck to her cheeks. “I will not deign to answer such an ignorant question. In the future, mind your insolent tongue. I won’t have it.”

  Harmony stared at her sister in disbelief. Despite her desire to control her temper, and knowing it would further worsen her lot, the embers of her anger fanned into a flame.

  “You should mind your tongue, Agatha, before you cut yourself with it.”

  Agatha gasped then seemed to recover herself. Her already rigid spine straightened another notch. “You will learn not to speak to me like that,” she said in a curiously flat, quiet voice. “You will learn a great many things, sister dear, not all of them pleasant. I would suggest you not taunt me again. I am in control of your life now.”

  The retort died on Harmony’s lips. A harsh, cold light shone from her sister’s pale gray eyes, and a sliver of fear worked its way into Harmony’s breast. “I … I’m sorry, Agatha,” Harmony forced herself to respond. She really did not wish to antagonize her sister. A joyless, boring existence was one thing. To have to endure Agatha’s animosity for the next three years was quite another. She was wrong to have provoked her. “My remark was uncalled for.”

  “Yes, it was,” she said tartly. Somewhat mollified, Agatha relaxed back into her seat. But Harmony, apparently, was not done bedeviling her. “Now what are you doing?”

  “Opening the window, Agatha.”

  “I can see that. Close it at once.”

  Harmony ignored her. She cocked her head, as if listening. “Don’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Hoofbeats,” Harmony replied. “Coming up from behind us.”

  “Close that window, I said!” Agatha brushed at the heavy black material of her skirt. “The dust will ruin our clo—”

  Agatha was abruptly silenced by the roar of a gun. She screamed as Harmony slammed the window shut. The carriage lurched to a halt, nearly unseating both women.

  Chapter Three

  Harmony was the first to right herself. She helped her shaken sister back into her seat. And heard a shout. A strange thrill ran up her spine.

  “Dear Lord,” Agatha whimpered. “Dear Lord, what was that?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  “Don’t open that door, Harmony! Don’t go out there! What are you doing?”

  “Stay where you are, Agatha. And please … be quiet.” Harmony opened the coach door and froze.

  It wasn’t possible. She was in Victorian England, not in America’s wild and only half-tamed West. Yet there he was before her, like a figure from the cover of the dime novels she loved.

  The kerchief was pulled up just below his eyes. A casual, open-necked white cotton shirt was tucked into a pair
of tight buckskin breeches. He sat easily, almost lazily, astride his horse and waved his pistol first at the coachman, whose trembling arms were raised to the sky, then at the women inside the coach.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Gun held steady, he slid from his mount and approached the carriage. “If you would be so good as to step outside, please.”

  A mewling sound issued from Agatha’s throat.

  Harmony merely stared. A jumble of strange emotions warred within her breast, effectively preventing coherent thought.

  Never had she seen such black, black eyes. Almost as black as the long, straight, silky hair that glinted with auburn lights where it fell across his shoulders. For an instant, she had the insane desire to pull the kerchief down and see the rest of the face below those alarming eyes.

  “If you please, ladies. I haven’t got all day.” As casually as a gentleman might wave a glove, he gestured with the gun.

  It wasn’t possible; it couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream. That was it. She had fallen asleep in the carriage and this was happening only in her subconscious.

  But if so, why did she suddenly feel fingers around her wrist? And why did Agatha’s piercing shrieks actually hurt her ears?

  The answer sent a chill through her entire body to the very marrow of her bones.

  Then the hand clasping her wrist gave a tug, and without further delay, Harmony stepped from the coach. She pulled the quaking, whimpering Agatha behind her. She’d grown up with guns. She knew what they could do.

  “Thank you, ladies. Now, if you would throw all your valuables on the ground in front of you.”

  Time came to a standstill. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Harmony almost laughed out loud at herself. Of course there was something wrong! But, perhaps she had misheard?

  No. The black eyes snapped merrily, perfect accompaniment to the amusement she had heard in his voice. She glanced quickly behind her and saw her sister, pale and shaking, remove her gloves and hurriedly tug the rings from her fingers.

  “Wait, Agatha. Stop.”

  Agatha made a choking noise. The gunman raised his eyebrows.

  “Get back in the carriage,” Harmony commanded.

  Terror-stricken, Agatha moved to obey. The bandit once again leveled his gun.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Harmony stepped in front of her sister. “Get into the coach, I said. He won’t shoot an unarmed woman.”

  Puling, Agatha climbed into the coach. Harmony concentrated all her attention on the lean figure in the close-fitting deerskin breeches, heart thudding erratically. From the corner of her eye she saw the terrified coachman perched on the edge of his seat, arms still raised, and knew what an enormous risk she was taking.

  Yet now that the initial shock was over and her nerves had calmed, she was certain she intuited no threat from the man with the gun. She felt nothing but an odd sense of excitement. These were things she knew, things she was familiar with. A beautiful, well-cared-for horse and a well-oiled gun.

  The pistol moved one more time. It was pointed straight at Harmony’s heart.

  “All right. Have it your way. You throw down your valuables.”

  Reacting only on instinct, feeling nothing but the strange, urgent stirring in her breast, Harmony stepped forward. “I’m sorry. But I have nothing to give you.”

  “Does this mean I have to search you?”

  From inside the coach, Harmony heard her sister’s gasp. She ignored it. Defiantly, she stared straight into the snapping black eyes and lifted her arms.

  “Please. Be my guest.”

  For a long moment the two stood and stared at one another. Only Agatha’s uncontrollable whimpering disturbed the silence. Despite the sounds of fear, the very situation itself, Harmony knew that the gunman smiled beneath his mask.

  Abruptly, the bandit stepped back and lowered his pistol. “All right, young lady, but I’d like you to remove your gloves anyway, and then we shall see what we shall see.”

  “This is unconscionable,” Harmony snapped, then immediately had to smile. She had sounded just like her sister.

  “You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen,” the laughing-eyed bandit said.

  Harmony abruptly sobered. What on earth was she thinking, playing games with a man holding a gun on her? She wasn’t surprised to hear Agatha make a sound like she was being strangled.

  Now she was certain the gunman smiled. His eyes not only sparkled but crinkled at the corners. A measure of her bravado returned until he cocked the pistol and aimed it at her midsection.

  “Gloves, please. Now.”

  “Harmony!” Agatha yelped.

  She tugged at the fingers of her left-hand glove and pulled it off, then removed the other as well. A genuine sliver of fear worked its way into her breast and a deep feeling of regret formed a painful lump in her throat. The sapphire ring was small and held no sentimental value, being an heirloom from some unknown, distant relative, but the larger diamond had been a beloved gift from her father. She made no move, however, to remove either ring until the gunman nodded toward her left hand.

  “I think I’ll take that one,” he said. “A token, we’ll call it. A sapphire to remind me of the courageous little lady in blue. And her sapphire eyes.”

  Harmony held her breath, scarcely daring to hope. Slowly, she worked the ring from her finger and handed it to him.

  The bandit continued to stare at Harmony over his mask. The ring lay on his open palm. Abruptly, he closed his fist and shoved the gem into his pocket. He backed toward his horse and flourished his pistol at the driver.

  “Turn around and pick up the reins,” he ordered. “As soon as this little lady is back inside, you continue on, nice and slow, to wherever you were going.” Eyes still on the driver, he gathered his horse’s reins and, with one smooth, graceful motion, sprang astride his mount. “Go on and climb inside, young lady.”

  Harmony did as she was instructed. She heard the crack of the coachman’s whip the moment she had closed the door behind her and sat down quickly as the carriage surged forward. By the time she was able to open the window and look outside, the bandit had disappeared. The incident was apparently over. She and Agatha had survived and she had even, miraculously, come away with her diamond ring. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, her sister’s sudden attack took her completely by surprise.

  “How dare you?!” Agatha hissed. “How dare you endanger our lives by conducting yourself in such a brazen fashion?”

  Harmony could only stare, mouth agape, at her sister.

  “Don’t you realize that dreadful man could have killed us both? Don’t you?”

  Harmony gripped the edge of her seat with white knuckles as the coach swayed and jolted down the road, finding it difficult to believe such a thin and shriveled body could contain so much venom.

  “Agatha, what’s the matter with you?” she asked incredulously. “Not only did he not harm us, he took only a single ring, my sapphire, when he could have taken—”

  “Shut up!” Agatha screeched. Eyes straining from her head, she leaned forward threateningly, as if she might fly at her sister’s throat. “You dare to defend that … criminal? You try to tell me just because, by the grace of God, we were released uninjured, this was only a little excitement?”

  “I said no such thing!” Harmony snapped, incredulity turning to anger. Even as she said the words, however, she realized how close to the truth Agatha was. She might have smiled then, despite her fury, remembering the amused black eyes above the mask.

  But it appeared her sister was going into a swoon.

  Alarmed, Harmony watched Agatha sink limply back into her seat. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

  “Agatha!” Harmony clasped one of her sister’s pale, dry hands and chafed it.

  “Don’t you touch me!” Agatha recoiled violently and snatched her hand away. “Don’t touch me, you brazen hussy!”

  Eyes wide, Harmony shrank away from her sister.
r />   “And don’t you give me that innocent look! I saw the way you behaved, daring that man … daring him to touch you! As if you wanted his filthy hands all over you!”

  “Shut up, Agatha!” Harmony flared at last, pushed over the edge by her sister’s perverse tirade.

  “Dear Lord, protect me.” Agatha squeezed her eyes tightly shut and folded her hands as if in prayer. “Protect me from this devil’s child.”

  Harmony took a long, deep breath and tried to calm the war of emotions in her breast. What was wrong with her sister? Why such overreaction?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers. Something very dark lurked at the edges of her thoughts. She wanted to cast no light on it.

  The coach made a sharp turn to the left and Agatha’s whimpers began anew. “Home. Oh, thank God, we’re home.” She pressed a handkerchief to her nostrils and sniffed loudly.

  The menacing darkness returned to cast its pall over Harmony as she turned her attention to the scenery outside the coach. The open, sunny parkland had disappeared and they had entered a thickly wooded area that stretched away on either side as far as the eye could see. So dense were the ancient, twisted trees Harmony could not even see any light between them. She felt as if they had arrived in an alien world.

  Nothing stirred in the dark hush of the forest. The only sounds were the clatter of the coach and the rhythmic thud of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed dirt road. Sadly, Harmony realized how fitting it was that her sister lived in a place like this.

  The carriage slowed, passed through a break in the trees, and turned into a wide, gravel drive. A vague chill shivered down Harmony’s spine as an immense, sprawling stone house loomed into view. Its cold gray walls were almost completely obscured by encroaching ivy. Two massive stone lions stood sentry on either side of the front steps, as if there to guard the virtues, as well as the property, of their prim, virginal mistress.

  The robbery attempt seemed years away, almost as if she had dreamed the incident entirely, so overwhelming was the oppressive atmosphere that now surrounded her and pressed on her as if it had living weight. She tried to revive the memory of the bandit, tried to hold on to something that was real, and warm. But she could grasp and hold nothing.