Gabriel's Lady

“Then I’ll teach you,” he said. His deep voice had taken on that husky tone again. Something was definitely happening between them, and Amelia had absolutely no idea what to do about it!

Dear Reader,

Ana Seymour has set her sixth book for Harlequin Historicals in a gold-mining town in the Dakota Territory. Gabriel’s Lady is the story of an eastern dogooder who heads west to rescue her wayward brother and finds herself falling in love with his disreputable mining partner. This delightful Western is the first of two connected stories, so keep an eye out for the brother’s story, Lucky Bride, coming in January.

For those of you whose tastes run to medieval novels, Knight’s Ransom is the next book in Suzanne Barclay’s dramatic ongoing series, The Sommerville Brothers. This story of a French knight who captures the daughter of his enemy to avenge the murder of his family marks the author’s exciting return to the series that won her several awards and terrific reviews.

RITA Award finalist Laurel Ames is back with Tempted, her new novel that Affaire de Coeur calls an “exciting, unusual, and delightfully quirky Regency.” And Emily French rounds out the month with her emotional tale, The Wedding Bargain, about a Puritan woman who defies her community to marry a bondsman with a tortured past.

We hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Gabriel’s Lady

Ana Seymour

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ANA SEYMOUR

has been a Western fan since her childhood—the days of the shoot-’em-up movie matinees and television programs. She has followed the course of the Western myth in books and films ever since, and says she was delighted when cowboys started going off into the sunset with their ladies rather than their horses. Ms. Seymour lives with her two daughters near one of Minnesota’s ten thousand lakes.

To Midwest Fiction Writers “veterans”: Kathleen Eagle, Tami Hoag, Betina Krahn, Pam Muelhbauer

I was so lucky to have you as mentors… and I am now even luckier to have you as friends.

Chapter One (#ulink_ba144caa-fae8-5d12-a823-972a69d57a58)

Amelia Jenks Prescott sat up straight in her seat and gave a deliberately loud sigh. If the disreputable-looking fellow sitting across from her had any trace of the gentleman, he would wake up and move his long legs aside to give her cramped body a bit of room.

It seemed weeks since she had left the relative comfort of the train back in eastern Dakota Territory to climb into the tiny confines of a traveling coach. At first it had been just Morgan and herself, which had been tolerable, but in Rapid City a man and a woman had joined them. The woman had introduced herself rather vaguely as a Mrs. Smith. The man had not said so much as a hello. Then both had gone to sleep, a feat Amelia had found utterly impossible during the long, jarring ride.

She moved one foot to the other side of the man’s boot and tried to stretch out her legs. At least they would arrive in Deadwood that night. She could find Parker, rest up a couple of days and, with any luck at all, be back in New York within a fortnight.

She nudged the man’s leg with her knee. Through the thin muslin of her dress the muscles of his thigh felt rock hard. To her surprise, her cheeks grew warm. She wasn’t accustomed to blushes. But then, neither was she accustomed to having her legs entwined with those of a strange man—a very masculine-looking man. And handsome. With carelessly curly, long blond hair, sideburns and an unruly mustache. Blue eyes. She’d seen just a glimpse of them before he dozed off, his head cocked to one side on the horsehair seat. Amelia had had plenty of time to study him and to come to the conclusion that he was a lout. Though his clothes were of good quality, they were disheveled. His white shirt was open at the neck with no sign of a tie. It had been a good three days since his face had seen the edge of a blade.

Her nudge had produced no effect. She cleared the dust from her dry throat and said, “Sir, might I request you to sit up in the seat?”

The blue eyes opened. “I beg your pardon?” the man asked sleepily.

Amelia pointed to their nearly joined legs. “I don’t believe these coaches were designed to provide their passengers with beds,” she said frostily. “I need a bit more room.”

Gabe Hatch ran a hand across his whiskery chin. Slowly he pushed himself backward against the straight seat. The hours of sleep had not gotten rid of the hammers pounding inside his head. He had an acid taste at the back of his throat. When had he eaten last? Certainly not since he’d started in on the Mad Mule Saloon’s finest rotgut.

When he had climbed into the coach that morning his head had been clear enough to take notice of his traveling companions, especially the slender beauty seated across from him. From the fancy cut of her blue taffeta dress, her fashionable feathered bonnet and the haughty way her pretty nose had turned up when he and Mattie had climbed on board, he’d decided that she was probably a Southern belle. But now, taking a better look, Gabe reckoned he’d have to reconsider. A Southern belle would endure excruciating pain before she would press her legs against his as if they were at the Saturday-night wrestling competition at Chauncey’s. And no Southern belle would stab him with such a direct gaze. The stabbing eyes were brown, he noted idly—dark, velvety brown.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, but I’ve been quite cramped most of the day, Mr., er…?”

Gabe shifted once more to allow the woman more space. There was a wave of pain behind his eyes and he felt sick to his stomach. “Gabriel Hatch, ma’am—or should I say miss?”

Amelia moved her knees to take advantage of the additional room and answered in a less hostile tone. “Miss Amelia Jenks Prescott.”

His eyes widened in surprise. For a moment he looked as if he were going to say something, but finally he simply nodded his head and murmured, “How d’ye do.” Then he smiled at her.

Amelia felt the breath catch at the back of her throat. Mr. Gabriel Hatch was not at all the kind of gentleman she was used to associating with, but she imagined that even back in the finest parlors in New York City that smile would cause a stir. Cynthia Wellington, for one, would have set her cap for him in the blink of an eye.

She gave a tentative answering smile. “I’m sorry I had to awaken you,” she said again.

Gabe leaned forward until his face was just inches from hers and said softly, “You can awaken me any time you like, Miss Prescott.”

The words carried a suggestive undertone that left Amelia speechless. And it wasn’t only the words that shocked. When Gabriel Hatch moved close, she could smell the distinct odor of liquor. Dear Lord, the man was a drunk! The hands that had been folded demurely in her lap tightened. She leaned back as far as she could and closed her eyes. This was exactly the type of character she had anticipated meeting when she had started out on this onerous journey. She would simply ignore the comment…and the man himself.

“Are you feeling all right, Missy?” Morgan’s resonant voice had an edge of concern.

Amelia debated the wisdom of opening her eyes. She did not want any further exchanges with the inebriate Mr. Hatch. “I’m fine, Morgan,” she said finally, opening her eyes but keeping her head turned toward the side to look directly at the big man who had been her family’s retainer for as long as she could remember.

She reached out to give his hand a squeeze. “I think we must be almost there, don’t you?”

Morgan shook his head doubtfully. “It doesn’t seem to me that this trip’s ever going to end.”

She gave him a look of sympathy. Morgan didn’t like to travel. He always said that his six-week passage across the Atlantic in the hold of an immigrant steamer had been all the traveling one man needed for a lifetime. It was only his loyalty to Caroline Prescott that had made him agree to accompany Amelia halfway across the country into the savage West. On a temperance crusade back in ‘58 Amelia’s mother had plucked Morgan from the gutters of New York City and had convinced him to start a new life as a sober man. He’d been employed by the Prescotts ever since.

“The driver said we’d be pulling in by suppertime,” Amelia reassured him.

The talking had now awakened their other traveling companion. Morgan’s long legs allowed her little more room than Gabriel Hatch’s slouching posture had allowed Amelia, but the gray-haired woman was so small that the two appeared to fit comfortably. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in anything Charlie tells you, my dear,” she said, sitting up and adjusting her tucked silk bonnet. “Back in Tennessee we would say that Charlie’s one of those fellows who’s mostly all vine and no taters.”

Amelia laughed, even though the woman’s words were not reassuring. “Are you just arriving from Tennessee?” she asked.

The woman shook her head. “Lordy, no. I haven’t been back home in years. I live in Deadwood now…before that Colorado and before that Californy. I’m Mattie Smith.” She gave a little nod. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Amelia felt herself relaxing. It was comforting to meet another woman in this godforsaken territory. Perhaps she and Mattie Smith could be friends during her short stay in the Black Hills. “The pleasure is mutual, Mrs. Smith. I’m Amelia Jenks Prescott. Is your husband a miner?”

Gabriel Hatch gave a half cough, which drew a sharp look from the woman sitting beside him. “Watch yourself, Gabe,” she said crisply. “If you can’t see that Miss Prescott here’s a lady, then you ain’t got the brains God gave a squirrel. Besides, I did have a husband once—Ezekiel Smith, God rest him. He said he was going to make a Christian out of me, but never got very far. The apoplexy took him one day when he had just started in on the Corinthians.”

Amelia’s eyes went to Gabe, who shrugged. “I didn’t say a word.”