Free Pistols at Dawn by Andrea Pickens Page A

turned back to the page. After yet another tally she was forced to crumple up the sheet and toss it away. Why her mind refused to function with its usual precision this morning was most puzzling, but rather than risk making a hash of the accounts, she set her quill aside.
    A snort of frustration punctuated the slam of her desk drawer. It drew an answering hiss from the other occupant of the parlor. Four paws landed on the open ledger and a twitching tail began to tickle her nose.
    "Oh, Cal," she murmured, scratching the cat's chin. "It seems you are the only one of this household I don't have to worry about."
    The cat blinked in some mysterious feline sign of commiseration and nudged her hand to continue the caresses.
    Eliza sighed and kept up her musings as well. "Mama is growing slowly weaker, though her good days disguise the truth. Edith is becoming so frail that she can barely climb the stairs or carry anything heavier than a pillow. And Merry—"
    Eliza stopped to chew at her lip. The cat sat back on its haunches and mimicked her action.
    "I'm not sure quite what to do about Merry," she admitted.
    Caliban answered with a throaty purr.
    "Is that so?" Eliza allowed herself a rueful smile as the cat rolled onto his back and began to swat at the ball of discarded paper. "Well, then, I see I should ask your advice more often."
    What she dared not say aloud was that her own agitated state of mind was causing nearly as much concern as the worries about her family. "Hell's bells," she repeated, though only in a whisper. And the Devil himself must be ringing the peal.
    In this case, the Devil was a tall, raven-haired gentleman with sensuous amber eyes and a lithe, muscular body that would tempt even the most saintly female to contemplate the pleasures of sin.
    Well, it was quite clear she was no saint.
    Just as there was no denying that her own shameful dreams were dancing to his tune, no matter how hard she tried to banish the image of candlelight flickering across his chest, or of dark curls beckoning her eyes to follow their drift lower and lower...
    Why was such a disreputable scoundrel causing her nerves to jangle at very thought of his touch? Why did the mere recollection of how warm his flesh had felt bring a clanging to her ears and a weakness in her knees?
    A faint voice from deep inside ventured to answer. Perhaps because it seemed unlikely she would be pressed up against a man's naked chest any time in the near future.
    Or not so near future, she amended, after considering every male of her acquaintance between the ages of eight and eighty.
    Rather than taking solace in that thought, the harsh truth of it only served to strike yet another dissonant chord within her.
    But where were such maudlin overtones coming from? The thought of spinsterhood had never before bothered her. Indeed, she rather considered the lack of a husband a blessing instead of a curse—one that allowed her the freedom to use her head for something more than merely nodding meek answers in reply to a domineering male. More puzzled than before, Eliza found her gaze wandering to the mullioned window. Outside in the garden, a robin was busy weaving a bit of straw into the foundations of a nest. But somehow the simple harmony of its twittering song sounded dull and flat to her ears.
    Dull and flat. An apt description of her present prospects.
    She let out a harried sigh as her gaze returning to the ledgers. At least she was useful, she scolded to herself, trying to fill the strange, echoing hollowness in her heart with a flurry of reason. A figure rendered in ink was far more preferable than a figure molded of flesh—no matter how attractive that flesh was. Numbers represented a certain immutable order. Their value was a constant, unaffected by mood or desire. Solid and predictable, they could be counted on to tally up as they should at the end of the day.
    And they most certainly didn't knock one's sense all akilter with a sensual smile.
    Again her