Revenge and the Wild(51)

Cain bowed again. Westie had Isabelle towed to the opposite end of the room before Cain had straightened.

“You’re hurting me,” Isabelle complained, trying to shake Westie off.

Westie held tight with her flesh hand. She wanted to grab the girl with her machine and shake her, but Isabelle was already nervous around her copper as it was.

Westie said, “I don’t want you spending any more time with Cain Fairfield,” more bluntly than she’d meant to.

Isabelle looked thunderstruck. “Just because it’s your coming-out party doesn’t mean you can tell me who to spend my time with.” She took a deep breath to compose herself. When she spoke again, her tone was less hysterical than it was vicious. “Besides, why should you care? You’re caught up with James Lovett now because we all know you’re in love with Alistair, but he won’t have you.” Her eyes were at a crouch, a look as mean as her words. “Leave Cain for me.”

Westie’s hand went to her chest, her heart constricting. Isabelle’s words had struck their target, and the pain they caused could be felt all over.

She wanted to say something hurtful in retaliation but calmed herself.

“You’re my friend,” Westie said. “I’m not trying to hurt you, or take Cain away. I’m just trying to protect you. I hear he’s got a reputation with the ladies and a terrible habit of stealing a girl’s flower. By the time he’s done using her, no other man will have her. He spends most of his time in brothels. Costin just told me he’s a frequent customer.”

Tears sprang to Isabelle’s eyes. “You lie. You’re just jealous that he wants me and not you. You want every eligible man at the ball for yourself.”

Isabelle pulled away when Westie reached for her, and ran from the room in a gathering of skirts and tears.

It was suddenly too hot, and Westie felt like the room was spinning. At least her words had shadowed Cain in doubt. She only hoped it would be enough to keep Isabelle away from him. She watched Isabelle slip through the door, nearly knocking over Bena as she walked into the room.

Bena wore a simple white dress and beaded necklace, her hair tied back into a knot. She held a box wrapped in pretty white paper with a blue bow, drawing stares and whispers from the tables around her. Seeing Bena again was the only saving grace in an otherwise dreadful night.

“For the debutante,” Bena said, bowing and handing the gift to her. “Are you ready for this?”

Westie was still shaken from her fight with Isabelle, but she was ready. “Ready as I can be. Wish me luck.”

“Be careful.” Bena smiled and headed toward Nigel.

People glanced at her but didn’t seem too curious as she tore at the paper. Upon seeing the gift inside, she paused with the lid in her hand. The plan had been for Bena to steal the key, make a clay impression of it, then take whatever she could find in Westie’s room and put it into a box to give to her as a present at the party in order to smuggle Lavina’s stolen key back into the ball, but what was in the box wasn’t anything she owned. It was an actual gift. A dark tunic, supple leather leggings, and a pair of beautiful beaded moccasin boots. They weren’t just any Wintu clothing, they were hunting garb. Westie had been asking Bena for a set of Wintu hunting clothes since she was a young girl, and Bena always said, Not until you’re grown.

Hugging the tunic to her chest, she could smell the undeniable scent of the Wintu: woodsmoke and wild rosemary. It instantly settled her frazzled nerves. She wanted to rip off her ugly dress in exchange for her new clothes. There was a card inside the box. For a true wild thing. Beneath the card was a key. She took it and stuffed it into her cleavage. She looked around the room for Bena and smiled when she saw her dancing with Nigel.

Westie was so caught up in the moment that she forgot about her dance with Cain until he found her.

Because of the plan, she’d known she’d have to dance with the Fairfield men, and thought she’d feel more confident when the time came, but she wasn’t. It felt as though there was an animal trapped inside her stomach, clawing its way out.

Cain led her to the floor, but instead of holding her metal hand, he put both of his hands around her waist. Normally a blatant move like that would have stung, but not now. She didn’t care what Cain thought of her.

“That was quite a scene earlier with you and Miss Johansson,” he said. “I do hope everything is all right.”

He was head and shoulders taller than Westie. Her neck cramped looking up at him.

“It’s nothing. We have spats all the time. I always seem to say the wrong thing.”

“I doubt that very much. I believe you knew exactly what you were saying. In fact, I think you picked your words quite strategically.”

Westie was taken aback by the knowing grin on his lips. “You heard what I said to her?”

“Every word.”

He wasn’t mad. The opposite, in fact. He seemed flattered by it. Perhaps he liked the idea of having the reputation of a wealthy playboy.

“But how?”

He had been nowhere near when she and Isabelle had been talking.

“I have my spies.”

Westie’s gaze floated around the room until she found Olive looking right at her. The precocious girl smiled, then rudely stuck out her tongue.

She’d have to be more careful around that little beast.