"Maison Doree," his nondescript companion sup-plied in a whisper.

"Right you are, the Maison Dor6e Restaurant."

When the man finished, he smiled. Colt looked at Billy, who was grinning widely again. "She wants to meet you for lunch," he explained.

"No," Colt said simply and started to turn away.

"Wait, Mr. Thunder! In the event you declined the first invitation, I was instructed to extend another. Her Grace would be pleased to receive you in her suite at the Grand Hotel, at your convenience, of course."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not meeting the woman anywhere, at any time. Is that clear enough for you?"

Both men appeared shocked, but not by his refusal, as he found out when the spokesman said, "There are proper modes of address for a duchess, sir. You may refer to her as Her Grace, or Her Ladyship, or even Lady Fleming, but she is never referred to as 'the woman.' It just isn't done, sir."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing," Colt mumbled and did turn away this time. "Get rid of them, Billy."

Billy didn't know whom he was more disappointed in, Colt for his indifference to a genuine duchess — a gorgeous genuine duchess — or her man for his snob-bery. "That wasn't too smart, Mister…"

"Sir Dudley Leland, sir," the redcoat supplied im-portantly. "Second son of the Earl of—"

"Christ, man, you've missed the point, haven't you? You're in America now, and if you'll recall, we fought a war with your ancestors about a hundred years ago to get rid of class distinctions. Your titles might impress the society matrons back East, but they don't mean a thing to a Cheyenne warrior."

"Ah, right you are, sir. Apologies tended. But I've still one more message for your friend there." Billy glanced back to see Colt standing at the single window the room offered, looking down at the vacant lot next to Fly's Lodging House. There was nothing but an assay office beyond, no view to hold anyone's interest, so he knew Colt had heard Sir Dudley. He just wasn't going to acknowledge it.

"Maybe you better give me the message and I'll pass it on," Billy suggested.

Sir Dudley could see well enough that Colt had divorced himself from the conversation and so nod-ded.

He was also aware that Colt could hear him quite well, but he still addressed the message to Billy.

"Her Grace anticipated both invitations might be declined. That being the case, my final instructions are to inform Mr. Thunder that Her Grace has asked, as he suggested, and has received a full report on the prejudices associated with his bloodlines. She wishes him to know that those prejudices are not hers and mean nothing to her. She hopes Mr. Thunder will take that into account and reconsider one of her in-vitations."

That Colt didn't turn around after that mouthful was proof that he wasn't going to reconsider anything.


Billy noted, however, that he was now gripping the windowsill, that his whole body had gone taut.

"I think you have your answer, gentlemen," he said in a lowered tone. "You may inform the duch-ess—"

"Don't put words in my mouth, kid," came from behind Billy in a near snarl. "There's no reply. Now shut the damn door!"

Billy shrugged at the messengers, as if to imply Colt's lack of manners was not his own. But he did shut the door in their faces. And he calmly and si-lently started counting numbers, trying for fifty but getting no farther than ten before exploding, "That was the rudest, lowest, most outrageous behavior I've ever been sorry to witness. And deliberate too, I'll wager. But why, for Christ's sake? You know they're going to report back to her, and. and that's it, isn't it?"

"You talk too much," Colt said as he turned and reached for his gun belt.

Billy shook his head. "You know, I didn't under-stand it yesterday, and I sure as hell don't now. I got a good look at the lady and I felt like I'd been dropped through the boardwalk. She's beautiful—"

"And white," Colt cut in. He finished buckling the belt on and moved for his saddlebags at the foot of the bed.

Billy had gone very still, Colt's behavior suddenly making perfect sense. And he hated it. He had never been able to deal well with Colt's feelings of bitterness, feelings that went back to that painful time when he had almost died. Billy loved his brother, thought there was no man finer, more courageous, more loyal, and so it cut him to the quick when Colt belittled himself, taking the attitude of those ignorant, preju-diced whites who put him on a par with the scum of the earth.

"Did I miss something? I could have sworn I heard that the lady doesn't give a damn what kind of blood flows in your veins."

"She's feeling beholden, Billy," Colt replied in an even tone. "That's all there is to it."

"Is it? That's why you were so mean-tempered rude to her lackeys? You just don't want her gratitude?

And that's why she's so eager to meet you again, just to express that gratitude? Be serious, Colt—"

"I am. I'm letting you keep your teeth. Now take yourself down to the O.K. Livery and collect our horses. I'll meet you out on the street in fifteen min-utes. If we ride fast enough, we can make Benson for a late lunch."

Yeah, and kill our horses, Billy grouched to himself. Since it was almost noon already, and Benson was a good twenty miles north, that was probably just what they'd do. No, he was being unfair. Colt would never take a bad mood out on his horse. But he was damn determined to quit Tombstone and fast.

Before the duchess came up with some other way to see him?

Colt had already left the room to settle the bill, so Billy gathered up his things and went out the back way to do as he'd been told. The stable wasn't far. Camillus S. Fly had a photographic gallery at the back of his lodging house, and the O.K. Livery and Corral was behind that, right in the center of the square, accessible from any vacant lot along 3rd and 4th streets, or Fremont and Allen.

Billy was back on Fremont with time to spare, but without the horses, as Colt noticed when he stepped out of Fly's Lodging House. "Now don't look at me like that," Billy protested quickly. "My horse threw a shoe just as I was walking her out. It'll only take a couple hours—"

"A couple?"

"The smith's busy," Billy explained. "That was his estimate, not mine. So what do you say to an early lunch instead, and I'll challenge you to a few games of billiards over at Bob Hatch's on Allen Street."

"You're just asking for trouble, aren't you, kid?" Colt replied, but his expression wasn't half as dark as it had been earlier.

"I don't think we'll run into young Clanton, if that's what you mean." Billy grinned. "Fact is, I just heard his brother Dee was buffaloed by one of the Earp brothers this morning, then hauled before the judge and fined. It must have been Wyatt. They say he has a fondness for bending his gun barrel around hard heads. Billy has probably taken his brother back to their ranch by now. So where would you like to eat?

The Maison Doree?"

Colt's answer was a soft kick to Billy's backside.

Chapter Ten

Mrs. Addie Bourland's Millinery Shop was sand-wiched between the offices of a stage line and a doctor on Fremont Street. The last thing Jocelyn needed was a new hat, but she had come here to order one, two, or a dozen, however many it took to keep her there until she caught sight of Colt Thunder either coming or going from his lodgings, which were just across the street. Vanessa had suggested she simply present herself at his door, but she was hesitant to do that. The men she had sent there that morning had not been received well, and she had no reason to think she would be any more welcome.

No, a chance encounter on the street was the thing, and although there would be little "chance" to it, Mr.

Thunder wouldn't know that. She would not let him ignore her again.

She had arrived in her coach just before two o'clock, but since she had sent it away, the curious it had gathered had also departed, so there was nothing to indicate she was ensconced within the millinery shop. The guards were a necessity she could not get rid of, though, six for this outing. They were sta-tioned at the front and rear exits, those in the front room trying to be inconspicuous but failing. They had quite flustered Mrs. Bourland to begin with. She was not accustomed to so many men invading her small shop. Even one at a time was a rarity. But she was ignoring them now as the prospect of such a large order caught her full attention.

With Vanessa stationed at the window to watch for Colt, Jocelyn kept Mrs. Bourland busy with the vast selection of feathers, flowers, colors, and materials available. Never had she been so indecisive in her choices, but then she had no idea how long she would need to stay there. To describe the elaborate European styles she favored in hats accounted for some time, but not enough. Pretending to be unable to make up her mind was going to become quite frustrating for the proprietress, for Jocelyn too, but it was necessary. If Colt didn't show up before closing, however…

"Jocelyn, dear, I think you had better come have a look at this," Vanessa called from the window.

"There seems to be something. unusual about to happen."


Jocelyn joined her at the window, with Addie Bour-land stepping up behind her. She saw immediately what Vanessa meant. Walking slowly but purpose-fully right down the center of the dusty street were four black-garbed gentlemen looking identical with their black Stetsons, thin bow ties, and drooping mus-taches, not to mention an assortment of lethal-looking weapons. Not so finely dressed were the five men in the vacant lot across the street who appeared to be waiting for them.