Elizabeth Shaw, Bethany's mother, held a ball, and from the crush in the ballroom, it would be declared a success. Some of Boston's most elegant ladies and gentlemen twirled with sleek vigor across the ballroom to the romantic strains of a waltz. Chatter and laughter danced on the air, and the champagne flowed freely. It had been two weeks since her arrival in Boston, and the ache in her heart had not eased. In truth, it had multiplied dreadfully. Her days had been filled with useless social rounds as her mother introduced her to Boston’s society. They had shopped for a new wardrobe, and Beth now had more dresses, hats, shoes and assorted fripperies than she knew what to do with. It didn’t take long for her to become bored and she had only been back for such a brief time. Perhaps things would look up once she started her new post—the very one her mother was insisting she did not need to fill, for Emmet Shaw had happily provided Beth with a generous allowance.

She had met with the principal of the academy she was to teach at, and Beth was only waiting for the confirmation letter before she would start preparing. Yet there was no excitement inside her, nor did she feel at peace. Pain and loneliness were a thick knot in her throat, and her nights were filled with tormenting vivid dreams of Joshua Kincaid.

“Sweetheart, how delightful you look,” her mother murmured, coming up to her elbow. “I see Major Audley is unable to take his eyes from you.”

Beth wore a rose-colored gown, with a low-cut neckline that just stopped short of being provocative. Her hair was pinned into a complicated arrangement save a few wispy tendrils which had escaped to curl around her cheeks. She wore no jewelry, although Mr. Shaw had attempted to give her a diamond necklace and earrings set. It had been too extravagant a gift, and she had refused it to his great disappointment, but she would not be deterred.

“I believe the Major wants an introduction,” her mother said with a smile.

A faint stirring of unease had been lingering inside her. For the last few days, all her mother spoke of was Beth remarrying. “I do not believe he wishes anything of the sort.” All the man had done was stare at her, the appreciation in his eyes far too warm. She was content he hadn’t approached her and seemed too busy with the bevy of women surrounding him.

“My dear, I cannot help but feel that you’re unhappy. Is it because you are still grieving?”

She faced her mother. “I’m not grieving Benjamin Hardin. In fact, I am glad he is dead.”

Her mother jerked, shock widening her eyes, the slow horror dawned. “Bethany, sweetheart—”

“Mamma, it’s fine. Forgive my outburst. But I do not want you to believe I am pining for that man. One day, I’ll speak of our marriage to you, but not now,” she said softly.

Her mother sighed and then nodded her agreement.

Beth admitted to herself that she needed to try harder to mask her aching heart. There was an awful disquiet piercing her heart she could no longer hide. Her mother had commented only a few hours earlier how pale she seemed and now this. Since she departed the Triple K ranch, Beth had been restless and empty. Truly she had thought once she was in Boston, she would sleep undisturbed, the sense of safety was all she needed to rest peacefully. Instead at nights she twisted, restless, her heart aching with a pain she had never endured before. I miss you so much already Joshua. The few nights when dreams of being attacked woke her, there had been no comforting arms to hold her, no Joshua to strip her naked, and make love to her until all the nightmares receded.

Beth felt as if her wants and desires had changed but without finding a new direction. She felt she needed something. Only she didn't know what that something was. She hated lying to herself. In the last few days, it had been evident what she hungered for. She knew why her nights were listless, and why she sobbed into her pillows.

I want Joshua Kincaid…

The worried stare of her mother from across the ballroom made Beth realize she hadn’t moved from the high balcony. She had to mingle and be seen to have an enjoyable time, if only for the sake of her mother. Several minutes later, Beth chatted and laughed with a few ladies and gentlemen, and she was pleased with the relief in her mother’s eyes. It didn’t take Beth long to realize she was a curiosity amongst the Boston society that frequented her mother’s home. She took a sip of her glass of champagne, peering over the rim at Miss Dahlia Lodge, a young lady who seemed keen on befriending her. Beth thought Miss Lodge was in love with Major Preston.

“So, tell us,” Miss Lodge tittered. “Have you ever seen a savage?”

“Have you ever seen real Indians?”

"Have you ever witnessed a gunfight?"

“Or have you seen a man shot dead?”

Beth swallowed her sigh at the questions hurled at her.

“Well?” came the strident demand from Miss Lodge.

Beth took a delicate sip of her tea. “A savage?”

"Yes, we've seen in the papers here they take scalps. They even attacked the Union Pacific railway last month for no cause other than to plunder and mutilate."

“You mean Indians?”

“Indians, savages, the same,” Miss Susan Jefferson said, another young lady who had made it her point of duty to introduce Beth to society.

“Ladies, if you will pardon the interruption.”

Beth cheered silently that David Shaw had interrupted. Several of the ladies blushed and batted their eyelashes in his direction. It seemed, however, that his regard was solely for her. She frowned, genuinely beginning to dislike his admiration.

“May I have this dance, Miss Bethany?”

It was either dance with him or more inane conversation with the ladies. She chose the least evil and agreed. Shortly they were on the dance floor, moving to the elegant strains of a waltz. He appeared very refined and handsome in a white jacket with a black neckcloth. They twirled in silence for several minutes, before he said, "You are an enigma to me, Bethany."

“I beg your pardon?”

“I heard your mother telling my father that you lost your husband recently and that is what is accounting for the sadness behind your beautiful eyes.”

She made no reply, and he arched a brow. “I suppose you are not going to offer an answer?”

“You did not ask a question, David.”

He smiled, quite charmingly, but she was unmoved. “I didn’t, did I? Tell me, are you grieving your husband?”

“No.”

"Why is that? It is quite uncommon for a lady not to mourn a man she had a child with."

A scathing retort hovered on her tongue, but she only said, “He died two years ago.”

“Ah, that explains it. So, you’ve been without a man in your life for two years.”

She stumbled slightly, but he caught her, and no one observing them would have seen that slight mishap in their dancing.

“Why are you so interested in my background?” she asked bluntly.

“I believe we would make a fine pair. I’ve informed father of my intention to court you, and he approves. You are a fine woman, Bethany.”

She fought not to show a visible reaction, “Forgive me Mr. Shaw—,”

“David,” he said smoothly with a smile.

“Mr. Shaw,” Beth said firmly, “I am not looking for another husband.”

The skin around his eyes seemed to tighten. “I believe both our parents would welcome our union. You are a beautiful young lady with a son who will need a man in his life.”

“I believe we should discuss something else.”

“Your mother believes your life west was a rough one. Something unspeakable must have happened to make you shy of men.”

Beth stiffened. “I beg your pardon?” She was truly shocked at his lack of tact.

“Were you raped?”

Outrage snapped through her. The blasted man must know he’d just stepped over propriety’s line, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Was it the heathens?”

Her instincts hadn’t been so far off the mark after all. He was a reprobate. The waltz ended, and she didn’t have it in her to politely applaud with everyone else. “You’re revolting,” she said quietly.

Unable to bear the mocking curiosity in his gaze, Beth turned away from him and moved toward the wide-open windows. She needed some air. She pushed past the few people on the terrace and hurried down the steps leading into the rear gardens. There she took several deep breaths. A sound had her whipping around. “Why have you followed me, Mr. Shaw?”

She saw that it annoyed him she had returned to such formality, but it was the first step she must take to deter him from the path he wanted to travel.

“A thought occurred to me, and I was intrigued by the possibility.”

She waited, wondering what he was about.

“If you do not want marriage, would you agree for me to set up a house for you?”

Was he asking her to be his mistress? Dear God. “Mr. Shaw, you are outrageous.”

“I like a woman who has carnal experience.” He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. “I wonder, how much do you know about loving, Bethany?”

She felt as though she couldn't drag enough air into her lungs. "Your father would be ashamed of your behavior," she breathed.

He drew on his cigar. "My intentions are honorable if you would allow it. I want you, from the first moment I saw you I determined to make you mine. If you are not keen on marriage, you will be my mistress."

She lifted her chin. "A gentleman of honor would never speak to a lady in such a disgusting manner."

“You are correct, Bethany—”

“Miss Bethany,” she snapped, inching even further away from him.

He bowed slightly, but she could see the mocking glint in his eyes. “My sincere regrets, Miss Bethany, my manners seem to have deserted me, please forgive me.”

Beth would never like him for how he accosted her tonight. Snakes would always be snakes, and he had revealed himself to be the lowest rattler. "If you will excuse me, Mr. Shaw, I believe I shall retire for the night."

“Why are you disinclined to marriage?” he demanded expectantly. “Your mother has suggested you are seeking a husband. And I am seeking a wife.”

“My mother was wrong, and even if I were inclined to marriage, it would not be to you.”

Anger lit his blue eyes, and they burned fiercely for a moment, rattling her. Her fingers dipped into the deep pockets of her gown, seeking the handle of the knife Joshua had given her. Strangely she hadn't thought it odd that she took it everywhere she went. And for the first time, she was glad for the lessons learned from the frontier.

“You know,” he said conversationally. “If I decide to have you now, there is little you could do to stop me.”

He expected her to be afraid of him. And she was, but it wasn't a senseless fear that was rendering her silly. She'd faced men in the west and had survived. He was a mere wasp to those wolves. "Ah, threats of rape? I confess I am not surprised, you've already revealed that you are a disgusting shit of a man.” She had picked up some choice words in Liberty, and she allowed the contempt to show in her eyes.

Yet when the slap came, it was unexpected. Fire exploded in her cheek. Beth stumbled back, a piece of her soul freezing. She could not move, a lump grew in her throat, and tears burned behind her lids.

“You’ll need to mind how you talk to me, darling,” he said pleasantly as if he hadn’t assaulted her.

“Nothing gives you the right to hit me, or anyone else. Because you are stronger you should never abuse your power,” she said, with a furious undertone.

He stepped in close, eclipsing her personal space, and she could smell the liquor fumes on his breath, except she knew he wasn’t drunk. In fact, he was cold and calculating when he gripped her chin in a punishing grip and lifted her face up.

“I don’t think I bruised you,” he said mildly. “You must learn to know your place, so you don't get hurt, hmm? Next time I won't be so gentle. Now, I'll be courting you. I think my father will be pleased with our announcement." His eyes caressed her face. "You are mighty tempting, aren't you? Leave your door open tonight. I'm of a mind to sample your sweetness."

Her heart pounded with her fear, and a subtle trembling started in her frame. It was only when he dipped his head to press his lips to hers, she unfroze. The knife was in her hand, and at his throat before she had processed her intent.

Wariness shifted in his eyes. “Bethany, I—”

“Don’t move,” she breathed shakily. “I might cut your throat.”

She hadn't the strength to laugh at his comical expression of shock, not when she wanted to cry so badly. The east wasn't more civilized. They weren't more gentlemanly, or less prone to ravage and hurt women. This man, a man her mother trusted wanted to bend her to his will, and why? Because he thought he could. The tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked. How quickly he had ripped away the false sense of comfort she had wanted to wrap herself in. She sobbed, her hands shook, and blood beaded the knife.

Finally, some alarmed showed in his eyes. “Bethany.”

"I should cut your damn throat," she snarled and turned to climb the steps into the house.

He looked at her as if she was demented, and maybe at this moment, she was, for he had shattered her sense of safety, and the belief she had that another man wasn’t capable of making her quake with fear. Suddenly rain pattered softly down, and she concentrated on that until she had centered the emotions tearing through her, as she entered the house. "Step away from me. And never approach me again in this manner. For the sake of my mother, I will be polite, but that is all I will ever be to you. One day you may catch me unaware, maybe you will rape me, but I promise you, if you do not kill me at that moment, you will sleep the rest of your life on guard, for I will kill you.” And she meant every word.

And she could see in his eyes he believed her too. There was a reluctant admiration in his gaze that she did not care for.

“I misunderstood a lot, Bethany. I will beg your forgiveness.”

“Denied. Now step away from me, Mr. Shaw.”

He did.

A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. To think she had believed Boston safer. She did not take her eyes from him as he moved away from her. She made her way to her chamber, and that night, she slept with her gun, and bowie knife under her pillow, and a chair under the handle of the door in her room.

It had been a long time since she had felt this unsafe.