Without another word or so much as a glance in Jo’s direction, he quit the room.
Dizziness arose to replace the relief that escaped her lungs in a rush. She pressed trembling fingertips to the throb between her brows.
Amon’s quiet, steady tone settled her nerves. “You all right?”
She nodded.
Amon aimed for the doorway, pausing long enough to lay a hand across Jenny’s shoulder. The Creole raised her chin and delivered a shaky smile. Holding her gaze, Amon tightened his grip.
Then he hurried after his brother.
****
“Bennett!” Amon’s clipped bark bounced off his brother’s back.
Ben kept walking.
In four strides, Amon snatched the pompous ass by the elbow. A yank spun the self-important dandy on his heel.
Ben’s cocked arm came around first. His fist slammed into Amon’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Amon staggered backward, barely keeping his feet. The Bennett Collier he’d wrestled in the dirt as a boy may have grown into a lawyer who did his fighting with words, but he hadn’t forgotten how to throw a punch.
By the time Amon’s vision cleared, his brother had peeled off his frockcoat and hat and tossed them on the ground. A silver-gray waistcoat gleamed in the waning light. Chest heaving around agitated breaths, Ben extended a hand and flicked his fingers toward his palm.
“Uh-uh.” Not until he re-hinged his jaw, anyway. Amon opened his mouth, stretching the joint and massaging a spot beside his earlobe until a painful pop stole his breath and made his eyes water. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed the fierce ache with his fingertips. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Ben seethed for only a few more breaths before releasing a heavy gust and raking clawed fingers through his hair. “She had to be beautiful, didn’t she?”
Confusion knocked Amon backward another step. “What?”
“Miss LaPierre. She’s a vision.”
“She is, isn’t she?” A grin started across Amon’s lips, only to retreat before an inexplicable pang in his chest. “If I could take your place, I would.”
Ben’s teeth flashed between thin lips. “But you can’t, can you?”
Amon returned his brother’s glare, dropping his chin to protect his jaw—just in case.
“I don’t want a wife. I don’t need a wife.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck on a sarcastic huff. “At least bedding Mrs. Collier to fulfill my obligation to posterity won’t be a hardship.”
A strange, sick feeling slithered up Amon’s throat. “It may be for her,” he grumbled under this breath.
If Ben heard the remark, he ignored it. He bent to retrieve his hat and coat. “Business will keep me in Austin for at least a week. I’ll be back in time for the nuptials.” The wrist he swiped across his forehead as he straightened failed to remove a frown. “I’ll not have Pa’s courtesan at the wedding.”
A chill wind blew through Amon, emerging in his voice. “You won’t even say her name?” His unoccupied hand curled into a fist. Stretching his fingers helped calm the storm in his gut. “You decreed family only. Like it or not, Jenny’s family.”
“She’s not my family.” Ben punctuated the snarl with a smack at the dark wool draping his forearm. “I mean it. She’s not to attend.”
“You know Pa won’t stand for the snub.”
“He will if he wants me to go through with this farce.” Ben shrugged into the coat and settled the hat on his head. “The old man may be able to force me to marry, but he can’t force me to acknowledge the trash who crawled into his bed fifteen years before—”
On a hard swallow, Ben’s gaze dropped to his boots. For a heartbeat, Amon suspected his brother’s fortress might crumble. He narrowed the gap between them by a single step. “Ben—”
The hand Ben flung up, palm forward, fingers spread, shook. He swallowed again before raising a bitter gaze. “They couldn’t even wait for her to die.”
Amon planted his boots and tracked his brother’s stiff back all the way to the stable. Three weeks. In less than a month, Ben would claim his bride and spirit her away to his house in Galveston, where the lion’s share of the Collier business and political interests lay. Without the unwelcome distraction of a woman who belonged in the big city, Amon could redirect the entirety of his attention to the ranch he’d all but neglected.
During a week that had been both too long and too short, Mademoiselle LaPierre had left an indelible mark. Even if she never returned, Mrs. Bennett Collier’s honeysuckle scent, Gulf-green eyes, and berry-stained lips would haunt Dumont forever.
Chapter Five