In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

begin and he and Iris will join you. Michael, I know your legs are tiring. Do you sit down. Jeanne—"

"If you don't mind ma'am," Samuel Johnson intervened. "Miss Jeanne has already consented to give me the first dance."

Giselle's silver brows rose. "Indeed. Since the music is starting I suggest you take to the dance floor."

Three hours later Bethany slipped outside the ballroom into the darkened rose garden and sat down on one of the stone benches to pull off her high-heeled shoe and rub her foot. Her feet hurt. She had danced almost nonstop since she and Alec had opened the dance. By a minor miracle so far, she had avoided coming in contact with Emory Johnson. She steered clear of him not because she had a guilty conscience, but because like Giselle, she didn't want to become involved in a nasty public scene. Bethany was under no illusions about why Emory Johnson had wanted to marry her, but she knew she had insulted his pride when she refused his offer of marriage. Because she had dared to turn down his suit, he would enjoy embarrassing her in public.

Ira Johnson wanted the Golden Tricorn and the Lucky Strike mine. As Michael St. Vyr’s eldest daughter, she would be assumed to be one of his heiresses. With her father hurt or dead, her husband would be able to 'manage' the ranch and mine for four 'helpless' females. When she had refused to marry him, Emory had seemed stunned. He was a handsome man, and Bethany suspected he had expected her to be an easy conquest. It had been a blessing, she thought, that except for that scene at the door, Emory had seemed content to be avoided.

She had seen Emory going into the Hotel Saloon earlier, so she believed herself safe in coming out to the garden to rest her feet.

She had changed shoes so she could rub her other foot when Johnson loomed up out of the darkness.

"Hiding from your new husband?" Emory Johnson voice was slurred with drink, and he swayed a little on his feet.

Speak of the devil, Bethany thought resignedly, putting her shoe back on.

"My feet hurt," she said. "Alec is bringing us some punch. I'll just see what is keeping him."

When she stood up and attempted to go around Johnson, he grabbed her arm and attempted to pull her to him. Bethany immediately slapped his face and kicked him in the shin with the toe of her pointed shoe.

No gentleman, Emory slapped her back with enough force to make her head spin. "You little bitch," he sneered. "You belong to me and you might as well know it. It's time to teach you a lesson in manners."

Ears ringing, half blinded by tears, she stomped down hard with the heel of her shoe and missed his foot. There came the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and just as quickly, she was free. She stumbled backwards and was caught and supported by a strong hand. "Easy," Samuel Johnson said. "I've got you."

He and Jeanne guided Bethany back to the bench and helped her sit down. Jeanne put her arm around her sister and looked up at the man who was watching the fight indecisively.

"You aren't going to help him, are you?" Jeanne demanded scornfully. "He deserves what he’s getting!"

Bethany had been trying to shut her ears to the sounds coming from the other end of the garden, but now she turned her head. In the full moonlight, she could see the combat. Johnson was reeling from her husband’s blows as Alec systematically delivered punch after punch. At last, Johnson fell down in front of the bench where she and Jeanne were sitting and didn't get up.

Bethany looked down at his ruined face in shock. Johnson's nose was smashed, and blood poured over the lower half of his face. His eyes were so swollen as to be unrecognizable. Slowly she raised her eyes to her husband’s face, almost afraid of what she would see. To her relief, Alec's face was unmarked except for a swelling bruise on his cheek, and his expression was calm, almost dispassionate.

"Johnson, you want the same?" The hair rose instinctively on the back of Bethany's neck at her husband's soft voice, Jeanne made a protesting move beside her, as both women realized he was addressing Samuel.

Samuel Johnson held up both hands. "Not me buddy. Emory deserved what he got. You just got here before I did."

He turned to Bethany. "On behalf of my family, I apologize for my brother. I know Dad always led him to suppose—well, no matter. He still had no call to attack you. I guess I better take him upstairs."

He bent and pulled his brother's body over his shoulder, heading for the back stairs.

"Are you all right?" Jeanne asked her sister anxiously.

"You can tell your grandmother that Bethany and I have gone to bed for the night. I'll take care of her, thanks."

Something in Alec’s voice prompted Jeanne to say defensively, "It wasn't her fault, you know. Samuel and I saw the whole thing. She came out here because her feet hurt, and she tried to leave the minute he spoke to her."

Her brother-in-law looked at her in exasperation. "I'm not going to hurt her for Christ's sake!"

He extended his hand to Bethany. "C'mon honey, I guess we better take the back stairs too. Can you walk or do you want me to carry you?"

The minute he touched her, Bethany, dissolved into a quivering puddle of goo, shaking and clinging. Alec sighed, and picked her up.

"Er—do you need any help?" Jeanne inquired.

Alec turned at the foot of the stairs. "No thanks. I told you I could manage. Before you go find Giselle though, you should stop off in the ladies' powder room. You could do with some repair work," he added dryly.

Despite her small size, Bethany was a hefty handful to carry upstairs and down the hall to their room. Once inside, Alec fell rather than sat on the bed.