An Agent for Camille
An Agent for Camille
The Pinkerton Matchmaker Series
Book 54
Parker J. Cole
Copyright Information
Copyright © 2019 Parker J. Cole
Cover Art by Black Widow Books
All rights reserved.
First Edition: December 2019
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9
Contents
Copyright Information
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
EPILOGUE
Author’s Note
The Pinkerton Matchmaker Readers Group
About the Author
Join Parker’s Bodacious Readers
Works by Parker J. Cole
CHAPTER ONE
December 1871
Denver, Colorado
“Hello, Mr. Addison.”
Rounder stiffened. “Hello, Miss Bradford,” he answered after a distinct pause. He kept his face averted from the woman standing a few feet away as he shut the door to the dormitory.
“It’s good to see you again.” Her husky voice, with its accompanying sultry accent, made the hairs on his neck stand up.
Stomping his feet on the thick rug to rid his boots of snow, he pulled off his mittens and stuffed them into his pockets. “Likewise,” he replied in a bland tone. He searched his mind for a suitable topic of inquiry to dampen the lightning effect of her disturbing presence. “How are your sisters?”
“They’re well, considering they’re both expecting and both out with their husbands on cases.”
“Yes, well…” What could he say? He unwound the scarf from around his neck and allowed the silence to linger as he pulled off his knitted cap, hopefully to deter Miss Bradford from further conversation. Perhaps she would leave him alone and…
“Would you like something to eat? Pearl is out right now but there’s some soup heating on the stove. Perfect for this chilly day.”
He tugged off his coat and hung it on the tree behind the door, careful to keep his eyes away from her. “I wouldn’t want you to go through all that trouble, Miss Bradford.”
“I’m still getting used to this cold weather so it’s no trouble at all.”
But you’re trouble. Rounder inhaled a deep, soundless breath.
Not only did he find the slip of a woman trouble with a capital T, Camille Bradford was a dangerous woman. Rounder knew the moment he set his eyes upon her when he first was assigned to the Pinkerton Agency in Denver, Colorado.
Many Chicago agents had been relocated to outlying offices after the great conflagration that destroyed most of Chicago about a month and a half ago. Chicago had been his home for four years. A city full of splendid and marbled buildings with a pace of life that moved with rapidity. How easy it became to ingrain one’s self in the constant activity as the city had grown.
His lip twisted. The Great Fire had destroyed more than his center of employment and hiding place. It had decimated his entire world.
A muscle leapt in his jaw as the image of sad, almond brown eyes floated in front of his mind. They’d beaded with moisture that soon dried to white, salt trails against smooth, weathered skin. Tears he’d refused to wipe away as he used careless, heartless words to destroy the weeper. How he longed to pluck those words from the pathway of time.
A fruitless, useless desire. The great fire took her; she would never know how truly sorry he was. A knot formed once again in his belly at the lost opportunity to make amends.
Pushing away the memory and his self-loathing, he came out of his mental wanderings to find Miss Bradford’s interested gaze upon his person. Licking his dry lips at the steady regard trained on him he said, “I do appreciate your offer, Miss Bradford, but I must decline.”
Her slender eyebrow lifted at his emphatic tone.
Despite the knowledge he had no reason to provide an explanation, he nonetheless said, “I have to write up my report and then meet with Mr. Gordon.”
Heavily lashed golden eyes met his unflinchingly. “Very well then, Mr. Addison.”
Rounder gave a slight bow and then headed toward the stairs. When his foot landed on the first step, he heard Miss Bradford say, “You’re afraid of me, Mr. Addison.”
His fingers clenched on the railing. How could she say that with such conviction? How could she know? “What makes you think that?” He stared down at the waxed grain of the wooden railing that framed the staircase.
“Because I have never known anyone to be afraid of me.” The words hung arrested in the air. “Until now.”
He met her gaze full on. “Fools, they,” he answered in a low voice.
The slight narrowing of her eyes gave indication of her surprise. He said nothing more as he pulled away from the exchange and continued his trek up the stairs. Only when the door to the room he’d selected for the time being shut behind him, did he release the breath lodged within his chest.
Uncanny how the woman struck at the heart of the issue. He could lie to most people about anything but one person he refused to lie to was himself. Well, at least most of the time he was truthful with himself except for those times when being truthful was…
Rounder sighed and stopped that train of thought. No need to go there.
A peppermint stick lying on the night table next to one of the beds caught his eye. His mind returned to Miss Braford and the truth she’d spoken.
He was afraid of her.
When he’d first arrived to the Denver office of the agency, the sight of female agents had momentarily stunned him, but not for long. It made perfect sense to enlist the women. They could go places where men couldn’t. Women were often underestimated by his sex, but not by himself.
Over the years he’d arrived at the conclusion that men erroneously dismissed those who appeared weaker, to their detriment. Rounder learned to never underestimate anyone. Such foreknowledge aided his work as an agent and had rescued him from certain doom.
Most people wouldn’t find anything frightening about Camille Bradford. Quite the opposite. A mulatto woman with skin the color of stripped pine nuts, gently flaring nostrils, and a purely delectable mouth in the glorious hue of ripened peaches. Her smooth, high clear forehead framed a pixie-shaped face with wavy masses of obsidian hair knotted in an unruly bun.
A beautiful woman who elicited admiration in the same way her sisters did. Rounder recalled meeting Arielle Smith and her husband, Caleb along with Brielle Blackburn and her spouse, Matthias. Mrs. Smith’s vivacity carried a striking allure while Mrs. Blackburn’s loveliness bore a particular hauteur.
Miss Bradford’s exquisite façade held, to the unknowing eye, a radiant and encompassing gentleness that many would fall prey.
Prey. The operative word.
Setting down his belongings by the door, he went over to the window, and opened it. Frosty air flowed into the room. Leaning over the ledge, he took in the scenery as snowflakes landed on his head and shoulders.
Below, high snow mounds covered the ground. Across the street, signs of the co
ming Yuletide permeated the atmosphere in various festive ways. The picturesque scene, one that typically gave his mind a measure of peace since relocating from Chicago, failed to soothe him.
The image of Miss Bradford’s eyes eclipsed all else.
Tigress eyes. The eyes of a huntress.
Rounder learned that people fell into two categories – predator or prey. Miss Bradford was a predator. He’d known it instantly. Hadn’t she, in some instinctive capacity true predators inherited, scented the aroma of his fear? Else, how could she be so attuned to his aversion?
Furthermore, most predators had an attractive exterior. They used it to distract unsuspecting prey. Miss Bradford used that quality with faultless expertise. What person could resist the compassion she offered which such abandon?
If it wasn't for her eyes, he would have fallen for her subterfuge. Her tigress eyes bore all the elements of a skilled huntress--mesmeric, alert, and watchful. Whenever her gaze rested on him Rounder knew she saw more than anyone else. He had no understanding how he knew it—he just did. There was an indefinable quality to Miss Bradford, a sixth sense of awareness that she, and she alone, could really see who and what he was.
A gust of biting cold prodded him back inside his room. Closing the window, he shook off the fine layer of snow from his person. He wandered over to the small oval mirror that hung on the wall. He stared at his reflection with pensive anxiety.
It was as if Miss Bradford's eyes saw past his pale skin and into the depths of his mired soul, blemished by a myriad of secrets and sins he wanted no one to discover.
***
Camille stared after Rounder Addison’s retreating figure. His admittance of the fact he feared her watered the seed of intrigue. For it was indeed true – he had every right to fear her. She had the potential to know more about him than he expected.
Camille turned away. “What a fascinating man.”
She’d been drawn to Mr. Rounder Addison from that first moment of introduction. Broad and stocky with ivory skin and thick blond curly hair. The breadth of his chest seemed as wide as a barn. His mercurial hazel eyes had the propensity to alter their color, from a roasted brown to a sparkling green.
What aspect about her had given her secret away? Camille wondered as she began to make her way to the kitchen. Had she slipped it out through casual conversation? Inadvertently said? No, that couldn’t be it. Only her family knew about her gift and neither Arielle nor Brielle would have betrayed her confidence.
The lock in the front door rattled. It opened and a blast of cold air barreled into the house, howling with pleasure. Camille hugged herself as she shivered and came forward. A bundled-up figure stood in the doorway. Yet, even though the figure was obscured from the naked eye, she knew it was Pearl.
“Brrr!” she heard the woman’s muffled voice as she entered, laden down with various parcels. “What a chilly day.”
Teeth chattering, Camille took some of the packages from the housekeeper. “It certainly is. I don’t know how anyone could choose to live here.”
Pearl shut the door and stamped her feet to rid herself of snow as Mr. Addison had done moments ago. The lingering cold raised goosebumps on Camille’s arms. “I don’t think I could ever get used to this weather, Pearl.”
Drawing the scarf away from her face, Pearl gifted her with a bright smile. “Now, Miss Bradford, you can get used to anything long enough.”
Camille smiled back thinking of how true that was. She’d become adept at keeping her ability to herself. As Pearl picked up the wicker basket and led the way to the kitchen, Camille followed behind the woman, seeing the bright color of her soul. Feeling the texture of it like nap of a blanket.
This insight into a person’s inner most being was a gift. Her mother, Roseline, had told her that she’d been born with a veil on her face. Wisdom had it that if the caul, the sac which contained a baby, was unbroken when the child emerged, it was believed such an event gave birth to second sight.
The veil hadn’t fully enclosed her face, but Camille’s perception of the unseen world was as much a part of her as any limb on her body. She could see the color and feel the unique quality of a person’s soul.
It hadn’t occurred to her that not everyone had the ability until she tried to tell her mother about it as a young child. Roseline had gathered her onto her lap and kissed her brow. “You have to be careful who you tell, ma petite cherie. Not everyone would take kindly to your being able to discern some aspects of their soul.”
From what her mother had said, some born with a veil on their face had the ability to see the past, while others could see the future. Since Camille had been born with part of the caul that once contained her infant body, she was only privy to elements of the present.
Everyone’s soul was a painting, a unique collection of colors and texture. Over the years, she’d been privy to a fragmented view of the tapestry made of man’s inner glory.
There were times when the soul wasn’t always visible to her, such as with Rounder Addison. She’d not been in his vicinity for very long so she couldn’t expect to see it, but her curiosity gnawed at her. How would his soul appear to her? Although it was unknown to her, she sensed a heavy darkness upon him.
A heaviness she had a great desire to lift.
“Would you mind setting this over there, Miss Bradford?”
Pearl’s voice drew her out of her thoughts as she took the now empty wicker basket and set it off to the side. Forcing her thoughts away from the man upstairs, Camille asked, “How long have you worked for Mr. Gordon, Pearl?”
At the question, Pearl’s face lighted up, and Camille saw the way her soul glowed. It was impossible to describe the deep intensity of the color of a soul.
“I’ve worked for Mr. Gordon for some time now. He’s a fair man. I do wonder if he and Miss Marianne are ever going to see each other.”
Camille made a sympathetic sound. Pearl chattered pleasantly as she went back and forth in the kitchen putting away supplies and getting ready to prepare the afternoon meal. Camille helped and conversed with her. At least, she supposed she did but really her mind drifted back to the man in one of the rooms above her.
Mr. Addison could certainly use any good she could bring to him.
She paused, her hands deep in dough for the rolls she was helping Pearl to prepare. Why was she so certain that a man like Mr. Addison needed her help? Since the moment they met, he’d rebuffed her overtures of friendliness. Not in a flagrant manner but with cold indifference in those hazel eyes of his.
Perhaps she would have withdrawn her attentions completely if it hadn’t been for the day, two days before the last assignment he went on, that she caught him staring at her. Not with desire, nor disdain, but despair.
“Do you need help, Miss Bradford?”
Camille blinked and started to knead again. “Oh no. I can take care of this.”
With her mind half on making the bread, she thought of how tangible the heaviness of his spirit was. To her senses, it felt like a weight of metal or stone. What burdened him?
“Fools, they,” he’d said before he’d gone upstairs. How very true that was. His fear of her was justified. Just as her curiosity about him was piqued. And she wouldn’t be satisfied until she could discover everything she could about him.
CHAPTER TWO
Rounder avoided contact with Camille Bradford for the next two days through sheer dogged will. He’d met with Archie and went over the details of his last assignment. After which, he’d burrowed in his room, using fatigue as a means of staying put. Pearl, supposing he was sick, offered to make some nourishing food but he declined the offer, desperate to keep out of reach of the Bradford woman.
His mind refused to be so easily swayed. Very rarely did he think of his father but now, on the third day, his sire’s words echoed in his mind. “The human animal can only hide for so long until necessity wills out over survival.”
As he closed the door to his temporary lodgings he knew his re
prieve had ended when he’d come down the stairs. Camille crossed his path once more, a book clutched in her hand. He gathered she was making her way to the library. He paused for an instant, trying to stop himself in time from being detected. She must have sensed his presence because she stopped in mid-stride, turned, and impaled him with those huntress eyes.
“Mr. Addison, how are you?”
Rounder’s slightly unsteady hand tugged at the collar of his suit and patted down the material of his suit coat. He met her bright, interested gaze with as much equanimity as he could muster while his vocal cords tangled themselves in a twist. “I’m fine, thank you,” he choked out.
“Pearl has finished with breakfast already, but I’ll be more than happy to make something for you.”
“No, thank you. I’m not particularly hungry right now.” Rounder doubted if water would make it past the constriction in his throat. Please go away, Camille.
“Very well. Have you been assigned to a new case yet?”
She faced him fully, presenting her pleasing form. He noted, amid his discomfiture, that her small waist could be spanned by the width of his hands. “No. I plan to—”
Like the sudden slam of a shut door, he stopped. Rounder had no desire to tell her of his plans. She didn’t need to know.
“Yes?” Camille prompted with a lift of her smooth eyebrows.
“Nothing. I just have plans.”
Silence reigned as she stood there. Her unwavering gaze caused the muscles in his stomach to curl into knots. Like most predators, her eyes had the ability to both repel and attract. Their appearance may be beautiful, adorned in colors of the rainbow to please the eye but it only distracted.
Once in India, he’d beheld the languorous dance of a cobra before a charmer. The crowd stood by in awe as they watched, fascinated and frightened by the fact that its venom could kill but spell-bound by its allure.
Not that he considered Camille a snake. A man like him, who had more secrets and sins than most to keep hidden, the innate knowledge that this slip of a woman could—
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