“Would it be possible to get a list of names?”
The mayor nodded. “Of course. But with the new outbreak of fever and the subsequent theft of our dearly departed, you can see why we needed extra help.”
“Now look,” Patience’s furious gaze went around the room. “I’m the law in this and you can bet I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to any of the citizens under my care.”
“Yes, Patience, but—”
“Don’t you start with that, Faith,” Patience warned. “I came to your rescue before, haven’t I?”
A long look passed between the two women. Rounder wondered what had gone on. “That’s right, Sheriff,” Mayor Burke finally answered. “But you can’t do it alone, can you?”
The meeting went on for another fifteen minutes before he begged to be excused in order to for them to take their rest. In a short amount of time, Rounder and Camille sat in the wagon with Perky and Cyril who took them to the outskirts of town where they housed Cyril Cuthbert’s Cabinets and Coffins business.
If the house had a personality, it would be of an old woman who’d forgotten she wasn’t young anymore. A sturdy foundation, but the dull whitewash clung to every splintered and cracked board like face paint on wrinkles. The outbuildings surrounded it like group of recalcitrant children.
When they rode up to the front of the house, a woman with brilliant red hair and a limp made her way down the leaning stairs to greet them.
“Red, meet the newlyweddings!” Perky shouted out.
Rounder hadn’t the heart to correct the man as he helped Camille out of the wagon. Taking in her drooping form, he knew she was exhausted. The stress of the travel plus the intrigue of the case must have done her in.
For a moment, he forsook his belief she was a predator and focused on the fact that for the duration of this case, she was his wife and whether of good or ill, he had to take care of her. With that in mind, he bent and lifted her up arms.
“How romantic!” Red clapped her hands together. “You’re going to carry her over the threshold.”
Camille’s golden eyes widened. “Rounder?”
“This is as good of a place as any to carry on tradition, don’t you think?”
***
Exhaustion should have sent Camille straight in the arms of Morpheus. The grueling journey had taken its toll on her. She’d taken advantage of Red’s gracious offer of the twin copper tin tubs to bathe and wash away the physical, mental, and emotional grime of her journey to Lantern.
Her body still hummed with warmth from the scented bath and rinse water. Dressed in a thin cotton nightgown it should have been an easy feat to fall into slumber.
How could she do that when her husband lay not two feet from her in the narrow bed?
Husband. The word trickled down her spine like a trail of cold water. Camille had known that in order to use her ability to help with the investigation she’d have to accept the intimate confines of a marriage without consummation.
She just hadn’t thought they’d be this close!
The bed dipped under his weight. Camille used every muscle under her command to maintain distance between them, even as the dip increased with every movement of Rounder’s body. She had the fanciful thought that she lay on the edge of a cliff. If she let go of her side of the bed, she’d fall. Instead of falling into an endless darkness, she’d land against the hard frame of her husband.
“Are you awake, Camille?”
Rounder’s voice splintered her thoughts. “I am.”
He shifted. Her hand clutched the side of the bed with a death grip. Under no circumstances did she want to fall in.
“I’m sorry there was nothing I could do to spare us this situation,” he said.
“It’s all right,” she replied a bit breathlessly. Her fingers throbbed with pain from the tight grip. “We must make the best of it.”
Rounder said nothing. In order to distract herself from her current predicament, her mind returned to the train ride that had humiliated her.
Most of the time, she’d been bombarded by the sights and textures of the souls around her. Seeing their color glow against their physical forms in a mist-like aura. Sensing the varied textures as they passed by her. Soft, hard, pliable, airy, brittle – it was cacophony of constant sensation.
All except the man who sat next to her. She couldn’t perceive him in any manner beyond her natural senses.
Then that bigoted conductor with the mix of disdain and lust in his eyes had shamed her. The memory renewed the molten heat of that all-consuming rage. She recalled Rounder’s explanation for his lack of fight. On one hand, she could agree with his stance. Had he fought for her they would probably not have made it this far.
Another part of her had been deeply disturbed, and dare she admit, disappointed. On the heel of that, she recalled how he reacted to that awful Carl Fremont this morning. In his own way, he had defended her. But why was he so wishy-washy?
She thought of her father. It was well-known throughout the plantations of the West Indies that should any man of any race cause his beloved Roseline to shed one tear, said man would bring the wrath of God upon his head.
Her father’s devotion had a legendary element to it. Then again Brutus loved his wife. Rounder feared his. According to him she was a predator.
What strange bedfellows we are.
“Camille, there is something I have been meaning to ask you.”
Rounder’s voice startled her out of her musings. “Yes?”
“You are free to say nothing if you wish.”
Wondering what this was about, she responded, “What is it you want to know?”
There was no window in the room, just the thick, murky darkness. She waited for him to speak and once more, he shifted. Her fingers slipped and she felt her hip slid his way. Hurriedly she grabbed the edge once more and clung to it.
A strange note entered his voice. “When you told me of your ability, how did you feel afterward?”
“How did I feel?” What an odd question.
“Yes. You carried this secret with you for many years. Now, someone else knows about it. How do you feel?”
She pursed her lips. In all honesty, once she had revealed all and had his acceptance, she thought nothing more about it. “I suppose I feel fine. I was quite nervous, I guess.”
“Were you scared?”
A light humorless laugh. “Of course.”
“What were you afraid of?”
Her fingers started to go numb, but she ignored it. “I was afraid you would accuse me of witchcraft. That you would tell the entire world what you know about me.”
“You took a risk, a great one in confiding in me.”
“I did.”
Her fingers were starting to slip. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Once again, her husband’s body moved, jarring the bed more now. “After you told me and I held your confidence, how did you feel then?” He must be facing her because she felt his breath across her cheeks.
“I…uh…I felt… unburdened. A huge weight lifted off myself. I felt…free.”
“Free?” There was an odd note in his voice.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” Any moment now, her fingers were going to loosen their hold and she’d fall into her husband’s body. She’d never been with a man before, never been kissed though there had been more than enough opportunity for men who would have loved the honor. Her secret had kept them at arm’s length.
“Maybe it’s the darkness.” There was a light amusement in his voice. “But right now, I want to be truthful with you.”
She stilled. “Do you?”
“You were right when you said I feared you. Part of me still does. A clawing fear that rips at my conscious and orders me to leave you to yourself. When you told me of your ability, that fear only grew.”
“Why?” Hang on, she commanded her hand. Hang on.
“I can’t say. What I can tell you is that there are things I wish for no one to know
. Things that will go to the grave with me. What did Emily Dickinson say? Ah yes. ‘The only secret people keep is Immortality.’”
“But Rounder—”
“When I first met you, I knew you were different, and I feared it. But today, I realized something. Your secret must have been heavy and yet, you trusted me.”
“I didn’t know if I could trust you, but I had to take a chance. You have nothing to fear from me, Rounder.”
“So you say.” The enigmatic statement hovered between them. “I’m not sure if I believe that fully but I want to thank you for trusting me. I am honored and I promise you, I will not betray you.”
She blinked away the tears that smarted her eyes. “Thank you, Rounder.”
“There’s something you need to know. You can also trust me to not take advantage of our situation. You are my wife in name only and I honor that.” A laugh sounded out. “It must be the darkness that makes me so bold.”
“Bold?” she asked confusedly.
“Yes, because I must add a caveat to what I just said. I will be your husband in name only, until you decide you want this to be more.”
Camille’s body flushed from the top of her to the soles of her feet. “If I recall, you were the one to warn me that this marriage is one of convenience.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Then I am a fool.”
Her fingers loss their grip and she slipped. At that same moment, the bed moved and lifted as Rounder got up from the bed. She landed in the place where the heat of him lingered on the clean sheets. His masculine scent pervaded her nostrils. Greedily, she inhaled and then stopped when she realized what she was doing.
“I am a foolish man,” he repeated in a somewhat goaded tone. “A man with secrets and sins that no one must know. But there is something you should know. Tonight, and for the duration of our stay here, I think it’s better I sleep on the floor. I know I said we’re colleagues working together on a case.”
“You did.”
“Before tonight, we were in the company of others. Now, you and I are alone. It’s hard to remember that when the room is perfumed with your scent. That hint of lavender and a fragrance uniquely your own. Knowing a thin cotton gown is the only thing that separates your skin from my touch.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. “Rounder, I thought you only saw me as a predator.”
“I did. I do,” he answered back. “But in this darkness, lying next to you…” His voice trailed off.
Rounder’s revelations forced her to acknowledge that underneath her nervousness lay her own forbidden thoughts. Thoughts about how broad he’d look when she glimpsed at him in his night shirt. The way his blonde hair gleamed like gold under the tiny flicker of flame before he blew out the candle. How his own manliness, an element she tried to suppress from her mind, pervaded the room.
Wasn’t that the real reason why she clung so desperately to her side of the bed? That some latent part of her knew that if she were clasped in his arms…
Heat seared her face. She was glad for the darkness. “Rounder, please.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes. The floor is much better.”
Camille heard the slight sound of fabric and cloth as he presumably settled on the floor. As she relaxed on the bed, she found herself missing his presence. How fickle could she be! Her fingers still throbbed from the death grip on the edge of the bed to keep her body from touching his.
He’d revealed he desired her in a very base manner that many men had. How was she to take such an admission? “Is that why you carried me over the threshold this afternoon?”
“No. You looked bone tired and weary.”
“You had concern for your predator?”
“You weren’t a predator then, Camille.”
“What was I?”
Rounder yawned. “A woman. Though my father would have said there’s very little difference between the two.”
It was the first time, he’d mentioned something personal about his family, but it was too late to pursue it, so she allowed the strange conversation to end.
Tomorrow would be a busy day, one she intended to use to her full advantage as she learned to use her gift in a way she’d never thought possible. That had to be the most important part—not this marriage to a secretive man who intrigued her more than any other she’d ever met.
“Camille?”
She turned her head toward the sound of his voice below her. “Yes, Rounder?”
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t sit the entire time I was on the train. I stood until my legs cramped but I refused to sit on the seat of a locomotive who would treat my colleague…my wife like that.”
Tears once again smarted her eyes and another bout of warmth spread through her.
“Good night Camille.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Absolutely not!”
Camille’s voice nearly shook the rafters of the outbuilding where they stood, arguing in the early afternoon.
A blast of winter wind blew around them, slapping Rounder’s cheeks with cold, invisible hands. “You will do as I say,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to argue this point with you, Camille.”
Camille’s lips flattened into a thin line as she tightened the black shawl around her shoulders. Her light beige skirt billowed out as another gust of wind blew. “There’s nothing to argue about. I am an integral part of this investigation as you are, Rounder.”
“It’s too dangerous.” The door rattled behind them and he reached back and yanked it shut, pulling the bar into the latches to keep it closed.
The cessation of noise cocooned them in the building. Rounder could almost believe they were cut off from the rest of the world.
“Danger does not frighten a Pinkerton,” she retorted.
“Where did you hear that nonsense? No one courts danger with a cavalier attitude such as that! We do not recklessly throw ourselves into a mission, casting all cares to the winds.”
“I can gather the information we need in a way you can’t!” she insisted.
He shifted on his feet one by one, trying to keep warm as well as talk some sense into his wife. Rounder didn’t doubt for a moment Camille had the capability to make a bunch of rough outlaws tell her their secrets.
Yet, his already damned soul would be sent to hell and back before he’d allow his wife to masquerade as a saloon girl.
“Rounder—”
“No, Camille and that’s all there is to the conversation.” The words echoed off walls like the resounding gongs of bells.
Her nostrils flared. “Rounder, you have to think about this. We don’t have a lot of time to try to gather what we can about those men. Mrs. Ashmore is showing signs of fever. Doc Honor knows she’s going to succumb to it. We have to get the information now.”
Rounder turned from the entreaty in Camille’s eyes. They had received word that the town’s oldest resident, a widow by the name of Mrs. Margaret Ashmore, may be the next fever victim. Honor stated that the woman, who had been sound of body longer than most, had started to express symptoms like those that carried the fever.
At nearly eighty years old, there wasn’t much Honor could do.
Rounder was the one who offered to send a message to the woman’s son.
The past two days had been surreal. Rounder found the barrier he had erected all his life begin to fall under the light that exuded from Camille. During their investigation he found himself admiring traits about her that had nothing to with predatory qualities
More than once, his mind traveled back to the night she talked of her freedom. What would it be like to experience the freedom she said she experienced when unburdening her secret? How could his life be different if the truth about himself was known? Would the nightmares cease? Would the weight that crushed his shoulders lift?
Would the fear that plagued him for as long as he could remember ease away?
Though Camille lacked for
mal training, he noticed she had innate qualities that would make her an excellent Pinkerton agent. Archie had been reluctant to let a woman who had not gone through his rigorous assessment to be a part of the agency. When they arrived back in Denver, he’d be pleased to tell Archie his concerns were unfounded.
She had a way of listening that made people want to tell her things. Open and inviting, she bore the same traits he’d seen in hostesses when he’d traveled across the oceans to the grand homes of the English aristocracy. She made people feel at ease and that, more than anything, made her an asset.
Of course, he could attribute her suitability to those predatory qualities—luring, deceptive, and subtle. Father believed all abilities were simply animalistic instincts made to prosper in nature. He’d once would have agree, but not any longer.
It was Camille’s nature to be kind. Kindness was indeed a human trait.
In two days, they had gathered the names of the newcomers that had come to Lantern within the last two months. Meticulously, under his direction, Camille made discreet inquiries into each person. By a process of coordinating their whereabouts with the last known victims of the fever, she as able to eliminate about twenty individuals and four families.
The list was now pared down to four men and the gang of ruffians that stayed day and night in the saloon. Rounder suspected there was more to the ruffians than their never-ending days of debauchery. He always trusted his instincts.
“Your silence is deafening. I’m the best person to go.”
He shook the cobwebs out of his head. “No,” he replied stubbornly, “I’ll go.”
Though he’d never frequented establishments of that nature for his own entertainment, his work as a Pinkerton had often led him within those murky depths. The idea of Camille clad in some gown with her shoulders and bust on display for anyone to see.
His teeth ground again. Was he supposed to let his wife be ogled by men who would be eager to behold that exquisite expanse of skin?
Rounder shook his head vehemently. “I’ll do it. You reach out to the other suspects on our list and see what you can gather.”
An Agent for Camille Page 5
