She’d never done anything like that before, but now she was a Pinkerton, and that was the sort of things they could do. And she’d always wanted to try it.
But if her idiot husband didn’t correct his stupid statement, she wouldn’t be able to sneak anywhere at all.
“Wyatt . . .” she muttered, digging her nails into his arm.
“Hold,” he gritted out, hissing through his teeth. He cleared his throat and turned, spinning Diana with him. “Thank you, Foster. What time should we be down for supper?”
Foster checked the elaborate pocket watch tucked in his plain vest, squinting at it and holding it a little further out. “Oh, I’d say give us an hour or so, sir. The boys will be up with your trunks soon, and you and the missus can change, if you’re so inclined. I’ll send my girl up with a basin and pitcher of water for your needs.”
“Thank you, Foster,” Wyatt drawled easily, his voice smooth enough to calm a whirlwind. “We’re so grateful.”
“My pleasure, sir,” Foster blustered good naturedly, bowing as he backed out of the room. “Of course.”
The door closed, and Wyatt dropped her arm at once. Diana reached up to rub her aching cheeks, letting her fixed smile fade at last. “What were you thinking, Wyatt? You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. We’ve been travelling almost nonstop for days, and you had us exploring every inch of this town before we even arrived here, and now you want to go and be social? We’re both cranky and starving, and sitting in a room of strangers making nice is just . . .”
“Part of the plan, my dear wife,” he interrupted pointedly, sarcasm dripping from the word. “Cranky or not, our assignment requires us to work, and what better way to start than a gathering of several locals beneath our very feet?”
That brightened Diana considerably and she felt her weariness fade at once. “Of course! That’s absolutely brilliant.”
He snorted softly and moved to sit in one of the worn chairs situated at the small table in the sitting room. “No, that’s opportunistic. Basic skills for an agent. Take advantage where you can.”
“No need to tell me what is basic and what is not,” she snapped, her delight fading as she moved to a small mirror on the wall, loosening her braid. “I know very well that I am a novice and that you are oh-so experienced. Whatever training I received in Denver, no matter how expertly given, cannot compensate for lack of experience in the field. So do forgive me, Wyatt, for not thinking of such an advantage first.”
She moodily shook out her hair, combing through the dark strands with her fingers and hissing in irritation when she caught a snag.
“That wasn’t a criticism,” Wyatt said in his usual low tone.
She looked at him through the mirror as she gently worked the snag in her hair. “No? So you were just instructing me?”
He watched her for a long moment, eyes locked on her hair, of all places. Then his blue eyes flicked up to meet her gaze. “It was just a statement, Diana. Nothing more.”
Diana grunted noncommittally, returning to combing out her hair. “You’ve never told me, you know. How you felt about Archie’s bringing us in.”
“How I feel, or felt, is irrelevant,” he replied too-quickly, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms, still watching her. “It’s just like any other assignment. You deal with what you draw.”
Well, that was evasive. Diana smiled to herself, running another hand through her hair, this time shaking and tossing slightly, just to see what his eyes would do. Sure enough, they followed the motion of the hair.
“Deal with it?” she echoed, raising a brow. “And you mean to tell me that you heard the news and said, ‘I’ll just deal with it,’ and moved on? That doesn’t seem like you.”
His eyes shot to hers. “What have you heard?”
She grinned and smoothed her hair. “So you did have a response.”
Wyatt glowered and averted his eyes, mumbling under his breath.
“Well?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I may have stormed into the offices yelling for Marianne, and then got into it with Archie. Got a black eye for my troubles, and split his lip.”
Diana’s hand froze, her eyes widening. She swallowed once. “Well. I’d call that a response, certainly. Quite a strong objection, in fact. You must have been very riled up to attack Archie.”
He shrugged one broad shoulder. “I was, at the time.”
Diana looked at her own reflection, beginning to section off her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t personal.”
Her lips quirked, but still she avoided looking at him. “Oh, I know that. You didn’t even know me then, how could it possibly be personal? How difficult it must have been for you to marry me and then train me, now having a face and a person to put with your very strong objection.”
“Diana.”
Now she met his eyes, pausing before beginning to braid her hair at last.
Wyatt was leaning forward in his chair now, arms braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped before him. His expression was clear and open, his hair just the slightest bit tousled, and his eyes, so blue at the moment, were steady on her.
“It still isn’t personal,” he told her, his tone somehow more gentle than anything she’d ever heard from him. “And my objection, however strong at the time, is not so now. Understood?”
She did her best not to smile, and dipped her chin in a nod. “Understood, sir,” she recited, resuming the braiding.
He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Don’t call me sir. We’re supposed to pass as a happy, comfortable married couple, and nobody in such a marriage would be that formal.”
“As if you would know,” she laughed as she reached for the ribbon nearby. “How many marriages have you had?”
He pretended to think about that, squinting up at the ceiling.
“Wyatt,” she groaned, tying the ribbon tight and turning around to face him. She put her hands on her hips, tapping her foot. “Your wife does not find this funny.”
He grinned at her. “Yes, she does.”
Diana smiled back. “Yes, she does.”
They burst into laughter, the fatigue of the day and their travels making the whole situation more hilarious and absurd than it actually was, but oh, it felt so good to laugh.
Wyatt had an infectious laugh, somehow a combination of a snicker and a full on belly laugh without straying far enough in either direction to be considered such. It rolled like a wave, and was punctuated every now and then by a gasp for air almost too dramatic for the nature of his laugh.
Diana, unfortunately, was more of a giggler, only shifting form when she laughed so hard it was silent and combined with a whining sort of wheeze that was not at all attractive. Her mother had told her time and time again to modify her laughter, but she hadn’t been able to accomplish that yet, and at this point it was not exactly likely that she would get to it.
Besides, she didn’t care what Wyatt thought about her laugh.
Much.
There was a knock at the door, and Diana turned to it, laughter still lingering. Wyatt strode past her, his hand grazing the small of her back in a comforting gesture, leaving a streak of heat there that Diana was entirely unprepared for.
Her throat dried as Wyatt opened the door, and she swallowed hastily, attempting to smile for the two boys bearing their trunks and bringing them into the rooms.
“Can I help you with that?” Wyatt asked the one who carried Diana’s. “My wife does love her shoes, you know, and the weight of them…”
“I beg your pardon!” Diana protested hotly, hands going to her hips.
Wyatt grinned and winked, making the boys laugh. “I didn’t say I minded, dear.”
“No need, Mr. Henderson,” the boy remarked as he moved into the bedroom. “Pa has Amos and me working the horses and wagons, and all the deliveries from the general store. We can handle the trunk of any missus, including yours.”
Amos, clearly younger but
no less burly, smiled at Diana almost shyly. “And it ain’t that bad, missus. Honest.”
Diana smiled fondly at him, then gave Wyatt a superior look. “See?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I stand corrected, dear, and I beg your pardon.”
“Ugh,” Diana groaned, folding her arms and rolling her eyes. “Husbands. Such trouble.”
The older of the Foster boys came back out of the room, smiling in a way that told Diana he was the one the town’s girls would chase after. “That’s exactly what Ma says, Mrs. Henderson. Every Friday.”
“What’s so special about Fridays?” Diana asked, unable to help herself.
“Nothin’,” Amos told her as he came back into the sitting room. “Except Thursday nights are when Pa plays cards with the boys, so he’s always got a fair sore head Friday morning.”
Wyatt chuckled and reached into his pockets for some money. “That can happen with cards. Here you go, boys.”
“Thank you, Mr. Henderson,” they said in near-unison. They both tipped their caps in Diana’s direction, then left the room, closing the door behind them.
Diana looked over to Wyatt, still smiling. “What a pity it is Tuesday and not Thursday.”
Wyatt nodded in return. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Another knock at the door came, prompting surprised looks from them both, and Wyatt opened the door once more.
A small dark-haired girl entered this time, bearing a pitcher, basin, and towel. She bobbed a quick curtsey, her cheeks coloring. “Begging your pardon, sir, ma’am,” she near-stammered in a thick Irish accent. “Mr. Foster said you’d be wanting to wash up afore supper.”
Diana smiled at the young woman and indicated the table. “Thank you, you may set it over there.”
She did so quickly, then turned, directing her gaze only on Diana. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thank you,” Diana replied, fascinated by this small creature, so out of place here. “What is your name, child?”
“Cathleen, ma’am.” She curtseyed again. “If ye need anything else, just say so. Mrs. Foster says I may tend ye if not otherwise occupied.”
Diana nodded, still smiling. “I would be pleased to have you, Cathleen. Here,” she said as she reached into the pockets of her skirt and pulled out her coin purse. “For your good work.”
Cathleen backed up at once. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m not to take tips. I’ve naught to spend it on as ‘tis.”
That brought Diana up short, her brow furrowing. “But surely a little tip wouldn’t hurt, would it? You could get a sweet or something later.”
The girl swept her hands behind her back as if to restrain them, adamantly shaking her head.
Diana looked at Wyatt quickly, and he shared the same ruffled expression.
“Very well,” she told the girl, putting the purse back into her pocket. “I won’t distress you, then. May I give you something else? A ribbon, perhaps?”
There was no frantic refusal this time, and Diana moved to her coat before a word could be spoken. A green ribbon from her earlier ensemble still lay within, and she pulled it at once, folding it neatly. She turned back and handed it to the girl, whose hands crept out from behind her back to gingerly cup it. “A token of my thanks, Cathleen,” Diana murmured. “And you needn’t tell anyone about it. Our little secret.”
Cathleen’s eyes lit up briefly, then darted towards Wyatt. “What about him?” she asked, her head cocking in his direction.
Wyatt covered his mouth to hide his smile, and Diana did not bother hiding hers. “We can trust him. He’s my husband, and a good sort. He won’t tell.”
Cathleen nodded, her fingers curling around the ribbon before tucking it into the pocket of her smudged apron. “Aye, ma’am. I’d best be off. Mrs. Foster will be wantin’ me to help with supper.” She bobbed to Diana, then to Wyatt, with slight hesitation, then darted out the door.
Diana stared after her for a minute, then looked at Wyatt, no longer smiling. “There is something about that I don’t like.”
“I agree,” he rumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t like it at all.” He looked back at her, expression clearing. “Well, should we change out of our travelling clothes before we go down?”
“Please,” she begged as she brushed at the dust on her sleeves pointedly. “I don’t know where you got these, but I don’t think they were clean when we put them on.”
“Probably not. Serves our purposes, though.” He hooked his thumb into the waistband of his trousers, giving her an almost smug smirk. “Then we can go downstairs and start investigating. But, of course, if you’re too tired, I can do this part myself.”
Diana glared at him, then marched into the bedroom towards her trunk, shutting the door firmly on the sound of his pleasant laughter.
He was impressed, he was honest enough to admit that much. He’d not known many women in his life, but those he had known would in no way be able to change their clothing and make themselves presentable in the space of twenty minutes.
Yet Diana had done so.
She stood before him in a green and blue striped calico, her braid pinned into a simple yet elegant style he couldn’t remember the name of, and though the dress kept to their story of simplicity, there was nothing at all simple with how it fit her, or the air of elegance it gave her.
Or perhaps that was just the peculiar tilt of her chin.
She brushed off the skirts, completely unaware that he was staring, then fidgeted with the black ribbon at her throat. “If only I had an embroidered handkerchief, I would be the perfect lady of the middle class.” She met his eyes with a wry grin, her green eyes alight with mischief, then winked.
He cleared his throat and straightened. “Well, you may not have a handkerchief, but you do have a gun, yes?”
Her grin spread further, her perfect lips parting almost evenly over her teeth. “I do.”
“Going to tell me where?”
Diana shook her head, still smiling. “Not yet.”
Something in her tone amused him. “Maybe someday?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Maybe.”
Wyatt chuckled, shaking his own head. “Fair enough. Ready to make our entrance, Mrs. Henderson?”
Diana immediately turned more docile, though hardly mouse-like. “I am, Mr. Henderson. Get to know the townsfolk?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replied with a nod, moving to the door. “Ask questions, but don’t seem overly inquisitive. Keep your eyes open and see who leaves an impression.”
She nodded without the slightest hint of reservation. “I believe I can manage that. I’ve been observing people for ages and finding out the most extraordinary things.”
Wyatt turned to look at her over his shoulder. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.” He nudged his head towards the door. “Come along, then, wife.”
“Yes, husband,” she replied as she marched with an almost eager bounce in her step towards the door.
“Oh, now you’re going to play obedient wife?” he remarked as they moved into the hall. “How convenient.”
Diana nudged him hard in the side, demonstrating excellent use of exceptionally sharp elbows. “Stop that. They don’t know the circumstances under which we were married, and I’m not particularly inclined to give any inclination that we are anything but a perfectly happy couple considering an extended stay in this lovely part of Indiana.”
Wyatt had to smile at her tone as she described the area. It wasn’t at all an unfortunate place, and the people they had met thus far had been warm enough. If Diana thought this place was less than lovely, she should have seen parts of Texas, Oklahoma, Wyoming… Really, any area in the country had parts that were less picturesque than others, and the further one went into the west, the more barren the land became.
But he would allow that New Albany, Indiana was not Baltimore, Maryland.
If they had time in the next few days, he’d take his wife for a drive down toward
s the river. He suspected there would be beautiful spots aplenty that would change her mind about things.
He frowned, his footsteps echoing in his ears. He was on assignment, why was he making plans with Diana in his mind as though she truly were his wife and they had the leisure to do as they pleased?
This was the problem with women as agents and partners.
Everything became so much more muddled.
Yet as the pair of them made their way down the stairs, he found himself feeling the same sense of unity, calm, and clarity he always felt before a mission, particularly when he had a skilled partner by his side. One in whom he trusted and could work well with.
An Agent for Diana (The Pinkerton Matchmaker, Book 10) Page 4
