by Jody Hedlund
“Mr. Cushman,” she said in her iciest tone, “I really must insist—”
“If someone is stalking you, he’ll make it his business to know all the places you frequent.”
Mr. Cushman’s logic made such perfect sense that for a moment she was speechless. He was absolutely correct. The man who’d tried to attack her last week could possibly be among the people milling about the street. Maybe he was even now waiting to spring out at her as she made her way from the carriage to the front door of the bakery.
Mr. Cushman glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes were somber and his square jaw set with determination. “I’m sending the coachman inside for you.”
She managed a nod despite the vision that filled her mind of Arch lying in the doorway in a puddle of blood. Without the quick arrival of the doctor, Arch would have died.
“What do you need?” Mr. Cushman asked.
“The baker will have my order ready.”
He nodded curtly before closing the door. She heard him issue brief instructions to the coachman and felt the rocking of the landau as Davis descended.
Although she’d complained about Mr. Cushman’s insistence on dropping Theresa off at her home early, she could see the wisdom in it now. She was putting her friend in danger every time they were together. The next time someone attacked her, what if they got Theresa instead? Or her mother? Or her father? The thought made her shudder. She didn’t want to be the cause of anyone else getting hurt. Arch was already one person too many.
All week she’d tried to make sense of what had happened. Her father and Arch were convinced that someone had purposefully attacked Arch in order to kidnap her. But if that was true, then why now? Was Big Al attempting to garner revenge upon her father again?
By the time the coachman returned and Mr. Cushman opened the door, her thoughts had tangled into an anxious knot. The coachman’s arms were laden with several bundles wrapped in brown paper, which he proceeded to dump on the seat opposite her, giving Mr. Cushman little choice but to sit beside her.
As he lowered himself, Victoria scooted over as much as possible, but still the weight of his presence was even more overwhelming with him next to her.
“Three dozen sweet rolls?” he asked once the landau began rolling forward.
“No. They’re raisin muffins. And I ordered two dozen.”
“That’s what the coachmen said too. But you’re both wrong.”
There he went again with his arrogance. “I think I know what I’ve ordered. Especially since I’ve asked for the same thing each day.”
Before she could blink, Mr. Cushman was holding a knife and slitting the twine that tied the bundle together. He peeled back the brown paper to reveal creamy white rolls coated with cinnamon and sugar.
“Sweet rolls,” she said, not sure whether to be more astonished by the change in her order or Mr. Cushman’s accuracy in knowing what was beneath the paper.
“Three dozen,” he said with confidence.
This time she hesitated in contradicting him. Instead she studied each of the packages more carefully.
“Actually, to be exact,” he said, “there are thirty-seven sweet rolls.”
The smooth wrap hid most of the contours of the contents. “How do you know?”
“The packages are identical except the one on the left. It has seven instead of six.”
“Open it and let’s see if you’re right.”
He slit the string and the paper, and she quickly counted them. There were seven.
She smiled in fascination. “How did you know they were sweet rolls instead of muffins?”
“The smell of cinnamon.”
She shifted to study him. He wasn’t smiling, but his features had softened a little. “Muffins have cinnamon in them too.”
“It’s not as strong. Besides, the rolls also have the scent of yeast.”
She breathed in the aroma and tried to separate the ingredients the way he had, but they were so faint she couldn’t distinguish any difference. She could only stare at him, her curiosity growing with each passing moment. Who was this man? What was his story? Why was he a bodyguard?
Before she could formulate a question, he spoke. “You’re not going into the hospital.”
She had to fight to keep her mouth from falling open. “How do you know that was my next stop? In addition to your skills at sorting out aromas and counting, can you read minds?”
“I heard you tell your friend earlier.”
She faltered, her next witty response dying before she could formulate it. Yes, now that she thought about it, she had mentioned to Theresa that she was planning to stop by the hospital to visit Arch.
“You can’t go in,” Mr. Cushman said again, peering out the window at the tall brick buildings they were passing.
From the familiar landmarks, they were getting close to their destination. “I deserve to have my way this time, since I’ve obeyed every one of your orders so far this afternoon.”
“Every?”
“Well maybe not every. But almost all—”
“It doesn’t matter. This is a very public place. You’re not going in. Besides, unmarried females aren’t allowed on the men’s wing.”
She wanted to respect his efforts to keep her and those around her safe, but he was much too bossy. “Mr. Cushman, I’d like you to know that I’m walking into the hospital, whether you like it or not. No one made a fuss about me visiting with Arch any other day, and I doubt they will start now.” Especially because her father had donated large sums of money to help in the construction of the newest wing of the hospital.
“The coachman can deliver the sweet rolls to all the men on Arch’s floor.”
Her response sputtered out. How had he known that she’d been bringing baked goods to everyone and not just to Arch? She supposed he was taking a wild guess since she had so many rolls. Even so…
“I know you’ll miss seeing Arch.” His brows angled down into that sad slant, and his eyes took on a puppy-dog look. “But he’ll understand. He’d want you safe.”
For a moment, his gaze was irresistible. Gone was the tough dictator and cocky boss. Instead, a handsome man with devastating eyes was staring at her. The urge to please him rose strong and swift, along with the desire to do what she could to bring a smile to his face.
The landau came to a gradual stop in the carriage-port in front of the main doors of the hospital. Ahead a tall spire with a cross on the top towered above the chapel, which formed part of the front of the complex.
She wouldn’t suffer if she took a break from visiting Arch today, would she? After all, even though Arch had been glad to see her, he’d warned against coming too often.
She bit her bottom lip. “You may be right…”
He turned to the door, but not before she caught sight of his lips quirked in the beginning of a self-satisfied smile.
Ah, so he was playing with her emotions to get his way.
She sat back against the cushioned seat with new admiration for his skill level. When she’d first met him in her father’s office, she’d thought she’d be able to easily sway him. She’d suspected that he’d be attracted to her to some degree and have a hard time telling her no. After all, she rarely had trouble getting men to do whatever she wanted. They were usually eager to please.
But Mr. Cushman had proven much harder to influence than she’d anticipated. The fact that she was both pretty and rich didn’t seem to matter to him in the least. He hadn’t been awed, tongue-tied, or seeking her approval. Instead, he’d been distant, brusque, and all business-like. Until now…
Apparently, if his forceful tactics didn’t work to persuade her to heed his commands, then he had a backup plan that involved using his charm—if it could even be labeled as such. What he didn’t realize was that she was equally skilled in the art of manipulation when she wanted to get her way.
As he began to open the door, she quickly laid a hand on his arm. At her touch, he froze.
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��I’m sure I’ll have nothing to worry about,” she said in a low voice, “since I’ll have someone as big and strong as you right there to keep me safe.”
His attention shifted to her hand.
“Unless of course, you don’t think you’re up for the task.”
His gaze lifted to meet hers again. She was ready with her trademark heart-melting smile and finished off the effect by batting her long eyelashes. She waited for him to blush, go wide-eyed, or even fumble to respond. But he wrapped his other hand over hers and extricated her fingers one at a time. He lifted her hand and gently replaced it in her lap. He patted it as though she were a little child and then opened the door.
She didn’t give herself the chance to be frustrated over her inability to allure him. Instead, she brushed past him confidently and forcefully. Without waiting for the coachman’s assistance, she descended from the carriage. Unfortunately, her legs tangled in her skirt, and she would have fallen, except that somehow Mr. Cushman was already by her side taking her arm and steadying her.
“You can’t stop me from seeing Arch.” She yanked free and started toward the door. She expected him to grab her arm, spin her around, and force her back inside the landau.
Instead he fell into step next to her. “You’re forgetting something.”
“No, I’m not.”
“If you say so.” He swung wide the hospital door and waved her through with a flourish. An antiseptic scent mixed with the sourness of vinegar greeted them. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to eat the sweet rolls.”
She stopped and silently berated herself for her slow wittedness. She was certainly not making a good impression on her new bodyguard—not that she was trying. But she hadn’t planned on making an utter fool of herself.
With an air of what she hoped was casualness, she glanced back at her coachman. “Davis, would you be so kind as to carry up the sweet rolls?” She didn’t wait for his response but continued on her way.
Thankfully Mr. Cushman didn’t smirk, although technically he had every right to do so. From his tense, stiff posture and the way he was scanning the front desk and waiting rooms, she guessed he was too busy protecting her to poke fun at her.
Since he didn’t make any further issue of her visiting Arch, she decided she wouldn’t make any issue when he stopped her at each new stair landing, door, and hallway. At the pace they went, she was pretty sure it would take them several days to reach the third floor, where Arch had his bed in one of the public wards.
But when she finally stood at his bedside with his hand in hers and his adoring eyes staring up at her, she knew it was all worth it. She kissed his cheek, rubbed his bald head affectionately, and then held tightly to his hand as she relayed to him all the day’s events.
“So you see,” she said, smiling down at his pale face, “Mr. Cushman has saved me from death at least a thousand times today. If not for his extraordinary vigilance and his Goliath-like strength, I’d most definitely be dead.”
Arch shared her smile and glanced at Mr. Cushman, who stood across the room near the door with his thick arms crossed, his expression stoic, and his eyes seeming to see everything all at once. The rows of beds on either side of the long room, most of which were full. The doorways on both ends. The tall windows letting in the late afternoon sunshine. The one or two nurses who came and went in their spotless uniforms.
“He’s a good boy, Victoria. Be patient with him while he adjusts to his new job.”
“His new temporary job,” she reminded Arch. “He’s only staying until you’re able to return, which hopefully will be very soon.”
Arch shifted, and his face contorted before he gave a low moan.
She squeezed his hand and waited for the wave of pain to pass. When his breathing grew more rapid and his eyes closed, she glanced around frantically. “Where’s the doctor? I have a patient here who needs the doctor.”
At her declaration, Mr. Cushman stalked across the room, past the other beds, until he stood on the other side of Arch opposite her. “Arch?” Genuine worry laced his voice. “Tell me what’s wrong? Where are you feeling pain?”
After today, she wouldn’t have guessed that anything bothered Mr. Cushman. His emotions and his body were both like granite. But apparently he had a weak spot for Arch, and she liked him for it.
“I don’t need a doctor,” Arch said between gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Arch fumbled for Tom’s hand. When he was finally holding each of their hands, his eyes flew open, first resting on Mr. Cushman and then on her. “This is good.” He smiled, pressing their hands together. “Now I’m feeling better again.”
“Are you sure?” She tried to ignore Mr. Cushman’s fingers against hers, but Arch squeezed them closer.
“Why don’t you make your deliveries to the others and visit with them,” Arch suggested, blessedly releasing her hand. “And give me a minute to talk with Tommy boy.”
“Tommy boy?” She quirked a brow at Mr. Cushman and waited for him to quip back.
He didn’t take the bait but instead pressed his lips together grimly. He was much too serious and no fun. She sighed and retrieved one of the packages from the bedstead where her coachman had placed them. As she delivered the sweet rolls and chatted with the other patients, she could feel Mr. Cushman’s intense attention upon her. Even though Arch had always watched her vigilantly too, this was somehow different. Mr. Cushman was different. But she couldn’t put her finger on exactly how.
Maybe she was more aware of his scrutiny because he was so good-looking. Or maybe he was just too close in age to her suitors, to Nathaniel, and to other men who’d admired her so that it was difficult to distinguish his attention from theirs. Whatever the case, every once in a while when she looked up and saw his eyes upon her, the skin at the back of her neck prickled with strange pleasure.
Once when she glanced his way, he and Arch seemed to be arguing about something. From the firmness of Mr. Cushman’s mouth, she could sense that he was angry. Her father had mentioned Mr. Cushman was a personal friend of Arch’s, but how? Arch was old enough to be Mr. Cushman’s father.
Perhaps that was it. Arch had once told her that he and his wife had never been able to have children. After his wife had passed away, he’d had nothing holding him back from going into service as a professional bodyguard. Maybe without children or family, Mr. Cushman was like a son to him.
“You tricked me,” she heard Mr. Cushman say under his breath as she began to cross the room to retrieve another package of sweet rolls.
Arch smiled sheepishly. “I knew it was the only way I could get you to take the job. I couldn’t trust Victoria with anyone else but you.”
“I’m not a nursemaid.”
Victoria stopped at Mr. Cushman’s declaration, and indignation shot through her. Did he think of her as a child?
Arch started to speak but stopped abruptly and put a hand to the swaths of bandages covering his side.
“Say no more,” Mr. Cushman said, worry lines forming at the corners of his eyes. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”
“I’m fine,” Arch reassured. “And you’ll be fine too. At the end of this assignment with Victoria, I have a feeling you’ll be grateful to me for getting you the job, instead of angry. I’m sure you’ll end up being as fond of her as I am, if not more.”
“I doubt it.”
Even though Mr. Cushman’s tone was low, she heard it clear enough, and it pricked her heart.
At that moment, he glanced at her again and caught her listening to his conversation with Arch. His jaw flexed, but his gaze was unrelenting and unapologetic.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had disliked her or hadn’t wanted to be with her. Normally everyone was vying for her attention.
She sniffed and lifted her chin. It didn’t matter one tiny pin drop if he liked her. He was only a paid servant and a temporary one at that. She couldn’t let him bother her. If he didn’t like her, then she
’d show him that she didn’t care, that she didn’t like him either. After all, she’d already learned that he was arrogant, boring, and unsociable—quite unlikable traits.
Even though she normally treated all her maids and household staff with the utmost consideration and kindness, as her mother had taught her, she’d watched the calloused and cold way some of her friends handled their servants, as though they were invisible and unimportant. She could do that to Mr. Cushman, keep him at a distance, refuse to form any bonds the way she had with Arch.
She only had to put up with him for the next month, and then she would never have to see him again.
Chapter 4
Tom stood near the door of the tiny shop, feet apart and arms crossed. He hadn’t moved for the past thirty minutes, not even an inch. He didn’t want Victoria to know how uncomfortable he was. She’d peeked at him in order to gauge his reaction to the various items that Madame Bisseau had tailored. But he’d schooled his face in a mask of passivity that he’d perfected. In fact, from the blush staining Victoria’s cheeks, it was clear she was more embarrassed by the sight of lacy corsets and drawers and chemises than he was. After all, he’d been exposed to frilly undergarments during his previous assignments.
Even so, he’d still had the urge to fidget like a naive school boy who was seeing such private garments for the first time. He’d nearly sputtered an oath of protest when the silver-haired French seamstress had brought out a silky, floor length nightgown. It had been pure white with a fashionable bustle on the back, along with a train.
But more than that, the gown had been thin. He’d had to recite the Lord’s Prayer twenty-two times since seeing that night dress in order to fight away images of Victoria wearing it.
After that, he’d also prayed more fervently that God would deliver him from this job. He hadn’t had any major problems over the past two weeks as Victoria Cole’s bodyguard. No further attacks. Except for a threatening letter Mr. Cole had received yesterday, there hadn’t been even a hint of a problem.
He hadn’t experienced any emotional entanglements with Victoria either. He’d kept his word to Henry Cole that he would treat his daughter with the utmost professionalism. He’d purposefully put a wedge between them the first day on the job. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes that evening at the hospital when he’d made sure she overheard his conversation with Arch. He’d regretted that he’d had to pain her, but it was for her own benefit.
