A Match of Wits

by Jen Turano

  “Have you consulted a different doctor, one who might be more proficient in the art of setting bones?”

  “Of course I have, but the only option available to me is to have the surgeon rebreak the leg in order to reset it. There’s no guarantee that will work, and I’m not exactly keen to go through that type of trauma again.”

  “But if it would allow you to walk better and, perhaps, ease the pain, don’t you think you should consider it?”

  “No.” He held up his hand when Agatha opened her mouth, effectively cutting off the argument she’d been about to make. “Why did you believe Helena was dead?”

  Agatha blew out a breath. “That was the only conclusion I could come up with to explain your appearance and your somewhat disagreeable attitude. I assumed you’d suffered a tremendous shock. Death is one of the greatest shocks of all, hence the reasoning behind believing Helena to be dead.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “Although, now that I think about it, Helena’s demise probably wouldn’t be a huge shock to anyone since she always possessed such a delicate nature.”

  “Helena’s delicate nature seems to have been a figment of her imagination.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Zayne’s eyes turned a little stormy. “When I arrived out west two years ago, I was delighted to discover Helena had put her fragile ways behind her. I foolishly believed we’d finally be able to embrace an active future together, but then I began to realize Helena was different. She was no longer the girl I’d known since childhood.”

  “And that’s why you broke off your engagement—because she was different, or . . . because you were furious with her for causing your injury?”

  “We never got around to getting officially engaged, and I didn’t break off our association—she did.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Quite honestly, neither did I at first, but I’m growing weary of this topic and no longer care to discuss Helena.”

  Agatha’s teeth clinked together. “You’re the one who brought her into the conversation, so we’re going to continue discussing her until I’m satisfied I understand exactly what caused me to find you in such a sorry state.”

  “You’re beginning to irritate me.”

  She arched a brow.

  Zayne glared at her for a moment before he shrugged. “Fine, if you must know, Helena wasn’t happy to see me when I arrived out west.”

  “Wasn’t it always the plan for you to join her?”

  “I thought it was, but apparently I was wrong, because she appeared downright surprised when she came to the door and found me standing on the other side.”

  “Didn’t you let her know you were coming?”

  “I sent her a telegram, but . . . if you’ll recall, I’d sent her numerous telegrams stating I was leaving New York, but events kept happening that delayed my departure. It might have been that she didn’t believe me anymore. Truth be told, the only people who greeted me with any enthusiasm at all in California were Helena’s parents.”

  “I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Collins were delighted to see you. Every parent with unmarried daughters dreams of adding a son from the illustrious Beckett family to their household. Even my parents pushed me quite diligently in the path of your brother before he made the acquaintance of Eliza.”

  “You and Hamilton would never have made a match of it, even if Eliza hadn’t entered the scene.”

  “True, but my mother didn’t see it that way.” She smiled. “But enough about me and your brother and the courtship that never was. We need to return to the Helena situation.”

  “There really isn’t much more to say about the lady.”

  “I beg to differ. What happened after Helena got over her surprise at finding you in California? Did you ever discuss a wedding?”

  “She was rather evasive about the matter.”

  “Didn’t that concern you?”

  “I didn’t give it much thought.”

  “Were you still considering marrying her at that point?”

  “Of course I was. I’d told her back when we were six years old we’d marry someday.”

  “I don’t think any gentleman can be held to a promise he made when he was all of six years old.”

  “True, but Helena brought up my old promise when we were seventeen.” Zayne looked down and began fiddling with the reins. “She asked me if I still intended to honor what I’d promised her in our youth. Since she broached the matter right after her doctor told her she’d have to abandon her desire to have a debut, I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. I was her only hope of obtaining a secure future, and I couldn’t deny her that. We were friends, you see, or at least I thought we were.”

  Agatha’s heart gave a tiny lurch. Here was the reason why she’d never been exactly successful pushing Zayne out of her mind. Though seemingly oblivious to the nature of some women, he was inherently honorable and chivalrous. He’d been willing to set aside his own desires, not that he’d ever spoken of those to her, in order to ease the distress of a friend, even if that friend didn’t deserve him or—

  “Maybe things would have turned out differently if I’d gotten around to formally proposing to Helena once I landed in California.”

  Agatha felt the oddest urge to laugh. “You truly never proposed to her?”

  “Well, yes, when I was six, but again, it wasn’t exactly what anyone could call a formal proposal.” He frowned. “I don’t think I even proposed when we were seventeen. I was at that awkward stage, and wasn’t really sure what to do around girls.”

  “From the sound of it, I’m not certain you’ve grown out of that awkward stage,” she muttered.

  “Nonsense, I’m a connoisseur when it comes to the ladies.”

  “Hmm . . . if you say so, but getting back to the whole proposal situation. Do you really believe Helena left you because you didn’t get down on bended knee?”

  “It’s hard to say at this point, although I’m fairly certain her decision to leave me had something to do with that other man.”

  “Other man?”

  “Indeed.”

  “You might have mentioned that a little sooner, Zayne. It puts a whole different perspective on your situation.”

  “Really?”

  Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Agatha nodded instead. “You’re not very good at explaining this mess, so I’m afraid you need to back up a bit and give me better details. When did this other man come along, and how did Helena get involved with him in the first place?”

  “Do we really have to continue with this discussion? It’s not a particularly happy period in my life.”

  “We can always discuss dynamite instead. As I mentioned before, I’m very interested in learning how to ignite it.”

  “I started to get a few suspicions when Helena and I left to go on holiday,” Zayne began quickly. “She wasn’t exactly excited about leaving town with me and was somewhat sulky up until my accident. After I began to slowly recover, I couldn’t dismiss the idea any longer that something was definitely amiss between us.”

  “Don’t tell me she brought up this other gentleman while you were recovering?”

  “Not right away, but she was crying more than usual, and I assumed that stemmed from the fact she felt obligated to stay by my side as I healed. Helena’s never been one to put the needs of others before hers.” He reached out and began rubbing his bad leg.

  “Once my cast was removed and it became clear I wasn’t going to regain the full use of my leg, events quickly turned dismal. Helena’s weeping intensified, and then, one day, out of the blue, she blurted out the little tidbit that she’d made a horrible mistake. She didn’t love me, and could not stay and nurse me another second because the stress of it was causing her to lose her hair. Then there was the pesky matter of her true love. She told me she couldn’t bear to be parted from her secret beau another second.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. She raced off to join her love, a
nd I never saw her again. Her parents did, however, visit me to profess their extreme disappointment with their daughter. They tried to convince me she’d change her mind, but by that point I’d had enough of Helena to last me a lifetime. I packed my bags and left California.”

  A sharp whistle suddenly sounded from behind them. Turning, Agatha settled her attention on Mr. Blackheart and Mrs. Swanson. They’d stopped a few yards away from Zayne’s wagon, and both of them were looking decidedly put out.

  “I do beg your pardon for interrupting,” Mr. Blackheart drawled as he, strangely enough, reached over and slapped Mrs. Swanson’s arm before he looked back at Agatha. “But Mrs. Swanson and I are getting eaten alive out here. Do you think it might be possible for us to move along?”

  Agatha winced. “Forgive me. Zayne and I were just catching up, and I’m afraid I forgot you were following us.”

  “That certainly makes me feel all fuzzy inside, but I’m going to suggest you catch up while you’re moving. It’s hot out here, and I think my nose is beginning to blister.”

  “You could always borrow Agatha’s hat,” Zayne called, but he turned back and flicked the reins over the mules when Mr. Blackheart sent him a glare. “Charming man, your Mr. Blackheart.”

  “He’s not my Mr. Blackheart, and charming is certainly not an adjective I’ve ever used when describing him,” Agatha retorted. “Besides, I didn’t have a choice about bringing him out west with me.”

  “Ah, wonderful. We can finally turn the conversation to you,” Zayne said. “I’ve been waiting with bated breath to discover exactly why Mr. Blackheart has been hired to guard you. You haven’t done anything crazy lately, have you?”

  “Define crazy.”

  A rusty laugh escaped Zayne’s mouth. “Strange as this may sound, I’m delighted to learn you haven’t changed a bit since we last saw each other.” He returned his attention to the road, a small grin teasing his lips.

  The sight of that grin sent another ache through Agatha’s heart. The Zayne she’d adored, even though she’d resigned herself to the idea they were only meant to be friends, was still there, albeit buried beneath layers of pain and disappointment.

  From out of nowhere, as she sat in the midst of the evergreen trees, she suddenly knew what she was meant to do—knew it as if God had leaned over and whispered explicit instructions in her ear.

  She’d been sent west to save Zayne, to bring him back to the man he’d been before he’d left New York to join Helena.

  Zayne was a social gentleman. He thrived when he was in the midst of good company, and it was going to be her new mission in life to help him reclaim his affable self. Her compulsion to explore Colorado had obviously been God’s way of sending Zayne the assistance he so desperately needed.

  However, she had the sneaky suspicion Zayne wouldn’t appreciate her racing to his rescue. That would injure his pride and offend his chivalrous nature, but . . . perhaps she could use that nature to her advantage.

  He’d never once disappointed her when she’d requested his participation in some of her madcap plans. She’d always known his agreement had stemmed from a desire to keep her safe, which meant all she had to do was stir up that old desire.

  Garnering his cooperation would be difficult though. He’d always been stubborn, and if he realized what she was trying to do, he’d probably turn difficult. Turning her head away from him, she practiced a few flutters of her lashes before she turned back to him, placed her hand on his arm, released what she thought was a credible sigh of distress, and—with eyes she’d forced as wide as they would go—batted her lashes at him.

  “I’m hesitant to tell you this, given your troubles at the moment, but . . . someone back in New York wants me dead.”

  She felt his arm stiffen under her hand. “Dead?”

  Sending him another flutter of lashes, she added a small sniff for good measure. “Indeed. I’m beyond distressed about it.”

  He held her gaze for what seemed like forever, and then, to her complete disgust, he began to laugh . . . uproariously.

  Her eyes went from wide to mere slits in a flash. “Did you not comprehend what I just divulged?”

  Swiping a hand over eyes that were watering, Zayne let out a snort. “It’s a good thing you’re a talented writer, Agatha, because you’d never find success on the stage.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re suggesting.”

  He grinned. “I know you, my dear, know exactly how you like to manage people. You’ve decided I need saving, but you might as well put that idea right out of your diabolical mind.”

  Annoyance chugged through her veins, and not all of it directed at Zayne. She had forgotten how well he knew her, which meant this whole “saving him” idea had just gotten remarkably tricky.

  “What gave me away?”

  “The innocent look and, well, the wide eyes.” He laughed again. “Oh, and the ridiculous distressed business. I don’t think you’ve ever been distressed a day in your life. You also could have come up with something better than the whole someone-wants-me-dead nonsense.”

  “I knew as soon as that distressed part came out of my mouth I’d made a mistake,” she muttered before she brightened. “But someone really does want me dead. I wasn’t making that up.”

  Zayne’s lips immediately thinned into a straight line. “Who?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have been forced out of the city.”

  “You really were forced out of the city?”

  “Forced might be a bit of an exaggeration, since my editor was looking for someone to write articles about the West right about the time the threats began to escalate. Theodore brought Mr. Blackheart on board to travel with me and keep me safe while he’s been continuing to investigate the threats back in New York. I’ve been traveling longer than anticipated because there’s been little progress made in tracking down the culprit who wants to see me harmed.”

  “And the reason it’s been so difficult would be . . . ?”

  “I’ve annoyed quite a few people,” Agatha admitted. “It’s amazing how testy people get when I write articles that don’t show them in a favorable light.”

  “Maybe it’s time you stopped writing.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out for a few seconds. “Writing is my life.”

  “It sounds to me like it might become your death.”

  “Which is exactly why you should offer to assist Mr. Blackheart with keeping me alive, especially since my journey out here has become somewhat tedious and I long to return to New York.”

  “I’m not going back to New York.”

  “Why not?”

  Ignoring her question, Zayne turned the wagon off the dirt road and onto a path so rutted it made speech next to impossible.

  “Our discussion is not over,” she yelled through teeth that were clinking together with every rut, trying to be heard over Matilda’s sudden squeals of terror. She tightened her grip on the seat, and just when she felt she couldn’t hang on for another second, Zayne pulled on the reins and the mules stopped. She heard Mr. Blackheart’s wagon rumbling up behind them and turned to watch as her bodyguard and companion pulled up beside them. Mrs. Swanson was sitting stiff as a poker on the wagon seat, not a single hair out of place and looking completely composed.

  “That was enjoyable,” Mrs. Swanson exclaimed, stepping lightly to the ground before she strolled over mounds of dirt, stopping beside Agatha. “You’re looking a little peaked, dear, and . . . annoyed.”

  Taking Mrs. Swanson’s offered hand, Agatha stepped from the wagon on shaky legs. “I’m looking peaked because I thought I was about to come to a rapid end due to Zayne’s abysmal driving skills. And I’m annoyed because he had the audacity to suggest I give up my writing and he refuses to consider helping Mr. Blackheart protect me.”

  “You’re being overly dramatic,” Zayne said as he accepted Mr. Blackheart’s assistance from the wagon, although he seemed to do so rather reluctantly. He wobbled for a mom
ent as he grabbed a cane from under his seat and steadied himself. “It was due to my exceptional driving skills that we were able to make it up here alive.”

  Mr. Blackheart’s brow furrowed. “Forgive me, but I think you’re both being overly dramatic. We have mules pulling the wagons, not stallions, so in actuality, our lives were never in danger given the plodding nature of the beasts.”

  “It didn’t feel like plodding to me,” Agatha retorted before Matilda’s whimpers caught her attention. “And it evidently didn’t feel like plodding to poor Matilda.” Hurrying to the back of the wagon, she snagged the pig’s leash and gave it a tug, but Matilda wouldn’t budge. “Come on, darling, it’s time to get you out of there.”

  Matilda let out another whimper and staunchly refused to move.

  “How about if I promise that we won’t ride back with nasty old Zayne, but with Mr. Blackheart? He won’t try to kill us.”

  “I wouldn’t be so certain about that,” Mr. Blackheart muttered, brushing Agatha aside as he climbed into the wagon, plucked Matilda up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, jumped out, and placed the pig in a pile of dirt.

  Matilda squealed, scurried out of the dirt as fast as her stumpy legs would carry her, and didn’t stop until she found a miniscule patch of grass. She plopped down, wiggled for a moment, and closed her eyes.

  “Hmm . . . imagine that, she doesn’t care for dirt, which certainly explains why she doesn’t like farms,” Agatha began. “But I—”

  “Matilda’s preferences aside,” Mr. Blackheart interrupted, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist we take our immediate leave. This place, while certainly charming with all its loose rocks and wild animals probably lurking just out of sight, is a certain recipe for disaster, especially for someone like you, Miss Watson.”

  Not giving her an opportunity to refute that incredibly insulting statement, he gestured up the mountain to where jutting timbers marked the entrance of the mine. “I hope you won’t take offense at this, Mr. Beckett, but you are, without a shadow of a doubt, an idiot.”