Kissing Comfort

by Jo Goodman

  “In the event you don’t realize it,” she said, “this bath is by way of an apology.”

  He opened one eye, his expression wary. “Hackles down?”

  “More or less.”

  Satisfied that she wasn’t going to push him under, Bode closed his eye and slipped lower into the tub. He rested the back of his head against the rim. “How did you know when I’d get here?”

  “Suey Tsin was watching for you. We started the bath as soon as she saw you. She didn’t mention Mr. Travers was with you.” Comfort edged the chair closer to the tub. “Was it awful?”

  The question puzzled him for a moment until he realized she was talking about his conversation with Alexandra. “By the time I arrived, Hitchens had already told her that I’d visited earlier. Whatever relief she felt on hearing that was forgotten by the time I returned. She was unhappy that I hadn’t waited for her this afternoon and angry with me for disappearing in the first place. She didn’t want to hear about Bram, but I made her listen. I was right that she suspected gambling debts. I think she was genuinely shocked by the amount.”

  “She supported the engagement,” Comfort reminded him quietly. “She must have had some idea that what he owed was considerable.”

  “Perhaps I should have said that she didn’t admit to it. I didn’t press her, Comfort. I know from experience that nothing comes of it. She would only say that she was in favor of seeing the engagement through to becoming a marriage because it was the proper thing to do. She mentioned your leveling influence on Bram and that you would do well by him, but she never once hinted that she was looking at you and your family to assume responsibility for his debt.”

  Comfort nodded. “I think it would have been astonishing if she had. It’s one thing for her to acknowledge that Bram has failings of character, but quite another for her to admit that she’s supported them. What did she say about the part Bram played in my abduction?”

  “She didn’t believe it.”

  “Oh.”

  “And when you told her we’re married?”

  “I didn’t.” He opened his eyes and regarded Comfort steadily. “I never told Bram that we were married either.”

  She frowned slightly. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Both of them think that you were here all the time that I was gone. They don’t know where I was, and they don’t know the details of how you were able to get away from the Rangers. Bram knows more, of course, but if he discusses it with Alexandra, he has to admit his involvement. If Mother broaches the subject with him, she risks hearing things she’d rather not know. I don’t think they’ll talk about it.”

  “What about Mr. Crocker?”

  “Bram clearly understands what the man is capable of, and Alexandra knows now that he is trying to collect Bram’s debt. She holds me responsible for Crocker getting into her home and getting so close to Bram.” Bode responded to Comfort’s confusion with a wry chuckle. “If I hadn’t disappeared, she wouldn’t have hired the Pinkertons. She’s angry with me for putting Bram in danger and reminded me that he can’t defend himself.”

  “I’m sorry, Bode.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t unexpected.”

  “It’s oddly complimentary that she doesn’t feel compelled to be so fiercely protective of you. When you left without a word to her, she did whatever she could to find you, but when she has to choose which one of her cubs to shield, she’ll always choose Bram. That’s because she realizes you can take care of yourself.”

  “I know. I came to understand a long time ago that it’s infinitely better to be the son she pokes in the chest rather than the son she coddles.”

  Comfort moved from the chair to kneel on the folded towels beside the tub. “Sit up and I’ll wash your back.”

  “Feeling the urge to coddle me?”

  “I am, and you shouldn’t get used to it.” His low chuckle made the water ripple. Ignoring him, she dipped a washcloth in the water and lathered it with soap. “Lean forward.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bode closed his eyes as she pressed the washcloth to his back. Every wiry thread of tension tugging at his shoulders began to snap or soften. His skin tingled with the sensation. An electric spark skittered down his spine. Groaning softly, he let his head fall forward.

  Comfort lightly scrubbed the exposed line of his neck. Under her fingers, she could feel him begin to relax. It only bothered her a little that she still meant to question him. “Will I have an opportunity to meet Mr. Crocker?”

  Bode laughed. “You have no shame.” He reached back and pointed to a spot on his shoulder. “Right there, please.”

  She pushed his hand out of the way and applied the washcloth with rather more industry than was required. After a few moments of scrubbing, she eased off and leaned over so she could whisper in his ear. “Well?” she asked. “Will I?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said. “I don’t know what he’d do.”

  Bode’s answer wasn’t unexpected. “It seems that he’s no longer interested in me.”

  “And if that’s true, I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Can he really do what Bram said? Take over Black Crowne and sell off the assets piece by piece?”

  “You know he can. He’ll have the backing of the men who hired him. That’s what will move David Bancroft to sell off the mortgages and loans.”

  “He has to notify you of the intent.”

  “Yes, but my only recourse is to come up with the money myself. Bancroft knows I can’t do that. Thanks to Bram, so does Crocker.”

  “When do you think it will happen?”

  “According to Bram, Crocker’s already set things in motion with the bank. He and Bancroft are just waiting for me to reappear. If someone hasn’t informed Crocker already, then Bancroft will tell him after we meet tomorrow morning.”

  “Did your mother know anything about this?”

  “No. None of it. She’s frightened.”

  “I don’t understand why anyone is waiting for you to show yourself. Your mother is still the owner of Black Crowne, isn’t she? If Crocker’s already spoken to Mr. Bancroft, then why didn’t Bancroft tell your mother that he was going to sell the mortgage and call in the loans?”

  “Perhaps because Crocker asked him not to, or it might be that Bancroft knows she defers to me in matters regarding the business.” Bode felt Comfort’s hesitation in the slowing circle of her hand across his back. “You have another idea?”

  “Not really . . .”

  He turned his head to look at her. “You do. Tell me.”

  “I wondered if it’s because she’s a woman. She told me once that men have all the advantages and women bear all the consequences. I think she acts as she does at times so that she might have the advantage.”

  “Are you suggesting something?”

  “Invite her to join you when you go to see Mr. Bancroft.”

  “That complicates the arrangement I have with her.”

  “The one where you take the responsibility for the business and she takes the money from it?”

  Bode’s grin was wry. “That’s the one.”

  Comfort held out the soap and washcloth to him. “It’s just something to think about.” She stood. Her nightgown was damp where she had leaned against the tub. She plucked it away from her breasts and gave the fabric a little shake. When she saw Bode’s attention shift from the soap to her, it was difficult to suppress her amusement. “Don’t be long,” she said.

  And while her retreat was hasty, the look she cast over her shoulder lingered long after she disappeared.

  Bode couldn’t say what woke him. He only knew that it wasn’t Comfort. She was sleeping so deeply beside him that he could hear her breathing. Except for a sliver of moonlight coming through a slender part in the curtains, the room was dark. He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked around. He could make out the chair beside the fireplace and the small writing desk near the window. Closer to the bed he saw the outline of the extinguished oil lamp
, the water carafe and glass, and the shadowed line of the orange stick on the night table. Some light was reflected in the mirror above the vanity and revealed the clutter of small pots of cream, perfume atomizers, and combs.

  Bode’s eyes traveled to the foot of the bed, where an extra quilt lay teetering on the edge in a rumpled mound. He stretched his leg, pushed, and it slid out of view. He stared at the door, listening. When a long minute passed and he heard nothing, he lowered his elbow, and finally his head.

  Comfort was turned on her side away from him. He edged close and matched her position. Once they were spooned, he slipped an arm around her waist. She didn’t stir.

  His nostrils caught the subtle fragrance of mint in her hair. He brushed the back of her head with his mouth, pressing the lightest of kisses against her. Only a few hours had passed since she’d done the same to him. Every time she touched him with her lips, it was as if a bumblebee alighted. He could almost feel the vibration of delicate wings. He never knew if she’d sip his skin like nectar or sting him just a little with her teeth. He anticipated both and found acute pleasure in either.

  She’d moved slowly over his chest, teasing and tormenting him on her way across his abdomen, past his navel, and then following the coppery arrow of hair all the way to his groin. Every part of him contracted now as he remembered how she’d taken him in her mouth. He could still feel her there, hot and humid, her tongue sweeping around his erection, the suck of her mouth drawing him in. He’d had to revise his opinion of what constituted carnal torture, because whatever she’d done before hadn’t been that. Not really.

  He smiled his guarded, secretive smile and touched it to Comfort’s hair again. It was her smile anyway, the one she owned because she knew how to ease it out of him. He closed his eyes and saw her again as she had been so many years ago at her coming-out, her fingers fluttering against her nape, twisting and tugging on the loose strands, anchoring them back into place with her comb. He wondered if she’d glimpsed his smile on that occasion. It had been hers even then.

  Bode sat up suddenly. Squinting, he stared at the nightstand, looking for the one thing he hadn’t seen earlier: the red-and-white tin. It was gone. He gently searched out Comfort’s hands and made certain she wasn’t holding it. When he couldn’t find it, he patted the area around her. He finally risked waking her by leaning far over her so he could see the floor beside the table. He couldn’t make out the familiar shape anywhere.

  “What are you doing?” she asked sleepily, batting him away.

  Bode didn’t answer. He rolled out of bed on his side and went around to hers. Kneeling, he slipped a hand under the table and began searching. A moment later, he did the same under the bed.

  Comfort moved closer to the edge of the mattress and watched him from under heavily lidded eyes. “Bode?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you lose something?”

  “I don’t know.” The sweep of his hand brought him nothing. He lay on the floor and peered under the bed. Except for Comfort’s slippers, which he lifted and shook out, there was nothing there. He sat up and raised himself to his haunches. He was eye to sleepy eye with Comfort. “Did you do something with your tin?”

  “No. It’s right there.” She glanced at the bedside table. “There.” She raised a hand and patted the tabletop. Her fingers found the cuticle stick and nudged the lamp. They did not touch the tin. Comfort’s sleep-worn expression faded in advance of her troubled one. “I put it there. I had it earlier today, but I put it back. It was there when I—”

  “I know. I saw it when I came in.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s what I’m looking for.”

  She pushed herself up and opened the drawer in the table. She took out a box of matches. Bode lifted the glass globe so she could light the lamp. They both blinked rapidly against the burst of fire from the match head. He replaced the globe, and she blew out the match.

  Bode stood, raised the lamp, and looked around. Comfort also surveyed the room. After a few minutes spent in this fruitless activity, he returned the lamp to the table and glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes after three.

  Comfort had followed his eyes to the clock. It made no sense to her that he was awake. Certainly the missing tin wasn’t responsible for that. “What woke you?”

  “I don’t know. Something . . . a sound, I think.” He walked to the window, knelt on the bench, and parted the curtains. It was raining lightly. The nightscape darkened as the fingernail moon slipped behind a cloud. “It might have been the rain.” He let the curtains fall back into place and walked to the door. He was still several feet away when he stopped in his tracks.

  “What is it?” asked Comfort.

  “I’m not sure.” He lifted one bare foot and touched the bottom of it. His sole was damp. “Will you bring the lamp?”

  She threw back the covers and quickly joined him, holding the light where he directed. He pointed to the hardwood floor beyond the edge of the rug. Beads of water trapped the lamplight. “Are those footprints?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He turned and studied the patterned area rug, but evidence that someone had crossed it in shoes wet with rain was impossible to see. It didn’t matter. The best evidence that someone had been in their room was the missing tin. Bode went to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. He held out his hand for the lamp.

  Comfort shook her head. “I’m going with you.”

  He didn’t absolutely need the lamp. The hallway had several gaslights that he could have turned up. She realized it as well but stood there anyway, feet firmly planted until he decided to move. Once he did, she’d follow. “Very well,” he said quietly. “But stay behind me.”

  “As long as you stay ahead of me.” She pretended she didn’t hear his exasperated sigh and held the lamp out to the side so it would benefit both of them.

  Droplets of water were scattered at odd intervals on the floor as though they’d been shaken off the sleeve of a jacket or the hemmed edge of a trouser leg. There was only the occasional stamp of a shoe. The prints they saw were heading in the direction they were coming from. There were none that revealed the return trip. Bode realized the rug had absorbed the last bit of water from the shoes. They could learn where the person had entered the house but not how he left.

  Or even if he had.

  Bode traced the intruder’s steps all the way to an open window in the conservatory. He removed the rod that kept the window in the raised position and closed it. “I think it’s safe to assume he came in this way. I doubt anyone could have heard him.”

  “Do you think he’s gone?”

  He chose honesty over false reassurance. “I can’t answer that until we search the house. We need to rouse the staff and your uncles. Get everyone to start looking.”

  She nodded. “I’ll wake Newt and Tuck. You can—” She stopped because he was shaking his head.

  “We’ll go together,” he said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Comfort didn’t argue. She touched the sleeve of his nightshirt. “Do you think it was Crocker?”

  “Possibly.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. “Probably. Him, or someone working for him. Rangers. Maybe Pinks.” He could see that she was prepared to ask more questions. “I don’t know the purpose behind it, and I don’t know why he’d lift your tin except that he carries the same kind of lozenges. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She released his sleeve. “We should go.”

  “Now you’re reading my mind.”

  In ten minutes the house was filled with activity. Bode organized the servants to search in pairs, and every pair had a specific part of the house to walk through. Newt and Tuck carried guns they cleaned regularly since the war with Mexico but hadn’t fired in more than a decade, and the cook had her meat cleaver, but everyone else was unarmed. With people tiptoeing around the house and then jumping at shadows, Bode would have prefe
rred that Newt and Tuck and Mrs. Hilliard had never picked up their weapons. He kept Comfort at his side with Suey Tsin and Samuel Travers hovering nearby.

  The search went on for more than a half hour. When the clock in the entrance hall struck four, everyone moved to the front parlor to report that they’d found nothing and no one. Tuck dismissed the servants. They were reluctant to return to their quarters until Newt barked at them. They scattered like rabbits after that.

  Tuck set his gun on the mantelpiece and quietly urged Newt to do the same. Newt didn’t realize he was holding his .44 caliber Walker Colt aloft until Tucker stared pointedly at it. He slowly lowered his arm, and his grimace transformed into something approximating sheepishness. He put his weapon on an end table and dropped on the sofa.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Newt said, “but I could use a drink.”

  Comfort started to move to the sideboard, but Tuck put out his hand and forestalled her. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Anyone else?”

  Bode declined. So did Comfort.

  Tuck nodded. “We’ve done everything we can for now. There’s no point in the two of you staying here and watching Newt and me drink our nerves steady. Go on back to bed.”

  Comfort saw that Bode was trying to gauge Tuck’s sincerity. She took him by the arm. “He means it,” she said. “He wants us to go.” She released him long enough to kiss her uncles good night and then led him out the door. “They’ll have one drink, and then they’ll take turns standing guard until morning. It’s what they did when we lived in the mining camp. It’s how they looked out for me. Some things don’t change.”

  Bode glanced back just before he closed the door. “Thank God.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tuck waited until he heard Comfort and Bode on the stairs before he spoke. “Did we do right by not telling them where we went after dinner? Could be that what we did provoked someone.”

  “You mean Crocker,” Newt said. “I thought of that. Figured we’d talk about it and then decide if we should tell Bode tonight or let him find out in the morning like we planned.”