The Bride Found (Civil War Brides Book 2)

by Piper Davenport

  Emma screamed bloody murder.

  “Shh, ma’am, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise,” he whispered gently in her ear, momentarily distracted by her incredible scent—peach, apricot, and sandalwood. Emma’s whimper brought him back to his senses. “Take a deep breath.”

  * * *

  Emma gasped in an effort to catch her breath. Her side cramped in protest from her frightened run and her feet were killing her.

  I shouldn’t have worn these damn boots.

  “Ma’am?”

  I’m losing it. Why am I thinking about boots? I’m in the arms of a possible rapist and I’m thinking about boots? I’m insane.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Good. That’s better. Do you feel better?” He turned her to face him.

  He sounds kind, not at all like a rapist. But, didn’t they always say that? He was such a quiet man. Nice to my cat. Shit, I’m losing my ever-blessed mind.

  She nodded.

  “All right,” he said gently. “Will you allow me to help you?”

  There was something genuine about him, but her mind raced, and logic told her not to believe the kind words and sexy voice. Logic told her to run. She waited until he lowered his arms just enough and bolted again. This time in the opposite direction.

  “Wait!” he hollered. “Come back here. I am not going to harm you.”

  That’s what they all say.

  She ran. Bile rose unbidden as she forced her feet forward, and although she was ready to throw up at any second, she pushed herself anyway. She saw his friend rush out into her path so she tried to zig when he zagged.

  BAM!

  She went down. Emma screamed as she tried to put her hands out to brace her fall, but her bag was heavy and awkward, and she landed on her chin despite her best efforts to catch herself. She dropped her bag and lost her glasses again, so she was now blind and in pain. Through her sobs of frustration, she saw the men jogging toward her.

  CLAYTON HELD A hand out to slow Andrew. He felt a deep sense of protectiveness as he hunkered down beside her, and didn’t want Andrew to scare her. “Are you all right?”

  “Do I look all right?” she snapped.

  “Her feet went right out from under her,” Andrew said from his place above her.

  Emma glared up at him. “I wouldn’t have tripped if you hadn’t been chasing me.”

  Andrew cocked his head to the side. “I was trying to help.”

  She grunted as she tried to slide away from Clayton. He laid his hand gently on her knee and smiled. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Emma tipped her leg away from his touch and nodded. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

  “Which ankle?”

  “What?”

  “Which ankle did you twist?”

  “Never mind. It’s okay.” Emma leaned her body to the side as if to stand.

  “I cannot help you if you don’t tell me which one hurts,” he prodded gently.

  Emma whimpered. “My right one.”

  Peeling off her leather boot, Clayton couldn’t help but notice her shapely leg. “Did you hurt anything else?” He attempted to focus on her injury, not her provocative form.

  “I landed on my chin and scraped up my hand.” Her pathetic tone twisted his heart. “I don’t know where my glasses are and I’m blind without them, which means I am never going to find my way out of here, and now I’ve gone and injured myself, which means I won’t be able to walk to safety, which means I’m probably going to die alone, and that just sucks!”

  Endeavoring not to laugh at her rambling and strange speech, Clayton placed his hand on her dainty ankle and felt the swelling already in progress.

  Andrew bent to pick up her discarded bags. Emma tried to grab for them. “Hey, don’t touch those. They’re personal.”

  Clayton handed her the glasses he’d rescued from the ground. “Ma’am, how are we going to assist you without touching your bags? I must get you out of this street, and if you can’t walk, then I’ll carry you.”

  “You’re not carrying me anywhere, so it’s a moot point.” She slid her glasses on and waved her hand toward Andrew. “Put them down.”

  Andrew shook his head and turned toward the townhouse, ignoring her.

  “Hey!” Emma snapped.

  Clayton slid an arm under her legs and wrapped the other around her waist, lifting her without effort. “You have a nasty sprain and possible break. Let’s get you into the house and determine if we need to call a doctor.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Clayton shook his head and the slight scent of mint carried when she let out a huff of derision. Her body shook and he frowned at the goose bumps forming on her arms. “You’re freezing.”

  “I wasn’t prepared for winter weather,” she whispered.

  “No, apparently not.” He pulled her closer. “Let’s get you inside and by the fire.”

  She didn’t object as he carried her into the townhouse.

  Martha met them at the front door. “Jack’s fixed the fire and gone for ice and Miss Gwen.”

  “Thank you, Martha.” Clayton settled Emma on the chair closest to the warmth. “Please bring blankets and something to eat.”

  “Yessuh.”

  Clayton knelt beside Emma. He lifted her foot onto a footstool and pulled her sock off. Her expression spoke volumes as he tried to feel for breaks. “Can you move it?”

  Emma wiggled her toes, but when she tried to move her foot in a circle, she whimpered and buried her face into the side of the chair.

  Clayton stood and cupped her chin, appraising her face for injuries. “You have a nasty scrape.” He lowered his hand. “I don’t think your ankle’s broken, but it’s definitely sprained. I’m sure you’re in a great deal of pain, but it will heal.”

  She nodded.

  Martha bustled in with blankets and laid them over Emma before Clayton could direct her. “You’s must be freezin’, ma’am. We’ll get you warm afore you know it.”

  Clayton drew his eyebrows together in concern. “I don’t like the look of your chin, Miss Wellington. Perhaps we should send for the doctor.”

  Emma pressed against the sore spot and shook her head. “I think it’s fine. Probably just a bruise. Like my ankle.”

  He crossed his arms and paced the room. “I’ll wait until tomorrow to send for him. However, if it’s not considerably better, I’ll not accept an argument.” Clayton forced the frown from his face and smiled in an effort to make her more comfortable. “Do you like wine?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes.”

  “Would you like some?”

  Emma shrugged. “Sure.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  Emma watched Mr. Hottie leave the room and her gaze shifted to Andrew, who stood holding her bag. A flash of anger covered his face. Emma shivered and forced down the panic as he stalked toward her.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Emma widened her eyes in shock at his tone. “What do you mean? My name is Emma Wellington.”

  Andrew sat across from her. “I heard you the first time.” He dropped her bag at her feet. “What I want to know is who the hell you are.”

  Emma gasped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  Andrew pointed to the bag. “You’re not from this time. Who sent you? Are you here to try and kill Sophie again?”

  Sophie?

  Emma covered her mouth with her fingers. “How do you know my sister?”

  “Your sister?” Andrew sneered. “So that’s your plan.”

  Emma’s stomach churned. “My plan?”

  “You look quite a bit like her, I suppose. I would imagine they assumed you’d be convincing.” Andrew rose to his feet and bent over her. “I know what you’re up to, madam, and I would suggest you let your superiors know that she is safe and as long as I am aware of your time traveling, you won’t get anywhere near her.”

  Emma squealed. “Time traveling?”

&n
bsp; “Not nearly convincing enough—”

  “Andrew Simmonds, why does that poor woman look petrified in your presence?”

  Emma glanced at the beauty standing in the doorway. Andrew straightened his spine and made his way to the new arrival. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good evening, Gwendolyn.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Gwen,” he grumbled. “Nothing.”

  Something secret was exchanged between the two, but before anymore was said, Gwen pushed Andrew out of the way and made her way to Emma. The chill that Emma felt earlier returned with a vengeance as she took in the beauty’s appearance. She wore a gown that looked an awful lot like her sister’s reenactment day dress. Emma couldn’t think.

  Hoop skirts? Time travel? No, no, no, no.

  “I understand you’ve been hurt.” Gwendolyn stretched her hand out to Emma. “I’m Gwendolyn Butler.”

  Gwendolyn, an exquisite beauty with what could only be described as a rich chestnut mane of hair that fell—no, cascaded—to the middle of her back, smiled warmly. She was full-figured with dark green eyes, which bordered on emerald, and flawless skin.

  Emma took her hand but dropped it quickly when she caught Andrew’s glare. “I’m Emma Wellington,” she whispered.

  “Well, you’ve landed in just the right place.” Gwendolyn sat in the chair opposite hers. “Clayton and I will have you nursed back to health in no time.”

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall and then a deep sigh. “Gwendolyn. Thank God.”

  Gwen stood with a swish and Emma turned to the sexy sound of Clayton’s voice. Clayton gave Gwen a hug and Emma stared back at the fire unprepared for the pang of jealousy that hit her.

  Who was she to Mr. Hottie?

  “Miss Wellington has suffered a nasty sprain, and since it would be untoward to have her here without a chaperone, I’d hoped you could assist.”

  Gwen smiled up at him. “I think we should start with moving her to my brother’s.”

  Andrew grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. “No.”

  Gwen pulled out of his grip. “It’s the only way, Andrew.”

  “We don’t know who she is,” he hissed. “I don’t want you in danger.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwen whispered furiously. “She’s a lady in distress, and I intend to help her. You have no say in the matter.”

  “Gwen.”

  Uncomfortable with the conversation taking place in front of her, Emma pushed herself up from the chair. “I think if you people could tell me how to get home, this would all be resolved.”

  Clayton rushed forward and steadied her. “Please, Miss Wellington. You’re safe here.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Emma sat back down and stared up at him. “I don’t know you.”

  Gwen moved Clayton out of the way and sat down in the chair facing Emma. “Miss Wellington, we’re here to help. No one will harm you.”

  Hoop skirts, candles, no cars… just horses.

  “I don’t know you.” She couldn’t bring herself to say anything else.

  Clayton hunkered down beside her chair. “Miss Wellington, we’ll take you to my colleague’s home where Gwen can tend to you. She will be able to find you appropriate clothing and you won’t have to feel unsafe.”

  Easy for you to say.

  Clayton stood and faced Gwen. “Is your buggy in the back?”

  Gwen shook her head. “No, it’s on the street.”

  “All right, I’ll carry her to it and then follow on my horse.” Clayton turned to Andrew. “Are you ready?”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes in Emma’s direction before nodding. “I have one thing I need to do first, but I’ll meet you at Christopher’s.”

  Clayton tucked the blankets more firmly around Emma and then lifted her into his arms. Looping her arms around his neck, she relaxed into his grip.

  He smells good.

  He smiled down at her and a shiver went up her spine. He carried her to the small buggy and settled her inside. “Are you comfortable?”

  Emma swallowed. “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll see you in just a little while.”

  He strode away from the buggy and Emma glanced to the sky, sending up a silent prayer.

  Please don’t let him be a serial killer.

  * * *

  “Jamie!”

  Jamie turned to greet Topper Wade, who ran toward him as though his life depended on it. “Topper? Are you okay?”

  “A wire for you.” He stopped in front of him and panted as he handed him an envelope. “From Mr. Simmonds.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened as he took the note. Glancing at the text, Jamie had to read it three times for it to register. He swore and shoved the note into his pocket. “Topper, I need to speak with Christine. Do you know where she is?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s inside the house.”

  Jamie laid his hand on Topper’s shoulder. “I need your help. Come with me.”

  Jamie led Topper inside and the butler informed them the ladies were in the parlor. “Thank you, Daniel.”

  Pushing the door open, Jamie forced a smile and made his way to Sophie. She grinned up at him and stood for a kiss. “Hi, honey. What are you doing here?”

  Jamie kissed her quickly and then settled her back on the sofa. “I had a minute, so I thought I’d come and see my girl.”

  Sophie sighed and sank further into the settee. “I love having you so close.”

  Jamie caught Christine’s eye and mouthed, “I need to speak with you.” He turned back to Sophie and sat next to her.

  Christine rose to her feet. “Well, I’m going to speak with Mary about something to eat. Are you hungry, Sophie?”

  Sophie shook her head and wrinkled her nose.

  Jamie frowned. “Are you feeling sick?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Always. I’m not really digging this pregnancy thing.”

  Christine left the room and Jamie willed himself not to jump up and follow. He laid his hand on Sophie’s belly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It should be over soon.”

  “Jamie, we should get back,” Topper said and then smiled at Sophie.

  “Right.” Jamie leaned over and kissed Sophie. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “No worries, my love. I have my book.”

  “I’ve been replaced with a book?”

  Sophie giggled. “Yes. Now, go back to work.”

  He kissed her again and followed Topper from the room. “Topper, go ahead and go back to the arena. I’ll be there momentarily.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jamie sped down the hall and into the library. “Christine?”

  “I’m here.” Christine slid from behind the door. “What’s amiss?”

  Jamie pulled the note from his pocket. “Andrew sent this.”

  Christine read the missive and let out a quiet gasp. “Could it be true?”

  Jamie started to pace. “I don’t know. But I need to find out. If it is Emma, then she’s probably scared to death. If it’s not, then Andrew’s right and Sophie’s in danger.”

  “What can I do?”

  He took the note from her outstretched hand. “I need you to watch Sophie like a hawk. I have to go to D.C. and find out what the he—, sorry, what the heck, is going on.”

  “Yes, I suppose you do.” Christine sighed. “She’s not going to like it.”

  “Christine, if I tell her, she’ll insist on going, and if I don’t let her, she’ll follow on her own. I just can’t risk her safety. It’s better she not know why I’m going. I’ll tell her there’s a problem with one of the horses and that I’m needed.”

  “Why don’t you tell her the President has requested an audience?”

  Jamie dragged his hands down his face. “Are you kidding me? If I said that, she’d threaten death if I didn’t let her go. Lincoln’s her hero.”

  Christine smiled sympathetically. “Very good point. I’ll act as
if I know nothing more than her, but will keep her inside as much as I can.”

  “Thank you. Topper can help with Samson.” Jamie started to walk out the door. “Now I need to get to the train station.”

  “James, wait. If it is Emma, she’ll require appropriate clothing.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  Christine nodded. “Why don’t I find an outfit of Sophie’s and pack it for you?”

  Jamie kissed her cheek. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you. I’ll swing by in twenty minutes to grab everything.”

  * * *

  During the ride to Christopher’s townhouse, Emma’s nerves threatened to break through her skin. Her entire body shook, and she forced back tears as they pulled up in front of the red brick structure. Not one car, not one person in normal clothing had been seen as they drove down several streets in order to get to their destination.

  She saw the Capitol Building and the White House, though, so she knew she was in D.C. She just didn’t know how she got there, or whether or not she was insane. Gwen set the brake and turned to face her. “Miss Wellington, we’re here.”

  Emma swallowed and forced a tight smile.

  Gwen took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe here. I promise. My brother is an important man, and no harm will come to you while you are under his roof.”

  Emma pulled her hand away and nodded quickly. She turned when she felt a light touch on her elbow, and for some unknown reason, burst into tears as soon as she saw Clayton’s concerned face gazing up at her. Her glasses fogged up, so she pulled them off and slid them between her breasts.

  Clayton reached into the buggy and lifted her into his arms. “Shh, you’re all right now. We’ll take good care of you,” he drawled.

  The fear she’d been tamping down erupted in the form of uncontrollable sobs, and she buried her face in his neck as he carried her into the parlor.

  Gwen moved two chairs to face each other. “Set her here, Clay.”

  His arms tightened as she continued to cry and he shook his head slightly. “Let’s just give her a minute, Gwen.”

  “I’ll organize some ice.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Clayton’s heart began an unexpected war with his head as he stood in the middle of the room and held Emma until her shaking subsided. Once the hiccups began, he knew the sobbing was over for now, so he settled her in one of the chairs and lifted her foot onto the other. His heart slammed into his chest at the sight of her swollen eyes and red cheeks. Handing her his handkerchief, he smiled down at her. “Everything will be fine, Miss Wellington.”