“Take me to the next train station. I’ll tell my fiancé this was a ruse to throw Papa off my trail.”
“There’s no turning back. You need to reconcile yourself to that.”
Emma fought the tremor in her voice. “You are a heartless rogue.”
“And you are not at all what I expected.” The way he looked at her, it seemed he could see into her very soul. “You’re nothing like the women Staton usually prefers.”
Her mouth tightened. “I’m not surprised you are aware of my fiancé’s name. But to suggest you know anything about Frederick—especially matters of such a personal nature—I cannot imagine how you would have come by such knowledge.”
“I know more about the man than I ever wanted to—probably more than you do.” His mouth flattened into a grim line. “I know enough about Staton to hate the son of a bitch.”
Chapter Four
Emma drew back. Fear, stealthy and venomous, coiled in her belly. Don’t surrender to it. Her captor wanted to unnerve her. He could control her if she were cowed by fright.
Forbidding herself to look away, she folded her arms at the waist like a makeshift shield.
“How dare you refer to Frederick in that manner?” Her words came out less forcefully than she’d hoped, but she’d maintained eye contact. If there was one thing she’d learned from Papa, it was the importance of looking an enemy straight in the eye.
“My apologies,” he said in a gravel-edged tone that contradicted his words. “I shouldn’t have used such language in the presence of a lady.”
“I am not referring to your language.” She clipped the words between her teeth.
“I only spoke the truth. I can’t say I give a damn whether or not you cared to hear it.”
Emma cocked her chin and added a little huff for emphasis. She wouldn’t let him see how he’d rattled her. She’d crush the seed of panic before it could take root in her core.
“I cannot imagine Frederick would associate with your kind.”
“Tell yourself that.” A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw. “Tell yourself I’m lying.”
The heat of his scrutiny warmed her cheeks. “I don’t believe a word out of your deceitful mouth. You are lower than a common thief, a coarse ruffian who preys on women.”
He drew in a sharp breath, his mouth lifting in a half-smile. Whiskey-tinted eyes gazed directly into hers.
“For your sake, let’s hope I’m not the brute you believe me to be.”
* * *
Mr. Charming presented a simple dinner of boiled potatoes and smoked ham as though it were a feast. He ushered Emma to an unvarnished pine plank table he’d laid out with tin plates and cups filled with spring water. At least this man had some semblance of hospitable instincts. One certainly could not say that about Desperado.
“It’s simple fare, not fancy like what you’re used to eatin’ at home, but it’ll keep your stomach from gnawin’ on your backbone in the middle of the night.”
Her pride whispered a refusal, but her growling stomach overruled it. She nodded her agreement and met his half-smile with a simple, “Thank you.”
“There’s a basin and pitcher you may use to wash up.” Mr. Charming pointed to a small table in the back of the cabin. “I’m sure a lady like you is particular about her habits.”
“Thank you,” she murmured again, swishing by him as she made her way to the wash stand.
“Small comforts mean a lot in a situation like this.” His smooth drawl held no trace of mockery.
“And after supper, my partner has arranged a string quartet to serenade you.” Desperado lounged against the doorframe. “We wouldn’t want you to long for the comforts of home.”
She shot him a glance over her shoulder. If the arrows in her gaze had been real, he’d have been a dead man.
“I regret the quartet was not a possibility.” Mr. Charming’s solicitous tone had disappeared, replaced by raspy notes that sounded as though he’d suppressed laughter.
“Any chance of securing a trio, then?” Desperado flung another humor-draped dart. Pity he wasn’t hungry enough to fill his mouth and stop talking. “Or a traveling theater troupe? We wouldn’t want Miss Davenport to be afflicted with boredom during her stay at our humble abode.”
“Actually, I’ve had quite enough of the theater in recent weeks, and unless there’s a possibility of a pianist transporting an instrument to this ever-so-charming place, I won’t mind being deprived of a musical performance.” She flashed Mr. Charming a smile and ignored Desperado. “In any case, I assure you I can endure a bit of peace and quiet until dawn.”
“And what happens at dawn, Miss Davenport?” Desperado prodded. Sprawling into a chair, he leaned back and laced his hands behind his head.
Lingering over the basin, she scrubbed at her hands, bit her tongue, and stalled for time. The prospect of sitting down to a meal with her captors was bad enough. But she’d no intention of engaging in a volley of taunts with the heathen who’d taken her from the train. His last barb turned loose a swarm of angry bees in her stomach, but she plastered on a bland expression and faced him.
“Why, I presume the sun will come up. Doesn’t it always?”
Mr. Charming laughed, a hearty, good-natured sound, and held out her chair. He waited for Emma to situate herself before taking a seat across from her. Desperado somehow managed to scowl and shovel a forkful of potatoes into his mouth at the same time. Quite a feat, indeed.
“This isn’t some cotillion,” Desperado remarked between bites. “Next thing you know, you’ll be vying for a spot on her dance card.”
Before his more mannerly comrade mustered a reply, Emma turned her sweetest gaze on Mr. Charming and batted her lashes at full, man-baiting force.
“I must say, you’ve put together a lovely meal under what must be challenging conditions. Your kindness is greatly appreciated.”
“It’s nothin’ special, ma’am. Just a little somethin’ to fill our bellies.”
She made a show of taking a dainty bite of overcooked potato. “It’s quite delicious. I must say I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“I can fetch you some salt if you’d like. Or a little pepper.”
“No need. These are delicious as is,” she said with enough sugar to flavor a pecan pie, then choked down another bite.
Desperado sent a doubting glance her way as she gulped a drink of water to wash down the pasty starch. “Just as good as your cook in Washington, huh?”
His dark brows arched. Was he was teasing her?
“Mrs. McGinty never made anything that tasted like this.” She threw in a smile for good measure before turning her attention back to Mr. Charming.
“I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ it, ma’am.”
The man’s sapphire gaze fixed on her. Her flattery was working. If she could appeal to his good-natured instincts, she might garner his sympathy. Convincing him she was a damsel in distress might inspire him to play the white knight, even if it meant betraying his partner.
“For heaven’s sake, please stop calling me ma’am. It makes me feel like you’re talking to your grandmother.”
She pressed her lips into what she hoped looked like an appealing bow. Flirtation had never become an art for her. It seemed more a skill she’d mastered with mechanical precision, just as her dancing lessons had helped her acquire the basic steps of a waltz with no hint of true rhythm or grace. One-two-three. One-two-three. Bat your lashes and wait for him to take the lure.
“No one would ever confuse you with my grandmother, ma’am.”
Desperado shook his head. “I should hope not. The woman’s been dead for years.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, before Mr. Charming could snap back a retort. “I’m sure she was a lovely woman.”
“That she was, ma’am…I mean, Miss Davenport.”
“And what may I call you?”
She’d expected him to hesitate, but he responded without hesitation. “Steve, ma’am.”
>
“As in Steven?”
After he nodded, she turned her attention to his partner. “And you?”
He shrugged, seeming to debate whether or not to finally give her an honest answer. “Actually, I prefer Desperado. You say it so sweetly.”
“Ah, then Desperado it is. Is that what your friends call you?”
“Friends?” He cast Mr. Charming—Steve—a sideways glance. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to repeat those names at the supper table.”
“Desperado’s awful mild compared to most of ’em,” Steve agreed.
“What do ladies call you?” she persisted, intrigued by the hint of humor in Desperado’s dark eyes.
“Ladies who don’t want to put a bullet in me?”
An unwanted smile tugged at her lips. “Precisely.”
“Ladies who don’t want to kill me call me Cole. Women who do call me Desperado.”
“Is that an alias?”
“Desperado? Or Cole?”
“Cole.” She bit the name between her teeth.
“I hadn’t thought about an alias. Maybe after I kidnap a few more maidens, I’ll think of a suitable name. Cole’s rather dull.”
“You might consider Desperado as a permanent alias. It has a rather nice ring to it.”
“It’s a lot better than Hez—”
An angry flash in Cole’s dark eyes cut off his partner. Emma turned her attention to Steve. This might well prove interesting.
“And you were saying—Hez?”
Steve shrugged. “Cole’s not overly fond of his real name.”
Oh, this was rich. She directed her gaze at Cole. “With any luck, the judge won’t find any reason to state your given name when he sentences you. A condemned man by any other name…or, was that a rose?”
“Cole will do just fine.”
“Cole.” She toyed with the name on her tongue. “I still think you might consider adopting Desperado as your criminal name—like a stage name.”
Steve laughed under his breath, shifting his gaze to avoid his partner’s dagger-edged stare. Taking her cue, Emma offered a thoughtful nod.
“Perhaps you’ll get better at kidnapping in due time,” she observed in a matter-of-fact tone. “Your approach might have been a bit more stealthy.”
Cole leaned closer. “More stealthy?”
“You might consider leaving out the part where you commandeer the train. That was a bit theatrical, you must admit. A simple abduction would have been far less dramatic.”
Cole’s mouth quirked at one corner. “Where would the fun be in that?”
“I suppose we all must find our unique amusements.” She met his partner’s smiling eyes. “Steven, I take it you were raised a gentleman.”
The sun’s fading rays played against his thick, burnished wheat strands as he shook his head. “Can’t say that I was, ma’am.”
“Oh, I have a hard time believing that.”
He shrugged. “My partner here, he’s the one who was raised right.”
She met his words with a little hmmph. “Is that so?” She fanned herself with her hand. “Quite surprising.”
“Not really,” Cole spoke up. “I know how to treat a lady. Problem is, my friend and I have a difference of opinion on what constitutes a lady.”
Something in his tone lashed out at her. His voice was quiet and even. Pleasant, in fact. And yet, his words stung like one of the open-palmed slaps her aunt had doled out to correct impudent young girls like Emma.
“You’re out of line,” Steve said, his voice low and dangerous.
“My apologies.” Amber eyes flashed. Emma looked away, unwilling to answer and unable to face the censure in Cole’s gaze for one moment longer.
Suddenly stripped of her appetite, she moved her food around on the plate. Perhaps if she mixed bits of ham in with the potatoes, the unseasoned fare might appeal to her, but deep inside, she knew her sudden lack of hunger had nothing to do with seasoning or texture or taste.
Cole studied her as she dallied with her fork. She wanted to shrink away from his all-too-observant eyes.
“You need to finish your meal,” Cole admonished. “How else will you keep your strength up to try to escape?”
She hesitated. Had she heard him correctly? She lifted her gaze. The amused slant of his mouth told her everything she needed to know.
“I assume you think it’s your duty to try to get away,” he added.
“The idea had not occurred to me,” she said, spearing a piece of boiled potato.
Cole leaned back in his chair. “You are a poor liar, Miss Davenport.” He studied her beneath hooded lids, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “You won’t get very far. I imagine carrying you back to the cabin might be an amusing diversion.”
“That’s enough,” Steve ground between his teeth.
Warmth scalded her cheeks. “I would not give you the satisfaction.”
Cole stretched out his long legs as his full mouth curved into a wolfish smile. “Are you sure? I was enjoying the thought.”
There it was again, that sensation of being slapped. She’d had quite enough. Whatever this heathen’s purposes in abducting her, he had no cause to treat her as a harlot, unworthy of the most rudimentary respect.
Steve came to his feet. Judging from the steel darkening his blue eyes, the men were ready to come to blows. Wasn’t that what she’d sought, to divide and conquer?
Cole rose, facing his partner. “This is what she wants. She’s winding you around her little finger. How do you think she managed to get away in the first place?”
What was Cole talking about? She’d slipped past two of her father’s guards as they snored away their time on post, deep in their cups and bored senseless from night after night on duty in a house where even the mice tiptoed. What did this man know—or think he knew—about her escape from her father’s dominion?
Her fork slid from her fingers and clattered against the plate. She came to her feet. “I’ve had quite enough.” Fixing her glare on Cole, she swallowed hard against the lump at the back of her throat. Why did his contempt sting? Infuriating, indeed.
He shifted his attention, taking her in with eyes that cast silent barbs. “Is that so?”
“I may be forced to endure a detour in my plans, but I will not subject myself to your taunts a moment longer. You are a horrible man, and for the time being, I can only content myself with the certainty that you’ll soon be dangling at the end of a rope.”
Biting back tears and every epithet she could think of, Emma bolted from the cabin into the haze of twilight.
* * *
Cole made no attempt to follow her. He slammed his fist against the table. He was a damn fool. How did he expect her to react to his taunts? She was alone in a remote area with two men who’d stolen her from a train. He’d told her he wouldn’t harm her, then insinuated she was one breath away from being ravished. What the hell had come over him?
“You realize her father will string us up once we’re back in Washington.” Steve sounded resigned to the prospect.
“The old man will do no such thing.” Cole wished he was as confident as he sounded. “If we didn’t intercept his precious girl, she’d be the one facing the gallows. Even a senator’s daughter isn’t going to walk away if she’s caught transporting top-secret documents to the enemy.”
“You need to leave that girl alone.”
“You really have gotten soft, haven’t you?”
“You don’t really believe she’s a traitor, do you?”
Cole shrugged. “It’s not my business to know or care. But it’s damn suspicious that she took off in the middle of the night to meet a man like Staton.”
“Look, I don’t know if she’s Benedict Arnold in petticoats, but you’ve no business acting like a ruffian around her.” Steve leaned against the table, pressing his knuckles white with stress. “Maybe you should go to town tomorrow and leave me here to watch over her.”
Cole shook his head. “No way
in hell I’m leaving you here with her. She’ll have you escorting her to Staton with a couple well-timed bats of her lashes.”
Steve’s eyes hardened. “I’m not a fool.”
“No, but she’s exactly your kind.”
“My kind?”
“She’s wearing skirts and she’s got a pretty face. That’s all it takes with you.”
“You’re wrong. You’re the one who should get the hell out of here.”
“I can’t chance it. You’ll meet our contact. That’s an order.”
They’d been like brothers for the past eighteen months. But this was bigger than that. Their orders had come from General Grant himself. Cole couldn’t take the chance his skirt-chasing partner might get snared in his own sweet-talking web.
Steve regarded him with a hard-jawed, silent glare. “Yessir.” The word sounded like a vile curse ground between his teeth.
“For now, I need you to check the perimeter.”
“Yessir.”
The door slammed behind Steve’s back. Damn it all. It couldn’t be helped. He had his duty. Steve would live with his decision.
Leaving the cabin, Cole spotted Emma sitting on a stump, her skirts pooled around her like a waterfall of cotton and lace. She’d propped her elbows on her knees and her chin on one fist. Her plump, coral-tinged lips had settled into a soft pout. Stripped of its false smile, her mouth was temptation come to life.
Steve didn’t realize it, but once again, he’d drawn the long straw.
He gave her a few minutes to rail against him before he joined her.
“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”
She lifted her gaze to his. Unspent tears glistened in her immense emerald eyes.
“How am I supposed to believe you? You’ve done nothing to prove you’re anything but an uncouth brute.” She stood and spun away from him. “Please, leave me be.”
His hands clenched at his sides as Emma marched off. He’d give her more time. The sun still had a ways to go before it set. He’d have her in the cabin and safe by then.
Cole hunkered down on the stump he used to chop wood and watched her from a distance. If he’d wanted to get her riled, he’d done a damn fine job of it.
Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies) Page 4
