Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies)

by Kingston, Tara

  Cole’s words dug into her like thorns from a long dead rose. Could he be speaking the truth? Had Frederick filled his coffers by turning against the Union?

  Silence fell over them. “Why are you protecting me?” she asked finally. “What’s in this for you?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “Then why? You’ve risked your life to protect me. The least you can do is tell me why.”

  “Sooner or later, Miss Davenport, you’ll figure that out.”

  * * *

  Cole prodded his mount with his heels, urging Rotgut forward. The sun beat down on him, the warmth easing the soreness in his arm. Damn shame it didn’t have the same effect on the wound in his shoulder. He wouldn’t have wished death at the hands of the DuBois brothers on the son of a bitch, but it was mighty damn ironic. They’d probably turned the bastard’s own knife against him, carved him up with his dagger for the god-awful sport of it.

  He’d have Emma to a safe house by sundown. Trying to get her to Washington was too risky. Any route heading east would be watched. He might be able to hold off a handful of attackers Staton had put together, but on his own—and injured—he’d be no match for the DuBois gang.

  He was getting weaker. Much as he tried to stave off that reality, he’d lost strength since the cockney bastard stuck his knife in him.

  So he prodded Rotgut toward the north, into the hills and valleys he’d called home as a boy. She’d be safe there—as safe as anywhere, at least. For a day or two, until he could find reinforcements for this mission that was supposed to be a Sunday stroll in the park.

  Emma had gone silent. Was she actually worrying over the son of a bitch who’d tried to kill him? Or were her thoughts on Staton?

  She wouldn’t utter a word against the man. Nothing Cole said had convinced her the man was a no-good cur.

  One thing was certain. If Emma had been a part of Staton’s scheme, he’d betrayed her. The DuBois gang’s involvement was proof of that.

  His belly gnawed at him. Jerky from his saddlebag would have to do.

  “Getting hungry?” he asked.

  “I suppose.” She kept her eyes downcast.

  Slowing the horse to a trot, he guided the animal to a creek along their path. “We’ll take a break. Long enough to choke down some food and water the horse.”

  After helping Emma from the saddle, he pulled out a cloth bag filled with dried meat and his flask. He handed her a strip of jerky, then took a swig from the small vessel.

  “You’ll have a clean bed to sleep in tonight.” He lifted the canister to his lips and took another swallow. “You might even get that bath you’ve been wanting.”

  Her head moved in a small nod, and she eyed him intently. “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”

  “Some,” he said. “I’ve had worse.”

  “Does the liquor help?”

  He nodded. “But I can’t have much. I’ve got to keep my wits about me.”

  “I’d like to check the bandage to make sure it’s still in place.”

  “There’s no time.” He swallowed another mouthful. “If you’ve a need to relieve yourself, I suggest you do it now.”

  Color washed her cheeks in a rosy hue that brought out her high cheekbones. He studied her face for a long moment, then took another nip of the rotgut.

  “Your uncouth discussions never fail to surprise me,” she said, tight-lipped.

  “That’s good to know, Miss Davenport. Uncouth or not, you’d might want to heed what I’m saying. I won’t be stopping for a long while after this.”

  With a little harrumph, she stormed past him.

  “Don’t go far.” He chuckled as a perverse cheerfulness at her irritation took root once again.

  “If only I could,” she muttered as she stomped through a clump of brush and vanished behind a cluster of trees

  The rustle of fabric against leaves and branches drifted to his ears. Christ, don’t let her step on a snake…or anything else he’d have to kill while she had her skirts hiked.

  No screams or shouts or cries of shock. So, she’d managed to avoid any critters that would send her running. Seizing the opportunity, he stepped behind an oak’s broad trunk and attended his own needs.

  He joined his mount at the creek, keeping his senses honed for any sign of intruders. Emma marched up to him, the deep pink in her cheeks bringing out the tantalizing color of her mouth.

  He took another slug of whiskey, aiming to dull both the throb in his shoulder and the demands of the ornery arousal between his legs.

  “You scoundrel—you were watching me.”

  He forced away the smile that threatened to erupt. If she had any idea how damn appealing she was—and how prominently displayed her breasts were when she planted her hands on her hips—she would have reddened even more.

  “I am a lot of things, but I am not a man who would invade a woman’s privacy at such a…” He struggled for the word. “Moment.”

  “I heard you—you were laughing.”

  Had she actually heard his chuckle? With that keen hearing, Emma would make a hell of an operative. Damn shame she might be working for the wrong side.

  “If I was laughing, it had nothing to do with you.”

  “For a scoundrel, you’re an awfully poor liar.”

  Or for a spy. Damned if Emma Davenport didn’t have that effect on him.

  She looked away. Her gaze followed a plump, young rabbit as it skittered past. Best to take hold of the opportunity and change the subject.

  “You might be looking at our next meal.”

  Her attention whipped back to him. “Don’t even think about killing that adorable creature.”

  “That mess of fur would be mighty good roasted over a fire. I’m getting awful sick of jerky.”

  An icy stare met his words. “I cannot say I’ve developed any fondness for the stuff.” Her tongue glided over her upper lip. “I’m surprised I haven’t chipped a tooth. But I couldn’t bear the thought of you killing that rabbit.”

  Emma didn’t even realize what she’d done with the small gesture. Cole tore his gaze from her mouth.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, anyway. Your furball is safe, at least until some other hungry critter eyes it up.”

  With a small nod, she joined him at the horse’s side. His hands slid around her waist, the fit as perfect as if she’d been molded for him and him alone. She pulled in a breath as her arms coiled around his neck. Velvet-smooth fingertips grazed the flesh between his collar and his hair, and blood pulsed from his head to more demanding parts of his body.

  Her soft curves pressed to him, her breasts round and supple against his chest, the tempting apex between her legs cradling his freshly rekindled arousal. Was this her idea of torture?

  Her eyes were lush as the forest on a spring day. Questions played in those emerald irises. Questions, and a hint of promise.

  He needed to lift her into the saddle and get her far away from that place. He needed to think with the head on his shoulders and not the one that nagged with its greedy demands day and night.

  He needed to do anything but hold her, drinking in the delicate lavender of her scent and the tenderness in those wide green eyes, savoring every moment she was in his arms.

  Cole cursed himself for a fool. Emma Davenport was temptation incarnate. She could wear dresses buttoned to her chin and improvise a fortress with her satchel, but her prim, proper façade only made him want her more. He wanted to be the man to tear down the shields she erected.

  Someday, if he made it out of this mission alive, he’d teach her that buttons and satchels and indignant barbs couldn’t protect her when she looked at a man like that.

  She uncoiled one arm and swept her hand over his throat, tracing a leisurely path along his unshaven jaw. A slow smile spread over her face as her eyes warmed with desire she couldn’t hide.

  Someday, he’d teach her not to play with fire.

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Did she have
any idea what the innocent gesture did to him?

  And still, she watched him, her eyes wide and questioning. “You’ve never told me why you’re doing this.”

  Damn, he didn’t want to talk about his mission. He wanted to drink in this moment when she looked at him like a man and not the enemy.

  He forced a shrug. “Does it matter?”

  “You’ve been hurt. You could have died. I’m not a fool. This doesn’t have anything to do with a ransom. And your partner already has the book you found so fascinating. So what’s left—why are you protecting me?” And then, she cupped her palm against his cheek. “I want to understand…why you’re doing this.”

  Someday, he’d tell her the truth. But at that moment, all he wanted to do was taste her sweet mouth. He dipped his head, brushing her lips with his own, the touch tentative. Searching. Testing her response.

  Once again, her arms snaked around him. Her lips parted beneath his, welcoming his caress.

  He kissed her until she melted in his arms. When he released his claim, she sighed against his mouth, a delicious little sound ripe with wanting.

  She tipped up her chin. Uncoiling her arms, she pressed her palms lightly to his chest. Challenge flashed in her gaze.

  “Well, then, that was quite invigorating. If you’ve decided to play the part of a dime-novel rogue, you’ve certainly mastered the art of kissing a woman breathless.”

  She was really something. If he had the sense of a goat, he’d nod his agreement, keep his mouth shut, and get the hell out of there. But he’d lost whatever sense he possessed the minute he’d laid eyes on Emma Davenport.

  “That so, huh? It obviously didn’t leave you speechless. Maybe I ought to try it again.”

  The shake of her head seemed a little too fast, a little too urgent. “I assure you that will not be necessary. In any case, tempting as your kiss was, it did not answer my question.”

  “And what was your question?” he asked, just to watch more color seep into her complexion.

  “Why are you protecting me? Why haven’t you simply abandoned me to these men and run away with your hide intact?” Her eyes darkened. “And please don’t tell me it’s because I’m worth more alive than dead. Any man who really meant those words would have tucked his tail between his legs and run by now.”

  He plowed a hand through his hair, stalling. Ah, the hell with it. He had to say it. “A woman like you is worth protecting.”

  Those gorgeous eyes flashed again. “A woman like me—a woman who’s impetuous and reckless and—”

  “Clever enough to fashion a bandage out of her underthings and kind enough to bind a man’s wounds when she has every reason to hate him.”

  The tempting curve of her mouth thinned. “That crude patch on your shoulder is a pitiful excuse for a bandage—clever is not the word to describe it, not by any stretch of the imagination—and my actions had everything to do with prudence and little to do with—”

  “You’re a poor liar.” He caught her hands and drew her closer. Taking in the rise and fall of each breath, he drank in her scent, the essence that was so uniquely hers. What the hell was it about this woman that got him in the gut every time he looked at her?

  She watched him, her expression expectant, yet guarded. Her lips parted again, soft and inviting. He swept the pad of his thumb over her plump lower lip. She pulled in a breath, soft as a whisper. Waiting for him to touch her. Waiting for him to kiss her again.

  Every masculine instinct he possessed urged him to plunder that welcoming warmth, even as a single shred of common sense waged a vigorous protest. This was not the time—not the place—to explore the passion simmering in a gaze ripe with anticipation.

  He had to get Emma to safety. Every moment in this unprotected grove left them vulnerable. Above all, he needed to keep her safe.

  “A woman like you is a rare thing, Miss Davenport. Someday, we’ll continue this conversation, and believe me, I’ll convince you. But for now, I’ve got to get you the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “It’s good to see you, Cole. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

  From her perch on Rotgut’s saddle, Emma strained to get a better look at the plump, pretty woman who’d greeted Cole with a brassy tone and welcoming smile.

  The redhead stood arms akimbo on the porch of an immaculate whitewashed house. Richly hued shades of copper and amber gleamed in the waves she’d swept into a bun at her nape, while crinkles edged eyes the color of the midday sky. If the warmth in her gaze was any indication, Cole held a special place in her heart. Was she one of the contacts he’d mentioned while talking to his partner, or could this woman be something more?

  A dagger twisted deep in Emma’s chest. Ridiculous! She extracted the imaginary blade and mentally stomped on it. He was a desperado, a man who’d kissed her senseless and taunted her with the promise of something more powerful than the elemental pull that drew the male and the female of the species together—that didn’t make him her champion. It made him a man, a man used to sampling the charms of women far more alluring and sophisticated than Emma. A man didn’t learn to kiss like that riding his horse off into the sunset. No, he’d had his share of women, and if he had his way, she’d most likely be the latest on a list that might rival a sheikh’s harem conquests. Dime novel rogue, indeed.

  If only the heat of his body didn’t feel so right, even then, as she met the questioning gaze of a woman who might well have shared his bed. The woman’s gaze didn’t betray so much as a hint of jealousy, but what did that mean? Perhaps she was accustomed to his fickleness. Desperados weren’t known for their fidelity, were they?

  Emma rubbed her temples. If she didn’t silence the absurd blather going on in her head, she’d sicken herself with a headache.

  Cole swung out of the saddle and caught Emma by the waist, lowering her to the ground. His hands splayed over her middle, firm and powerful, stirring embers that hadn’t yet cooled. Drat it all. She was stronger than this. A handsome face, sleek muscles that flexed beneath his shirt with masculine grace, and a commanding touch should not set her all aflutter.

  But they did. Aflutter did not begin to describe the ache low in her core and in her heart. All for this man—a man she should despise.

  Even before he’d kissed her the first time, his touch kindled sparks deep within. Now, every time she thought of his caress, the way he’d claimed her with an intoxicating blend of mastery and tenderness, her insides turned molten.

  Her feet had barely touched the ground when he released her, his attention shooting to the buxom, flame-haired woman. As if by reflex, Emma’s gaze dropped to her own bosom. Adequate, but by no means as abundant as the older woman’s assets.

  He closed the distance to the porch steps with a few long strides. “God above, Miranda, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “You still shovel it deep, don’t you?” The woman laughed as she enfolded him in her arms. “So, what’s this about? What are you up to this time?”

  Cole’s features settled into a bland mask. “The usual.”

  Stepping back, the woman’s perceptive gaze swept back to Emma, lingering over her torn and stained dress. The smile faded from her eyes. “Tell me this is a rescue.”

  “Not exactly.” Cole raked a hand through his hair.

  “What have you done?” A crisp edge formed in her voice.

  “I’ll explain later. For now, Miss Davenport needs a place to stay.”

  Miranda’s brows knitted. Her eyes narrowed in recognition. “The senator’s daughter?”

  “Yep.

  Miranda shot Emma another glance. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “We can discuss the details later, but you need to know one thing. The DuBois gang has a stake in this. If you want me to keep moving, there’ll be no hard feelings.”

  The woman reached out and drew her fingers over the bandage at his shoulder. Emma’s stomach clenched at the sight.

  “You lose a lot
of blood, Cole?” No sign of tenderness in Miranda’s question. If anything, her voice bore a note of challenge.

  He shrugged. “Not enough to worry about.”

  “I don’t know about that. You’re talking like you’re not thinking straight. Have you lost enough blood to make you weak in the head? How else could you think I’d turn this girl…or you…away?”

  “You know the danger. You’re taking a hell of a risk.”

  “I take risks every day. I’m not afraid of those thievin’ coyotes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m about to take the girl in and tell you to keep on goin’. I’ve got better things to do than kiss your rump to get you to accept my accommodations.”

  Definitely not the sweet words of a lover, past or present. The tense knot in Emma’s middle relaxed. Whatever Miranda was to Cole, she certainly didn’t look at him like a woman who’d experienced the searing possession of his kiss. The thought washed over her with an utterly absurd sense of happiness. Perhaps she’d been in the sun too long—she might well be the one who was weak in the head.

  “Good enough,” Cole said, the simple words flavored with gratitude.

  Seeming not to care as her calico skirt grazed the grass, Miranda stepped from the porch and came to Emma. Her gaze honed in on the rip on Emma’s bodice. “First of all, tell me who did this…who tore your dress?”

  “A horrid man. I don’t know who he was.”

  Miranda cocked her head to Cole. “Is he dead?”

  “Yep.” Cole said.

  “You killed him?”

  “Nope. DuBois and his buddies took care of that.”

  “I’m sure he got what he deserved.” Miranda’s grim nod emphasized the brutal reality of her words. “All he would have gotten out of you was a bullet. You know who he was?”

  “Some English bastard who went by Jones.”

  Miranda’s peaked brows betrayed her recognition. “Looked like some kind of black bird…big ugly beast of a man?”

  How could she possibly know? Who was this woman?

  “He had a face like a hawk, and he was dressed in black from head to toe,” Emma said.