Had she genuinely wounded him?
He’d never voiced his feelings for her. No words of love had crossed his lips. But there was no denying the tenderness in his touch, the gentle pressure when his arms encircled her in the saddle. The hunger in his kiss.
His fierce protectiveness hadn’t abated even though his mission had ended and she was no longer his concern. He’d faced her father without flinching, refusing to be dismissed until he’d had his say. He hadn’t minced words. Rather, he’d approached her father with unvarnished honesty, all aimed at keeping her safe.
Was it a matter of pride with him, the sense that he’d protected her and she would stay safe under his watch, or was there something more? Did he truly stand to lose something precious to him if she fell into harm’s way?
Did he care for her, even now, when his duty to the Union pulled him away and her stubborn refusal to believe he cared for her pushed him from her arms?
Had she made a terrible mistake?
She flung her forearm over her eyes, shading them from the oil lamp’s dim rays. Blood drummed in her ears, a slow, steady throb. Her heart tightened in her chest, aching as the possibility of what might have been taunted her.
She shouldn’t be in this cold bed by herself. No, she should have been in Cole’s arms, drinking in his heat and his scent and his touch.
But drat it all, this wasn’t her fault.
Not entirely.
Cole had made love to her so tenderly, but he’d said nothing about his feelings. He’d do his duty and marry her—the right thing as he put it. Quite magnanimous of him, given that he’d ruined her. It seemed a wonder she hadn’t sprouted scales or demonic horns or taken to wearing a scarlet letter on her clothing. Perhaps a W would be appropriate. After all, she’d given herself to him freely, with no expectations or promises. Wasn’t that the mark of a wanton woman?
For goodness sake, he hadn’t even asked her if she’d marry him. He simply assumed she’d dance a little jig at the mere thought of becoming his bride.
As if she’d want to face a lifetime with such an infuriating, pigheaded man. Sharing his bed. Sharing nights in his strong arms. Sharing the joys and sorrows of the life they’d carve together.
Drat, drat, and drat. He’d certainly laid claim to her heart, hadn’t he?
But here she was.
Alone.
She shifted onto her side again and thumped her pillow, then pounded it again for good measure. There was nothing to be done about the mess they’d made tonight. He’d gone—she didn’t know where—most likely to indulge in a few precious hours of sleep. Was he as miserable as she was? Did his heart feel as if it had been ripped into jagged splinters?
She allowed her lids to drift shut. There’d be time enough before Cole left for Virginia to make sense of what had gone between them.
After all, they still had tomorrow.
* * *
Cloaking his features beneath the brim of a slouch hat, Cole slipped inside the 15th Street tavern. Nearly midnight, but he wasn’t the only patron in the saloon. As he made his way to a table secluded in the shadows, a big man at the bar rose and joined him.
He hadn’t expected to see Adam MacDowell’s broad face.
“I see ye survived yer time with the pretty lass. Her father’s got a spitfire on his hands.”
Emma’s eyes—gilded emeralds that betrayed her every emotion—flashed in his mind. The fire in those beautiful eyes had still flickered, albeit faintly, when he left her. How long would it be until her father smothered the flames out of existence?
He gave a bland shrug. “She’s his problem now.”
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He’d never be free of her, not entirely. Even if he put a continent between them, the challenge in her gaze would taunt his dreams.
“If ye say so,” MacDowell said. “Where’s Dunham?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
MacDowell glanced toward the door. “If I had my guess, he’s found his way under Nightshade’s skirts.”
“Nightshade?” Surely he hadn’t heard that correctly. Cole leaned closer. “He’s seen her?”
“Aye. I’ve had that pleasure, myself. Dunham likes a challenge, and that prickly rose will sure as hell give it to him.”
Cole waved away the notion. “She’s a code breaker.”
“And a beautiful lass, she is. No one would ever believe a face like hers could hide such a devious mind. Damn good thing she’s on our side…if she’s still on our side.”
“I don’t care what she looks like. She’s not about to fall for his horseshit.”
MacDowell shrugged. “With that one, ye never know. The man could charm the rattle off a snake. I’m surprised the randy goat didn’t have a go at the senator’s daughter.”
Cole dropped his gaze to his now-clenched hand. He pulled in a breath. “She’s not his type. She can see through the manure he shovels.”
MacDowell’s attention lit on Cole’s fist. “Good thing…for him.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
The Scot shook his head. “Not a damn thing.” He shot another glance to the door. “We’ve more important matters to discuss.”
A barmaid sauntered up to the table, her ample endowments on display. MacDowell flashed a grin, ordered ale for Cole and himself, and sent her on her way. Resting an elbow on the table, he propped his chin on his fist. “Bad news first. Staton’s come east.”
The hair on the back of Cole’s neck stood up. Staton had no reason to leave St. Louis.
Unless his dealings with the DuBois brothers had taken an ugly turn.
“Anybody know why?”
“He needed that book you found…real bad, from what I’m told. His partners were none too happy with him.”
The door swung open, and Dunham barreled in. Never one for subtlety, he headed straight to the table, towering over them as he stared down at Cole. “You look like hell.”
“It’s been a long couple of days.” Christ, wasn’t that the understatement of the decade? “Why do you smell like a vat of bay rum?”
Dunham plucked a stray thread from his cotton shirt. “The ladies love a man of refinement.”
“The lasses love a man with money in his pocket,” MacDowell countered.
Dunham grinned. “I’ll have you know some of those girls have offered to pay me.”
Cole’s brows shot up. “To leave?”
Dunham yanked a chair from the table and planted himself across from Cole. He shot his knowing glance like a projectile. “Miss Davenport got you in a foul mood again?”
“Go to hell, Dunham.”
“Good God, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.” MacDowell said with a jolt of enthusiasm. “You were right, Dunham. That pretty lass really put a burr under his saddle.”
The barmaid returned, offering each man a brimming stein and his partner a smile laced with unspoken invitation.
Dunham shook his head. “I’ve business to attend to, darlin’.” His tone held a clear note of regret.
The barmaid’s plump lips pressed into an exaggerated pout. “It’s been a long time, Steve.”
“Too long,” he agreed. “If you give me a chance, I’ll rectify the situation. But not now.”
Her gaze settled on Dunham as if Cole and MacDowell had evaporated into the stale, dingy air. Temptation danced in her china blue eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“I’ll be along shortly, you sweet thing.”
As she scurried away, MacDowell slugged down a gulp from the stein and leaned back in his chair. “You’ve a God-given gift. A rare talent.”
“Enough horseshit for one night.” Cole grabbed a mug and took a deep draught. “Returning to business, I can tell you Miss Davenport is no longer my problem…our problem.”
Steve’s grin faded to a somber line. “I hate to tell you this, my friend, but you’re dead wrong.”
Cole took another drink. Had his
lie been so transparent? “What the hell are you talking about?”
Dunham’s voice lowered to a whisper. “The mission to retrieve Emma Davenport is over. But there’s reason to believe she’s in more danger than ever.”
Cole washed more ale down his throat. “Staton’s headed East. I already know that. But she’ll be under twenty-four hour guard. Her father’s house will be more secure than the White House.”
“Something bad is about to happen. Something that’s got the DuBois gang stirred up and Staton running like a fox chased by a pack of hounds.” Dunham’s big hand plowed through his hair. “The thing is, we don’t know what it is.”
“But the book? The cipher key?”
“Nightshade decoded what she could. The missing pages relate to geographic coordinates. At least, that’s what she figures. The coordinates tie to three places. Washington. St. Louis. And some place in the middle of nowhere, right smack in the Appalachians, not too far from Roanoke.”
“The Appalachians? What the hell could they be planning there?”
“We’re not sure. She suspects there’s more code on the pages he ripped out of the book. Is it possible Emma has them?”
A vein throbbed in Cole’s temple. What kind of elaborate maze had Emma stumbled into?
“It’s possible.”
Steve leaned closer. “If she has them, she’s either in greater danger than we knew, or she’s in on it.”
The words struck Cole with the force of a sledgehammer to the skull. Had Emma used her well-timed surrender to gain his trust? Had the emotion in her eyes and the trust in her voice been part of her disguise?
He forced the questions to the back of his mind. “What are you saying?”
“Whatever’s going to happen is tied to the next full moon on June fourth. We have eight days to figure it out and stop it. Until then, Emma’s still either a target or a threat. Either way, it’s up to us to find out.”
Cole’s gut clenched with the force of a mule kick. “What the hell did that son of a bitch drag her into?”
“If he dragged her.” Dunham’s gaze cut through the amber liquid in his glass. “Her mother was from the south, Kentucky if my sources are correct. It’s possible her loyalties were torn—”
“Jesus, Dunham, you of all people shouldn’t go casting that stone. After all the years you spent in Texas.”
“My family hails from Boston. What little remains is still there. My pa dragged me from pillar to post and ended up in Galveston. But my kin…my loyalties were bred in the north.”
“I’m not questioning your loyalty. It’s damn near impossible to think Emma would have any ties to the Rebels.”
“In this life, I’ve learned anything’s possible, my friend.” MacDowell lifted his glass and took a hearty draught. “In any case, Grant’s not going to like this. He sent orders for the three of us to report to City Pointe.”
Dunham shook his head. “That’s been changed. Nightshade sent a communiqué to the general’s headquarters. I received his response tonight.”
The mule’s hoof plowed into Cole’s gut again. He’d considered his orders to Grant’s headquarters near Petersburg, Virginia a reprieve of sorts, a means of ensuring he’d get Emma out of his system. But now, it looked like he’d be stuck here, having to see her, having to rein in the desire to kiss her and love her sweet, tight body.
Having to wonder if she’d made a damn fool of him the whole time.
He poured another slug of ale down his throat, buying time. “What the hell does he want us to do this time, masquerade as her dressmakers?”
Dunham’s mouth fell into a grim line. “It’s worse than that. You’re now in charge of security at Senator Davenport’s residence.”
“Jesus H. Christ, you can’t—”
“I’m dead serious.” The corner of Dunham’s mouth hitched up almost imperceptibly, the movement so slight, only someone who knew him as well as a brother would take note. “You’re her official bodyguard.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emma retreated to a far corner of her father’s study, silently observing the granite-jawed officer who’d charged into her home and spent the last hour issuing orders with an air of undisputed command.
She peered over the pages of the open book she wielded like a disguise. The scent of Cole’s shaving soap wafted to her nostrils. Only that seemed familiar. He cut a striking figure, carrying himself with the dignity befitting his role as a leader. The clean shaven jaw. The tailored blue frock coat. The golden oak leaf insignia. From the collar of his pressed wool uniform to boots polished to a high sheen, he might have been a statue of the perfect soldier come to life.
Seeming to ignore her presence, he scarcely glanced her way. Not that the tension wasn’t mutual, but drat it all, she wasn’t going to hide away in her room as if she had some reason to shy away from him. She’d stay right in her comfortable nook, observing the security measures being put into place and the man who issued orders with a grim-faced dedication to duty.
Duty. The word dug at her soul like a pebble in her shoe.
Cole’s gaze lit on her face. Seeming to realize she’d notice the fleeting shift in his attention, his mouth went tight and he whipped his glance away, barking an order that sent some hapless private scurrying.
She hid her smile behind the pages of the book. Her nearness made Cole edgy. Good. He deserved as much after stirring her feelings into a whirlwind of emotion and walking away, leaving matters between them in a vicious tangle she was determined to set to rights, thread by knotted thread.
Optimism had flowed through her veins when she awoke that morning, but Cole’s arrival as she and her father sat down to an agonizingly quiet breakfast had quelled her burgeoning hopes. Tasked with her security, he’d met his new orders with a stiff-necked stoicism that left no room for emotion, erecting a polished, respectful wall she’d have to penetrate before she could learn what was in his heart.
He rattled off a list of supplies to an earnest young soldier who scribbled frantically on a sheet of paper, struggling to keep pace. Once again, Cole glanced her way, only to snap his attention back to the soldier. As he uttered another clipped order, the door burst open and a torrent of high-pitched giggles filled the room.
“Miss Emma!”
As Cole turned toward the source of the unexpected greeting, a living, breathing Goldilocks appeared in the doorway. Caroline. What in heaven’s name was the housekeeper’s mischievous young daughter doing in her father’s study, today of all days?
The girl’s attention flitted from Emma to Cole, and her smile broadened as she set her sights on him. Curls bobbing about her round, doe-eyed face, she bolted toward him. Another rash of giggles erupted as she coiled her arms around his long legs and met his perplexed scowl with a guileless grin.
“What is the meaning—” Cole stared down at the child as he bent to carefully extract himself from the child’s grasp.
Caroline only laughed and held tighter, her hold as fierce and unyielding as if Cole were a tree she clung to during a storm.
“Caroline, come back here!” Mrs. McGinty burst into the room. The horror on the housekeeper’s face matched Cole’s obvious dismay at finding himself effectively tethered by a girl less than half his height.
“Mama, he’s here! The prince is here!” Caroline’s gleeful announcement echoed from the high ceiling. “Miss Emma’s prince is here!”
“Miss Emma’s prince?” Cole cocked a brow as the men at his command plastered on stern, emotionless faces that could not hide the amusement in their eyes.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Emma cast the girl a no-nonsense glance as Cole gently pried her arms from his limbs and her mother took the child by the hand.
“Mama, it’s him.” Her feet did a little dance, much like the jig Emma imagined Cole had anticipated would follow his nearly wordless proposal.
His scowl faded as he stared down at the girl, flashing Emma and Mrs. McGinty each a quick glance.
�
��I’m sorry, sir.” Mrs. McGinty drew Caroline closer, quite a feat in view of the child’s rapidly tapping feet. “My daughter’s a bit excited over seeing Miss Emma, that’s all.”
He offered a solemn nod. “I understand. But I’m at a loss over her assumption that I am a prince.”
Mrs. McGinty’s face flushed. “I may have led her to believe that.”
“Why would you tell her such a thing?” Emma asked, her voice gentle. The poor woman was already embarrassed. She didn’t need to feel any disapproval from Emma.
The housekeeper drew near to Cole and Emma and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She wanted to know where you were…when you left, Miss Emma. I couldn’t tell her the truth.”
Emma shook her head. “No, I suppose you couldn’t. But a prince?”
“I told Caroline you’d gone off to find your prince, like in the fairy tales.” She lifted her gaze to Cole. “She saw you…she thinks you’re the prince who brought Miss Emma home.”
Cole’s lips twitched into a hint of smile. “The little lady’s a good judge of character,” he said, ruffling the child’s honey-gold curls. “Better than some adults.”
Mrs. McGinty’s flush deepened, and she cast her gaze to her daughter. “Come along, Caroline. You’ll have time to visit with Miss Emma later.”
“Actually, I would love to spend a little time with Caroline right this minute. Would you like me to read you a fairy tale…about a real prince?”
The girl nodded. “Can he come with us? I want the prince to read me a story, too.”
Cole looked as if he wished for a firing squad to materialize and end his misery, but he managed something that might have been a smile. “This prince is working right now. I have to make sure Miss Emma’s castle is safe.” He knelt to speak to Caroline, eye-to-eye. “I may need to build a moat and a tower to keep her from getting in trouble again. Do you know anything about those?”
Caroline offered a sage nod. “Towers are high. Rapunzel lives in a tower.”
Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies) Page 26
