“That might be a good idea. Miss Emma’s hair is not nearly as long as Rapunzel’s. Maybe that will keep her out of trouble.”
“With any luck, a dragon will come along and roast the prince,” Emma commented beneath her breath.
Cole rose to his full height, chuckling as he met Emma’s eyes. “That’s about the only thing that hasn’t come at me so far. But I’ll be ready if you do manage to stir one up.”
Mrs. McGinty’s mouth thinned, and she tugged Caroline toward the door with a sudden vigor. “The men have to get back to their duties. You want Miss Emma to be safe, don’t you?”
“Oh, she’ll be safe,” Caroline announced with the confidence of a child. “Her prince will take good care of her.”
* * *
A prince. Exactly what she needed, Emma mused as she left Caroline with her mother and headed outside for a breath of fresh air. A young private stood at attention, his Adam’s apple straining against his skin as he swallowed, while another soldier blocked her path. This one bore a corporal’s stripes on his blue uniform and a patch of carelessly-missed stubble on his cheek that proved he was at least old enough to shave.
“I’m sorry, miss, but orders are no one is to enter or exit the premises.”
She fashioned a pleasant-enough smile. “Perhaps you don’t know who I am. I’m Senator Davenport’s daughter. I live here.”
The sentry nodded briskly. “I have my orders, miss. No one except the senator and anyone specifically authorized is allowed to leave.”
“Surely there’s a list…surely—”
The younger sentry spoke up. “There is a list, ma’am. I’ve got it right here.”
Resisting the urge to snatch the paper from him, she politely took the sheet in her hand and examined it. Pointing to her name, she addressed both guards. “There it is…I am on the list. Please step aside. I only intend to take a stroll around the block.”
The corporal slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t let you leave.”
“Corporal, if you don’t let me pass, I will be forced to take this up with your superior. You can clearly see my name, bold as day, right in front of your nose.”
“Miss, you may discuss this with Major Travis if you’d like, but I can’t disobey orders. He made the list, and he’s the only one authorized to change it.”
She jabbed at the paper, at the spot where her name was written in a bold, decisive hand. “Surely you can see I’ve already been included on the list.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Davenport.” The corporal took the sheet from her hand and indicated the heading at the top of the page. “This is the list of those who are expressly forbidden exit and entry. Major Travis was exceedingly clear. You are not to leave the premises.”
Ooooohhhh! A silent scream echoed in her brain, even as she forced her features into a placid mask and thanked the guards for their vigilance. Turning on her heel, she marched toward the study. Cole Travis was the most exasperating man she’d ever had the misfortune to encounter. If he believed dragons that incinerated mule-headed officers were only of the male variety, he was about to discover he was very much mistaken.
* * *
Cole heard the rhythmic tap of Emma’s heels against the polished oak floor before he saw her. She whipped into the room, a pretty, flushed virago who’d come to do battle.
A whey-faced young private entered behind her, took one look, and turned around. Good thinking. If only Cole had that option.
“Who do you think you are?” Her tone was low, but the fire in her words could have melted iron. “At what point did this become a prison and you the warden?”
The way her eyes flashed reminded him of the last time he’d held her, when the passion in her gaze made her irises seem as rich and vibrant as emeralds. He pushed the thought to the recesses of his mind, but he couldn’t rid himself of the desire to touch her. Would the heat in her eyes flavor her kiss? Would she still mark his back as he possessed her, her warmth sheathing his length as if they’d been made for each other?
“I see Private Murphy and Corporal Green did their jobs. I’ll have to commend them for their valor.” It was a wonder he could speak coherently when images of her sweet body tormented him. That he kept his tone cool and unaffected seemed a still greater miracle.
Her cheeks deepened to scarlet. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You are under guard, Miss Davenport. I don’t have enough men at my disposal to assign a security detail wherever you may choose to go. For the time being, you’re stuck here.”
“I have no intention of being a prisoner in this house.”
“At this time, I don’t see that you have a choice. Even if security was not an issue, you don’t even have a chaperone available. I understand Miss Calder submitted her resignation this morning.”
“The ninny claimed I caused her to suffer nervous exhaustion.”
“Entirely understandable.” Cole offered a solemn nod. “Later, when the security measures are in place, I will arrange for an escort—”
“I am not a child. I assure you I do not require any such thing.”
“Miss Davenport, you and I will need to continue this discussion at another time.” He motioned to a soldier poring over a diagram of her home. “We’re in the middle of mapping out our strategy.”
She planted her hands on her hips. God, he loved it when her chin tipped up at that perfect angle. Just right for kissing. Just right for running his tongue over her luscious bottom lip.
“I intend to stay right here until you address my concerns. You need to correct that list.”
He dismissed the trio of soldiers who’d hung on every word out of Emma’s pretty mouth, then closed the door behind them. “Do you care to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing?”
“You know precisely what I’m doing. I refuse to be kept a prisoner. You have no right.”
“I have every right. I have a responsibility to keep you safe.”
Her bottom lip trembled almost imperceptibly, as though the emotions coursing through her were too much to suppress. “These measures are extreme. I might as well be locked up in some tower.”
“I’ve been given a job to do, Emma. If it takes a goddamn tower to keep you out of danger, I’ll find one.”
She folded her arms over her chest, her makeshift shield of choice. And then, her top teeth grazed her lip, darkening the deliciously plump flesh from pink to red. “How ironic that you’re saddled with me…again.”
“Saddled with you?” He shook his head. “I could have refused the assignment. I could have headed to Virginia. They would have found someone else.”
Her lip quivered, and she wove her arms into a more tightly meshed armor. “So why are you here?”
“Because I need to be.”
The heat in her eyes beckoned him. She still wanted him. And God knows he hungered for her with every breath. He reached for Emma, taking her hand, drawing her near.
The door trembled on its hinges. She pulled away, putting a respectable distance between them as Senator Davenport stormed into the room.
He eyed Cole beneath brows set in a stern line. “Major Travis, is there a problem? I understand Emma was upset at the restrictions you insisted on.”
For once, her father’s bluster had been good for something. It might have prevented Cole from pressing Emma up against the man’s massive desk and taking her right then and there.
“I neglected to communicate the necessary restrictions and their rationale, Senator.”
Her father walked slowly to that very desk and seated himself in a high-backed chair. “I trust you’ve clarified the security measures to be put in place.”
“I believe I have, sir.”
Senator Davenport’s attention shot to Emma again. “And you’re able to live with these measures?”
“I’m not sure I would go that far, Papa, but for the time being—”
“For the time being, we’ll do what it takes to keep that son of
a bitch Staton away from here…away from you. Which brings me to another concern, Major.”
“And what might that be, sir?”
“Josiah Bradford, one of my constituents out of Baltimore, is hosting a dinner not far from here tonight. The man’s one of my biggest contributors, so I’m obligated to put in an appearance. I’ve decided Emma will come along.” Her father’s gaze settled on her face. “Josiah’s son is recently returned from Boston. He’s a second year man at Harvard Law, and he’d like to meet you.”
The color drained from Emma’s cheeks. “Papa, I’ve no interest in socializing. Not yet.”
“Balderdash,” Senator Davenport muttered. “It’ll do you good to meet a respectable young man. Someone from a good family.”
“I’ve no desire to be bartered off in exchange for an increased campaign contribution.”
“Bartered off—good heavens, girl, where do you get this nonsense?” Senator Davenport opened a drawer and rooted around, producing a battered, leather-bound book that appeared to be a journal. “You’re coming with me tonight, Emma, so make sure you’re presentable. You need to look like a senator’s daughter, not someone who fell off a wagon train.”
“And if I happen to suffer from a megrim?”
Senator Davenport shook his head. “No games tonight, Emma. I’m not auctioning you off to the highest bidder, and I’ve no intention of bartering your soul for a few dollars. But we must keep up appearances.” One graying brow hiked up. “Especially now.”
She met his pronouncement with a nod of resignation. Apparently satisfied with her reaction, the senator turned his keen eyes back to Cole. “I’ll need you to come with us tonight, Major Travis. Dress uniform, of course.”
Cole managed a curt nod and an even more curt, “Yessir.”
A firing squad was looking better all the time.
Chapter Thirty
Without even realizing he’d done so, Emma’s father had engineered the perfect purgatory for her sins. Only the devil’s minions could have dreamed up a more miserable scenario. Josiah Bradford the third trailed her as closely as a shadow. The arrogant whelp of a wealthy Baltimore merchant, the lanky man droned on and on, regaling Emma with a litany of his accomplishments, feats of intellectual prowess and his certainty that he’d inherit and multiply his father’s fortune.
Perhaps the man’s obsession with himself was a blessing, for it seemed to obscure his awareness of the Union officer who stared daggers through his chest every time he got within arm’s length of Emma.
Immaculately attired in a dress uniform that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his body, Cole kept within easy reach in the event any nefarious character should dare to show his face. Tasked with maintaining the charade that he was a guest of the senator, he was expected to slip into the role of a man interested in conversation and subdued merriment. He might have been more convincing if he didn’t track Emma’s windbag of a companion with a grim, humorless focus.
The possessive gleam in Cole’s eyes stirred memories of the night they’d shared, the passion in his kiss, the tenderness in his touch. Her pulse raced, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks. Good heavens, did young Bradford believe he was the cause of her flush?
“It’s a simple matter of economics, Miss Davenport,” Bradford the third rambled on, though she could not have begun to say what he believed was a matter of economics. She’d been entirely distracted, though she wasn’t about to admit it and get him started again.
“Indeed,” she agreed, offering a small nod. “Mr. Bradford, I’m feeling quite parched.”
He wrinkled his long, pointed nose and cocked his head to scan the room. “Where is that serving girl?”
“Might I trouble you to fetch a glass of water?”
“Of course,” he said, though his mouth fell into a scowl.
She mustered a sugary smile. “Thank you. True gentlemen are so rare in this day and age.”
The flattery served its purpose. Bradford turned on his heel and set off on the fool’s errand she’d concocted. As soon as he was out of earshot, she slipped around a rotund matron and her reed thin husband and sauntered up to Cole.
The daggers in his gaze disappeared behind a wall of frost. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely,” she lied easily.
“Mr. Bradford the third is quite taken with you.” Cole’s quiet words were surprisingly cool, given that he’d looked like he ached to put a bullet in the man not five minutes earlier.
“Oh, I doubt that’s the case. He’s quite a scintillating conversationalist.”
Especially if the conversation is about himself.
“I don’t blame him for wanting to win you over. You’re the prettiest woman in the room.”
Emma cast a surveying glance around the chamber. By her estimation, she was the only woman in sight who wasn’t old enough to be her mother.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling in a breath as he leaned in closer.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in any room, Emma.” The heat in his husky rasp washed over her. He cast his gaze over her shoulder. “It looks like your reprieve has come to an end. The Third has spotted you again.”
“Drat. I’d hoped he’d find…someone else to impress.”
“The man might be a boor, but he’s not blind.”
“The face he likes best is the one he sees when he looks in a mirror,” she whispered.
“If that’s the case, the man’s a damn fool.”
Moments after Cole uttered his pronouncement, Bradford the third pushed past an elderly guest, nearly toppling the gentleman and his cane to the floor. The old gent muttered an epithet and waved his walking stick like a battle flag, though Bradford seemed not to notice. His attention pinned Emma like a specimen in a collector’s sights.
“Ah, there you are.” He presented a crystal water goblet as if offering the Crown jewels. His pale blue eyes clouded as his gaze lit on Cole. “Not trying to steal Miss Davenport away from me, are you?” He laughed for effect, but the attempt at humor did not soften his expression.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” Cole said, though he made no effort to leave.
“So, Major Travis, I take it you’re a West Point man.”
Cole met his words with a nod but offered no elaboration. Bradford’s brow furrowed.
“Tell me, how is it you’re here, in Washington, rather than in the field?”
The corners of Cole’s mouth curled into the faintest of smiles. “I must’ve made some general mighty angry.”
Bradford edged closer to Emma. “Come now, Major, I can’t imagine a more pleasant duty.”
“I can.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Cole nodded. “Believe me, I am.”
“You seem like a smart fellow. Surely you shook hands with the right people to wind up here.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth.” Cole stared past him, as if surveying the small crush gathered in the parlor. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“I can’t help but be curious, Major…why does a man like you decide to serve his country rather than pursuing his own fortune?”
“I’ve got a better question—how does a young man of sound body sleep at night, knowing others are shedding their blood while he’s not doing a thing besides counting his father’s money?”
Bradford’s mouth stretched into a crooked slit. “I suspect it’s because men like me have gold coins to count instead of sheep.”
Cole nodded slowly. “Somehow, that’s what I thought.”
The Third looked as though he stored a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he met Cole’s eyes and kept his peace.
A bell rang out, summoning them to dinner and shattering the silence between the men. Thank heavens. Surely the meal would not be this fraught with tension.
Allowing Bradford to escort her to her place at a table that might have accommodated Lincoln’s cabinet and their wives, Emma soon realized how mista
ken her assumption had been. Bradford the third settled his long body into the chair at Emma’s right, while Cole took a seat directly across from her.
He seemed to ignore the overeager son-of-privilege at her side, focusing his attention on their host’s latest arrival.
Martha Van Dyke, an elegant, raven-haired widow whose dearly departed husband had reportedly left her wanting for nothing other than another man, strolled into the dining room on the elder Bradford’s arm. She graced each man at the table with a sweet, flirtatious smile, but her interest quickly settled on Cole.
A rock the size of her fist tumbled into Emma’s belly. Perhaps a year or so older than herself, the widow Van Dyke was a true beauty, endowed with a curvaceous figure, sparkling sapphire eyes, and a quick wit. She was a woman used to getting what she wanted. And she’d clearly set her sights on the handsome cavalry officer who sat within touching distance.
Not that Emma could blame her. Summoning every ounce of resolve she possessed, Emma struggled to keep her attention, or at least the appearance of her attention, focused on something other than Cole. The challenge became greater with each passing moment. Especially given the way he matched Martha Van Dyke glance for glance, smile for smile.
“Miss Davenport, you certainly eat like a bird, don’t you?” Bradford the third observed as she picked at her food.
“I assure you that’s not the case,” she replied, tearing her veiled gaze from Cole.
“Is something wrong with your entrée? I’ll have a word with the cook.”
“Oh, no, it’s perfect,” she said. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all.”
She made her way through the meal without drawing further attention, forcing down a handful of dainty bites that bore no resemblance to her usual appetite. At last, the final course was served. She placed her napkin on the table and bobbed to her feet. She needed to focus on something other than the increasingly blatant flirtation between the widow and the major.
“If you will excuse me for a moment—”
Bradford sprang from his chair, polishing his solicitous façade. “Whatever you need, I shall endeavor to provide.”
She shook her head. “I find myself a bit overheated. I’m going to take a breath of fresh air.”
Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies) Page 27
