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

by Kingston, Tara

  “It would be my pleasure to escort you to the veranda. Even at night, the gardens are striking.” He offered his arm. “Shall we, Miss Davenport?”

  Her stomach twisted in rebellion, but she forced a smile and followed him through a long corridor to the gardens behind the mansion. He led her to a bench at the far corner of the terrace, nestled in the shadows of an imposing brick structure that seemed more a barricade than a fence.

  “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night.”

  The familiarity in his tone jolted her. Her pulse tripped into an erratic rhythm while her palms went cold, as though she’d been exposed to a sudden chill. She backed away despite his outstretched hand, keeping her eyes on him, heeding her body’s instinctive warning.

  “Mr. Bradford, I’m afraid you may have the wrong idea.”

  He countered every evasive step. “We’ve done enough talking. You’re nothing like I expected. Your shy violet act is quite convincing, but I know the truth.” He caught her arm and jerked her close. “One kiss. What could be the harm in that?”

  Pinning her to his long, scarecrow-thin body with surprising strength, he dragged his mouth over the curve of her throat. Emma squirmed to free herself, but his arms were as hard and strong as manacles.

  “You’re beautiful, Emma.” He trailed his rubbery lips along her nape. Gooseflesh prickled her skin and she wrenched harder to free herself. She twisted, hard, digging her elbow into his bony ribs, but he only laughed and held her more tightly.

  She gasped for breath, each inhalation stilted by the pressure he exerted on her middle. “I don’t want to cause a scene, but I will if you don’t stop this,” she managed, each syllable sounding like a little gasp. “I want you to release me. Right now!”

  “You like to tease a man, don’t you? A woman like you—”

  His words were strangled in a wheeze. Strong hands seized him, one at his collar, the other planted on his shoulder, and jerked him away from her.

  Cole shoved him hard. Bradford landed with an undignified thump on the garden bench.

  “You’ll stay away from the lady. I won’t tell you again.”

  Bradford came to his feet. Tugging at his collar, he righted his bow tie and flashed a glare. “What right do you have to come into my father’s home and act like a savage?”

  Emma smoothed her skirts in an effort to conceal the way her hands trembled. She met Bradford’s smirk and found her voice.

  “Savage? That’s rich, coming from you. My heavens, I never knew a man could have so many hands.”

  Bradford made a derisive snort. “It’s not as though you’re not accustomed to a man’s hands on your body.” He shot Cole a dismissive glance. “And at what point did you become this Jezebel’s champion? Shouldn’t you be off defending the Union or some other patriotic blather?”

  “I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut before your father needs to buy you some new teeth.”

  Bradford shrugged. “One telegraph from my father, and you’ll be digging ditches, not attending fine dinners in your dress uniform. I’d suggest you bear that in mind.” He made a show of brushing the shoulders of his dinner jacket. “In any case, this was a misunderstanding. After what I’d learned about Miss Davenport’s recent escapades, I thought she’d be relieved to know a man of quality might still take an interest in a tarnished—”

  Cole caught Bradford by the collar, lifting him until his toes skimmed the floor. “I warned you to keep your mouth shut.”

  “No, no,” Emma placed her hand on Cole’s arm, urging him to release his prisoner. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Stumbling away as Cole released him, Bradford unleashed a poison-filled glare. “I can picture a shovel in your hand. I wouldn’t try that again.”

  “And I can picture my fist…” Cole aimed a finger at Bradford’s jaw. “Right there.”

  “Gentlemen, please, there’s no call for threats.” She turned to Bradford. “Tell me, what nonsense are you spouting?”

  “Emma, dear—I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve stirred up quite a scandal. News of your sudden illness made its way to my ears in Massachusetts. Did your father really believe anyone would be taken in by that nonsensical story?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have nothing to hide.”

  Bradford cocked a skeptical brow. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, my sweet. A woman doesn’t leave Washington on a train at the crack of dawn one morning, not to be seen or heard from for days, without hens clucking about her misadventures. Or course, those chatty hens don’t know where you went or why, but there’s talk of a man.” His gaze wandered to Cole. “Maybe more than one.”

  “Ridiculous rumors, nothing more,” she said lightly.

  “Rumors often contain at least a grain of truth. Word in the circles I travel in is that you’re nothing more than a well-bred harlot.” Bradford turned his venomous gaze on Cole. “Now, what would you say to that, Major?”

  “This.”

  Cole snagged Bradford’s collar with one hand. As the younger man bellowed a piteous cry for help, Cole’s fist plowed into his jaw. Precisely where he’d warned he would strike.

  Bradford crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been clipped. Cole caught the unconscious cur, breaking his fall as light footsteps indicated they were no longer alone.

  Emma’s pulse surged, but she pulled in a calming breath and rushed to Cole’s side. Whatever the outcome of this, she wouldn’t leave him to face the consequences on his own.

  Martha Van Dyke’s delicate features came into view beneath the gas light. With her face and silver-blue gown cast in a soft, misty sheen, she might have been a goddess descended to Earth to mingle with mere mortals.

  The widow’s eyes narrowed, “Cole, darling, I wondered where you’d run off to.” She cocked her head, evidently spying the spot where Cole had propped Bradford’s unconscious body against the concrete bench. “What mischief have you been up to this time?”

  “Not now, Martha.”

  “My, my,” the widow’s gaze swept from Cole to Emma and back again. “A lover’s triangle. How delicious.”

  “Not now,” he gritted again. “The bastard had it coming.”

  Martha’s pretty mouth fell into a scowl. “Ah, a question of honor.” She shot Emma a glance beneath her smoky lashes. “Don’t you love it when a man inflicts violence on another man in defense of your honor?” She fanned herself as though the idea sped the blood through her veins.

  “You think I provoked this to stir his attention?”

  Martha slowly shook her head, her gaze knowing. “Not intentionally. But as a woman, you know you enjoy it even if you won’t admit it.”

  Heat flooded Emma’s cheeks. “You’re wrong.”

  “What does it matter? The major is a gentleman, a noble soul. That cannot be argued.”

  Emma bit her tongue. Noble soul, indeed. Perhaps the widow had imbibed in a little too much sherry at dinner.

  Martha’s skirts pooled around her as she managed an astonishingly ladylike crouch at Bradford’s side. “He’s breathing normally. There’s no cause for worry.” She stood and shook out the layers of fabric. “Cole, I am disappointed we didn’t find a moment or two to converse privately. It’s been such a long time.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sure that time will come.”

  “Soon, very soon.” Her gaze wandered to Bradford. “Would you like some help with this one?”

  “That might be a good idea.”

  With a sly smile, she hurried to the entry to the house. Opening the door, she appeared to draw in a breath, and then, she unleashed a scream that seemed more a soprano’s aria than a terrified bellow.

  “Come quickly! Someone! We need help!”

  She dashed inside, still crying out at the top of her lungs in tones even angels would envy.

  Cole’s hand coiled over Emma’s wrist, drawing her near. With his free hand, he threaded his fingers throug
h her long waves, sweeping the errant strands back into place. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but it’s bound to be interesting.”

  “How well do you know her?”

  He shrugged. “She’s an acquaintance.”

  “She seemed quite taken with you.”

  “She has no interest in a man like me. I don’t earn enough in a year to pay her dressmaker’s bill for a month.”

  Emma pulled away. “So you don’t think you could afford a woman like her?”

  He shrugged again. “It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.” His mouth hitched at the corners. “Jealous, Miss Davenport?”

  “Not at all. I must confess I find it difficult to believe the woman flirted so brazenly and you didn’t notice.”

  “Maybe I noticed but I didn’t give a damn.”

  He turned and marched toward the sound of urgent footfalls racing through the house toward the veranda. “Whatever she does, play along. We can’t afford another complication.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought about that before you hit him.”

  “He deserved it. Besides, I do a lot of damn fool things when I’m around you.”

  Bradford stirred, moaning as his lids fluttered. “What…what happened?”

  Emma kneeled at his side. “Don’t exert yourself. Be still.”

  The elder Bradford at her side, Martha rushed back to the groggy young man. “Good heavens, Josiah, the poor thing tripped over the bench and hit his head.”

  “Am I dead? Are you an angel?” The Third murmured.

  “Don’t be silly,” she cooed. “You’re very much alive. You had a mishap and hit your head.”

  Bradford the third’s eyes opened and he shook his head as if to clear it. He lifted a hand, pointed at Cole. “He did this. He—”

  “Oh, dear, the poor thing’s delirious,” Martha said in a voice that dripped concern. “We’ve got to get him to his room. He’ll need rest.”

  The elder Bradford fixed Cole in his sights. “What’s this he’s talking about? Why would he blame you?”

  Martha slipped her arm through the crook at the older man’s elbow. “Josiah, he’s not in his right mind at the moment. We need a physician.”

  “I’ve sent for Dr. Crawley.” The older man gave his son a cursory inspection. “I always did say the boy would kill himself tripping over his own two feet.” His head moved in a rueful shake. “How he can be my offspring never ceases to amaze me.”

  Martha issued orders for Bradford the third’s care in a silky voice. By the time the younger man realized what was happening, he’d been scooped onto an improvised stretcher and hauled away, presumably to his bed chamber in another wing of the house.

  Her arm still looped with the older Bradford’s, Martha inclined her head to Cole as she strolled past. “Try to stay out of trouble.” Her voice remained smooth as silk, though her blue eyes were etched with a knowing sense of amusement, as though their acquaintance was more finely developed than a casual flirtation would suggest.

  As the pair disappeared from view, Emma’s father closed the distance between them with unhurried strides. He’d observed the chaos surrounding his loyal constituent’s son from the shadows beyond the door of the main house, but now, his attention focused squarely on Emma.

  “What happened?” Unspoken questions filled his eyes.

  “Mr. Bradford took a fall. I thought you saw—”

  “I did. But I don’t entirely believe it. Tell me again…what happened? I want the truth.”

  Edging Emma behind him, Cole stepped forward. “I struck Mr. Bradford.”

  “With what?”

  “My fist.”

  “Allow me to understand this—you took it upon yourself to punch the son of my biggest contributor, a man who was our host.”

  “Yessir.” Cole’s quiet voice was matter-of-fact.

  “Am I to assume Emma had some part in this?”

  She nodded. “It’s my fault, Papa.”

  Her father’s expression remained unreadable. “I’m not finished with Major Travis.”

  “Papa, it’s not his doing.”

  Once again, Cole seemed to shield her with his body. “Senator, I take full responsibility for my actions. I’m prepared to deal with any ramifications of my conduct tonight.”

  “Why did you hit him?”

  “He impugned Miss Davenport’s honor. He was warned but chose to continue his uncouth behavior.”

  “So you rendered him unconscious?”

  “Yessir.”

  Emma’s heart thudded against her ribs. If Cole were forced to resign his commission, this would all be her fault. She never should have allowed herself to be alone with Bradford the third. Her aunt had always criticized her impetuous nature. And now, Cole would suffer the consequences.

  She steeled her spine and lifted her chin. “I made an error in judgment by allowing Mr. Bradford to accompany me onto the veranda. Major Travis came to my assistance.”

  Her father nodded. “It only took one blow?”

  “Yessir.”

  Rubbing his jaw, her father eyed Cole for a long moment. “What I wouldn’t have given to see that—I’m sure the son of a bitch had it coming—pardon my language, Emma.”

  “I assure you he deserved that…and more,” Cole said with a natural confidence.

  Her father offered another thoughtful nod. “We’ll keep this between us. No point bringing the old man into the ruckus. If I know Josiah, he’d throttle his son himself if he knew his namesake had treated a woman with disrespect.”

  “Very good, sir.” Cole nodded his agreement.

  “Josiah and I have business to discuss, but I think it advisable that Emma return home. I trust you’ll keep her out of trouble.”

  “I’ll see to her safety. You can be assured of that.”

  “And Major Travis—there’s one more thing.”

  Emma’s palms went slick. Something was wrong. Her father was too pleasant, too amenable. He’d made no secret of his desire for Emma to impress the younger Bradford. And now the man lay flat on his back, nursing both a bruised jaw and his pride.

  No, her father couldn’t possibly be happy about this.

  Emma pulled in a lungful of air, bracing herself for what would come next.

  Cole’s back had gone rigid, as if he readied himself to face a formidable opponent. So, her father’s agreeable demeanor hadn’t fooled him, either. “Yes, Senator.”

  “You’ve done a fine job setting up additional security measures for our home. With these processes in place, I can’t monopolize your services any longer. You were needed in Virginia. In good conscience, I can’t see keeping you here any longer. I’ll contact the general in the morning to arrange for your replacement.”

  The bottom dropped out of Emma’s stomach. Had her father sensed the current of attraction binding her to Cole? And now, he’d ensure Cole was far away from Washington.

  Far away from her.

  A muscle in Cole’s jaw ticked. “With all due respect, Senator, the security system has not been completely implemented and tested. I’ll need at least another forty-eight hours to ensure the mechanisms are fully functional.”

  Her father’s head bobbed slowly, as if he digested Cole’s words. “Very well. It will take that long to arrange for another officer to take your place.”

  “I have a man in mind. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Don’t concern yourself. I need an officer with a cool head, a man accustomed to dealing with situations that require diplomacy rather than brute force. I’ve no doubt Colonel Anderson will be able to secure an officer better suited to the position.”

  “Captain Dunham is well-versed in…negotiation.”

  Another bob of her father’s head. “I’ll consider him, for the time being at least.”

  “I’ll send for him in the morning.”

  “Good enough.” Her father’s curt tone seemed a dismissal. “Good night, Emma. Major Travis.”

  Emma’s mouth
had gone dry, but she managed a quiet, “Good night, Papa.”

  Cole curled a hand over her forearm, leading her away. Her father called after them.

  “And Major Travis, do make an effort to avoid assaulting any more of my constituents. Finding a suitable husband for Emma is going to be enough of a challenge without every man who comes near her fearing for his life.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A silence so oppressive it seemed a tangible thing fell over the carriage transporting Emma and Cole back to Georgetown. His jaw as rigid as a statue’s, Cole kept his focus on the surroundings beyond the window of the coach. Perhaps he intended Emma to believe he kept a vigilant watch, scanning the night for signs of danger without any thought to the events that had led to his unceremonious discharge from his current duties.

  But Emma knew better.

  He’d spoken scarcely a dozen words since her father’s abrupt dismissal. She’d expected him to display some sign of pleasure that his responsibility to serve as her protector was coming to a close. But his reaction betrayed nothing of the sort.

  “I do believe Papa meant what he said,” she ventured, casting a stone against the invisible wall that separated them.

  He didn’t bother to look at her. Rather, he trained his gaze beyond the carriage. “Which part? The admonishment not to assault any more of your prospective suitors, or his need for a man with a cool head?”

  “He would have enjoyed seeing the lesson you taught Mr. Bradford the third. The boor’s behavior was entirely reprehensible.”

  He gave a little grunt. “Your father’s right. I’m not the man to be your bodyguard.”

  “Well, you certainly ensured you’d be released from that duty. You’ll be off to Virginia soon enough.”

  He continued to train his gaze through the parted curtains. “Yep.”

  The carriage wheel bobbled over a rut in the road. Emma dug her fingers into the seat to steady herself. “Why did you hit Mr. Bradford?”

  Cole shrugged. “He’ll be no worse for it.”

  “But why did you hit him? Surely you had to know—”

  “Like I told you, I do a lot of damn fool things when you’re around.”