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

by Kingston, Tara

  He took a lumbering step toward Emma, then another. Still holding the derringer at the ready, she backed away until her retreat was blocked by the tower wall.

  “Get away from her,” Cole commanded.

  “As you wish,” Frederick said with an exaggerated flourish.

  With one sudden movement, he lunged, scooping Caroline up like a living, breathing shield. His blood creating a macabre path, he lurched toward the unglazed window. Emma’s heart froze in mid-beat as she glimpsed the madness in Frederick’s eyes.

  “Aren’t you going to pull the trigger?” he taunted. “If I go over the edge, I’m taking this darling girl with me. She won’t even make a pretty corpse.”

  “Frederick, I beg you,” Emma pleaded. “She’s only a child. She had no part in this.”

  Nodding to Emma to continue her entreaties, Cole edged toward Frederick and the girl.

  “Frederick, you’re wounded. You’re bleeding. Put Caroline down so I can help you,” Emma coaxed. Tears replaced the icy edge she’d wielded like a weapon. “Please, Frederick. Give her to me. Now.”

  Cole tracked Frederick’s movements. “Let her go, Staton. This is your last chance.”

  “I’ll wring her neck, you son of a bitch.” Rage shone in Frederick’s cold eyes. Still clinging to the weeping child, he staggered toward the window. “If I fall, she dies.”

  Emma moved toward him with slow, purposeful steps. Putting herself between the men, she pressed a hand to Frederick’s unmarked cheek. “Give me the girl and let me help you. Please.”

  “I’m a dead man in any case. At least this way, I’ll choose my own fate.” Frederick wrenched away. Still held in his tenacious grip, Caroline cried out, the pitiful sounds piercing Emma’s heart.

  “Move away, Emma.” Cole ground out the words.

  Frederick’s eyes flashed with what looked like regret. Caroline slipped from his arms. Open-mouthed with shock, she landed with a plop at Emma’s feet.

  He caught Emma’s hand. “Stay with me.”

  “Get Caroline out of here. I’ll take care of him.” Cole rasped.

  The hint of sadness in Frederick’s eyes transformed to a predatory gleam. “I’m going to die, but I won’t go alone.”

  Hauling Emma against his body, he dragged her to the window. She punched an elbow into his belly. Still, he clung to her. Driving her other elbow into his gut, she fought to free herself from his manic hold. Ragged gasps poured from his throat as he eased his death grip.

  Strong hands pulled her out of Frederick’s reach. Stepping over his accomplice’s still form, Frederick retreated. His attention fixed on the knife strapped to Smith’s side. He lunged, snatching up the weapon. A sound like a low growl escaped him as he propelled himself at Cole. “I’ll send you straight to hell.”

  Cole sidestepped the blow. Staggering, Frederick flailed wildly. A scream wrenched from his throat as he toppled through the window to the street below.

  His cry of terror echoed for what seemed an eternity. Emma gathered Caroline in her arms, stroking the child’s head and back with slow, soothing movements while she fought to hold back her own sobs.

  Cole enfolded them in his arms. Emma brushed a kiss against his lips. Caroline lifted her tear-stained face and studied him.

  “You stopped the bad man,” she said between sniffles.

  A smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

  Caroline offered a grave nod. “I was right. You really are a prince.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cole had lived through many battles in his lifetime. He braced himself for another skirmish as he awaited his audience with Senator Davenport. Death by hanging was preferable to being drawn and quartered, a fate he wouldn’t put past the esteemed senator to arrange for the upstart cavalry officer who intended to marry his daughter.

  Emma stood at his side, nervously arranging and rearranging her hair.

  “Are you ready?” he asked gently.

  “Yes.” She peeped into her father’s study before his timid assistant could respond to their knock at the door. “Hello, Papa.”

  Tearing his attention from a stack of correspondence on his desk, the senator’s hand swept out, tipping over a porcelain cup. Coffee splashed over the polished wood and dripped over the edge to the floor. His assistant moved to clean the mess, but Senator Davenport waved him away. “I’ll take care of it later,” he mumbled gruffly. “There’s correspondence to attend to—make sure those letters go out in the post.”

  Emma waited until Mr. Tucker shuffled from the room, then moved to her father’s side. “I’m sorry to startle you.”

  “What’s this about?” His steely eyes narrowed, and he focused his piercing stare on the officer he’d trusted to protect her. “Major Travis, where’s that replacement you said you’d arrange?”

  “Captain Dunham will arrive tomorrow morning.”

  “You’ve done a fine job, Travis. I’m in your debt.”

  “Protecting Emma was an honor.” He stared down at his boots for a heartbeat, then met the senator’s gaze. “But that’s not why I’ve come here today. Senator, I intend to marry your daughter. Emma and I would like your blessing, but we don’t require it to speak our vows.”

  “What is the meaning of this, Major?” Senator Davenport demanded. “I’m damned certain marrying my daughter wasn’t part of your orders.”

  He coiled a possessive arm around Emma’s middle. “I love Emma, and I will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness. You have my word on it.”

  “I should have known better than to send an arrogant young buck after Emma,” the senator muttered, fixing Cole with his steady glare. “General Mitchell assured me you were the only man for the mission. Cool and level headed. A man who’d never let his emotions or any other fundamental instincts interfere with his duty.”

  “My duty was to protect Emma, and I did.”

  Senator Davenport let out a low snort of laughter. “I don’t dispute that, Major. I still intend to have a word with Mitchell about his judgment.”

  “Senator, I will always protect her. I love Emma. I would give my life to keep her safe.”

  Jeremiah Davenport turned to his daughter. “I presume you want to take this man as your husband.”

  Emma’s radiant smile warmed Cole’s heart. Joy lit her emerald eyes. “More than anything.”

  “Emma and I will speak our vows before I leave for Virginia.”

  The senator came to his feet, pressing his palms to the desk as he leaned forward. “Is that so, Major?”

  “Yessir.” Cole met the older man stare for stare. “Emma and I will not be dissuaded.”

  “Dissuaded?” Senator Davenport’s brows shot up. “It’s about damn time you spoke up, Major. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to come to me with your intentions.”

  Had the man declared his desire to ride an elephant through the Capitol, Cole might have been less stunned.

  Emma’s eyes went wide, her mouth a pretty, prim o. “You knew?”

  “That will teach you to underestimate your father. Of course I knew. A blind man could see the way he looks at you. The way he dispatched young Bradford confirmed my suspicions. And you…well, you haven’t exactly deflected his attentions.”

  “So we can count on your approval,” Cole stated as an affirmation.

  “Absolutely. I’ll do what I can to speed your arrangements. Grant’s going to have to wait a few days while I get better acquainted with my son-in-law.” Studying Cole over steepled fingers, he reclined against his leather chair. “I have no doubt you’ll take good care of my Emma.”

  Cole let out a breath and pulled her closer. “You can rest assured of that.”

  Senator Davenport pointed a meaty finger at Cole’s face.

  “Just don’t ever call me Father.”

  Epilogue

  November, 1865

  Benjamin Coleman Travis arched his back. An ear-shattering wail escaped his tiny mouth. Emma
shifted her babe’s position, soothing him while she strolled the length of her home’s wrap-around porch.

  Ben was his father’s son. He’d inherited both Cole’s coppery brown hair and possessive nature. The baby nuzzled hungrily against her breast. He was strong-willed, determined and demanding. And she adored him more with every passing moment, just as her love for his strong-willed, determined, and demanding father grew more intense with every beat of her heart.

  Closing the distance with light footsteps, Cole enfolded her in his arms. He brushed his mouth along her the column of her throat. “How is our son tonight?”

  “He has a voracious appetite. Just like his father.”

  Cole pulled her to the lean hardness of his body. “Always.” Despite Ben’s fidgeting, he kissed her long and deep.

  Releasing her, a crooked smile hitched the corners of his mouth. He reached up and caressed his son’s plump cheek with two gentle fingers.

  Ben clutched his mother’s dress in possessive little fists. “He doesn’t want to share you. And I can well understand why.”

  The baby squirmed in Emma’s arms. She seated herself in a rocking chair and cuddled their child, a son conceived in a love more powerful than any she’d ever dreamt existed.

  Cole lingered at her side, stroking his son’s chubby belly with his fingertips. Contentment washed over his features as the infant wrapped perfect little fingers around his thumb.

  Ben’s eyes closed, his breaths rhythmic and peaceful as he drifted off to sleep. Cole followed close behind as Emma rose and carried the baby to the nursery. She tucked their son in his crib and met Cole’s gaze of anticipation.

  The love in his eyes warmed her like a loving embrace. She took his hand in hers. “Come to bed, sweetheart.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. He twined his fingers with hers as she led him to their bedroom.

  * * *

  Sated and fulfilled, Emma snuggled against Cole’s broad chest, secure in her husband’s arms. Content beyond her sweetest dreams, she ran her fingers through the feathering of dark hair, never tiring of the feel of the man she’d love for a lifetime and beyond.

  His nearness still had the power to set her heart pounding, and this night had been no exception. She brushed the contours of his face with her fingertips, luxuriating in the contrasting textures of his skin and the prickly stubble of unshaven whiskers, the sheer maleness of her husband sparking a thrill within her feminine soul.

  How she loved him. He was strong and vital and courageous, and he was hers.

  He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. “So, sweetheart, would you say I ravished you tonight?”

  Her brows peaked. “Ravished? Goodness, I haven’t heard that word in ages.”

  He flashed a crooked grin, a sly quirk of his mouth that never failed to melt her heart. “Once a desperado, always a desperado.”

  “Well, in that case, I’d have to say you did an extremely thorough job of…ravishment.”

  Masculine satisfaction played on his features. “I thought so. Especially since you failed to notice your present.”

  “Present?”

  "There…on the dresser."

  Her attention snapped to a leather bound book perched on the polished oak cabinet. “In all fairness, I was rather preoccupied.”

  “You could say that.” His smile broadened. “Did you forget your own birthday?”

  She tugged the sheet around her bosom as she sat up. “Darling, my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

  “I know. But I couldn’t wait.” He left the bed long enough to retrieve the gift and place it in her hands.

  She stared down at the volume. Moby Dick. Sitting so near her entirely naked husband’s bronzed muscles, drinking in his scent and the subtle musk of their lovemaking, Emma could scarcely concentrate on anything else, much less a novel about a whale, but she mustered a smile and met his eager gaze.

  “I know how much you enjoy stories about tortured heroes, Emma.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I’m familiar with the story, though I’ve never had a chance to read it.”

  Or the desire.

  “I thought you might enjoy reading one of my favorite novels. There are no mad wives in the attic, but the whale’s rather cantankerous, so I thought you might enjoy that.”

  “No mad wives?” He’d picked a fine time to tease her. She hiked the sheet tighter around her breasts.

  “And Emma, there’s one more thing.”

  “Another book about a whale, darling?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  Taking hold of one hand, he slipped an etched rose gold wedding band on her finger. The same steady hand he’d used to fire his revolver in her defense trembled as he slid the ring into place.

  “This was my mother’s ring,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I’d thought it lost years ago, but Miranda searched Mother’s old trunks and finally came across it. Daniel delivered it this afternoon. I couldn’t wait to give it to you.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, a miracle she could speak at all given the scalding lump in her throat.

  “You’ll always be mine, Emma.” Cole set the book on the night table and prowled over her. And then, he kissed her, a poignant caress that spoke of souls intertwined and hearts that had found their mates.

  She melted to him, seared by the rekindled flames of their passion. She’d found her destiny in his arms. He was her prince, her one true love.

  Forever.

  THE END

  A Peek at Pistols, Parasols & Passionate Little Lies

  Book 2 in the Secrets & Spies Series

  ~ Steve and Amanda’s Story ~

  “I know a lot of things about you.”

  He took a step toward her, then another. “Knowing too much can be dangerous.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and squared her shoulders. “If you’re trying to frighten me, you’re not succeeding.”

  He tipped her chin with one callused fingertip, and she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “You’re a poor liar, Miss Jones. You’re vulnerable, and you know it. You put yourself in a position where you’re alone with a man you’ve never met, a man you’ve been told is a gentleman by some phantom you won’t identify. No woman is so foolhardy in these times. Did someone send you to lure me out of the county?”

  Seeing his expression harden, she threw up her hands in exasperation. “Why would I bother? You were already well on your way to a decidedly undignified end.”

  His fingers laced through her long tresses. “Major Fitzgerald is a military man. What he intended wasn’t pleasant, but there would be procedures. Execution is quick and clean. I can’t say the same for the methods used by my enemies.”

  Her mouth went dry with a blend of fear and awareness of his touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He twined a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Are you working for the DuBois brothers?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She steadied her voice, keeping her fear tightly leashed.

  “I think you do. Why else would you break a man who looks and smells like the town drunk out of jail and ride off with him? Did you think you could tempt me to reveal the details of my mission?” His hand skimmed the length of her back, and then, he coiled his arm around her waist. “I’m not the guard in that county jail. Much as I’d love to hike your skirts and savor some of the charms you flaunted, I know the price would be too damn high.”

  His words stabbed with the viciousness of a stiletto. Bile flooded her palate.

  To hell with this man.

  She struck his bearded cheek with all the force she could muster. His eyes widened, and one broad hand rose to rub his face. Wrenching away, she bolted to the horse as swiftly as her cumbersome skirts would allow.

  Dunham captured her in his arms before she could swing herself into the saddle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

&n
bsp; Despite Amanda’s best efforts to deprive him of the satisfaction of seeing her weep, hot, angry tears brimmed in her eyes. She shoved against his chest, but she might as well have been a mouse trying to open a barn door. He didn’t budge. His arms enfolded her, and he dragged her against his body.

  He peered down at her for several breaths. Then his hands slid along her spine, stroking her back and shoulders with gentle, soothing motions.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” His gruff drawl had lost its angry edge. “Don’t you know how dangerous men can be?”

  “We were desperate. Betsy thought you would help us. She was wrong.” She wriggled to free herself. “Take your hands off me. I’m going home. You can find your way to your contact. You’re clever enough.”

  He made no move to release her. “You’re not going anywhere without me. Damned if I’m throwing you to the wolves.”

  “This…from the man who spoke of hiking my skirts?” Squirming against him, she brushed against undeniable proof he was not immune to her so-called charms. “I think I’ll take my chances with the wolves.”

  “I thought you were working for…hell, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She was tired. She was cold. And she needed to get away from him. It was bad enough when he frightened her. But now, the husky rasp in his voice stirred a warmth she couldn’t afford to feel.

  “You’ve made your point, Captain Dunham.” She veiled her eyes with her lashes. “I know now that seeking your assistance was a fool’s errand.”

  Keeping one hand planted firmly at her waist, he drew his fingertips very lightly along the curve of her face. Her top teeth grazed her bottom lip. His touch should repel her. But it didn’t. The sweep of his skin against her flesh was pleasant. Too pleasant.

  “You sure are stubborn when you get riled. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pretty girl get so angry with me.”

  “I doubt there are many women, pretty or otherwise, who’ve had as much justification.” She rebelled against his restraint. “You shouldn’t touch me like this. Your behavior is entirely improper.”