Or so he had told her at breakfast.
She rather thought he was simply trying to avoid her. Again.
Honestly, it was as if he could not decide if he liked her, despaired of her, or actually despised her. She knew full well she annoyed him, but he annoyed her in return, and their mutual annoyance was a great deal of fun for them both.
And it was growing rather difficult to fall asleep at night, knowing he was on the other side of the screen, and each occasion of shutting her eyes for any real length of time put her right back into the alley…
She moaned softly as she leaned against the building now. She had been kissed a time or two by the impetuous boys she had grown up with, but nothing at all to compare with the oblivion he had showered upon her. Her lips still tingled and burned with the memory, and she ached to try it again, though she had yet to work out how. They’d both been so focused on renewing interviews with witnesses and attempting to piece together details by walking about Portland in broad daylight to see things better that private moments for teasing, flirting, or anything that could remotely lead to something possibly romantic were scarce indeed.
It was entirely possible that Tucker was afraid of her, and he might have good reason to be.
Alexandra Waite was growing entirely too fond of and attracted to her husband, to whom she had vowed annulment upon completion of the mission. How ardent could one be before annulment was impossible?
Her cheeks flamed at the thought, and she turned her attention immediately to the telegram.
Invitation secured. STOP. Contract partner suspect. STOP. Friend aware. STOP. Proceed as you were. STOP. Miss my sweet peach. STOP. Hugs. Uncle Andrew.
Alexandra smiled at the paper, smoothing it though there were no wrinkles. She had barely thought of home since coming to Denver, let alone arriving in Portland, and the sudden reminder of everything she had left was poignant in the extreme.
Uncle Andrew. What a lark that was.
She and her father had decided from the moment she’d made the decision to go off to Denver that when she communicated with him, he could not be addressed as such. But an Uncle Andrew would certainly work well for her, and enable her to maintain her cover, whatever it happened to be.
So when she’d seen the article involving a potential witness and Mr. Teague, whose name she had known for ages as a colleague of her father, though never actually met, she’d known how to proceed.
They needed to talk to Creet; they couldn’t get him alone.
Teague could get them to Creet; her father could get them to Teague.
Alexandra knew how to work a high society party; Teague could get them in one.
It was all falling into place rather perfectly.
Now all she needed was…
“Mrs. Carlton, you looking rather pleased for a day so cold and dismal.”
Alexandra bit back a pained groan and turned with a falsely bright smile to the eerily thin woman approaching her. “Miss Gilbert. Good afternoon. Are you off early from the office?”
“I am,” Miss Gilbert replied with all the enthusiasm of an undertaker, a wide, plain hat atop her head. “It is customary on my Wednesdays.”
“And what do you do with your reduced workload on Wednesdays?” Alexandra inquired, feeling that she had to at least attempt some conversation, though she knew it would be a fruitless venture. “Anything entertaining?”
“No,” Miss Gilbert informed her. “Dinner with my parents, during which my life choices and failures are examined, and my desire for proper employment disparaged. I could recite the entire argument word by word at any given time.”
Surely she wouldn’t actually do so. It would have been worse than being trapped in a pen with a particularly angry bull who’s just been stung by a bee, and pens had fences that could be jumped over. This porch only had a drop into the street, and a flying leap off of it would have attracted attention that was best avoided.
Not to mentioned it would have dirtied her skirts and possibly skinned her knees, and she’d have to explain that to Tucker.
He might have understood.
“I am sorry for that,” she finally said, forcing a sweet sympathetic tone into the words. “I cannot imagine enduring such talk week after week. What relief you must find doing such important work with the police, even if your efforts cannot be so widely spread about.
Miss Gilbert seemed to consider that. “Yes, I suppose I must find satisfaction and relief in my occupation, despite the disappointment at home. I’ve grown accustomed to not looking for outside approval of my life, and to find my own opinions of greater importance.”
Despite the almost complete monotone it was spoken in, the words struck something within Alexandra, shocked as she was to admit it. How often had she looked for approval from outside sources rather than from within herself? What trouble had those thoughts given her over the years, particularly in her attempts to gain said approval?
Her father tended to approve of almost everything Alexandra did and had always been rather indulgent with her, so there had never been any difficulty in that regard. The lack of satisfaction with her life had been what had driven her to answering the advert for joining the Pinkerton agency, and consequently had brought her here. Since her arrival, she’d been adamantly attempting to prove herself to Tucker, but perhaps even more than that, to herself.
It was a rather startling epiphany, especially given the source.
But Miss Gilbert didn’t need to know that.
“Did you see my husband at the office as you left?” Alexandra asked, trying for a mild tone. “I understood he was going to discuss some alternative theories with the sergeant before returning home.”
“I did, yes, though what they were discussing was not for my ears.” The angular woman shrugged and fussed with her faded gloves. “Do you know what alternative theories those were?”
Curious, was she? Well, there was nothing so satisfying as being obliged to disappoint in this sense.
Alexandra shook her head, sighing. “Alas, my husband almost never shares case details with me. He doesn’t want me to be in danger, you know, and he always says that the less I know, the safer I will be.”
“Not necessarily,” Miss Gilbert disagreed, looking across the street with a slight squint. “If you knew more, you would surely be more aware of dangers and things to avoid. I often wondered if we had let the public know of the danger of Early Street, and its surrounding alleys, would we have saved some of the victims?”
“Oh dear,” Alexandra murmured, widening her eyes. “Is it really so bad?”
Miss Gilbert glanced at her sharply. “Oh yes. Far too many sailors filling up the taverns and bordellos thereabouts, and the dockyards are not safe at night.”
Pretending at apprehension, Alexandra nodded, still wide-eyed. “I thank you for your frankness, Miss Gilbert. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
The secretary nodded in return, though it was clear she did not care either way. She indicated the telegram in Alexandra’s hand. “Some good news there? Perhaps from home?”
“From my uncle,” Alexandra told her with a bright grin. “It seems his friend Mr. Teague is in Portland and having a party, and he has secured invitations for Tucker and me. I am ever so surprised, I hadn’t thought of any social events while we were here.”
Miss Gilbert actually seemed impressed, shockingly enough. “Those are high circles indeed, Mrs. Carlton. How fortunate for you. Will your husband go? Considering his assignment…”
“I should say so,” Alexandra protested, her more natural Society girl coming to the forefront. “The case can take a reprieve for a few hours. After all, he will want to make some influential connections for our future. And in this world, Miss Gilbert, it is all about who you know.”
A slow, very strange smile spread across Miss Gilbert’s face, straining her features into such distortion it was both fascinating and unnatural.
“How very true, Mrs. Carlton. How very, very true.” Sh
e inclined her head in an almost nod, then swept on down the covered porches ahead before venturing back into the street, her wide brimmed hat catching most of the falling rain, but not all.
“What a bizarre creature,” Alexandra murmured to herself, shaking her head.
“What did you call me?”
A warm hand came to rest at her back, and she looked up over her shoulder with a smile. “You’ve just missed Miss Gilbert, darling. Aren’t you disappointed?”
Tucker’s doleful expression made her giggle before he ever responded. “So very,” he recited obediently. “It’s not as though I was graced with her bright and shining countenance all afternoon. What a pity.”
Alexandra tipped her head back on a loud laugh, then turned and put her arm around his waist, leading him into the boarding house.
“You poor thing. I know just how to set it all right.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” he groaned, wincing.
She nudged him hard. “First, sittin’ by the fire to dry off and warm up from the rain.”
“So far, I agree.” He immediately moved to a chair and pulled it to the fire, sitting with a sigh. “Next?”
“Tellin’ me what you learned today,” she informed him, lowering her voice. “And leaving nothing out.”
His lips quirked. “Eventually, but I agree. Anything else?”
Alexandra gave him a prim nod, folding her arms. “As a matter of fact, yes. We’re going to a party on Saturday. Later I will tell you why, and tomorrow we will get your fitted for the proper attire for the evening.”
He shook his head immediately, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “No. Absolutely not, and emphatically no.”
Alexandra raised a superior brow. “You misunderstand me, Mr. Carlton. This is not an optional event, and when I tell you why, you will, very reluctantly, agree with me once again.”
Chapter 6
“I have never been more uncomfortable in my entire life.”
“Welcome to the world of every woman who is forced to abide by socially dictated fashions.”
Tucker scowled at his wife, which was quite a feat as she was positively stunning. He could barely see straight for her beauty, and focusing on his discomfort was the only way his mind could rationally cope. He tugged at his too-tight collar, wincing audibly before he thought about it too much.
“Stop that,” Alexandra snapped, rapping his hand with a fan he didn’t know she had. “You have to behave yourself, Tucker. You don’t have to be overly social, but try not to look as though its torture.”
“Having been through torture,” he grumbled, fidgeting with his coat, “I think I’m in a better position to judge than you.”
“Tell that to my corsets,” she retorted.
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I am not having this conversation with you.”
“Then stop talking.”
Tucker bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep himself from smiling. He couldn’t let her know how much he was enjoying bantering with her, and how her sharp replies entertained him. The more time he spent with Alexandra, the more time he wanted to spend with her, which made their assignment more challenging, as he was supposed to be spending time in and on the case.
Then again, so was she, but he’d been very careful to keep their roles separated.
Until tonight.
They pulled up to the Gilded Cage Hotel, and Tucker gaped at it. It was exactly the sort of place that he had stared longingly at as a young lad, wondering what sort of wealth earned one entry, and how the people within lived their lives. He’d picked pockets of these sorts of people, and now he was going to mingle among them.
His level of discomfort had just reached untold heights.
He tugged at his collar again as they got out of the coach, his palms beginning to sweat. “How exactly did you manage this?”
Alexandra looked up at him with a lopsided smile, her skin practically translucent in the streetlamp light. “How many times must I tell you that I know people?”
“We’re undercover!” he hissed, looking around, half expecting someone to know Alexandra from Georgia.
“Oh, really?” she drawled, adjusting her cloak about her shoulders. “I had no idea. Honestly, Tucker, it’s as if you think I told the whole world who we are, and that we’re about to make a spectacle of ourselves.”
He raised a brow at her. “Are we?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Tucker…”
He bit back a grin as they mounted the stairs, a footman of sorts waiting for them at the top. “Who are we?” he murmured to his wife, leaning closer.
“The niece and nephew in law of the very charming Andrew Drake in Savannah,” came the deceptively sweet reply.
Tucker shook his head as he handed his hat to the servant before helping Alexandra with her cloak. “Please tell me that is not your father,” he said quickly as his fingers inadvertently brushed against her bare shoulders, the carefully scalloped neckline of her cream gown barely grazing them.
She shivered, but recovered quickly and turned to face him, her perfect lips tilting in a mischievous way. “Of course it is,” she replied, taking his arm and letting him lead her towards the party. “We could hardly get in the door with your social credentials, and I know very well how you get along with others. You’re welcome.”
She had a point there, and he couldn’t deny it, but the perfect argument on her part still rankled.
Along with the maddening notion that he was not a match for her in appearance, and every man in the room would want her.
Which rankled much, much more.
Not that he blamed them, but she was his.
His.
They reached the room, and Alexandra paused, drumming her fingers against his arm, whether in encouragement, excitement, or comfort, he couldn’t have said. “You just follow my lead, Mr. Carlton,” she murmured, a perfect curve forming in her full lips. “We are in my area of expertise now. If you do nothing else, smile and nod no matter what I say.”
“That sounds terrifying, Mrs. Carlton” he whispered.
He caught her brief hum of laughter, which did more to steady his knees than anything else. “Don’t you trust me, Mutt?”
Tucker hummed once himself, then turned to meet her dark, dancing eyes. “I do trust you, Chickadee. Implicitly.”
Her eyes widened briefly, and her cheeks tinged with pink. Then her smile deepened and she faced the room again, nudging him without the same sharpness she usually did. “Oh, Mutt. You sound so convincing.”
He chuckled now, and he leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “I am convincing, Alex. Look just how convincing I am.”
Alexandra swallowed, her delicate throat working on the action, and her fingers drummed against him very slowly. “My, my,” she whispered, her eyes darting towards him again, darker than ever. “So you are.”
For a moment, he didn’t breathe, and he would swear she didn’t either.
Then one corner of her smile lifted, barely displaying a hint of teeth, and she released his arm, striding forward into the crowd like a siren goddess parting a sea.
And he, her devoted partner and close-to-adoring husband, watched as every single head turned towards her, male and female.
Then his brow snapped down, and he followed.
Reluctantly, but he followed.
Alexandra was already in conversation when he reached her, charming absolutely everyone around her, including the host of the evening, who, while clearly not wholly taken in by the Southern belle, did not mind being distracted by her.
“My uncle sends his greetings, Mr. Teague,” she was saying in a perfect flattery. “And thanks you most kindly for seeing to the social comfort of my new husband and myself.”
Mr. Teague, a tall and noble looking man of a somber countenance, smiled with genuine warmth. “It is my pleasure, indeed, Mrs. Carlton. As your uncle well knows, I always remember my friends.” He saw Tucker approach, his dark eyes steady on him.
“And might this fellow belong to you, my dear?”
Alexandra smiled at Tucker, taking some of the strength from the backs of his knees as she did so. “He sure does, Mr. Teague. That’s my fellow sure as night is day.”
Her words sent a possessive thrill into his gut, and his mouth curved as he tilted his head in acknowledgement of her statement. “For my sins, sir, I am guilty as charged. I am the Mr. to her Mrs. Carlton.”
The men around them chuckled all-too knowingly, some giving the women beside them a look of shared understanding. Mr. Teague, for his part, kept his eyes on Tucker, then extended a hand to him. “Lawrence Teague, Mr. Carlton. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
An Agent for Alexandra Page 8
