Love in Disguise

by Barbara Baldwin

  “I see your hundred and raise you five hundred, Mr. Dillon.”

  Would he accept her challenge? Max called her bet. Johnson and Pepper folded. Abby knew Talbot would fold when his turn came. It was up to Dillon. His eyes went to the pile of cash in the middle of the table, then sliced to her, where she shuffled her cards. To keep from showing she was nervous, she laid them on the table and folded one hand over the other. He tugged at his ear, then leaned forward to drop some gold coins onto the table, the only noise in the suddenly silent room.

  “I see your bet and,” clink, clink, clink, “raise you another five.” He leered.

  Abby’s right hand went to her throat. She looked at the empty space in front of her.

  “I seem to be short of funds to call your bet.”

  She looked from man to man, but no one would meet her gaze. She slowly slid her hand down the gold chain, over the swell of her bosom, until she clasped the pocket watch.

  “Perhaps…”

  She lifted the watch away from her chest. Max tapped her foot under the table. She ignored him.

  “Perhaps you would consider taking this pocket watch for my bet.”

  She raised wide eyes to him, heart beating erratically and fingers trembling. It was all part of the plan—her plan, anyway. Dillon snorted in reply to her offer.

  “That isn’t worth much compared to the rest of what’s out there, lady.”

  “Don’t I recall you using the watch as a bet in…” she paused, “Chicago?”

  Dark eyebrows slashed downward. He stared at her menacingly. His jaw worked, the scar even more starkly apparent.

  “I thought you looked familiar.”

  Max tapped her toe again. She kicked him in the shin.

  “Anything else you want to offer?”

  Dillon’s gaze slid to her décolletage, and she felt Max tense next to her.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Abby was afraid she did, but would never admit it.

  “Well, now, I’d say you call my bet with a little piece of you—for the night.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning this time. Max slid back his chair. He stopped mid-motion, but she saw from her side vision that he gripped the chair arms so tightly his knuckles were white. She needed to defuse the situation or all would be lost.

  “Oh, my, Mr. Dillon.” She forced her voice lower. “You do quite flatter a lady, to think she might be worth all that.”

  She heard Max and at least one of the other men cough. She didn’t take her eyes off the man across from her. She’d come too far now to back down. All the money Max had given her lay in the center of the table, along with a good plenty from the other man. She couldn’t afford to let him off the hook. She laid her hands palms down on the table, thumb touching thumb, forcing herself not to pick up her cards to look at them again. She didn’t need to. After all, she dealt them. She only hoped Dillon didn’t have the same eclectic card counting ability. Did she dare chance it?

  “I’ll see the lady’s bet,”

  Max drawled, his tone giving nothing away.

  Abby breathed again.

  “Nobody asked you to.” Dillon shot him a dark glare.

  Max’s gaze swept the remaining men at the table.

  “Anyone object?”

  Johnson, Pepper and Talbot all shook their heads.

  “I do,” Dillon growled. “This is between the lady and me.”

  Peter Pepper spoke, his voice strong. “See here, sir. If you have a winning hand, it shouldn’t make any difference where the money comes from. And if the lady holds the winning cards, it shouldn’t cause you to care either way.”

  Abby truly believed Dillon might have said more, but Max leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of his lips. He didn’t say a word, but stared intently until Dillon sullenly backed off. Max cast a silent glance her way. She stared at him blankly. He tapped her toe with his boot yet again. She swore the first thing they would get straight before the next strategy was a signal other than the trouncing of her feet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Markham, I accept.”

  He put the money onto the pile to see Dillon’s bet.

  Red-faced, the man sneered. “What makes the difference—you sell yourself to one man or another.”

  This time she did restrain Max with her hand on his arm. Finding her composure, she smiled.

  “The difference, Mr. Dillon, is that Mr. Markham appears to be a gentleman.”

  She squeezed slightly to remind Max he was still in the game. He threw in his cards.

  “I’m out.”

  She calmly looked at her only opponent.

  “I call.”

  He laid his cards down and stretched his hands toward the winnings. She placed her cards face up on top of the money.

  “Shit!”

  Dillon jumped up from the table, and she knew a brief moment of panic. Her full house beat his ace high straight. When he leaned toward her, arms outstretched, Nathan grabbed one arm and Mr. Pepper the other. They began forcibly moving him toward the door.

  “I’ll get it back, lady,” he bellowed over his shoulder.

  “Be damned guaranteed of that, and some of your pretty little ass for interest.”

  The door slammed behind him, and Abby leaned back in her chair. Nervous energy caused her to shake all over.

  Max took control.

  “Talbot, follow Dillon and make sure that man doesn’t get anywhere near us.”

  Johnson brought her cloak, and Max wrapped it about her when she stood.

  “Johnson, see Miss Faith to my carriage. Tell Forbes not to stop for anyone or anything until she’s safely home.”

  “Max?”

  She turned to him, uneasy at the suppressed tension she heard in his words. She didn’t understand his urgency.

  “I’ll explain when we’re safely behind locked doors, but trust me when I say you’ve made an enemy tonight.”

  He handed her over.

  “Johnson, see to it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man gently led her to the double doors. She turned back to see Max tap the corner of the fireplace, then disappear past a panel that slid open in the wall. If she harbored any doubts to his occupation, she now knew for a certainty that it was beyond dangerous. Peter Pepper waited by the carriage when she exited the InterOcean Hotel.

  “You were quite brave to speak up, Mr. Pepper,” she said, giving him her hand. He clasped it firmly.

  “Goes against the grain for a body to speak to a lady just so,” he replied.

  “Well, I thank you for your assistance.”

  He handed her into the carriage, but stepped forward before the door closed.

  “May I say, Miss Faith, that you play a darn good hand of poker.”

  “Thank you again.”

  He closed the door and she sat back in the dark. The carriage moved forward.

  “Another conquest, fair Miss Faith?”

  She squealed, shrinking into the corner before recognizing Max’s voice.

  “Good lord, you gave me a fright.”

  She searched the darkness, but with the shades drawn against a moonless night, she only sensed his presence. After his one comment, he said nothing. The creak of the carriage springs sounded deafening. Abby squirmed.

  “Max?”

  “Do you have any idea how extremely angry I am at this very moment?”

  He bit off each word, their sharpness pricking Abby like needles.

  “Angry? But why?”

  His reasoning was beyond her.

  “John Dillon is definitely the man I played against in Chicago. That means we’ve succeeded in identifying the man who won Monty’s watch. If your brother lost it as a clue, we are on the trail of the killer.”

  Silence. She tried again. “I didn’t lose your money.”

  In fact, her purse absolutely bulged at the seams.

  Calloused hands grabbed her by the upper arms and dragged her across the
width of the carriage, where she landed in his lap. With one twist of his hand, her bag was stripped from her wrist. A dull thud echoed in her ears when he threw it across the carriage.

  “Do you think I give a damn about the money?”

  She felt his chest heave with his rapid breathing. His hands were back on her arms, but his grip didn’t hurt. In fact, she thought she detected a tremor. She had never before seen so much passion in him; the tension palatable in the air. With no warning whatsoever, Max pulled her close and his mouth found hers. His kiss was hot and hard and she thought he meant to devour her. Where before their kisses were passionate, nothing compared to the way he now possessed her. He gave her no time to soften beneath his lips, but teased and probed until she opened and he took total ownership of her very soul.

  Just when she thought she would expire from the exquisiteness of his kisses, he lifted his head but didn’t release her. He tilted her back against one arm, his fingers flicking the button of her cloak open. He slid it off her shoulders. Abby felt naked, her breasts barely concealed beneath the thin black silk. He growled deep in his throat. His hand slid along her side, and Abby thought if he didn’t touch her, she would scream.

  Reading her thoughts, he brushed his palm across the top of her breast. Her gown did nothing to deter the heat that radiated from his skin. Even so, Abby wished nothing lay between them. His lips moved down the column of her throat. Hot, moist air caressed her skin. He slowly slid her dress down over her breasts and kissed the valley between them. An even hotter tongue licked a circle around her nipple, and Abby groaned. She wanted to tug his head closer, yet feared moving lest the sensations disappear.

  No sooner had she thought it than his mouth covered her breast, tugging gently at her nipple. He lifted her legs to the carriage seat. Cool night air caressed her as he slid a hand up her leg, past the garter at the very top of her stocking, bringing her gown with it. Abby sucked in her breath, anticipating his next move and where it would lead. He released her nipple and kissed his way to her other breast. Abby softly begged him not to stop. She wanted him to appease the ache that sliced through her at his touch.

  He licked, he teased, he whispered in the night. “You have no idea how crazy you made me when you wagered that last time. Have you any inkling what he wanted from you?”

  She heard the jealousy in his voice and her heart soared. She also detected fear. Bringing one hand up to caress his cheek, she tried to calm him.

  “I knew I could beat him.”

  She lifted his head, finding his mouth and brushing her lips ever so softly against his.

  “Besides, you were there to save me.”

  “Such faith.”

  He shook his head at her trust.

  Her body longed for something other than conversation.

  “Would that I had as much faith that you might finish what you have started.”

  She wiggled and was pleased to hear him groan in response. His hand delved higher on her thigh.

  “We are not yet done with this discussion, vixen,” he murmured, but she didn’t think his voice sounded very convincing. She pulled his head down and kissed him until she was breathless. Once again he took her soaring on the wings of pleasure to that secret place only lovers go.

  * * *

  Max called Abby into the study first thing the next morning, bound and determined to finish their discussion of her behavior, both in taunting Dillon and in the clothes she’d worn. A vision of black silk framing pale breasts filled his thoughts. Gritting his teeth, he was equally determined not to broach the subject of their behavior in the carriage on the way home. How many times could he take her to the peak of her pleasure and not transport himself right along with her, completing the act his body craved so desperately? He had not slept at all last night, unfulfilled lust continuing to throb through his veins. Her passionate nature would be his downfall.

  In her innocence, she was experiencing the first bloom of womanhood. Without her mother to guide her, she didn’t see anything wrong with what they did. If Max couldn’t control himself for both of their sakes, there was no doubt she would allow him that last, intimate step. A step which would irrevocably change their lives.

  “Good morning.”

  Abby poked her head through the doorway, looking fresh and beautiful for having little sleep. She came to sit in the chair facing his desk and he was glad to see she wore a high-necked dress of pale yellow. Tiny flowers sprigged the hemline and the soft bodice fitted closely to her curves. Yellow was a good color for her, he thought, then mentally shook himself. It was high necked, that was the important thing.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Her voice brought him out of his reverie. It was no wonder

  Clancy and most of the other operatives weren’t married. Having a woman in his life, in no matter what capacity, was extremely distracting. He cleared his throat.

  “What happened last night is going to cause repercussions. Dillon is not happy to have lost, especially to a woman, regardless if his funds are unlimited.”

  “But isn’t that what you wanted? It was easy enough to identify him, but that doesn’t find your brother nor the money and merchandise that are also missing. To get him to make a mistake, either by speaking out of turn or by showing his hand in some other way, we will know if he is responsible for the murder.”

  Abby folded her hands in her lap and gave him a genuine smile, apparently very pleased with her reasoning. “Besides,” she added, “it shouldn’t take too many poker games, provided we can get him to drink more than he did last night. I do believe he would be chattier when intoxicated.”

  “Chatty? Abby, an angry man is a dangerous man. And do not keep saying we. Your part in this is over and done.”

  “Can you guarantee he will lose enough to make him careless?” she asked.

  “And you can, I suppose?”

  “Certainly. It’s all a matter of odds and probability. There is a one in thirteen chance of getting an ace. If I have one in my hand, his chances are going to decrease. Besides—”

  “How do you know this?” he interrupted. Sometimes her intelligence scared him. Women shouldn’t know the things Abby did.

  “Remember I told you I played cards with the sailors at the wharf?”

  “Yes, I know that, but remembering all the cards?”

  She shrugged. “It’s really no different than memorizing music—half, eighth and quarter notes all make up the whole. Without a pattern there would be no rhythm to the sound. The cards and the way men play have patterns, too. Mr. Faro said I was a natural dealer with my ability to calculate or sense the odds. Besides, I have a good perception of the way people think.”

  She smiled, then added, “Most everyone gives themselves away.”

  Max frowned.

  “I don’t.”

  Her smile became a grin.

  “Would you care to wager on that, sir? You twisted the ring you wore whenever you had a good hand. You weren’t even very subtle about it.”

  “Perhaps that was a signal for Johnson or Pepper to fold.” Max refused to believe he was that easy to read.

  “No, when you wanted them to fold, you lifted your glass to drink. One sip for Johnson, two for Pepper and three for Talbot. I’m certainly surprised that you were able to walk after all that time.”

  “I wasn’t really drinking, you imp.”

  She had him dead to rights on all counts. Not only did he have a suffragist on his hands, but a card sharp as well. She scooted forward on her chair, reaching across the desk to clasp his hands. His gaze was drawn to the contrast between their fingers—his brown and blunt while hers were long and slender, the nails tapered. Her grip was warm, sending electric shocks up his arms to his heart.

  “Max, don’t you see? You need me.”

  He entwined their fingers, rubbing his thumbs across her soft skin. He needed her, but not in the sense she might think.

  “Abby, you ridiculed Dillon, and I just don’t know what
to expect from him. If anything happened to you…”

  “Then that’s all the more reason for me to stay in very close proximity to you.”

  A vision of sleeping beside her to keep her safe came to mind. He groaned. Her ruin, and most likely his, was imminent.

  * * *

  Abby sat before the piano, spreading her sheet music in front of her. Libby was delighted when she’d asked permission to use the music room. Max’s aunt confessed that, although she had a lovely room and a grand piano, she never learned to play. The piano was only used when some person or other wanted to offer a niece the opportunity to perform for acquaintances. Abby wouldn’t be here today except that Max sneaked away two nights ago to investigate on his own and had not yet returned. Hickory finally told her that Max had followed Dillon to Arapaho on the Denver & Rio Grande railway.

  She decided then and there that if he didn’t think he needed her, she would go back to her original plan. She would work on her music and perhaps even complete her book on advice for independent women. She completed her scales without really thinking about them, then concentrated on the musical score in front of her. She played the piece she’d composed in Topeka, the melody floating around her and filling the room with an almost live presence. She started the second movement, which she wrote on the train as she and Max headed west. Halfway through she stopped, the notes hanging in the air. She stared at the pages.

  Her music had changed dramatically from one movement to the next. She checked the sheets of music, making sure she’d placed them in proper order. She began at the beginning. There was no mistake. Confounded, she picked up her pencil to make notes, using her left hand to finger the melody while she tried to decide what it was that needed to be changed. The second movement sounded much better. Perhaps it was the beginning that needed some adjustment.

  “I didn’t realize you played so well,” Max said as he entered the music room.