“Oh, hush, Devin.”
He closed his eyes, smelled that faint rose scent, felt her softness curve beside him. And even though he’d been shot by an arch enemy, he was angry with his best friend in the world, and his shoulder burned, he found himself smiling.
Few moments had ever felt so perfect.
24
When Lizbeth returned to the Menger the next morning, she discovered Ethan lounging on one of the formal settees in the lobby of the hotel. Everyone who walked by was giving him a wide berth. Lizbeth wasn’t surprised about that, given the way he was glaring at the closed door leading into the secret hall.
She was surprised by his appearance, however. His suit looked rumpled and his expression was haggard. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all. He looked the exact opposite of his usual, perfectly tailored self.
When he spied her, he got to his feet. “Lizbeth.”
“Good morning, Ethan,” she said simply.
He ran a careless hand through his hair. “Huh. I guess it is morning already.”
“You look like you’ve been lounging here all night. Is everything all right?”
“I have. And no, it is not.”
His voice had an unfamiliar rasp. He was upset. “What happened?” she asked as she sat down on one of the padded chairs nearby. “Is the captain worse?”
“I don’t know,” he said as he sat back down with a grateful sigh. “I haven’t been in his room since yesterday afternoon—although I made sure he let in the doctor when he came. And the maids in with some food and fresh water.”
“But otherwise he’s been alone?” She was shocked—and worried. The captain’s wound had been angry, and he’d lost a lot of blood. He needed constant monitoring and was too weak to fend for himself.
“No. Miss Van Fleet stayed with him.”
“Why didn’t you join them?”
“Devin asked me to leave.”
Her eyes widened as she tried not to let on how very shocked she was. But of course it was impossible to hide the fierce blush that was no doubt staining her cheeks.
Ethan did notice. “It wasn’t like that, Lizbeth,” he said, a touch of amusement lightening his tone. “I … well, I offended Miss Van Fleet. Devin heard and was furious.”
Belatedly, she realized what that meant. “So Captain Monroe awoke when—”
“He did. Then ordered me from his room.” He leaned back against the sofa’s cushions and stretched out his arms along its length. When a lady tittered at his position, he glared at her.
Feeling sorrier for him by the second, she said, “That wasn’t very kind of Captain Monroe. You went to so much trouble to care for him.”
“It was no less than I deserved, I’m afraid.” Staring at the closed door again, he shook his head. “What I said was cruel and crossed the boundaries of acceptable behavior. I do not fault Devin for sending me out. Only his injury kept him from hitting me. I would have.”
“But you didn’t want to leave, did you?”
He shook his head. “I decided to stand vigil out here, in case Miss Van Fleet came out and needed something beyond what the doctor and maids provided. However, she has not.”
“It’s morning now. Maybe the captain’s temper has cooled.” Touching his arm stretched out closest to her, she added, “Let’s go see him. Maybe we can take them both some coffee and pastries. That usually brightens any mood.”
He got to his feet. “I think you’re right.”
“I’ll go to the kitchens. One of the cooks is my friend. I’m sure she’ll help me get a tray together.” When he made a motion to accompany her, she shook her head. “You had better not wander around the servants’ quarters, Ethan. You’d likely send the staff into a fit of vapors. Just wait for me here.”
“Thank you. Once again, you’ve proven to me that while I hope to help you, you seem to be better at helping me.”
His words settled in her heart as she walked to one of the servants’ staircases and headed to the kitchens. She wasn’t immune to his charm, it seemed. Even when he wasn’t trying to be particularly charming.
When she opened the door, a blast of warm air and the low rumble of conversation greeted her. Though she didn’t miss many things about working at the Menger, she did miss this place. The kitchens were made up of four large rooms, housing everything from china, glassware, cutlery, linens, and serving platters and trays to a walk-in pantry and an ice room, a washing station, and a huge stove.
Her appearance drew a couple of pointed stares, but then she spied Meg, who was rolling out pastry dough along a marble surface.
“Well, look who’s here. It’s Elizabeth Barclay!” she called out. “What brings you back to our world? Did Mrs. Howard hire you back on?”
Lizbeth had no desire to discuss her relationship with her cousin. “I’m actually on a mission for rolls and coffee.”
Meg grinned. “I heard you’re at Harrison House. You entertaining over there?”
“No, of course not. I offered to help Major Kelly. It’s for him and a guest of his. Would you help me out?”
“I can. But does Mrs. Howard know you’re asking?”
She shook her head. “Does it matter?”
Bertha, the dining room’s head cook, strode forward. “Of course it doesn’t, Lizzy. If the major wants something, he gets it immediately.” She tossed Meg a chiding look. “Everyone here knows that.”
Lizbeth hid a smile. It seemed her major had wrapped even their querulous cook around his little finger. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Reaching out, she squeezed Lizbeth’s shoulder. “But I should tell you that we’d do it for you too. We miss you around here.”
“It’s been far quieter ever since you left,” Meg added. “No one else on staff is as well liked as you.”
Lizbeth felt her cheeks heat. The women’s kind words meant the world to her. She needed to remember she did have friends here at the Menger. “I’d best get these things together,” she said. “The major is waiting.”
“Did you say you wanted coffee and pastries?”
“Yes. For four, if you please,” she said, figuring she might as well treat herself too.
Bertha pointed to one of the larger silver-plated containers. “Go grab one of those and a couple of cloths. The rest of us will set everything up.”
“Thank you, Bertha.”
“No thanks needed. You were one of ours. We’ll keep claiming you too. As long as you’d like us to, anyway.”
Ten minutes later, Lizbeth carried a silver tray toward Ethan. On it was a full coffee service, four china cups, four china plates, and a large silver container of pastries and muffins.
Ethan raised his eyebrows. “I was starting to wonder what was taking so long. Now I realize I should have been asking you to take care of my meals all along. That’s quite a spread.”
“I have connections in the kitchen,” she teased. Thinking it was time for her to be the person who pushed things along, she said, “We should head right down to the captain’s room, Ethan. The coffee is hot.”
Steeling his nerve, he nodded and took the heavy tray. “It can’t get any worse, right?”
She didn’t dare comment on that. After all, she’d learned time and again that things could always get worse.
He hated this. Hated the feeling inside of him clamoring for acceptance and release. “I should probably let you know Devin might refuse us entrance.”
“I understand.”
With a sense of foreboding, he rapped on the door. “Devin, it is I and Lizbeth,” he called out. “We brought you coffee and pastries.”
They heard shuffling, then Julianne answered the door. She, too, was wearing the same clothes as the day before. He noticed she also looked rumpled. “Major Kelly, good morning.”
“Miss. I trust you remember Miss Barclay?”
Her expression was somber as she nodded. “Indeed. Good morning, Lizbeth. Thank you for this.”
“I’m happy to help,”
Lizbeth said with a smile.
Afraid she was going to shut the door in his face, Ethan managed to grip its side with one hand while balancing the tray with his other. “May we come in? Both of us?”
Julianne looked behind her, and then after she’d obviously gained permission she stepped backward.
Ethan placed the tray on the coffee table. Immediately, his gaze strayed to the bed, but it was empty. The covers had been straightened and the pillows fluffed. It looked as if a maid had already come and tended to the room.
Devin was sitting in one of the chairs next to the fireplace. Julianne had placed a blanket over his lap for warmth. “Ethan,” he said by way of greeting.
Well, it wasn’t much, but it was better than being refused admittance. “We’ve brought sustenance,” he joked. “And Miss Barclay—Lizbeth—please meet Captain Devin Monroe.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Captain. I am glad to see you awake this morning.”
“I’m told much of my recovery is because of your earlier assistance. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do too much. But you are welcome.” Smiling at Ethan, she said, “I was told on good authority that you had a life worth saving.”
Meeting Ethan’s gaze, Devin said, “That’s the benefit of a long friendship, I think. Even when things are not easy, they are appreciated.”
It was an apology of a sort. Ethan hadn’t expected to hear those words. Or to be let off so easily. Emotion gripped his throat. He knew what he needed to do. Turning to Julianne, he bowed again. “Miss Van Fleet, may I offer you something to eat or drink?”
She smiled as she sat down in the chair next to Devin. “If coffee is in that china pot, I will be forever grateful.”
Ethan relaxed slightly. Things might not be good between them, but at least they’d gotten this far. That was something, he supposed. “Lizbeth, I fear I’m all thumbs when it comes to china pots. Would you please do the honors?”
“Of course.” She competently poured a cup of coffee. “Miss Van Fleet, how do you take yours?”
“With both cream and sugar, if you please.”
“I’ll have mine black, miss,” Devin said.
After preparing Julianne’s cup, Lizbeth handed Devin his. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you.”
While Lizbeth continued the coffee service, Ethan handed out the pastries. Then he sat down by Lizbeth’s side on the sitting area’s settee.
After an awkward moment, they all began eating.
“Let us not waste any more time,” Ethan said after swallowing his first bite. “Devin, you can give me details about your encounter with Bushnell at Julianne’s home later, but I got the gist of what happened from her when she arrived. Now, assuming he gave you no clue about where we can find him, what do we need to do? He can’t get away with this.”
Devin looked at Lizbeth warily. “Perhaps we should wait to talk about this at a later time. I fear our plans might shock Miss Barclay here.”
Before Ethan could say anything, Lizbeth spoke. “I am afraid I am not without my own concerns about Colonel Bushnell.”
When Julianne suddenly looked up, Ethan knew he needed to explain what Devin already knew. “He attempted to force his attentions on her when she worked here,” Ethan said quietly. “Just last week.”
Lizbeth paled, and he reached out to her, glad he’d never told her about confronting Bushnell. He was still afraid Bushnell would retaliate by hurting her further, and he didn’t want her to come to the same conclusion. “I know this makes you uneasy, but I promise, you are among friends. We can speak freely.”
But instead of looking relieved, she seemed to become even more distressed. “I’m afraid I have more reasons to hate him than that, Ethan.”
Forgetting they weren’t alone, Ethan gripped her hand. “Has he accosted you here another time?”
“No. He, uh—” She stopped abruptly, cutting herself off as though she were slicing a knife through her thoughts. Ethan watched her closely, caught on her words. Bushnell had done what? A dozen scenarios crossed his mind, each more far-fetched and disturbing than the last.
As the silence pulled longer, and Lizbeth so obviously tried to gather her thoughts, he willed himself to wait impassively. During the war, he’d learned the value of patience, but never before had it been so difficult to put into practice.
He felt rather than witnessed Devin react the same way.
Looking apologetic, Lizbeth swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she said. She smiled weakly, but at Julianne, not him. He realized it was easier for her to look at Julianne than at him.
A relative stranger.
At last, she lifted her chin and pushed a thick lock of her dark hair away from her face. His eyes traced the patch of skin that had been uncovered. Her skin looked pale and smooth. Her perfect cheekbones as finely sculpted as ever. And yes, even the red line of her scar looked as it always did. A faint mark emphasizing her other features’ perfection.
“He is the one who gave me this scar,” she said in a rush.
It took a moment for the words to register. With effort, he pushed away the memory of what her scar had looked like when he first saw it. When he, Thomas, and the rest of the men had come on her property. The mark had still been bright red and thick on her forehead. Freshly healed.
Her hand shook as she loosened the stray curl she’d tucked behind her ear. As if it had been happy to be sprung, it curled back into place. Almost covering up the mark. “I got this during the war,” she said. “I received it when Bushnell and his men raided my home.”
He’d always known men had arrived before they had, and assumed one of them had harmed her. But Bushnell?
Ethan was vaguely aware of Julianne making a pained sound and of Devin cursing under his breath. Ethan felt chilled to the bone. How could such a coincidence exist? “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Colonel Bushnell came to my house during the war.”
It was too much to come to terms with. “Many men in uniform look the same at first glance …”
Lines of strain formed, settled in faint lines around her lips. She looked at him. “I wouldn’t forget him, Ethan. He haunts my dreams almost every night.”
“Of course. Forgive me for doubting you.” Staring at her face intently, he said, “So Bushnell was the man who cut your face.”
“Oh, he did far more than that,” she said, her expression vacant. “He had his men take nearly everything of value—everything they could find. But then as they waited outside, he forced himself into my house, pressed a knife to my skin, and cut me.” Her voice lowered, but her gaze did not. She kept her eyes directly on his own. “And then he raped me.”
When a china cup crashed to the floor, Ethan wasn’t sure if it was his own or someone else’s.
He supposed it didn’t really matter. He felt broken inside.
25
Johnson’s Island, Ohio
Confederate States of America Officers’ POW Camp
Never thought I’d be playing nursemaid to you, Captain,” Ethan Kelly said as he rinsed out the cloth he’d been using to sop up the blood that didn’t seem in any hurry to dissipate.
As Devin examined the jagged cut that ran most of the length of his forearm, he tried to bluff the sting away. “I never thought I was going to get my worst injury in the war from gardening. It’s embarrassing.”
After folding the cloth into a thick rectangle, Ethan pressed it on Devin’s arm. The pressure hurt like the devil. “Easy, now.”
Instantly, his pressure lightened. “Sorry. You hold it in place.” When Devin complied, Ethan sat down on the side of one of the cots and started threading the needle in his hand. “It’s not embarrassing. The blade on that hoe is sharp.”
Indeed, it was. Razor sharp. “This is proof of that.” Thinking of how he’d gone and tripped on the pile of rubble Truax had left out, Devin grimaced. “Still, it was a foolish mistake.”
“The blame goes to Truax. Not you.”
It was a childish maneuver to pass the blame. It wasn’t like him not to accept responsibility for his actions either. However, he was in enough pain to make an exception. “I’ll take that. Where is Robert, anyway?”
“I heard he’s over at the cemetery,” Thomas Baker said from where he was lounging two cots over.
Momentarily forgetting his injury, Devin turned to Baker. “Why? Did something happen?”
“No, sir. He, uh, well, he likes to pull the weeds around the markers.”
“That sounds like Robert Truax,” Ethan said as he lifted the cloth covering Devin’s wound. “Still bleeding,” he pronounced. As if Devin couldn’t see that for himself.
Feeling a little lightheaded, Devin focused on the conversation, such as it was. “Hold on. Why does visiting the dead sound like Robert?”
“He has a soft spot for things like that,” Ethan said. “I thought you knew.”
Robert Truax was a lot of things. He was forthright, a good fighter, and extremely patient. He was also hard as stone. He had no family, born as he was on the streets. He looked after himself. That was it.
“No, I guess I didn’t know that.”
Baker got to his feet. “Do you need something, Cap? ’Cause I can go get him for ya.”
“No.”
“I need you, Baker,” Ethan said. “Get over here and hold the captain’s arm steady while I stitch.”
“All right.”
Baker was the biggest of all of them. The roughest too. No doubt his grip was going to be as painful as Ethan’s stitching. “No need for you, Baker. I’m not going to need anyone to hold me down.”
“It might come as a bit of a surprise, but I have no experience stitching skin,” Ethan said in that lofty way he adopted when his pride was stung. “I doubt I will have a tender touch. You’re going to move. Baker will help you stay put.”
Devin pulled his arm away and slapped the soiled cloth back on his arm. “Hold on. You’ve never given a man stitches before?”
“Of course not. Have you?”
“Once.” Remembering what a mess he’d made of it, he frowned. His only saving grace had been that the soldier he’d been stitching passed out. He, on the other hand, was currently wide-awake. Eyeing the needle and thread in Ethan’s hand, he said, “Where did you get the needle and thread? I thought it was in your kit.”
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