“Maybe, but that might be in jeopardy.” Meg looked from side to side and motioned for them to lean closer. “She insisted on sending a telegraph this morning.”
“Yes, to her editor, for that column of hers, asking for more time.” David shoved his hands in his pocket as the tension in his body eased. The woman had almost given him a heart attack. “She already told me that. That’s why we’re staying in that Bedford Springs place. Research, or some such rubbish. On water.” Nonsense, though if she was getting paid and enjoyed it, who was he to criticize?
“Well, if that’s all she was doing, why did she send the telegraph to Indianapolis, not Philadelphia, where her paper is located?” Meg gave him a shove—right where Will’s elbow had been.
“What—ow.” David stumbled and had to clutch the wall for purchase. His friends needed a gentler way of getting him to pay attention. “How do you know? And who exactly did she contact?”
“I have no idea. I only saw the top of her form, out of the corner of my eye. And when I lingered to get a better view, the man got rather snooty and snatched it away, muttering something about ‘privacy for paying customers.’” She pinched her nose and stuck it in the air, before shrugging. “But it definitely was going to Indianapolis, not to Philadelphia. Are we sure she’s not in on whatever is happening? That she’s not doing this for attention?”
David just shook his head.
“It could be a lover.” Meg tapped a frenetic finger to her lips, her eyes lighting as the wheels in her mind turned the theory in her head. “Ooooh, a married lover. A jealous wife could have the perfect motive for—”
“She doesn’t have a lover.” David near bellowed the words. They’d have found that out already, wouldn’t they? And she wouldn’t have tried to kiss him again and—
“How do you—”
“She doesn’t.” He turned his back on Meg. “Not now, at least. And she’s not doing this for attention.”
“I’m not trying to throw aspersions on her. She was almost kind this morning, but it’d make sense.” Meg was near in his face, hands on her hips.
It would. David pressed his fingers to his temples. But at the same time it wouldn’t. Because she would’ve told him about another man.
Wouldn’t she?
Well, she hadn’t told him about the column, or the charitable contributions at first, but she hadn’t exactly been hiding them from him either.
She just hadn’t believed the information important. She wasn’t an imbecile and wouldn’t play around with their lives if she had information that would help them.
As for attention...she wasn’t that cruel and thoughtless. Spoiled? Yes. Frustrated with her family? Often. But not mean. At least not to anyone but him.
A calm hand thudded on his shoulder. “You still have to ask her about this, David. Verify.” Will’s voice was soft, but firm.
“I know. I know.” David slunk down. “And I will.” Because he knew the answer already. She’d never. Right?
Chapter Twelve
If there ever was a place Amalia could do without visiting again, it was Bedford. Mud, mud, mud, a touch of hay, and more mud. She pinched her hem and picked herself off the curb and onto the road away from the small train depot. At least they’d finally built one.
During her ignominious nine months in the town, she’d needed to take a cart forty miles to even find a station. She’d been completely trapped.
Of her own choosing, but if anyone received the short end of the bargain in her arrangement with Elias, it was her. Why they couldn’t have just stayed in Philadelphia the entire time...well, there was a reason they’d lived in Bedford. An important one. And the terms were clear from the beginning, but still. It was most certainly—how would David put it?—“inequitable”?
Because Elias still loved “tradition,” and, well, behaving like a “proper, modest Pennsylvanian.” And she was the complete opposite. And, despite the saying, opposites most certainly did not attract—a lesson she learned well.
But at twenty-two, she’d still had enough hubris to believe she could use her knowledge to her advantage, manipulate the system. Instead of going to her parents for help.
And in certain ways she succeeded. But the cost... Well, she’d traversed so many Rubicons without noticing, she could no longer count.
She adjusted her gloves. With her good hand. As best she could. What was taking David, Will, and Meg so long? They needed to hurry. She had baths to wallow in and a column to compose.
Hopefully David’s handwriting was neat. She brushed her skirt. It was probably perfect. As was his spelling. After all, he spoke, what, four languages? Not as impressive as her mother’s twelve, but much better than her one and a half.
Ugh, why couldn’t she master anything? No wonder her parents never trusted her. All she did was make poor decisions and demonstrate exactly zero aptitude for anything besides cosmetics and clothing.
No. She forced air into her lungs. So what if she was a dunce, she was a dunce with a purpose. Who would be primped and polished and calm and relaxed when she returned to Centerville. In the face of death threats, no less. Her parents had to take someone like that seriously.
She’d find the right words, convince them of the importance of her charity—
“Are you ready?” David adjusted his collar as he skipped over a few loose stones to stand beside her. “Do you know where we are going?”
“Even you would know where we’re going.” She giggled and bumped him with her hip. “The town isn’t particularly large.” He offered her his arm, which she accepted, threading her good hand over his sleeve, the contact not at all sending fizzles to places much more thrilling than her wrist.
“I can’t believe you lived here.” He shook his head.
You and me both. But she didn’t perform the quip out loud. Instead she threw him a half smile and hummed a little.
“Your second husband must have been impressive.” David’s jaw tightened.
Could he be jealous? Amalia resisted an eye roll. Not likely. He was probably tired. She stepped around a divot in the road. “Elias is a good man.” Because he was. She bit her lip. Should she tell David the truth? It had nothing to do with him, and didn’t cast her former husband in the best light. Which would be unfair.
Amalia screwed her lips to the side. Nope. It wasn’t her story to tell.
But David still required information. Especially if they were going to commence any kissing. Because she couldn’t have him believe she was still—or you know, ever—interested in Elias.
Amalia exhaled. “I was a touch impulsive after my first divorce and was looking for the opposite of what I had with Ethan.” Which would’ve been reasonable. Especially if she’d been a bit more upset about the end of her first union instead of relieved and embarrassed.
“That makes sense.” David nodded again. “But the opposite was not for you?”
She giggled. “Most certainly not. I’m a city girl. And you can only change so much of who you are, deep down, no matter what you do.” She gave him a playful, teasing shove.
Except he didn’t laugh with her. Instead he made a noncommittal noise and stared into the distance.
Well, that couldn’t be good. Ugh, she was supposed to be skilled with people. She forced a little pep into her voice and pace. “Anyway, it’s over now. It was a short lapse in judgment that I don’t care to revisit. However, this hotel is supposed to be stupendous so I most certainly want to visit that.” She squeezed closer. “With you. Even if you find luxury appalling with all the suffering in the world.”
David guffawed. “I cannot believe I actually said something like that.”
“Not exactly, but it was implied.” Especially when he got going. The breeze kicked up and her skirts rippled over her boots.
“Oy. I need to work on my delivery. I believe the wealthy have become t
oo far removed from everyday life, but I’m not against all enjoyment. Provided everyone has fair access.” He frowned a little, as if he was considering the matter rather closely. “Besides, the hotel workers should be paid and have the dignity of their jobs.”
She snickered.
“What? Still too self-righteous.” He gave her a lopsided grin as he guided her farther away from the station, the wind ruffling his dark waves.
“Just a touch. The point is well made but, as you said, the delivery...” She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t stop a small snort from escaping.
“But you find that ‘adorable’?” He leaned even closer, so her body was against his in an almost improper manner and the words rumbled through her core.
“I do.” She gasped a little because adorable wasn’t the half of it. Lust-worthy was much more accurate.
He straightened so they were at a normal distance, but placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her forward, towards the hotel, towards a night together, and towards a still uncertain future, but still, towards sunshine.
* * *
The fingers of David’s free hand itched as he guided Amalia through the streets of Bedford, leaving the isolated offshoot of the Juniata River for the center of town. Millstone buildings lined the streets of the valley enclave, the green-covered mountains creating a deep bowl around it.
Despite the occasional group of children bounding across the street during a game of hoops or a merchant with a horse and cart, the hamlet was quiet enough to make out the birdcalls overhead and the rushing water of the various tributaries.
The one thing David couldn’t make out were either Meg’s or Will’s footfalls. His partners were good though and always kept a few hundred feet behind—hidden so each could observe and intercept. If needed. Eventually, they’d both sneak into the inn or hotel or whatever the place was called, under the guise of a porter and kitchen help. They could hash out guard shifts later, and a time for Meg to come and play lady’s maid, even if he was better at it.
Amalia tugged his hand and led him down Richards Street. A yearning to take her in his arms rippled through him. Though he didn’t and couldn’t do anything of the sort, the desire burned beneath his skin.
Did she notice? Could she tell? Or more, did the same—well, similar, because no one could lust more than he was at the moment—cravings flare within her?
Adorable.
She found him, of all people, adorable. Even when he behaved like an “over-serious know-it-all” as Thad once called him.
If only his tendencies to rail against injustice at a frequency and velocity that made his friends cover their ears were his sole flaws.
David sighed. He caught his reflection in Amalia’s looking glass earlier. More and more like his father. Every day. If they were that similar on the outside, imagine what they were like on the inside? He shuddered, before adjusting his slipping spectacles.
“You’ll like this hotel.” She skipped alongside him, completely unaware of the turmoil within or that he was even studying her. “Well, resort really. Every sitting president has stayed here since Buchanan, and tons before him after they left the White House. Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, all of them. We’ll be lucky to get in but I can pull some strings with the Truitt name if my editor didn’t arrange it first.”
“What exactly did you say to your editor?” he asked, his mind reawaking into the present, into the task at hand—her safety. Because, if one considered it, telling her editor where they were, or more, not only her editor, but a great deal of telegraph workers...now their detour was not quite as clandestine, was it? Oy. Will was right. This is why he needed to get himself under control, or he was going to get them all killed.
“That I was making a secret visit for a column, a review—people really like that sort of thing. Thus, I instructed him to make a reservation under a different name, with a fictional husband, so I’d be as unobtrusive as possible.” She leaned close to David, flowers and powder washing over him, along with a fresh wave of desire.
Because there was nothing quite as alluring as her pride in her work. Even if it would be the death of them—literally. He’d better double patrols.
“Thad has pretended to be my husband often enough for these sorts of things. People act one way around reviewers and another around a silly, spoiled, brainless, rich wife of a dandy out for a lark.” Her curls bounced as she spoke, still unaware of the potential danger.
Perhaps he was being a bit hasty.
Besides, he wasn’t the only “adorable” person around. The way Amalia was basking and preening in the glow of her own prowess for subterfuge...there was no better word. He wetted his lips once more.
“Anyway, I’m so excited about the springs.” She clutched his arm a little, like she really was his overexcited new wife out for a bit of fun. “They’re supposed to have healing properties—supposed to be able to cure all kinds of conditions.”
“Unlikely.” He snorted.
Amalia twirled the bottom of her skirts against his ankles, like petals dancing on a breeze. “Probably, but I was at least hoping they might make my hair softer or my skin clearer or something. I like to recommend things, not the opposite way around. A positive column is more enjoyable to read. Though, no matter what, I need something soon because I’m on a—”
“Deadline. You said.” He chuckled a little before sobering. The telegraph. The other telegraph. The one Meg mentioned. This was as good an opening as any for that conversation—a much more promising angle—unfortunately. Time to set the snare. “Your editor is impatient, I take it? That’s why he arranged for this?”
“I’m sure he’s as nervous as I am regarding the complaints, but I’ve never been late and I won’t be this time. I take too much pride in my work and he knows that.” She straightened, brushing his side, sending a jolt through his body. Any sane man would be quiet and just luxuriate in her pleasant, attractive nearness; fantasize rather than interrogate.
No. He needed to focus. He had a job to do and a job to gain and a purpose and her life was in danger and... He cleared his throat. “You’re very...responsible.”
“Of course. Besides, I hate lateness.”
David near choked. “But you are always late. You take forever to get ready. We’re constantly waiting.”
“I’m not late.” She flipped her ringlets. Oh, how he longed to spring just one and make her squeal. “‘Late’ involves missing a deadline. You never give me a deadline, you all just get ready faster because you have less to do.”
“So if I gave you a specific time—”
“I’d be there. Obviously.” She bumped his hip again, hard. That had to be intentional, right? Just like those tentative-then-bold touches she used the evening they met.
He licked his lower lip. How good it’d be to tease back, to poke and needle until she begged him to kiss her.
As if everything was new again.
As if the past never happened, as if he could trust her not to hurt him, and he could trust himself to do the same. As if everything was not so complex.
Will was right, in a way. He should demand an explanation, why one month she could sneak into his bedroom and the next month become engaged to someone else entirely. Why she could tell him that he wasn’t good enough for her, and yet now, pretend not only that she hadn’t said it but it wasn’t true? It made no sense.
He needed to at least set his mind straight. To figure her out. To understand. And if he could, perhaps the future would be clear.
But now... how could a woman who was so careful and conscientious with her work, who took time to contribute to charity—not for notoriety but because she wanted to—who was always ready to come when her family needed her, no matter where she was, be so, well, cruel with him? But also be so charming and kind and lovely and adorable?
He shoved his hands in his pockets
. Who was he trying to fool? He was all mixed-up a thousand times over.
Still, there was something he could and should ask her about. David cleared his throat. “So that’s what you were doing before we left for Bedford. Sending information to your editor and asking him for help regarding the hotel? That’s all you did?”
“Yes, well, that and dressing and the like.” She threw him a wink that he’d normally find adorable but didn’t disguise the fact she’d lied.
No mention at all of a second telegraph.
Liar.
“So that’s the only business you conducted.” He added a little note of warning in his voice because the woman wasn’t an idiot.
Amalia frowned. “I sent word to my attorney as well.”
“Your attorney?” David near tripped over his own feet. “Was it because of the letters or is there an issue with the divorces, like Ethan asked?”
She brought her good hand down on her thighs with an exasperated slap, muffled only by the blasted layers of undergarments. “Why does everyone think I can’t handle these matters myself? No, I’m not brilliant, but I’m at least clever enough to hire the right people and pay them well for their efforts. And, actually, I’m a bit of an expert in that area at this point.” She puffed a bit. “The divorces are fine. The telegraph was regarding my charity. I told you about it. Remember? Weren’t you listening?”
“Yes...”
Amalia rolled her eyes. “I secured a donation from Ethan after tea. That was the purpose of our visit.”
Oh. Oh.
So that was what they were discussing in private? That was what had made him so sulky and jealous? Oy. At least he kept his mouth shut and hadn’t accused her of anything inappropriate. He’d have to tell Meg that her affair theory was ludicrous.
And apologize to Amalia for even considering it.
And eliminate Meg’s other theory. Quietly. Very quietly.
Before he could comment, or more soothe, Amalia stopped, squeezed his arm harder and squealed. He blinked in the face of the large white columned structure. Hotel? The building before them was bigger than a hospital.
Dalliances & Devotion Page 12