The Bride Spy (Civil War Brides Book 3)

by Piper Davenport

  Hannah crossed her arms and glared at him. “No.”

  Smiling, he made his way to her and pulled her into his arms. “You’re going to be wonderful.”

  “But what if I accidentally touch her or say something I’m not supposed to?” Hannah knew she didn’t really have a way out and would embarrass him more if she didn’t show up, so she took a deep breath and let him hold her for a few seconds. “We should tell her I’m from England.”

  “All right, sweetheart, you may tell her you’re from England.”

  Hannah followed him from the room, and they met Clayton and Emma in the foyer. Loading into Clayton’s small buggy meant Hannah was pushed up against Christopher, who took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her and pull her close. Kissing her temple, he gave her a squeeze. She looked up at him and asked, “How long until I see you?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  Hannah leaned further into his side.

  “You’re going to enjoy yourself, Hannah.”

  Hannah sighed. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

  Christopher cupped her cheek and lifted her face. “What makes you think you would embarrass me?”

  “I’m considered different for Americans in my time, I can’t imagine how strangers in this century will take me,” she whispered.

  “You’re perfect just the way you are, Hannah. Everyone will fall in love with you, just as I have.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes.

  “Look at me.” Christopher waited until she did. “You will believe me in this.”

  Before she could answer, Clayton pulled the horses to a stop and jumped down to assist Emma.

  “Hannah.”

  “Yes, Knight. Everyone will love me,” she droned.

  Christopher climbed down and then lifted Hannah from the buggy. Clayton and Christopher led the girls inside the large brick building, introduced them to a few key people, and then left with a simple bow and wave.

  “I wanted a kiss,” Emma whispered.

  “You and me both.” Hannah sighed.

  “Ladies.”

  They turned to find Gwen heading their way. Hannah’s heart lifted at the sight of her future sister-in-law. At least now they would have someone who could help guide them.

  “Hi, Gwen.” Hannah accepted Gwen’s hug.

  “Thank you both for coming.”

  “Miss Butler?”

  Gwen turned. “Miss Winston, it’s lovely to see you again.” Gwen turned back to Hannah and Emma and pulled them forward. “May I present Mrs. Emma Madden and Miss Hannah Nelson? Ladies, Miss Sarah Winston.”

  Miss Winston smiled and gave a small nod. “Nice to meet you.”

  Hannah and Emma nodded and then followed Gwen and the woman through the double doors and into a surprisingly large receiving area. A woman, no taller than Hannah, bustled toward them. “Gwendolyn Butler, as I live and breathe.”

  Hannah recognized her immediately and her heart began to race.

  “She must be having a good day,” Emma whispered for Hannah’s ears only.

  “Mrs. Lincoln.” Gwen clasped the woman’s hands and smiled deeply. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  “Thank you for joining me today.”

  “It’s my pleasure, ma’am. May I introduce Mrs. Clayton Madden? Mrs. Lincoln, this is Emma.” Mary nodded and then Gwen turned to Hannah. “And this is Christopher’s fiancée, Miss Hannah Nelson.”

  “Oh, my. He has chosen a beauty.” Hannah blushed as Mrs. Lincoln smiled. “He’s a lucky man.”

  Hannah didn’t know if she should curtsy or bow, so she lowered her head. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “Are you British, dear?”

  Hannah caught Emma’s half-smile and shoved her shaking hands into the folds of her skirts. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “Which part of England?”

  “Oh, um...” She sent a frantic look toward Emma and almost scowled at her shrug. “Uh, I’m from London, ma’am.”

  Julia Quinn, don’t fail me now.

  “Not far from Hyde Park, actually. On Mayfair Street.”

  Hannah heard Emma choke behind her.

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Lincoln said.

  Hannah was certain she’d said entirely too much, especially when Gwen cut in and suggested they start their visits. Feeling even less confident as they moved through the building, Hannah disappeared inside herself and stayed silent—until she reached a young man no older than eighteen, sitting in a wheelchair. His chair had been placed in the corner and his eyes followed the women as they walked the room.

  “Merry Christmas, young man.” Mrs. Lincoln nodded as if she were royalty.

  He scowled up at her. “How’s your murderous husband?”

  Mrs. Lincoln gasped and Gwen moved quickly to her side. “Sir, you are mistaken. You don’t know with whom you are speaking.”

  “I know exactly who she is.”

  Hannah watched his hands. They were entirely too steady for her liking, and his eyes too clear for someone on pain meds. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered for Emma’s ears only.

  Emma leaned closer to her. “What?”

  Hannah moved slowly to Mrs. Lincoln’s side, her eyes never leaving the man in the wheelchair. His right hand slipped to his hip, imperceptive perhaps to someone not looking for it, but Hannah caught the movement.

  She touched the First Lady’s arm. “Mrs. Lincoln, may I show you something over here?”

  Mrs. Lincoln glanced pointedly at Hannah’s hand and she dropped it quickly, realizing she’d just made a huge mistake. Before Mrs. Lincoln could admonish Hannah, the man’s hand darted behind his back and he whipped out a gun. Hannah reacted automatically. “Gun!” She threw Mrs. Lincoln on the floor and covered her body with her own.

  Everything after that played out in slow motion. The man stood and aimed his gun toward Hannah and Mrs. Lincoln. Hannah’s skirts were too heavy to maneuver, and she realized with a sinking heart that she’d never be able to get out of the way of a bullet.

  A flurry of fabric rustled. The gun went off and the man fell to the floor with Emma on top of him. She’d saved Hannah’s life. Two doctors reached Emma just as the man tried to raise the gun again.

  “Emma!” Hannah yelled in warning. Emma stood and moved out of the way to give the doctors space to get the man under control.

  Hannah refused to move until she was certain the man was subdued, and then Emma helped her stand, while Gwen assisted the First Lady.

  “Ma’am, I am so, so sorry.” Mrs. Lincoln’s hoops had sprung up like a bell on its side, and her pantaloons were showing, so Hannah tried to smooth the First Lady’s skirts, certain she’d be mortified. In the confusion, no one had noticed Miss Winston lying on the floor, a gunshot wound to her arm. When Hannah heard her moan, she forgot about Mrs. Lincoln and rushed to the injured woman’s side. Kneeling beside her, she pressed on the wound. “Need some help over here!”

  Miss Winston whimpered, pain written in the tight set of her features as tears leaked down her temples.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Hannah tried her best to smile. “You’re lucky this happened in a hospital.” At the woman’s horrified expression, Hannah grimaced. “Sorry, perhaps lucky is the wrong word.”

  “Hannah!”

  Before she could react to her fiancé’s roar, strong arms lifted her from the floor and pulled her away from Miss Winston. The glint of Christopher’s signet ring caught her eye, and she groaned as she tried to twist out of his grasp. “Knight, I have to keep pressure on her wound.”

  “The doctors will take care of her.” Lowering her to the floor, Christopher scowled. “What the hell happened?” His voice shook and his hands seemed to be everywhere.

  Hannah looked down at her gown as she tried to push his hands away, and understood why he was so upset. “Lovey, it’s not my blood.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her.

  “Knight.” She grabbed his forearms. “Knight!” She wait
ed until he raised tortured eyes to hers. “It’s not my blood.”

  Her words seemed to register, and he pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t really know, but I think I may have just gotten you fired.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I threw the President’s wife on the floor, Knight. On. The. Floor!” She burst into tears. “Knight, I’m so, so sorry.”

  He cupped her face. “What do you mean you threw Mrs. Lincoln to the floor?”

  “Everything happened so fast. The man in the wheelchair said something nasty and I noticed he didn’t look sick—or drugged, then his arm moved, then there was a gun, and I didn’t know what else to do. He pointed the gun at Mrs. Lincoln, and I just reacted, you know? Emma said to never, ever, under any circumstances, touch Mrs. Lincoln.” Hannah scraped her arm across her nose. “I threw her onto the ground... oh, Christopher, I am so sorry... and then I think Emma pushed him, but the gun still went off and then Emma was on the floor and the man was going to fire again, so I made her stay on the floor. I tried to push her skirts down because her knickers were there for the world to see, but she kept moving and I... I—” She couldn’t continue and buried her wet face into his chest.

  “Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  Holding onto Hannah, Christopher took a moment to search the chaos. Clayton had calmed Emma down and settled her in a chair, and one of their men stood guard next to her. The doctors had whisked the wounded woman off to tend to her, and several men gathered around Mrs. Lincoln. Within minutes, they rushed her out the door of the hospital.

  Clayton made his way over to them. “Everything all right?”

  Christopher heard the rustle of skirts approaching and Emma’s voice asking, “Hannah? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, Em.” Hannah pulled out of Christopher’s embrace, her hiccups indicating the crying was over for the moment. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, fine.” Emma hugged her.

  Christopher handed Hannah his handkerchief and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Kissing her temple, he took a deep, ragged breath. “Let’s go home and we’ll discuss what happened.”

  CHRISTOPHER HELD HANNAH close, grateful that Clayton was driving. His body thrummed with the aftertaste of panic, and he felt her shiver.

  The meeting with the President had ended earlier than expected, and he and Clayton were both anxious to see how the girls’ visit had gone. As they approached the doors to the hospital, Christopher heard Hannah yell, “Gun!” and then heard the shot. His heart was in his throat as they ran for the building.

  Pulling Hannah closer, he shook off the memory, kissed her temple, and rubbed her arm. Her shaking had finally subsided, but the tears had started again, and Christopher just wanted to take her somewhere private.

  Clayton drove the buggy back to the carriage house and set the brake. With barely a nod in the direction of his stable hand, Clayton lifted Emma out and waited for Christopher to do the same with Hannah. Christopher refused to set Hannah on her feet, and her body curled into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

  He followed Clayton and Emma into the house.

  “I’ll organize a bath,” Emma offered, and despite Clayton’s resistance to let her leave his side, she made her way to the kitchen to speak with the housekeeper.

  Christopher gave Hannah a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  Hannah gave a nod. Christopher carried her up the narrow stairs and back to the guestroom she had been calling her own. Settling her on the trunk at the end of her bed, he knelt in front of her. Hannah rubbed her palms across her thighs. “So much blood.”

  “Do you want to wash your hands, sweetheart, or wait for the bath?”

  Before she could answer, a knock on the door sounded, and Christopher rose to answer it. Emma led the staff in with a bath and gathered towels as they filled it. “Time for you to go, Chris.”

  Christopher stalled but Emma pushed him out into the hallway and shut the door. Pacing the hall, he clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to relax his hands.

  “Is my wife with Hannah?”

  Christopher turned to see Clayton walking toward him. “Yes. In her room.” He pointed to the door.

  * * *

  Inside, Hannah sat in the hip bath and scrubbed her body while Emma found her clean drawers and pulled out the velvet gown Christopher had made for Hannah for Christmas. “Are you okay?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  Hannah sighed. “Em, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not? You saved Mrs. Lincoln.” Emma swept a stray lock of hair behind her hair. “You’re a hero.”

  “No, I’m not.” Hannah dropped the washcloth with a splash. “I threw the poor woman to the ground, Emma. I pretty much guaranteed my fiancé will be jobless tomorrow.”

  Emma’s eyebrows puckered. “I don’t think you’re remembering the events quite the same way I do.”

  “You were the one who told me not to touch her, and what did I do? I pushed her over and jumped on top of her!”

  “Hannah, you saved her life. I think she’ll forgive you for how you did it.”

  Hannah sighed. “Can you get me a towel, please?”

  Emma handed one to her and then turned her back so that Hannah could climb out of the tub. Hannah had no sooner pulled the chemise over her head when there was a knock at the door. Emma propped it open and peered through the crack.

  “Is she dressed?”

  Emma shook her head. “No, Chris, she’s not. Give us thirty minutes.”

  Christopher’s long fingers wrapped around the door in order to stop Emma from closing it. “Hannah, put a robe on, please.”

  Emma glanced at Hannah in question.

  “It’s fine, Em, just let him in. He’ll badger us until he gets his way, anyway.” Hannah tied the sash with a swoosh. “Come in, Knight.”

  Emma barely had a second to move out of the way before Christopher pushed the door open and stepped inside. He turned to Emma. “Some privacy?”

  She raised an eyebrow and Hannah was grateful she didn’t respond. Emma had a wicked mouth when she was angry. With a quiet huff, Emma left the room, leaving the door ajar.

  “Knight, I’m fine.”

  “Are you certain?” He grabbed her hands and kissed each palm.

  “Why are you worrying about me?” She pulled her hands away. “I just single-handedly ruined your life.”

  Christopher cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Hannah stomped to the window and crossed her arms. “Um, hellooo, I threw your boss’s wife on the floor. I’m half-expecting him to bang down the door and haul me away in cuffs.”

  Christopher reached out his hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head.

  “Yes, Hannah, come here.”

  She inched her way toward him and quickly found herself pulled into his arms and kissed until she couldn’t think. When he finally broke the kiss, he cupped her face and stroked her cheek. “You have done nothing wrong, and no one is going to take you away.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he covered her lips with his fingers. “You have done nothing wrong, sweetheart.”

  She pulled his hand away. “Knight, I threw—”

  “Nothing wrong,” he interrupted. “Now, get dressed and we’ll enjoy Christmas dinner.”

  “Fine.” Hannah huffed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you find a pink slip in your stocking.”

  He kissed her without asking her what any of that meant and went to wait for her downstairs. Emma returned to assist Hannah with her corset and gown, and then left, to get dressed herself.

  Hannah made her way downstairs and was met by the housekeeper, who was wringing her hands as she nervously approached her. “Miss Nelson, I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am.”

&nb
sp; Hannah laid her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

  “Well, ma’am, uh... there is someone here.”

  “All right. Did you tell Clayton?”

  The woman blushed crimson. “I have been unable to, uh, disturb him and Mrs. Madden.”

  Hannah groaned. Too much information, lady.

  “All right. Where’s Christopher?”

  The hand wringing began again. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I’ll greet them.” Before the housekeeper could respond, Hannah brushed past her and stepped into the parlor.

  “Miss Nelson?”

  Hannah’s head whipped up, and a gasp escaped her lips as she was pulled into the thick embrace of Mary Todd Lincoln.

  “Ma’am? I’m so sorry about today. I feel terrible. Please don’t punish Christopher for my abhorrent actions. It’s my fault.”

  Mrs. Lincoln glanced up in shock. “Punish Christopher?”

  “You don’t need to defend me, sweetheart.”

  Hannah spun to face the door as Christopher strode into the room and bowed over Mrs. Lincoln’s hand. “Ma’am. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “Why, Mr. Butler, I came to thank your beautiful fiancée for saving my life.”

  “Come again?” Hannah’s jaw dropped open.

  Christopher moved to stand beside Hannah and took her hand in his.

  Mrs. Lincoln smiled. “If it weren’t for you, dear, that patient would have shot me.”

  “He wasn’t a patient,” Hannah mumbled under her breath, and Christopher squeezed her hand—a silent warning to shush.

  Mrs. Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

  “Um, I’m humbled by your patience, ma’am.”

  “Well, you’re a remarkable young woman. My husband and I would like to welcome you to our dinner table next week.”

  Hannah’s hand went to her mouth. “Really? Are you sure?”

  Christopher squeezed her hand again and then released her to focus on Mrs. Lincoln. “We would be honored to join you and the President, ma’am.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll send the details to your office, Mr. Butler.”

  She turned and began to move out the door.

  “Wait.” Hannah held her hand out. “He’s not fired?”