by Jody Hedlund
She was ready too. After the wedding she wouldn’t need a bodyguard any more. Not with Nathaniel by her side day and night watching over her. Nevertheless, she still couldn’t stop from wondering what types of women Mr. Cushman had protected in the past and how she compared to them.
“So…” She toyed with the diamond bracelet, waiting for him to settle his attention on her fully before sweeping up her lashes and gazing at him with what she hoped was her most beguiling expression. “What number am I in the list of women you’ve guarded?”
“Four.” His placid expression didn’t waver. She should have known by now that Mr. Cushman was immune to womanly charms. She had no doubt he’d rebuffed many women over the years and had plenty of practice withstanding an extraordinary amount of flirting and eyelash-batting.
“And how do I compare to the other three?”
“I don’t make a practice of comparing.”
“Am I prettier?”
He didn’t respond.
She smiled. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
“I’m not surprised you would.”
“Oh, so you think I’m conceited?”
“Most rich people are.”
“That must mean you’re very wealthy,” she said beginning to feel testy toward him. “Because you’re extremely conceited.”
At that, he laughed. Not a mocking laugh like she was accustomed to among her circles. But a genuinely amused laugh. She couldn’t deny that she liked the sound. Really liked it. She smiled at him, took another drink of her tea, and wondered if she could figure out a way to make him laugh more often.
Before she could try, a knock sounded on the door.
Mr. Cushman’s humor immediately dissipated, and his stoicism was back in place. “It’s Nathaniel.”
“How do you know?” She’d learned not to doubt him. He was almost always right. Even so, she liked to hear how he came to his conclusions, the details he noticed that she missed.
“He’s the only one around here who owns a Stanhope gig.”
“And how do you know he’s driving his gig?”
“The vehicle I heard had one horse and two wheels.”
She smiled.
“Did I pass your test?” His brows were raised, revealing a glimmer of the previous humor.
“Yes, you passed with a perfect score.”
Mr. Cushman started toward the door. “I don’t want him to stay long.”
“And why’s that? What harm will come of him staying for a while?”
“You’re in your bathrobe.” He didn’t look at her. “I’d suggest covering yourself back up.”
She glanced down to see that her blanket had slipped off her shoulders, revealing the silky white bathrobe that was cooler for the summer, but certainly also less modest. Heat infused her cheeks at the realization that Mr. Cushman had seen her immodesty and hadn’t been the least flustered by it. She readjusted the blanket around her shoulders and clutched it tightly in front so that her bathrobe was concealed again.
Her damp hair hung over her shoulders in long waves, completely unseemly for an unmarried young woman. She quickly swept it back into a knot, her fingers fumbling in her haste.
“Ready?” he asked, his back still facing her.
She nodded but realized he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head, even though at times he acted as if he did. “I’m ready.”
He opened the door, and Nathaniel stepped in carrying an enormous bouquet of yellow roses. He apologized again profusely, fussed over her, and attempted to amuse her with anecdotes from the dinner party she’d missed.
But all the while they conversed, her attention drifted to Mr. Cushman standing just outside the open door, his spine as stiff as always. She didn’t know why she was more aware of his presence now than any other time. But for some reason, she was having a difficult time making small talk with Nathaniel without wondering what Mr. Cushman was thinking about their conversation.
Finally, after another awkward lull with Nathaniel, Mr. Cushman stepped into the room. “Victoria needs to rest.”
“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Nathaniel rose out of his chair across from Victoria’s. His face reflected disappointment.
“Thank you for coming. And for the flowers.” She meant it. “You’re always so thoughtful.”
“I can’t wait until I can spoil you every minute of every day,” he said.
She laughed lightly. “I think you’re already quite accomplished at that.” She peeked at Mr. Cushman, expecting him to roll his eyes. But he remained impassive.
Nathaniel looked at Mr. Cushman too, then at Victoria, and back at Mr. Cushman. Nathaniel’s forehead was creased as though he were trying to understand the unspoken communication. She wanted to tell him there wasn’t any—at least not on Mr. Cushman’s end.
But before she could say anything, Nathaniel bent over and gently cupped her cheek. She was too startled by the contact and nearness to speak. He dragged in a breath and then dropped his mouth to hers. He pressed a kiss against her lips. The touch was warm and tender and was over before she could think about responding, although she wasn’t sure how she ought to go about kissing a man back. As Nathaniel pulled away, she could only stare at him with a mingling of wonder and embarrassment.
He straightened and glanced everywhere around the room except at her. Silence stretched between them. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Victoria.” He spun on his heel and walked briskly from the room, but not before tossing Mr. Cushman a look that seemed to say, “She’s mine.”
Once Nathaniel’s footsteps in the hallway faded, she sat back in her chair and exhaled a breath. For a long moment she didn’t move, and neither did Mr. Cushman. She knew she shouldn’t care what he thought about Nathaniel’s kiss, but she did. When she chanced a glance at him, he raised his brows at her, giving her a glimpse at the mirth lighting his eyes.
Did he think her moment of passion with Nathaniel was funny? Her ire rose swiftly and pushed her to her feet. “I fail to see the humor in this situation.”
His lips quirked into one of his rare grins.
She clenched her fists and stomped across the room. “It’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing.” Even though he rapidly smoothed away his grin, his eyes still flickered with amusement.
She stopped in front of him, every nerve in her body sizzling. “How dare you poke fun at my first kiss.” She was half-tempted to reach out and slap his face.
“That was your first kiss?”
At the disbelief on his face, embarrassment returned in a rush, and she wished she could take back the words. Instead, she straightened and tried to bring some dignity back to the moment—one she hoped to cherish for the rest of her life. “It was a nice kiss.”
“Nice?” His tone was disparaging and only irked her all the more.
“As a matter of fact, it was very nice.”
“Kisses aren’t meant to be nice.” His tone dropped, as did his gaze—to her lips. For only the flicker of an instant. But it was long enough to send heat spilling through her middle in a way she’d never experienced before.
When his gaze returned to hers, the dangerous slant of his eyebrows told her that his kisses would be far from chaste and proper. The glance was all it took to make her draw in a quick, dizzying breath. If he could elicit this kind of response by simply looking at her lips, what would it be like to kiss him? The mere thought made her tremble.
As if sensing her reaction, one side of his mouth cocked up again.
“Ooh,” she said in exasperation, unable to stop herself from pushing his chest.
He captured her wrists in one hand and easily pinned her. The diamonds surrounding the sapphire on her engagement ring sparkled, as if reminding her to move away from him. She ignored the ring and the faint voice of reason murmuring in the back of her head.
“I guess you think you’re the expert on kissing,” she said hotly, “just as you’re the expert on
everything else.”
“I guess so.”
“Have you asked all the young ladies you’ve kissed for their opinions?”
“I don’t need to ask.” His response came in a whisper that did funny things to her stomach. His attention once again shifted to her lips, and this time it stayed there.
“Maybe you should.” She couldn’t keep from studying his lips in return. They were firm and determined, and she knew without a doubt his kiss would be nothing like Nathaniel’s. Suddenly she wanted Mr. Cushman to kiss her. The desire for it rose strongly, unlike anything she’d felt for her other beaus. As if drawn by a will she hadn’t known she had, she swayed against him so that his face was only inches from hers, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath.
His grip on her wrists tightened and his breath quickened. He hesitated and then dipped his head closer. He was going to kiss her. She felt his desire for it in every taut muscle of his body.
She closed her eyes and waited in exquisite anticipation for his not-so-nice kiss. Her middle was flipping wildly, anticipating the first crushing touch—for she knew it would be hard and demanding. A man like Mr. Cushman was incapable of anything less.
For a torturous moment he didn’t move.
She cracked open one eye only to find that he was studying her again with humor flickering in his expression.
“I don’t need your opinion,” he stated, releasing her wrists and propelling her back several paces.
She stared mutely, uncomprehending.
“I won’t kiss you, Victoria.” His voice was all steel. Gone was any trace of longing, almost as if she’d dreamt it in the first place. Maybe she had.
“You might enjoy trifling with other people’s emotions,” he continued, “but I don’t.”
Trifle with emotions? Was that what he thought she was doing? Before she could think coherently enough to offer a response, he dealt another low blow.
“You’re practically married. You shouldn’t want to kiss me anyway.”
Mortification came crashing through her with the power of a hurricane gale. “Who said I wanted to kiss you?”
She retreated a step, anxious to put as much distance between herself and Mr. Cushman as possible. In her haste, she tripped over the blanket that had come loose and fallen to the floor behind her. Only his steady hold on her arm kept her from sprawling like an utter fool.
Hurriedly, she righted herself and jerked away from him, all the while giving him a withering glare and praying he wouldn’t see her embarrassment. After all, she’d practically thrown herself on him and had all but begged for a kiss.
“You’re just my bodyguard.” She said the first thing that came to her mind. “Of course I have no thought of kissing you. Why would I?” She inwardly winced at the hurtfulness of her words, but she was desperate to scramble out of the awful hole she’d fallen into.
“Good.” He pulled himself to his full height. His features were hard and businesslike.
“Maybe you’re the one with the problem of self-control. Not me.”
He didn’t deny her accusation, and she took a small measure of satisfaction in it.
“In fact”—she couldn’t stop herself—“maybe if you’re having trouble controlling your desires around women, you should consider whether you’re in the right profession.”
He pressed his lips together, clearly wanting to say something in his defense but denying himself.
She bent down and retrieved her blanket, trying to hide her trembling fingers. She wrapped the soft cover around her shoulders, and then, without another word, she crossed the sitting room into her bedchamber and closed the door.
Only then did she crumple into a heap on the floor. A sob burned in her throat. “Oh, God.” She cupped a hand over her mouth. “What have I done?”
Chapter 6
Tom checked the new carriage for the eighth time, noting the solidness of the wheels, the fact that every bolt was tight, the interior free of any hazardous objects. The coachman waited on his seat, attired in the new white suit the Cole’s had purchased for him. The horses had been brushed earlier so their white coats glimmered in the morning sunlight and matched the white of the carriage.
“Five minutes until departure,” Tom said. If Victoria didn’t make an appearance in the next two minutes, he’d have to go back in and retrieve her.
Davis gave a shaky laugh and repositioned his white top hat. “I feel like I’m driving a princess today.”
A princess indeed. Tom ducked his head underneath the carriage and pretended to examine the axle. Victoria had looked every inch the princess when he’d peeked inside a few minutes ago. In fact, she’d looked so beautiful, she’d stolen his breath away. He hadn’t been able to look her in the eyes for fear she’d see the truth there. The truth he’d been trying hard all week to hide behind brusqueness.
The truth was he’d wanted to kiss her that evening in her sitting room. His gut had twisted when he’d had to stand back and watch Nathaniel kiss her. And after Nathaniel had left, he hadn’t been able to resist belittling the kiss. He shouldn’t have. He was ashamed of himself for doing it. But at the time, a strange need had prodded him, until he teased Victoria right into his arms.
He withdrew his head from underneath the carriage, but not far enough. He bumped it against the edge, and pain pierced his skull.
Served him right. He deserved to be strung up from a tree. Shot through the heart. Tarred and feathered. And then dropped into the ocean with stones tied to his ankles.
He’d almost kissed Victoria Cole. He’d been a second away from it. Mere inches from her lips.
Only the sight of her trusting expression had stopped him. She’d trusted him over the past month to protect her, including from himself. If he’d kissed her, he would have destroyed that trust. As it was, he’d destroyed every ounce of goodwill and friendship he’d formed with her. She loathed him now. Had hardly spoken to him the rest of the week. And for good reason.
He’d been almost cruel to her. He’d had to. In order to hastily rebuild the walls between them. Sure enough, he’d only had to be an idiot for a minute before she’d erected the barricade as fast and as high as she possibly could.
Why had he allowed the carefully constructed barrier to come down between them in the first place? How had it happened?
He pressed a hand against the sore spot at the back of his head. But the pain there couldn’t compare to the pain in his heart. And the regrets. He’d started off his job as Victoria’s bodyguard determined to maintain the proper boundaries. But somehow, somewhere he’d slipped up.
“That’s why I only take jobs for older married women,” he muttered. His instincts had told him to flee when he’d first discovered he’d been hired to protect a pretty young lady like Victoria. But he’d ignored them, had believed he’d had enough inner strength.
But apparently he’d been too proud of his abilities. Didn’t the Bible say, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall”?
Well, he’d fallen alright. In a big way.
He’d learned his limitations. No more younger women. Only old ladies from now on.
The morning after the incident, he’d gone to Mr. Cole and given his resignation, effective immediately. Mr. Cole had narrowed his eyes and asked him why. Tom hadn’t been able to give him the real explanation. He wouldn’t think about bringing even a hint of a blemish to Victoria’s reputation. So he’d told Mr. Cole his family needed him.
It hadn’t exactly been a lie. He’d received the telegram from his sister last week letting him know she and her husband had left Race Point Lighthouse because Greg had developed consumption and was too sick to work. They’d had to leave Mom and Dad alone, and they’d asked him to fill in until an assistant keeper could be found.
Of course, he’d had no intention of going out to the lighthouse and being the assistant. But he’d telegrammed Ruth and told her not to worry. He’d find someone to help Mom and Dad. He’d had i
nquiries out all week.
After the explanation, Mr. Cole had been understanding of his resignation. But he’d pleaded with Tom to stay until Victoria’s wedding. “Victoria needs you,” Mr. Cole had said. “You know I won’t be able to find someone else on this short of notice. And you and I both know she’s in danger. It’s not a matter of if the attacker will strike again. It’s a matter of when.”
Victoria needs you.
Mr. Cole was right. If someone was intent on sabotaging the wedding, they would strike again. So he’d told Mr. Cole that he’d see Victoria safely to the Independence in New York Harbor the day after her wedding, and then he’d be done.
The door opened and several maids clustered together, one holding Victoria’s arm, another arranging her veil, and still a third carrying the long train. Victoria stood at the threshold, and Tom made the mistake of looking at her.
Again, as before, his breath snagged in his chest. There were no words to describe the vision she made in the layers of silk and tulle. All he knew was that he’d never seen anyone or anything more beautiful. The dress fit her to perfection. Her hair was piled in cascading ringlets. And a strand of pearls circled her neck accentuating the creamy smoothness of her skin.
She took several steps outside, moving into the sunshine. But at the sight of the carriage, she halted abruptly and recoiled.
“Did you forget something?” the servant holding her arm asked.
“Yes, I…” Victoria’s eyes had a wildness that reminded him of a soldier facing the point of a bayonet. Her gaze darted back to the house as if she were planning to bolt back inside and lock the door behind her. Was she having doubts about the wedding?
For a second, Tom was tempted to let her run, let her flee to her room, lock the door, and jilt another groom. That would be just fine, because as far as he was concerned, Nathaniel wasn’t right for her. He was too doting, too sweet, too easy on her. She needed someone who would stand up to her, challenge her, and make her a better person.
She took another step backward, causing the maid holding the train to stumble and nearly fall.