Words that would have sounded so sweet were they not the very threat she most feared. She didn’t attempt a smile. He would see right through it anyway.
Dev managed one. It was warm, apologetic…and yet harder than flint. He straightened his arms, urging her back a step.
A second set of hands cupped her elbows, their touch sending a shiver up her spine. Dev looked over her head. “See that she rests.”
Rest. That was all anyone had let her do since Tuesday. If Slade thought for a moment she would go mildly up to her room…
His thumbs, hidden in the volume of her sleeves, made small circles against her arms that calmed her more than they should have. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Dev brushed away a curl from her cheek and then turned to stride away, confident his dictates would be obeyed.
Slade didn’t move but for that slow circling of his thumbs. By the time the door closed on Dev, she was all too aware of how close they stood. And unable to remember why she shouldn’t lean back against him.
His breath caught as she gave in, and his hands slid forward along her arms in welcome. She felt his indrawn breath release, sensed it as his head lowered down beside hers. His nose tickled her ear. “That would have been a far too easy end to things with him. And yet for a moment, I hoped…”
An echo of laughter slipped out, and with it came reason. She stepped away. And wished she hadn’t. “I was too irritated to hope.”
He wore a lopsided smile when she turned to him. “You should have slugged him. I would have paid good money to see that.”
“Slugged?”
“Yeah, you know…” He mimed delivering a blow to a chin.
Marietta blinked, grateful to have a lighthearted distraction. “ ‘Slug’ is a synonym for an uppercut?”
“Just a punch in general.” But his eyebrows came into their habitual V. “You know what an uppercut is?”
“Isaac enjoys boxing.”
He breathed a laugh. “Thanks for the warning. Did he teach you?”
“Enough that I could have slugged Dev, had I thought it wise.” Which she couldn’t imagine doing. Not when she had done such a poor job defending herself two days ago. What good did recall do if one couldn’t think when to apply it?
“Hmm.” Slade’s eyes sparkled as he swept his gaze down her.
“What?”
“Just imagining you in a boxing ring. Maybe with a pair of those newfangled gloves. Wearing breeches and—”
“And?” She laughed, though her face heated. If most boxers were like Isaac, there was no “and.” “That is enough imagination from you, I think.”
His grin eclipsed the irritation that had snapped at her heels all day. He held out a hand and motioned with his head for the door. “Sign lesson?”
“Sign lesson.” Though she shouldn’t, she slid her hand into his.
He kissed her knuckles, setting her nerves aflame, and then tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow to lead her out the side door. March was mild as a lamb today, the sun warm and bright as they stepped out. Maybe she could convince him to take her for a promenade later.
Slade halted them in the first patch of sunlight. “Just so you know…I like this new Marietta.”
She tilted her face up to the sunshine so she could blame the suffusing warmth on it. “You didn’t know the old one.”
“I saw enough of her.” His fingers trailed over hers on his arm. “I liked her too. She was intriguing, and that kind of confidence…well. But adding the depth of faith, the light of compassion—that sets you apart more, not less.”
For a second the words kissed her spirit as the sun did her face, but then the clouds rolled in again. The only thing that ever set her apart was her uselessness. Her family had always said she was capable of anything, that with her mind she could do great things.
But what things could a woman do? Any options open to her required either the support of a husband or would mean the scorn of society.
No. God should have given her memory to Stephen or Hez or Isaac instead. They could have used it to make a difference. She had never found any purpose in it beyond entertaining her friends. She had never found any purpose at all.
Lowering her face again, she set her gaze on Slade. She had one now, at least. A purpose handed to her from the great-grandmother she’d never met, through the hand of the grandfather she trusted with every ounce of her being. They had given her a reason for the gift, a way to use it…but she had done nothing but play scribe.
She could do more, though. She could. Her fingers tightened on Slade’s arm. “Slade…will you show me the entrance to the castle?”
Like lightning, the gleam in his eyes turned to caution. “Pardon?”
Perhaps she should have done her musing out loud so he could see how she arrived at that request. Moistening her lips, she drew in a quick breath. “I want to help. I want to do more than distract Dev so you can sneak about.”
She half expected him to retreat, for the wolf to snarl to life. Instead, he sighed. “I appreciate that, but there’s no help to be had from the castle. Trust me. I’ve examined every inch of it.”
“But—”
“Yetta.” He shook his head, squinting into the sunshine. “You don’t want to go down there. There’s nothing that would help, just…images you don’t need to see. Trust me.”
She did…and yet. “It’s my house. I want to know what goes on under it. Were Barbara not so often with me, I would have made more of an effort to find the entrance myself. I know it is somewhere over here.” She motioned to the side of the house along which they stood, where the hedges always remained too high. Concealing. Where Barbara had heard voices several times now.
“No. It’s no place for a lady.” He turned her resolutely toward the carriage house.
She let him tug her only two steps before stopping again. Desperation clawed at her throat. “But I want to do more to help. I have to. Can’t you understand that? That I need to do something that matters with my life?”
“You are.” His tone was so sure, so steady. His gaze warm and certain. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, all those papers you transcribed. But you know what really matters?”
She tucked in her chin and shook her head.
He motioned toward the city. “You gave a whole family a way to survive.” He pointed at the carriage house. “You’re giving that little girl a chance for a future. There aren’t many who would do that. Especially…” He looked to the window of the little apartment, where Elsie’s blond head bobbed.
Marietta sighed. “She isn’t Lucien’s.”
The conclusion, then, was obvious, and he would have no trouble drawing it. He echoed her sigh. “Does that make it easier?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. He forced her?”
To that, she could only nod and try her best not to hear the scream again.
Slade shook his head. Determination cloaked him. “You are definitely not going into that castle. You’re not going to do anything more to cross him. Do you understand me?”
Another dictate. Yet this one didn’t make the anger flare so hot. “I want to help. I need to help.”
“And I need you to stay safe.” He slid a hand onto her neck, under her hair, and anchored her head. “Please. Please stay out of this.”
“I’m already in—”
“Then get out of it. I can’t have you hurt.” His gaze lingered on the discoloration on her cheek. “Please.”
There was a day not so many months ago when it would have given her a thrill to reduce a man like Slade Osborne to begging. Not so today. Today she could only curl her fingers around his wrist and wish she could hold on forever. “What about you? You’re far more likely to get hurt than I am.”
With a thumb tracing her ear, his eyes went soft. “A necessary risk. It’s my job. Which means I know how to be careful.”
“Really? Coulda fooled me.” Walker’s voice pounded its way in, unexpected eno
ugh that she jumped back. And had to wonder when Slade’s other arm had slid around her waist. Walker stood only a few paces away with a ferocious scowl in place as he tugged off his work gloves. “Looks to me like you’re trying to get the both of you killed, standing around like that in plain view of the street.”
“I wouldn’t call it plain view, with the hedge…” When Walker turned fully toward him, Slade cleared his throat, looking, for some bizarre reason, to be fighting a laugh. “Right. You’re right. Stupid of me.”
Shouldn’t he have been making some excuse for having her in his arms at all, rather than where he held her so? Marietta repositioned the shawl still miraculously around her shoulders.
Walker spun on her. “And you, princess.” Now the corners of his mouth were twitching. “Didn’t I teach you how to properly sneak around with a man?”
A blast of heat hit her face, scorched her neck, and tied her tongue. He had never, not once, spoken of those days with anyone else around, yet he would all but shout it now, with Slade standing there grinning?
Grinning! He already knew. Knew and…and…thought it funny.
The blasted heat wouldn’t let up. She shook her head. “We were not…” But they were, when it came down to it. They certainly wouldn’t have behaved so if Dev or Mother Hughes were around. “And we did not…” But of course that was a blatant lie. She had always been sneaking off to the stable to find him.
And they both had the gall to enjoy her discomposure. She had no choice but to straighten her spine, lift her chin, and sweep past them. “Insufferable jackanapes, the both of you.”
Their laughter followed her to the carriage house.
Twenty-Six
Devereaux stepped off the train in Washington City with thunder in his veins. Six days had gone by since the attack on Marietta, and he had nothing to show for it. The imbeciles that passed for police officers in Baltimore had done absolutely nothing, and his own inquiries had led to dead ends.
Granted, it had relieved a certain amount of stress to knock a few ruffians stupid in the process of getting names from them. But none of them had given him any helpful information.
And Marietta, blast her, had barely spoken to him. Even Mother had noticed it and asked him if they had quarreled.
He would not lose her. It was bad enough, the news they kept hearing of the war in the South, of the state of General Lee’s troops, of the continued failures of the KGC. He couldn’t lose her too.
He had only a cryptic note in his pocket to lead his feet through the streets of Washington, but he needed no more. He told himself to enjoy the warming weather, the perfect sunshine, the promise of a meeting with his brothers.
Somehow, seeing Surratt and one of his cohorts going ahead of him into the Herndon Hotel only set his teeth on edge.
Surratt caught sight of Devereaux in the hotel lobby and held up to await him. “Where is Osborne?”
Devereaux strode by. If he paused, he might just hit the man. Why did he think he had the right to question him? “Attending other business. Where is Booth?”
“New York. He said he told Osborne.”
He let a grunt suffice for an answer and headed for the stairs. Osborne had, in fact, said something about it, but Devereaux had been trying to organize a shipment of gold bars and had been distracted.
But the gold was now in place, hidden away in the back of the rail yard. Not far from the crates of rifles and ammunition. His part was coming together nicely. He had only to smuggle another shipment or two into Baltimore, and then he could take the entire lot by rail to the mountains. A month at the most—a fortnight, he hoped. Then, assuming the attacker were found and taken care of, his world would settle again until the time came for the next revolt.
Assuming this other business didn’t foul everything up. He let Surratt knock on the correct door and cast a gaze over at the other man. The so-called doctor—nothing but a cover story, that, to excuse his frequent visits to the room—gave him a strained smile.
Devereaux wasn’t inspired. Striding through the door the moment the occupant, “Wood,” opened it, he turned to face the other Knights with a frown. “I don’t intend to stay. I just want to make sure you have your plans well in hand. This will be your last chance, gentlemen.”
“We know that.” Surratt shifted from foot to foot. “We won’t fail. We have our list of those we will seize, and we will snatch them all at once.”
Wood studied Devereaux with obvious concern. “I apologize, sir, but we are not acquainted. Who are you?”
Of all the…he glared at Surratt, who cleared his throat. “This is our captain, Mr.—”
“No names.” If they weren’t telling him theirs, they certainly weren’t getting his. “Have you men enough for this?”
“With Booth and Osborne, yes.”
“Good. Now, funds. Who will be securing them?”
Surratt lifted a hand. “I have a trip to Canada planned. With our permission from the Confederacy in hand, the agent in Montreal ought to be willing to disburse.”
“Excellent.” Devereaux pulled out his watch. He still had business to attend in Baltimore, and no desire for it to cut into his evening. “Just remember to use one of the ciphers when communicating by wire, and trust no one outside your own circle.”
He looked at them again, these men supposedly as dedicated to the Knights as he himself was. Whether or not they would have the gumption to carry out the tasks with prison or death as a consequence was yet to be seen for some of them. “Be careful. If you get even a strange feeling from someone, keep your distance and seal your lips.”
Surratt drew in a long breath. “You can be sure of it, sir.”
“Good. My orders from Richmond keep me busy, but if you need my input, do get word to me.” He didn’t wait for Surratt or one of the others to ask what kept him busy but merely gave them a nod and left the room. The day would certainly come when all the Knights would learn of the existence of the caches, when they would be instructed in how to follow the signs to them.
But not yet. Not until the goods were safely stored and the map to them established. Until then, only a select few of three hundred thousand brothers could know. This, above all, they must guard against the spies.
Perhaps there was little they could do about the present war at this point, but that made protecting their future hopes all the more vital. Devereaux took his private car back to Baltimore, but the ride did little for his mood. Because the closer he got to home, the more he thought of Marietta. And the more he thought of Marietta…
Denial achieved nothing. She was slipping through his fingers.
Fingers which tightened into a fist as he climbed into his waiting carriage at Camden Station and ordered his driver home. Never would he have thought that her family’s religious fervor would grip her. Yes, she had always idolized that do-good brother of hers, especially after Gettysburg. But Devereaux well remembered how ill they had often gotten along when Stephen was alive, how they had argued.
His fingers curled tighter. It was his own fault. He should have known, after her many refusals before, that he would pay for his seduction. That making her his would suffocate her in guilt. But he had hoped that once she had spent a night in his arms, she would forget the morals that had been more rote than belief and be happy as his mistress until they could marry.
A miscalculation. Four years of patience possibly ruined—but he hadn’t lost yet. She wanted to embrace her parents’ morality? Fine. Let it tell her she must marry him to be an honest woman again.
When he climbed from the carriage outside his house, the swish of her lavender skirt caught his eye as she sashayed around the corner of the family home. Osborne, keeping pace beside her, looked up, met Devereaux’s gaze from across the street, and nodded a greeting. He must have said something to Marietta, because she then looked up too, at him without meeting his gaze.
No doubt she thought he’d stride directly across the street to her as he always did, dismiss Osbor
ne, and lead her on a walk himself.
Maybe that was part of the problem. He had done nothing but pursue her for years, devoting far too much attention to each look he could gain, each stray brush of a touch, each veiled word. Naturally, she thought she could string him along, knowing he would be waiting when she had worked through her foul humor.
Well, she was about to learn that she wasn’t the one setting the terms anymore. Let her, for once, miss him. With a move of his head to tell Osborne he needed to speak with him, he turned and strode into his own house.
Slade had battled off the tension for an hour now. He had bitten his tongue when Barbara left for the hospital, had forced a smile when Marietta insisted she wanted to enjoy the warmth of the day in her small backyard. He had done his best to remain pleasant while she and Elsie and Walker’s mother visited in the garden.
But something in the air made him edgy. It was too heavy. Too hot for the last week of March. And the clouds slicking their way across the horizon were too blasted dark for his peace of mind.
“Would you please stop scowling?” Marietta’s fingers barely brushed his arm, but it was enough. Enough to pull Slade’s gaze from the flash of lightning over the harbor to her smiling face.
By thunder, the tug got worse every day. Much worse in the last few since Hughes had kept his distance. Though he hadn’t said a word about it, Slade knew well what he was trying to do—make her miss him. And he sure wasn’t going to tell the man her smile grew more brilliant with his absence.
As for how Slade was going to leave her side when all this was over…
He didn’t bother summoning up a smile of his own. She knew by now he wasn’t one to force them. “I don’t like the looks of those clouds.”
“Hmm.” She turned toward the Chesapeake, standing a bit too close. Not so much that she couldn’t cover it up quick enough if someone came along, but enough that he was all too aware of how easy it would be to weave his fingers through hers. To lean over and feather a few kisses over the garish green bruises. That single red curl brushed her shoulder as she surveyed the horizon. “I daresay we are in for a storm.”
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