But Emma’s faith had been torn apart as brutally as a sparrow in the clutches of an alley cat. The boy had come early—much too early. Weakened by the trauma her body had endured, Mama struggled to survive, but after a week, her eyes lost their bright vigor and fever overtook her. Squeezing Emma’s hand, Mama whispered what would be her final words of love to her daughter.
Follow your heart. Would Mama still utter those words after what Emma had done? What would she have thought of Emma’s scheme to marry a man who’d swept into her life like a hurricane?
Emma’s chest tightened. Had she followed her heart? Or had she bolted from a well-appointed prison, escaping an existence so orderly and proper and unfulfilling her heart felt smothered?
Drat it all, she’d certainly not allow the arrogant desperado who’d brought her here to cage her as her father had. She drank in a gulp of air, clean and infused with the crisp scent of pine—so very different from the oppressive smells of unwashed bodies and horses and refuse she endured in the city.
Closing her book, she set the volume to the side and came to her feet. A faint trace of honeysuckle blended with the rich aromas of the forest. How had she survived for so many years in the stifling confines of the city without ever partaking of the beauty that surrounded her here?
Stepping away from the small porch, she spotted Cole. Seated on a large, smooth rock at the bank of a swift-rushing creek, fishing rod in hand, he appeared relaxed and at ease. A casual onlooker might think them a pair of newlyweds making a modest life in this remote setting.
The forest in daylight beckoned her. Sun trickled through the thick canopy above her head, creating the illusion of gemstones glimmering against a green velvet cloak. Birds chirped merrily while squirrels chattered and scurried up and down the massive trunks of trees which had taken root centuries earlier.
She slanted Cole another glance. She’d let him see she wouldn’t be caged. Hiking her skirts past her ankles, she stepped through the layers of leaves and pine straw carpeting the earth, modesty be damned. He could jolly well watch her traipse off to explore the woods. He’d forced a detour on her journey, but he wouldn’t pen her up like a prisoner.
Leaves crunched beneath her feet as a robin sang, each crisp note a serenade to her newfound freedom. Nearing a fallen tree, she slowed her pace. A thick branch blocked her path, but she lifted her skirts higher—scandalously so—and scrambled over it. She made her way deeper into the crush of trees and foliage, relishing the pleasant chaos of high-pitched animal chatter.
She cast a passing glance behind her. She’d gone farther from the cabin than she’d intended, but the light flickering through the trees beckoned her into the thick of the woods. As long as she could still see the cabin, she’d easily find her way back.
A warbler trilled a melody as artfully as a flutist in an orchestra. The flawless notes carried her to another place, another time…so long ago, when her father still smiled and happiness was a part of life.
A peculiar noise battled with the warbler’s song for her attention.
A rattle, like a baby’s toy.
Yet urgent.
Ominous.
She froze in place as instinctive alarm triggered tiny prickles over her skin. Her gaze followed the direction of the sound to a decaying log, close enough to touch with the toe of her shoe.
The rattle intensified.
Agitated.
Threatening.
Raising its triangular head, the coiled snake seemed to study her. A rattlesnake. She pulled in a stilted breath, then another.
Think!
What had she read about the creatures? Her boots were high on her ankles. The sturdy leather would offer protection against a bite. Unless the viper managed to drive its fangs into her calf. She made to step back, but the rattle quickened and amplified, warning of an imminent strike. Terror rippled through her cells.
A weapon. She needed a weapon. Slowly reaching behind her, she managed to grab hold of a dead tree branch. A little tug, and it snapped off, the crack as loud as a cannon.
At the sound, the snake reared up. Fangs bared, its rattle a final warning as it uncoiled and struck out.
A gunshot thundered in her ears. The rattler jerked violently, then flopped lifeless on the ground, barely a breath away from her.
Emma choked back a scream.
“It can’t hurt you now.”
Cole’s voice, low and terse. She swiveled to face him. His revolver in firing position, his full mouth drawn into a grim line, he regarded her with dark, questioning eyes. He holstered his weapon and closed the distance between them with long strides.
Taking her hand, he led her away from what remained of the snake. Stopping at the creek bank, he drew her closer as the quiet rhythm of the water’s flow soothed her frayed nerves. His arm draped her shoulders. She nestled against his chest and allowed him to comfort her.
Cole’s arms enfolded her. His hands stroked the small of her back as she pulled in several breaths and tried to pretend she wasn’t shaking. His warmth felt good against her skin. This was wrong. In her heart, she knew that. No matter that she’d had an encounter with a dangerous animal, no matter that she’d been more terrified than she’d ever admit, she needed to shun Cole’s touch. But she couldn’t. It seemed natural to crave his strength, natural to allow him to soothe her. How would she summon the will to push him away?
“You’re safe.” His voice was low and tightly controlled.
“My, that was a close call, wasn’t it?” Emma forced a lightness into her tone she didn’t feel.
“That’s one way to put it.” His eyes darkened as he stared down at her. “I call it a damn fool thing to do.”
Suddenly, his touch wasn’t nearly as comforting. The harshness of his tone washed over her like a bucket of cold water. She met his gaze, matching the fire in his eyes with her own heat.
“This coming from the expert on damn fool things to do—a man who commandeered a train in order to take one woman off it…a woman he might have abducted at any point before she boarded said train. At least you speak with authority on the matter.”
“Before you stepped onto that train, you would have had a chance of getting away. Once you were there, you had nowhere to go.”
She hiked her chin to a haughty angle. “You enjoyed all the attention those poor passengers paid you. Why, you made yourself into some ruthless desperado, a man to be feared.”
“And I’m not ruthless enough to suit you?”
“Good heavens, on the train, you looked like a man with no conscience, with no soul. Here…well, you actually looked worried about me.”
“A dead hostage isn’t worth a whole lot.”
Her eyes lit on the slight sheen on his forehead. “If you were as cold-blooded as you like to pretend, I doubt you would have broken a sweat over my encounter with some cantankerous creature.”
“That cantankerous creature could have injected enough venom to kill you. At the least, you’d wish you were dead.”
“Please don’t think I fail to appreciate the way you dispatched that vile beast. Truly, I do. But the term damn fool thing seems a bit uncalled for, especially by a man who hasn’t demonstrated a great deal of prudence in his endeavors so far.”
The taut seam of his mouth eased. He looked like he wanted to smile. “God almighty, I had no idea I was kidnapping some Philadelphia lawyer.”
“And what would you know of Philadelphia lawyers? I suspect you’ll be needing a Washington lawyer soon enough, preferably one with experience dealing with a hanging judge.”
“I must admit, you’ve got me wondering—what would you suggest I do differently?”
“Why on earth would you give a fig about my opinion?”
His mouth settled back into a bland line, though a far livelier emotion danced in his eyes. “For future reference.”
Emma managed a little shrug. Did he realize he still held her, that his hands rested gently at her waist? She really should wriggle away from him
. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to make a move.
“I’ve already shared my thoughts on the abduction itself. Quite theatrical. But you were effectively menacing on the train. Why, I almost thought that poor man would soil himself.”
“Your hero with the toy gun?”
“Actually, a derringer is not a toy. They can be highly effective, though no match for the firepower you carry.”
Respect flickered in his eyes. “Point taken. What else, Miss Davenport?”
Surely she was imagining the regard she detected in his expression. When he looked at her like that, her body wanted to forget he was her captor. She pulled in a slow breath, as if that could quell the reactions of her rebellious flesh.
“Well, I’m not about to tell you how to go about your business.” My, how cool and detached her tone sounded.
“It stands to reason a prisoner who felt I was menacing and ruthless would be easier to manage.”
“I suppose.” A lump formed in the back of her throat.
“So you don’t find me menacing?” His gravel-edged voice sounded almost cheerful.
“Perhaps, in the beginning.”
He shook his head. “You looked like you wanted to kill me, but you weren’t afraid of me.”
“I believe I expressed my feelings on drawing and quartering.”
“Actually, you were discussing your father, but I take it you would look forward to the execution.”
“Father would ensure I had an excellent view of the event.”
A corner of his mouth hitched. “Shame they don’t do that anymore.”
“Knowing my father as I do, I don’t doubt he’ll find a way to bring back the punishment.”
His hands fell away, and he stepped back. His gaze raked over her. “So, what would it take to menace you, Miss Davenport?”
“I suppose it’s too late now,” she said, even as an inborn warning stirred low in her belly.
“What about ruthlessness? What would that take?”
“I suppose it’s rather late for that as well.”
“It’s never too late. I’m sure I could convince you.” The gleam in his amber eyes sent a nervous ripple through her core.
“I assure you that isn’t necessary.”
He advanced a step. She retreated, only to have him close the perilously small gap between them.
“I could find another snake,” he said, and for an instant, she wasn’t entirely sure he was teasing. “Not a poisonous one. Just one that slithers around frightening pretty girls.”
She shook her head. “Not necessary.”
“Or spiders. Women hate those, don’t they? They always did in the nursery rhymes my granny read me.”
She shook her head more emphatically. “Entirely unnecessary.”
He shrugged. “You’re going to make this a challenge, aren’t you? I don’t have a plank you can walk, so the pirate approach won’t work. But pirates like to menace fair maidens, don’t they?”
“Are you always this dramatic?”
His mouth hitched into the slightest hint of a grin. Drat it all, why did her insides feel like they were melting?
“Just trying to keep it interesting.” His husky rasp did not cool the warmth in her core, not one bit.
“Please let me go. You’ve succeeded at vexing me beyond all compare. That should count for something.”
His brows knotted in a contemplative vee. “I’ve never vexed a woman. I think I like it.”
“Congratulations,” she murmured, wriggling against his hold.
“Not so fast, Miss Davenport. You’re the first woman I’ve vexed. It only seems fitting that I’d be your first desperado.”
He slid one hand from her waist to cup her cheek. Stroking her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, he studied her. Dipping his head, he brushed his mouth against the curve of her face.
And then, he kissed her.
A fleeting brush of his lips against hers, the gentle contact unleashed currents of heat throughout Emma’s body. Her arms encircled his neck, and she molded against him, seeking his touch.
He deepened the kiss. Such a delicious caress. Heat unfurled from her core, seeping all the way to her fingers and her toes. His arousal pressed into the softness of her belly. Strong and vital, he held her, and for the flicker of a breath, Emma wondered if she’d ever want him to release her.
Knees suddenly weak, she melted into him. Mindless with longing for the subtle, spicy essence filling her senses. Mindless with hunger for the texture of his skin beneath her fingertips. Mindless with longing for the pleasure of his touch.
And yet, he held back. She knew it as surely as she knew her own heartbeat.
He released her.
His breath was harsh, uneven. The kiss had affected him. He couldn’t deny it.
He reached out, brushing a rebellious curl back into place. The brief touch set off a fresh cascade of alarm. How could such a tiny glance of his flesh against hers set off such a rush of heat? She retreated just far enough that she could breathe again.
She watched him beneath the veil of her lashes. What had come over her? She shouldn’t have enjoyed his kiss. She should have struggled and fought his possession, no matter how brief. Instead, she’d savored his caress as if it were a luscious sweet.
Cole cocked his head as he watched her. “I’ve got to get you back to the cabin. God knows what other kind of critter you’ll run into—I can’t go shooting everything that moves. I’ve got to save my ammunition for two-legged animals.”
“I can find my way back.”
“Come with me now.”
She needed time away from him. Her skin still tingled from his touch, and her lips still tasted his kiss.
“I’ll take my chances.” She hiked her chin and planted her hands on her hips. She certainly wasn’t about to let him think he’d cowed her.
“You sure about that?”
“Very.”
Suddenly, his arms were around her, and her feet dangled several inches from the ground. She landed on his shoulder with a whoosh.
“Damn you!” she cried. “Put me down.”
“Such language from a lady. Your father would be shocked.”
“Put me down, you oaf!” She drummed her fists against his back. “No one has ever treated me this way!”
“Oaf? I was getting used to barbarian.” He shifted her as if she were a sack of grain. “If you don’t stop squirming, I can’t guarantee I won’t drop you on your shapely backside.”
Emma gasped. “How dare you! How dare you comment on my…my…backside!”
“Just speaking the truth, ma’am,” he drawled. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
“I insist you put me down this instant,” she persisted. “My father will see you hanged.”
“Without a doubt.” He accented his words with a light swat against her upended behind. “Just a mosquito that didn’t get to feast on your round little rump.”
She bit back the yelp that wanted to spring out of her mouth. “You…you are reprehensible.”
“I assume that means I’ve qualified as menacing. Or was that ruthless?”
Another whoosh of air popped out of her mouth as she jiggled against his shoulder. “I assure you I am neither menaced nor in fear of your ruthlessness. I am completely convinced you are an uncouth heathen with the breeding of a country mule.”
“And there I thought I had the breeding of a city mule. I’ll have to have a talk with my granny. All those years, she thought we were in the city.”
“You…you, sir…are the most exasperating man I’ve ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on.”
“Exasperating? Well, that’s something. Not as good as menacing, but I guess I’ll take it.”
“When I return to Washington, I will plead with my father to bring back the rack.”
He shrugged, jolting her against his collar bone. “I could use a couple more inches. Might make me more menacing.”
&nbs
p; Actually, Emma found his six feet of lean male dangerously appealing. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Are you always this impossible?”
“What do you know—another mosquito.” He delivered another swat to Emma’s rump. “What can I say, Miss Davenport? You bring out the best in me.”
Chapter Eight
Cole planted Emma on her feet in front of the porch, then wiped his brow with the back of his hand. After transporting his squirming cargo, his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his body, his injured arm throbbed, and his lower back ached from the impact of Emma’s delicate but surprisingly strong fists pelting him like apple-sized hail.
For her part, she looked none the worse for wear. If anything, her rosy flush accented the gentle curve of her face, while the glimmer in her emerald eyes promised someday, some way, she’d avenge her wounded pride. Just his luck. His captive was so damn tempting, she’d drive a fire-and-brimstone preacher to distraction. His task would be a hell of a lot easier if Miss Davenport actually looked like a prissy spinster. A strategically placed wart—on her chin or, even better, on her nose—would be better yet. Maybe then he could stop thinking about kissing her again.
He mentally pasted a wart complete with wiry black hair on her chin. No luck. His male instincts knew when his rational brain was trying to trick them. They weren’t about to cooperate. He’d probably spend the next seventy-two hours hard as a rock and frustrated as hell. There was nothing to be done about it.
But Emma’s lemon-tinged scent was a constant temptation. And the taste of her—a starving man at a king’s feast wouldn’t have enjoyed his meal as much as Cole had savored her delicate coral lips.
He’d been a fool to kiss her. But what was done was done. No sense dwelling on it. He damn sure wasn’t about to stand around rehashing the way she’d felt and the way she’d tasted and the soft little moans of pleasure she couldn’t quite hold back. No, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that.
Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies) Page 7