Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies)

by Kingston, Tara

  The steady rhythm of his breaths soothed her. He stirred again, and she burrowed closer, drawing heat from his body.

  This was where she belonged.

  With him.

  You’re mine, Emma. And you always will be.

  His husky rasp played in her mind, his heartfelt words more precious and stirring than an eloquent sonnet.

  Did he love her? Or had he spoken at the height of passion, words that would crumble like the ashes left behind in an inferno’s wake?

  Cole stirred. “You’re awake,” he whispered, draping an arm around her. Pressing her closer to his body, his lips grazed the bridge of her nose. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  She met his heavy-lidded gaze. “I dreamed of you. You were in danger. There were men with knives, and a tower…it may have been a church. I tried to warn you, but you couldn’t hear me when I screamed your name.”

  He massaged her back, his fingers circling with soothing pressure over the taut flesh between her shoulder blades. “It was a dream, Emma. You’ve no need to worry about me.”

  “But it seemed so real.”

  “What happened to the bloodthirsty miss who longed to see me in some medieval torture chamber?”

  “She wound up in your arms, naked as the day she was born.”

  “I should have done something about all those clothes you wear a long time ago.”

  She snuggled against him, drinking in his warmth. What would happen when the sun rose, when they set out for Washington and she returned to the veritable fortress her father had erected around her existence?

  “I don’t know how I’m going to go back to the life I had before.”

  “You think I’d walk away from you?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with sleep. His brow furrowed as he studied her face. “After tonight?”

  She watched his expression shift beneath the flicker of moonlight. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “I intend to do the right thing,” he said in a low rasp. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “The right thing?” The words wafted over her like a sudden chill.

  “After tonight…Christ, Emma, you know what I mean.” He kissed her, a fleeting caress, then sprawled on his back. “The sun’s going to rise soon enough. Let’s get some sleep.”

  She rolled onto her side, away from him. “I understand precisely what you mean.”

  “We can talk about this when we’re both fully awake. I’m dead tired.”

  “You’re right. It can wait.” Her fingers drummed a brisk tattoo against the mattress. “I don’t need to be anyone’s duty.”

  He shifted his weight, leaning on one elbow. She couldn’t see his face, but his breath warmed the back of her neck.

  “I meant what I said. You’re mine now.” His fingers closed over her shoulder. “Turn around, Emma. Look at me.”

  Slowly, she complied with his request. Even in the near darkness, she could see the intensity in his eyes. There was no denying his passion. And yet, he’d made no mention of feelings, of deep, enduring emotions.

  He traced the curve of her face with a single fingertip, unleashing fresh tingles as he brushed her skin with such gentleness, he took her breath away. A lazy hitch of his lips added a hint of wickedness to his expression.

  “I suppose I ought to ask you properly, on one knee, but seeing as neither one of us is wearing a stitch—”

  “Are you…are you asking me to marry you?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  He blinked. “That’s a damn peculiar question.” His gaze traveled to the bare flesh exposed over the top of the quilt. “The answer should be obvious.”

  “There can be many reasons why a man asks a woman to marry him. So tell me, why do you want to marry me?”

  He blinked again, as though she’d invited him to dance the lead in Swan Lake or some other equally ridiculous proposition.

  “Emma, you’re not a child. After what we’ve done—”

  She pushed herself up on her forearms, the quilt tucked around her breasts. “After what we’ve done?” She repeated the words slowly, precisely. They tasted bitter on her tongue, as if a cook had spilled an entire container of salt in a delicate broth.

  “I made a commitment to you tonight, one that’s not going to fade when the sun comes up.”

  “So you’re asking me to marry you because you took me to bed?”

  “That’s a damn good reason in my book. It goes without saying—”

  “Am I to believe you’ve asked everyone you’ve bedded to marry you?”

  “Of course not. Where would you get such a crazy notion?”

  She pulled in a low whisper of a breath and slowly released it. “Actually, it’s a logical question. Why now? Why me?”

  His eyes narrowed as the curve of his mouth intensified. He reached out, threading his fingers through her hair, sweeping long waves from her face. “Emma, I swear you’re going to be the death of me. After tonight…”

  “You don’t have a responsibility to me. You don’t—”

  “The hell I don’t. I knew—” He sat up, leaning against the brass headboard. “I knew what this night would mean. You thought I’d take you to bed…take your innocence…and just walk away?”

  “So, marrying me is another duty?”

  He rubbed his jaw, kneading a spot below his ear as if it ached. “Jesus, Emma—you’re lying here in my bed without a stitch on. I intend to do the right thing by you. I want you to be my wife.”

  Didn’t he understand what she needed to hear? She had no intention of marrying a man simply because he’d breached her maidenhead. She wanted to wed because a man—this man—didn’t want to live another day without her.

  Just as she didn’t want to face another sunrise and sunset without him.

  But the words hovered unspent in her throat. If he looked at her like she was a sentimental fool, her heart would shatter beyond repair. So she adopted a different tack, one far less risky to her soul.

  She studied him for a long moment, watching emotions she couldn’t read flicker in his eyes.

  “A few days ago, you thought I was a traitor. But now…now you want to marry me?”

  He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Things have changed.”

  “I’m not entirely sure what has changed. I don’t even know if you trust me. All I know is that you made…made love to me and suddenly, you want to do the right thing, as if I’m a soiled dove in need of a wedding band to redeem her.”

  “Emma, what’s come over you?”

  “I’m trying to figure this out, that’s all. When you hauled me off to that cabin—at my father’s urging, I presume—you believed I was a traitor. And now, you’re professing a desire to speak our vows. Are your intentions rooted in a sense of duty, or have you figured out that being the son-in-law of a senator who plays poker with the commander of the Union Army might have its benefits?”

  He looked as though she’d slapped him. He swung his long legs off the bed and came to his feet.

  “My intentions weren’t rooted in either of those, but you’re too busy mooning over a poetry-spouting son of a bitch to see the truth, even when it looks you in the eye.”

  “Frederick made a fool of me. I never loved him. He was a means of escape. I see that now. My father has smothered me since I was a girl. Believe me, I’m not mooning over him or anyone else.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to think you were mooning over me. For what it’s worth, my intentions were honorable. My desire to marry you didn’t have a damn thing to do with your father or Grant or the goddamn Union Army.”

  Pain melded with anger in his golden brown eyes. Her fury dimmed, but the most pressing question of all hovered unanswered. Unaddressed. She softened her tone.

  “You haven’t mentioned any feelings for me.”

  “I didn’t think I needed to. I thought asking you to be my wife—”

  “Did you
even think to ask if that was what I wanted?”

  His jaw went taut as his gaze sliced through her. “I see now that I made an error in judgment.”

  He rummaged around in the shadows at the end of the bed, snatching up his trousers. Fabric rustled over skin as he pulled on his clothing. He grabbed his boots and tugged them on, then marched to the door.

  “Despite what you might think, I am a man who honors his commitments. What happened between us tonight was a commitment in my book. As for any other woman—I didn’t give a damn about them.” He pulled open the door, the heavy panel shuddering with the force of the motion. He stared over his shoulder, his gaze sharp as a saber. “They weren’t you.”

  The door closed behind him with a quiet thud.

  Scalding tears balled in her throat. Was he hurt, or simply angry that she’d dared question his arrogant assumption?

  Curling onto her side, Emma stared into the dark. Men didn’t always ask a woman to marry them out of love. After all, Frederick had asked her to marry him. Not out of duty—heaven knows the man never touched her beyond a chaste kiss and a gentlemanly caress of her cheek. And certainly not out of love. No, he’d duped her into serving as a pawn in a plot that might still rain disaster on her head. He’d made a complete an utter fool of her.

  Cole’s motives weren’t nearly so nefarious. He was a good man, a man who’d risked his life to protect her. But she wouldn’t settle for a husband who viewed saying his vows as one more duty.

  She hugged his pillow close, drinking in his scent. By the next sunset, this time with him would be nothing more than a memory, a sweet reminiscence she’d cherish until her dying breath.

  His essence filled her, the distinctive masculine scent she adored. She was a fool. She should have smiled and kissed him and told him yes a thousand times and then again for good measure.

  But she couldn’t do that to Cole. He didn’t deserve to be trapped in a loveless marriage out of a sense of honor, even if he did have a momentary desire for her.

  She sighed and tightened her grip on the pillow. She’d long for him. But she’d cherish this night, the memory of his touch and taste and the sound of his unfettered passion.

  But most of all, she’d cherish the memory of him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Home of Senator Jeremiah Davenport

  Washington, DC

  Gaslight cast eerie shadows over the polished oak door of the townhouse that had been Emma’s home since childhood. A doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head glared at her. She looked away, casting her gaze to the pavement beneath the mount on which she sat, secure in Cole’s steely arms.

  A uniformed guard popped to attention while another approached the spot where Rotgut stood as rigid-backed as the man who held his reins.

  The guard offered a brisk salute. “Major Travis, may I offer my assistance?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Cole swung out of the saddle. “I’ll see Miss Davenport inside.”

  He reached for her, his hands circling her waist with an easy familiarity. “He’ll be relieved to see you, Emma. You’ve nothing to worry about.” He kept his tone even, his voice quiet, though it seemed rather pointless. Surely these men knew the circumstances of her arrival well past sundown, at an hour when any respectable young woman was tending home and hearth, not galloping into town in the arms of a man who was not her husband.

  She shot a glance at the sentinel by the door. Light glimmered off the polished wood of his rifle. “Your message obviously made it to his ears. This is quite a welcoming committee.”

  “Security is essential,” Cole said, his voice stiff as his spine. “You can’t let down your guard.”

  The back of her throat prickled with a thousand tiny barbs, but she managed a bland tone. “Your part in this will soon be done. I won’t be your worry any longer.”

  The serious set of his mouth edged toward a smile, but he seemed to restrain the emotion and settled into a hard-edged mask. Lowering her to the pavement, he drew her close, leaning to whisper in her ear.

  “You can tell yourself that, Emma. You and I both know it’s not true.”

  Behind Cole’s back, the guard shifted nervously, as if afraid he might witness something he’d prefer not to see. Emma managed another wan smile.

  “We have an audience. Not that it matters to me, but your career—”

  His spine stiffened at her reminder. His eyes hardened to amber as he stared down at her. “Let’s get you to your father. I’m sure he’s eager to see you.”

  The sentry at the front entrance, a young man who looked as though he’d barely sprouted his first whisker, held open the door. His eyes raked over her as if she were a notorious fugitive returned to prison. Holding her head at what she hoped was a haughty angle, she entered the house she’d fled during a night that seemed a lifetime ago. Her father’s assistant, Mr. Tucker, assessed her with a hint of curiosity but gave no voice to the questions in his gaze.

  “The senator is in his study.” He moved to usher them along the length of the long corridor, but she shook her head.

  “I assure you I still know the way.”

  With Cole at her side, she marched the length of the hallway with sure, brisk strides. The door stood ajar. Emma gave it a gentle push and stepped into her father’s pointed glare.

  He sat behind a massive desk, the gleaming mahogany more suited to a tycoon’s mansion than a modest townhouse. His eyes raked over Emma from the hem of her dirt-smudged dress to her wind-whipped hair. Her father’s sharp gaze shifted to Cole, roaming over his road dust-coated cotton shirt and workman’s trousers, narrowing as his attention appeared to fix on the holster slung low on Cole’s hips. His mouth settled into a scowl.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Major Travis? You’re out of uniform.”

  “The need to brief you on the situation took precedence over formalities, Senator.”

  Her father shrugged. “I see you’re both in one piece. Whatever you’ve got to say will have to wait. I need a word with my daughter.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t be put off until the morning.” Cole’s quiet tone was as unyielding as granite.

  “She’s home. That’s all I cared about.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, there’s a great deal to be concerned about now that Miss Davenport is home. Before, she was hidden away. I could protect her, but—”

  “I must ask you to leave. Colonel Edwards has seen to enhanced security measures. I appreciate your concern, Major, but your part in this is done.”

  “Enhanced security? That boy at the door looks like he’d soil himself before he could pull the trigger in the face of a threat.”

  A vein in her father’s forehead bulged. “Major, you’re on the verge of insubordination.”

  Cole’s brow hitched. It was her father’s turn to be scrutinized. Emma’s pulse raced. This would not go well.

  He leaned closer, pressing both hands to the desk. “At what point did you become an officer in the Army, Senator Davenport?”

  “Leave my home, Major, before I have you tossed out on your—”

  Emma’s hands went clammy. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and took a step forward. “Father, you need to listen to him. There will be plenty of time to discuss my misadventures when he’s gone.”

  Her father’s shoulders sagged. “Emma, you’ve put me through hell. I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow this upstart to barge in and order me about in my own home.”

  Cole stepped away from the desk. He turned and walked to the door. Closing it softly, he came toward them with the confidence of a man who’d faced down bullets and bayonets, let alone a blowhard’s threats.

  “Miss Davenport is in danger. I have reason to believe you may be as well. If you value your daughter’s safety and your own hide, you’ll shut up and pay attention.”

  * * *

  Emma trudged to her room like a prisoner marching to her own execution. Closing the door behind her with an
oh-so-satisfying slam, she flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Damn the man! Damn the man to Hades and back again!

  Brandishing his arrogance like a weapon, Cole had convinced her father to turn their home into even more of a prison. Medieval castles were not as fortified as the measures Cole insisted would be necessary to protect her.

  A sentry would be situated within the house as well as at the front and rear entries. Three armed guards for a townhouse. Such a ludicrous waste of manpower, all to protect her from a threat that most likely no longer existed. Frederick was smart, too cunning to waste time going after her. Surely he’d deduced the items he’d given her had been confiscated. Sending henchmen after them would be pointless. He’d move onto another scheme, another besotted fool.

  Alarms would be set in place the next day. Cole had described an intricate system of rods, bellowing horns, and clattering bells to be installed on all the doors and windows, alerting the guards to the slightest intrusion.

  Ridiculous! Who in his right mind would shimmy through an upstairs window to get to her, or her father, for that matter? For heaven’s sake, President Lincoln didn’t employ such elaborate security measures.

  A wave of longing for the cabin by the stream washed over her. The crude structure seemed a peaceful respite, far away from dour-faced soldiers tasked with overseeing her every move.

  At least she wouldn’t have to face Cole every day. He’d made it clear he wouldn’t be in Washington for long. A summons from Grant to his headquarters at City Pointe trumped playing bodyguard to a senator’s daughter. By the end of the week, Cole would be on his way to Virginia for a new assignment. Far from the capital.

  Far from her.

  It was just as well. He’d barely spoken a word to her since she’d questioned his proposal of marriage. Oh, he talked at her, mouthing instructions that sounded like orders and uttering perfunctory questions to inquire about her comfort. But the easy banter they’d exchanged since the days at that far-away cabin had vanished, replaced by a frosty civility. He didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. Worst of all, he avoided her gaze as though it pained him to look at her.