Catch Me If You Can

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Catch Me If You Can Page 2

by Juliette Cosway


  She strode off, leading the horse by its rein.

  Rivers sat back in the chair and wondered if he’d see the stable girl again during his visit. He considered himself a keen observer of human character. He particularly enjoyed observing women. They were very different creatures from men and he enjoyed discovering all the ways in which they differed. When an appealing character and the opportunity came his way, he enjoyed discovering them more intimately.

  He was no casual seducer, but he’d proven himself a popular man with the ladies, despite his preponderance for being a loner and his reputation as something of a blackguard. His travel stories, hunting abilities, and extensive knowledge of wine production had gained him both good and bad attention, particularly over the past nine years since he’d left his family home. Along the way he took pleasure pursuing passionate women whilst carefully maintaining his desire to avoid matrimony.

  The mention of his name drew his attention back into the room.

  “Rivers has been patient during our journey. He’s keen to get to France and Italy to select vines for his new project. That is foremost in his mind at the moment,” Frieda gave a caring smile toward her friend and employee.

  A frown passed across James’s face. “I hope you won’t be leaving us too soon. I’ve been anticipating this visit for some time.” His expression softened and he drew Frieda’s hand to his lips. The gesture brought a flush to her angular cheekbones.

  “Perhaps we might encourage you to join us in our onward travels, James?” She looked deep into his blue-grey eyes.

  Rivers was about to conjure an excuse to leave them alone when footsteps and voices sounded in the corridor outside.

  James turned toward the door. “Ah, that will be Eleanor.”

  Rivers’ eyebrows lifted. Surely it wasn’t Miss Craven who he’d spied from his seat by the window? His interest sharpened. Could it be that James Craven’s daughter dressed like a boy and traipsed about like some brazen country wench?

  If so, he would shortly meet her.

  No, he decided, for if it was his employer’s niece he’d seen, she would be both a sweet temptation and a forbidden fruit.

  * * *

  When Eleanor caught sight of the carriage, she hurried back to the house. The guests had already arrived. Tidying her hair and realigning her ribbon as she went, she chastised herself for letting the time slip by.

  She’d been looking forward to meeting Frieda and hearing about life in America for months, if not years. She’d listened avidly to her father’s stories of his journey across America in the 1870s, now she wanted to hear Frieda’s tale, a woman’s story, so that she could truly imagine herself heading west on the long adventure.

  As she hastened into the parlor, her father rose from his seat. Frieda Craven was seated nearby. Eleanor beamed at the sight of her. Aunt Frieda was a strong handsome woman, her Germanic blood showing in the strong bone structure of her face, and the fair hair graying on her temples.

  Eleanor gathered Frieda in a warm embrace. “Oh, Frieda, it is good to meet you at last. As I expected, you have the look of a real pioneer.”

  Frieda chuckled at her remark. “And you are even more beautiful than I expected you would be, is she not, Rivers?”

  Eleanor hadn’t noticed the man in her hurry to meet Frieda. He stood off to one side watching the two women embrace, his brow lifted as if he was amused by something. She walked to him, her hand outstretched in greeting.

  Tall and striking with angular features, he had glossy dark hair that fell to his shoulders in apparent abandon. His eyes verged on black, and they studied her intently as she crossed the room.

  “Mr. Rivers, I presume.”

  He accepted her outreached hand and raised it slowly to his lips.

  The firm touch of his mouth on her skin sent a frisson of delight through her entire body.

  “Please, call me Rivers. It is the name I go by.” He turned briefly to Frieda and added, “Indeed, Miss Craven is a most captivating young lady.”

  “Call me Eleanor, I insist. And why can’t we call you by your given name? We don’t follow archaic rules nor formal conventions in this house.”

  An amused smile swept across his face. “So I’ve noticed.”

  Eleanor wondered if she’d embarrassed him by being so forthright.

  “I prefer Rivers. It is merely personal preference,” he added, the smile in his expression lingering.

  His voice was deep and husky, his accent capturing her attention immediately. “Ah, you consider yourself more river than rock, perhaps?”

  His wry smile met her teasing one. “Perhaps.”

  The way he looked at her, with such direct intimacy, set her pulse racing. He was certainly a handsome man, with his sun-kissed skin and his broad shoulders. She returned his smile and took her seat, joining the housekeeper, Mrs. Bramley, in passing the tea dishes.

  She chatted eagerly with Frieda, all the while aware of the dark and attractive man who looked on. He appeared mysterious and aloof and yet he watched her in a most insistent way. It made her skin tingle.

  Why didn’t he join the conversation? He sat off to one side and watched the three from under hooded eyes. She wondered if he’d been surprised by her appearance. She often roved around in men’s riding breeches. The neighbors and villagers still blanched at the sight of her dressed in such unladylike and outrageous attire, riding astride her horse like a man. The household servants and the tenants were used to her ways. She expected Frieda to be a kindred soul who wouldn’t be embarrassed by her attire, but what of Mr. Rivers? Perhaps he was more proper in his ways.

  Eleanor had scant knowledge of how Californian society might differ to their own. In their travels, she’d learnt never to assume customs were the same, or even similar, and one should endeavor to make those with different customs feel comfortable. However, as if in response to her thoughts, Rivers rose and took off his traveling coat, laying it on a nearby chair.

  Eleanor couldn’t resist watching the movement of his broad chest and his long, lean limbs as he slipped the coat off. When he moved lithely across the room and seated himself nearer to them, she smiled in greeting.

  Rivers returned the smile. Humor warmed his expression and graced his solid hawk-like features with a magnetic attraction.

  A rush of butterflies loosed in the pit of her stomach.

  He truly was a most handsome man.

  Eleanor knew her meeting with Frieda was going to bring even more pleasure and interest than she’d expected, and not least from the presence of her handsome companion.

  Chapter Two

  A Rose by any Other Name

  That evening, Rivers sat across the dinner table from Eleanor. She found that the conversation, enthralling though it was, never entirely distracted her from the intensity of his gaze. It kept her oddly on edge, self-aware and the tiniest bit nervous. When she attempted to eat, she found she wasn’t much interested in the food.

  Mrs. Bramley, the housekeeper, was delighted with the opportunity to demonstrate all her culinary skills to the assembled dinner party. She’d created such a volume and variety of delicious dishes there was little possibility they would do true justice to the feast, especially on such a sultry evening. The housekeeper had supervised the serving girls as they loaded the table with port-broiled partridge, roast pork, apple dumplings, onion custard and a profusion of roast and steamed vegetables to accompany.

  Eleanor had made some efforts herself, in order to reassure the guests she wasn’t entirely heathen in her ways and knew how to dress as a lady. She’d instructed Alice, her maid, to lace her corsets as tight as can be and to bring out her red evening gown, for she knew it flattered her coloring. It was edged with black filigree lace across the low cut décolletage. Her full underskirt was rustling black taffeta. She draped her shawl over the back of her chair, for it was far too warm to need it. Small jet beads fell from her ears and sparkled at her throat. The skin across her bare shoulders and arms was marred only
by the distinct beauty spot in the dip of her cleavage.

  She opened her fan whenever the heat of his gaze became too much for her, which was rather often. She silently chastised herself for fidgeting. His presence had somehow created a dense well of heat inside, heady and delicious, yet sent wild skitters of rare self-consciousness over her skin. She dragged her attention back to the assembled company, interjecting when she realized they were discussing the trans-continental America journey.

  “No, Father. We must do it exactly as you did, follow the path exactly. It would be the only way to undertake your historic journey and do the pioneers true justice.” Her glance was accusing. They had argued amiably over this subject many times before.

  “The railroad passes across the whole country nowadays, Eleanor,” Frieda said. “Surely that would be enough of an adventure for you? It’s a hard journey across the land. After all...” She looked at James, amusement bubbling in her eyes, “…they never planned to cross the whole country, did you?”

  James Craven looked down at his dinner plate and laughed, sheepishly.

  “What is this? Have you kept a part of the story from me?” Eleanor picked up the lace fan she’d rested on the table, and flicked it open again, constantly aware of the enigmatic aura of Rivers. His hooded eyes rarely left her while she spoke. Even when she didn’t look directly at him, she was conscious of his physical presence. It stirred her senses to fever pitch. The fan fluttered in her hand.

  “Well,” James replied slowly. “We set out with the plan to stop when we found a suitable patch in auction, one that reminded us of home perhaps, but different and new. I said we would know it when we found it.” He laughed. “We went practically to the Pacific Coast before it happened, mere miles from the ocean, we found the Napa country and knew we’d found our second home.” He smiled fondly. “We could have traveled to the West Coast, by sea, and simply started on that side.”

  Frieda chuckled at the idea of it.

  Eleanor shook her head. “The adventure of crossing the land...surely you feel it a valuable part of the expedition?” She looked on at them, fanning herself again. “It was fate. After all, you wouldn’t have met Uncle David, would you, Frieda? If they hadn’t passed through your settlement and found you there.”

  A momentary silence fell upon them at the mention of David.

  Eleanor wondered if it was still too soon for Frieda to talk about her late husband. Had she inadvertently said something else to change the atmosphere?

  “In common with any vast landscape, it can be challenging,” Rivers commented, breaking the awkward moment. “Hostile even.”

  Eleanor turned her attention to him.

  “You couldn’t undertake the journey unless you were well aware of the dangers.”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze openly, confident and assertive, an eyebrow lifted in provocation.

  He took her challenge. “Would you, for example, be ready to defend yourself...to the death?” His voice had a mockingly sinister tone. He was teasing her, as if she were nurturing a pipedream. “Would you be prepared to get blood on your hands, as well as dust on your boots?”

  That was quite a question, but Eleanor was more rattled by the man than the question.

  James Craven gave a low laugh in response.

  “I was thinking of our travels in North Africa, my dear.” His eyes twinkled, mischievously. He settled back into his chair with his wine glass resting between his palms, ready to tell the tale. “Two years ago, Eleanor talked me into taking her to visit the exotic lands along the North coast of the African continent. We crossed through Morocco to Egypt by camel train and stopped in a hotel in Marrakech. It had been a royal palace of some sort.” He paused for effect. “The place had a real air of tranquility about it. The guests floated about amongst the potted ferns and fountains, as if they themselves had been swept back to the times of Scheherazade.” He spoke theatrically and moved his hand, to emphasize his story.

  “Then early one evening our dear sweet Eleanor broke the peace by descending the staircase at a most un-ladylike pace, chasing a thief from her rooms with a rifle at his back.” He mimed the act, setting up the sites on an imaginary rifle.

  The recollection tickled James.

  Eleanor flushed, for she was picturing the moment also. The man, a Belgian, was a fellow guest at the hotel and he’d been attempting to woo her. Disguised as a local, he’d climbed up to her balcony where she was reading during the afternoon siesta and pleaded with her to consider him a worthy suitor. After finally accepting her denials, he had to be smuggled from the building at a much busier time of the day, when the street below had sprung back into life. Staging the scene gained him his freedom without causing suspicion he was none other than one of the many rogue thieves who targeted wealthy travelers. Thankfully, he’d escaped uncaught. The only injury sustained was to his male pride after she’d refused both his advances and his proposals of marriage.

  “I’ve underestimated you,” Rivers drawled. “A miscalculation for which I apologize deeply.” He gave her a gracious nod, smiling discreetly, his eyes fixing her as surely as any hunting creature alighting on its prey.

  Eleanor didn’t feel able to answer his remark. The mere proximity of this dark, controlled man affected her. Flustered, she folded her fan and set it aside. Was he aware of his intensity? she wondered.

  Rivers drew his gaze away and turned to James, who was speaking again. Eleanor allowed his fine profile to etch itself into her memory, before she also turned toward her father.

  “I should warn you never to underestimate this young lady, Rivers. She was thrown out of a fine Toulouse school for insubordination, you know.” He smiled widely, as if proud.

  “Indeed,” Rivers chuckled. “And when were you in Toulouse?”

  “Three years ago,” Eleanor replied, cautiously.

  “I was there myself in 1892, studying the wine growing techniques of the region. It seems our paths were destined to cross at one point or another, Miss Eleanor.” He bowed his head in mock deference.

  He’d made an intimate connection with the remark. When she tried to imagine meeting him then, she knew he would have overwhelmed her. Even now, she was having difficulty dealing with his teasing manner and the shimmering appraisal in his eyes.

  “She wasn’t there long enough to cross paths with anyone,” James interjected, eager to continue with his tale. “I sent her off to try to make a lady of her. She’d grown up free to do whatever she chose here and people were starting to say I ought to do something for the girl, otherwise she will run wild. I took the advice of a friend and packed her off to France to a repository for young ladies. They sent her home in disgrace after only seven months.”

  “Oh, Eleanor!” Frieda exclaimed, in mock surprise.

  Eleanor ignored it for she knew Frieda was likely to be the friend her father had taken the advice from. She snapped her fan shut. “I suspect my father is secretly pleased I’ve all but transformed into the son he never had.”

  Rivers laughed with genuine amusement at her response.

  Their eyes met in what seemed a moment of naked mutual admiration.

  Her skin prickled and she shifted in the chair, her taffeta underskirt rustling loudly. Her corset seemed to have grown tight and restrictive. The heat and the wine had made her more reckless than ever. Besides which, something of this man was provoking strange sensations deep inside her, it was if a hot weight lay in the pit of her stomach. It glowed strangely and unsettled her, making her hot and restless.

  “Well, I dare say she could take care of herself anywhere in the world. She’s a good shot and an excellent swordswoman. Some skills she seems to have retained from school better than others.”

  Eleanor blushed again. Her father’s pride in her independent and rebellious nature was becoming a bit of an embarrassment. The reference to retaining her fencing skills was, too, an embarrassment, for she’d been sent home following an “inappropriate friendship” with the fencing m
aster.

  She decided the best option was to try to lead the conversation in a different direction. “My father must be held partly to blame for my unladylike behavior,” she said, imperiously. “After all, I’ve been brought up on the legends of his youth. He reads to me from his Diary of Discovery on winter evenings.”

  James looked slightly embarrassed by her remark and she smiled to herself.

  She’d regained the upper hand.

  “Does it make a good story, Eleanor?” Frieda asked, her curiosity clearly baited by the mention of the diary.

  “It does, and it’s his responsibility to share it with me, to recreate the journey.” Eleanor folded her arms decisively.

  “How long did the original journey take? And how long do you think it would take now?” Rivers asked.

  “It took over a year. We were moving freely though, going where we pleased. Now it would be a matter of weeks if you followed the same route consistently. You could do it in days by train, rather than weeks and months.”

  Rivers nodded. “I’m concerned about the transport of livestock we might purchase. I hope to find some stud horses at auction. It’ll be a good investment for Frieda.”

  “Transport by ship to the East Coast then rail wagon might be best for them, to shorten the sea journey,” James replied. “We should investigate the options with our shipping company.”

  Rivers nodded. “The seeds and fledgling vines we intend to purchase will go directly to the West Coast by ship, although I suspect the journey may deplete any stock we buy. I’ll secure a wide variety. It’s been done successfully by others before. We need only confirm the shipping agent handles it properly.” He looked immersed in his thoughts for a moment and Eleanor found her heart sank a little when she realized how absorbed he was in the business of the trip. She’d been hoping to avail of some of his time and company for herself.

  “We’ll visit my agent, tomorrow,” her father replied “It’s an hour’s ride from here and I need to check the grain shipment tariffs for the season ahead.”

 

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