An Agent for Alexandra

by Rebecca Connolly

  He stopped them again, this time facing her with a remarkably set expression. “When all of this is over,” he told her, his voice very low and very stirring, “everyone will know exactly who you are and what authority you hold. You can tell anyone whatever you like.”

  Momentarily breathless, caught up in his intensity, she hesitated, then swallowed. “And who will I be, Tuck? An agent in name but not on paper? An attachment to your hip but not to your cases?” She gestured towards the Dobson’s house almost helplessly. “Dobson will not talk to me any more when this is done, authority or not, simply because I’m a woman.”

  Tucker closed the distance between them in one step, his bright eyes trained on hers. “Then Dobson can toss himself off the docks, and so can everyone else who finds your gender a problem. I’ll throttle anyone who dismisses you, parade you on my shoulders, and designate you my superior agent to anyone who asks. My badge is yours, if yours isn’t available. You are my partner, Alexandra Waite, and it’s a privilege to have you as my first.”

  And my last.

  Unspoken words appeared in her mind as though he had drawn them in the air, and stole her breath as much as the spoken ones had. The roughness to his voice, blended with the heat of his closeness and the tenderness of the hand suddenly tracing her cheek, undid her.

  There was no question that he meant every word.

  Tucker was typically a man of few words, and meant the ones he used.

  Honesty. That’s all I expect.

  And honesty was what he would get.

  “Careful, Mutt,” she whispered, a trembling smile forming on lips suddenly aching to kiss him. “I believe every word you just said.”

  He blinked, then smiled very softly, the fingers on her cheek suddenly moving to the edge of her own smile. “Good,” he replied.

  A wave of tenderness hit Alexandra as though she had waded into it mid-storm. She found herself nuzzling against his hand, then taking it from her face. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to the palm, and then to his curved fingers.

  His lips touched her brow, resting there for the space of an inhale, an exhale, and a sigh, while she cradled his hand against her cheek. The comfort in his lips, in this moment, had no words should either of them have wished to use any. She didn’t understand it, couldn’t, and refused to think too much about it.

  She would begin to doubt the moment she did.

  She’d never felt this close, this attached to another human being, and it seemed fitting that it should be her husband, and her partner. This moment felt more of a union and a vow than the official statements they’d made back in Denver.

  But was it a marriage they had just begun or a partnership?

  Or was it both?

  Sweet heavens, let it be both…

  “Everything all right?” called a voice from the Dobson house.

  Tucker muttered something unintelligible, but it made her laugh all the same as she stepped back and sniffed away a stunning burn of tears. “Ready, Mr. Carlton?” she asked, though she couldn’t quite manage her usual lightness just yet.

  He swallowed once, nodded, and offered her his arm, which she immediately took.

  No words yet again.

  How very Tucker of him.

  “Quite well,” Alexandra called back as they ascended the stairs. “I fear I became overcome with nerves, and my husband was setting me to rights.”

  Tucker choked back a cough or a laugh, and nodded obediently. “I believe she’s well now,” he agreed.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you both,” the woman at the door replied, taking both their hands. “I’m Amy Dobson, and James speaks so highly of you.”

  Alexandra highly doubted she was included in that praise, but she smiled all the same.

  They were led into the surprisingly comfortable house, and a small gathering of others was there, all a far cry from the finery they had seen only a few days before. Tucker would be much more comfortable in this, though it was a pity there would be no opportunity to dance as there had been then.

  He had not been exactly light of foot, but the experience had been the most enjoyable dance she’d ever had, surpassing even what Stephen Marshland had given her with their eventful dance at her coming out. She hadn’t thought that would ever be possible, but she barely remembered it now.

  There were no servants to greet them or take their coats, which made things simple enough and comfortable enough for Tucker, so perhaps the evening would be rather enjoyable. Less need for acting, and less care required with her words, though she wasn’t sure she could trust many of the people here.

  Dobson she was inclined to think well of, but without knowing him much at all, couldn’t exactly take comfort in that.

  And with the way he looked at her when she entered, for the one second he did so, she wouldn’t be taking comfort in it at all tonight.

  “Mrs. Dobson, thank you for inviting us,” Tucker said with more cordiality than Alexandra had heard him use before.

  “Not at all, not at all,” the woman replied, coming over to Alexandra and taking her hands, smiling at her with a very maternal warmth. “It is wonderful to have new friends in our home. Come, Mrs. Carlton, and let me get to know you better before dinner.”

  This was the woman that the prickly Dobson had married? Would wonders never cease?

  Alexandra looked at Tucker with wide eyes, smiling as though this were all some exquisite joke she had only just learned.

  He returned the smile and shrugged, then waved her on.

  “Well, Mrs. Dobson,” Alexandra said, returning her attention to the hostess, “I can honestly say I do not mind if I do.”

  Mrs. Dobson seemed truly pleased by that, and led her away from Tucker and the rest. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away. James is such a private person, but I know he is so relieved to have your husband here, and I must say I am as well. I see the toll this takes on him, and I feel I must apologize for giving it over to you.”

  “Not at all,” Alexandra assured her. “I am fully prepared to lose my husband for a time while he devotes himself to the issues at hand. And Tucker is fully as reserved as you say your husband is, so I know full well the trouble with knowing and yet not knowing at all. Maddening, these men we have married, aren’t they?”

  Mrs. Dobson laughed and rubbed Alexandra’s arm. “And yet we cannot help ourselves, can we? We simply love them anyway.”

  It was all Alexandra could do to avoid jerking at the word.

  Love? Surely not. She could barely stand Tucker half the time, and they annoyed each other so violently on a daily basis. Yes, she was rather fond of his lips, and his arms, and his low voice and laughter, and yes, he made her feel safer, but she could also have kicked him in the shins at any given point in time with just cause.

  That was not love, surely.

  She glanced across the room at him, watching as he slowly began to mingle, not quite easy, but certainly more himself.

  Her heart lurched within her chest, and her stomach clenched, sending spirals of warmth spreading out into every one of her limbs and into her face.

  Whatever this feeling was, it greatly appreciated his masculine attractiveness, the almost stern expression he constantly wore, and the surprisingly loyal and entertaining heart he kept so well protected within him. And she was rather fond of the whole of him, she would not deny it.

  “And James tries so hard to be here for the children rather than dwelling on the cases, which can be quite a feat,” Mrs. Dobson was saying now. “The boys do adore him so.”

  “You have children?” Alexandra could not have been more stunned, though the woman beside her was perfectly suite for motherhood. It was her spouse that Alexandra had doubts about.

  Mrs. Dobson nodded, smiling to herself. “Four, yes. Do you have children?”

  “No,” she replied quickly. “No, we are newly married, Tucker and I.”

  “Mmm,” came the knowing response. “Soon enough, my dear, soon enough. But ha
s your husband recovered from his day on the docks? I understood it from Miss Gilbert that he endured the company of Mr. Creet and his foreman for three quarters of the afternoon. He must have had quite the headache after that.”

  Alexandra grinned and shook her head with a sigh. “He was quite done for, but he is made of stern stuff, and soon recovered. Have you ever been to the docks yourself?”

  “No, no, James wouldn’t let me near it, not with all the smuggling that goes on there. It’s quite a mess, you see, and constantly gives him trouble.”

  “Does it, indeed?” Alexandra mused, smiling to herself. “How very shocking! Tell me more, Mrs. Dobson, tell me more.”

  For all their time together, Sergeant Dobson was not a sociable man, and neither was Tucker, not even with each other.

  The pair of them spent a significant amount of time standing around, mostly at the edges of other conversations, adding nothing and taking nothing away.

  Dinner had been a simple enough affair, comfortable meal and enough conversation surrounding him that he didn’t need to participate much. Most of his attention had been devoted to watching Alexandra, who could carry a conversation with her smallest finger without blinking an eyelash, and did so with such grace and charm that no one could help but admire her.

  How was it that the chirping of his Chickadee had grown so amusing and enjoyable for him? He’d once despaired of her ever being silent, craved the respite of her voice resting from its constant singing, and now…

  Now he looked on her exploits with a strange sense of pride. People flocked to her, were drawn without explanation or understanding to her side, and were entirely content to stay by her just to be counted in her circle. She had far more power than she would ever know, her personality being so agreeable and warm, her company so enticing.

  She’d made him a sort of talker, one for expression and discussion, but, it seemed, only with her. No one else could pull him out of his solitude, his almost-hermit nature, and, shockingly, remind him of the sense of humor he thought had lost through the years of service and danger.

  Tucker Waite was not the man he had been then, and the woman now holding a strange sort of conference with a few other guests had done that.

  She had changed him, and there was nothing to do but smile about it.

  About her.

  “Your wife does know how to hold attention, Mr. Carlton.”

  And there went the smile, and any reason for one.

  Tucker managed a weak, wan smile for the scarecrow that was Miss Gilbert, who seemed to appear without any sort of summoning, sign, or effort on the part of herself or anyone else. “Miss Gilbert, good evening.” He returned his attention to his wife, the smile coming more easily. “And yes, she does. She’s never known a moment of true insecurity, I’m afraid.”

  “What must that be like?” the woman muttered, sounding something like jealous, though with significant hints of bitterness.

  He wasn’t curious about Miss Gilbert, nor the life she had led up to this point, but it was eminently clear that she had spent at least some that time being compared to such a person and being found wanting. It was even possible that she had wanted to be a woman such as his wife, and had not managed it.

  Poor creature.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted freely, completely ignoring the opening for flattery for what it was. “I do not possess those skills myself.”

  “Even more surprising, then, that the two of you should have married,” Miss Gilbert commented, no doubt trying for a wry, conversational tone, and failing.

  Tucker was not about to be prodded into a discussion on the reasons for, let alone the state of, his marriage, particularly by someone he cared so little about as the woman beside him.

  He was not that changed.

  “All marriage is surprising, I find,” he grunted, shifting his weight uneasily.

  Miss Gilbert missed the cue entirely. “She must have been quite in her element at the Gilded Cage the other night.”

  She knew about that, did she? He shouldn’t have been surprised, Miss Gilbert seemed to know a great deal more than she should have.

  Tucker nodded once, looking at Alexandra again. “She was. I believe she enjoyed herself very much.”

  “What a stroke of luck that the telegram from her uncle arrived in time for you to gain an invitation.”

  He blinked once, then turned to look at the wiry woman in confusion. “Pardon?”

  She met his gaze only fleetingly, sipping whatever she held with a strange absence. “The telegram. I happened by her shortly after she received it, and she was so delighted. Her Uncle Andrew must be a powerful man to have such sway here from Georgia. I trust she has some means to repay him for getting you both invited when you hadn’t met the Teagues.”

  What? A telegram? Her Uncle Andrew… the man she freely admitted to him only this evening was her father… And she’d gotten him to…

  What had she told him? How descriptive had her message been?

  Who in Portland knew what they were about?

  “Oh, of course,” Tucker blustered, somehow managing to sound natural. “He’s been very generous in assisting me in my business affairs, and we are very indebted. He’ll have our unending gratitude.”

  “What business affairs?” Miss Gilbert asked. “I thought you were an agent.”

  Now this was growing impertinent, and he had no issue with giving her the sort of expression he was best known for. “I am, Miss Gilbert,” he informed her coldly. “But one is not an agent forever. You get out by death or retirement, and I keep my options open.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, the first sign of any true sense appearing. “Of course, Mr. Carlton. I apologize. No offense intended.”

  He nodded, and strode away from her, looking back at Alexandra, no longer with wonder and admiration, but with speculation and irritation.

  As if she knew, his wife looked at him, blinking unsteadily, a faint furrow appearing between her brows.

  Tucker jerked his head towards a small hallway off the main room, and received a tight nod from her. He moved into it, turning into a small coat room of sorts just a few paces down it, far enough out of the way that the murmur of the rest of the party was fairly faint.

  They’d be able to have a real discussion at a respectable level in here.

  If they kept it to that.

  There were no guarantees.

  Alexandra entered shortly after him, her eyes bright. “Tucker, you will not believe what I’ve found out tonight.”

  “Funny, I was going to say something very similar to you,” he mused tightly, his fingers rubbing together to keep from clenching.

  It was as if she didn’t hear him as she looked behind her, then hurried closer. “It turns out that there is smuggling going on down at the docks, no matter what Mr. Creet says.”

  “Why did I have to find out from Miss Gilbert that you had a telegram from Uncle Andrew to get us the invitations?” Tucker asked, ignoring her statement in turn.

  “So I was thinking,” Alexandra went on in a rush, “that there might be something there, though how we can tie smuggling to missing people…” She stopped, the wrinkle in her brow deepening as she looked up at him. “What did you say about a telegram?”

  Tucker folded his arms, giving her a false smile. “Your telegram, Chickadee. From dear Uncle Andrew, also known as your father, who should not be in any way involved in what we are doing here.”

  Alexandra’s eyes widened, and she furtively glanced over her shoulder before taking three more steps towards him. “How did you think that I got us into the party with the Teagues?” she hissed, though there was no need for her to do so. “We needed to be in there. I saw the connection between one of our elusive witnesses and a name I knew from my father’s associations, and I knew how to make the most of it.”

  “Yes, clearly,” he replied, stepping towards her, his anger rolling through him. “Your conniving and scheming are worthy of your current position
, but might I remind you, Alexandra, that we are in a very precarious situation here? No one knows our names, our ties, or what we’re investigating except for those we can trust, and you send a telegram to your father with details of the case? How many other sets of eyes saw confidential information about the case in that?”

  She rolled her eyes one way, then rolled them back up at him, scoffing. “Of course I did not put details into the telegram, do you think I’m a complete infant?”

  He pretended to consider that, which earned him a slap to one arm.