Lisa Bingham (11 page)

Was he able to read her mind? Just when she felt she couldn’t endure another moment, he reached out to stroke her cheek, wiping at a lone tear that she hadn’t even known was sliding down her cheek. His touch was infinitely gentle, filled with the same rife awareness that tumbled through her body.

Then, taking a deep breath, he stood. “I’ll send Chloe in with your tea.”

The moment he slid the pocket door closed behind him, Louisa wrapped her arms around her waist, the tears coming in earnest.

What was she doing? Playing with fire? She should have railed at the man for taking such liberties. Instead she had…

Melted at his touch.

Sobbing, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Once she reached Boston, things would be different, she promised herself.

They had to be different, or she would be lost.

The pocket door slid open and Chloe stepped inside, carrying a fresh bucket of water to fill the cistern so that Louisa could wash.

“Any news of our progress?” Louisa asked as she slid her diary beneath her pillow and pushed the covers off her legs.

From her spot on the pillow next to her, Bitsy yawned and turned her face to the wall, unwilling to end her nap as long as the train was underway.

“According to Mr. Smith, we should arrive in Boston by lunchtime.”

Louisa’s heart skipped excitedly. “Really?”

Chloe’s smile was wide. “Yes,
madame.
”

“Wonderful!”

Chloe brought her a stack of fresh towels, then, in deference to the swaying of the boxcar, filled a basin only halfway.

Louisa quickly washed, then sat on the edge of the bed so that Chloe could brush her hair.

“Would you like me to change the bandage first?” Chloe asked, gesturing to the strips of cotton wound around Louisa’s arm.

Actually, that was the last thing she wished. The throbbing ache of her wound had kept her up most of the night. Louisa did not want to see that it had torn open again or that it was red with the beginnings of infection. Nevertheless, she couldn’t show such fears in front of her own maid.

“Yes, thank you, Chloe.”

Gently, Chloe untied the knot and unwound the bandages. Except for a slight stinging sensation when the cloth was pulled free, Louisa was relieved that the scratch offered her no more trouble. Glancing down, she discovered that despite her worries, the gash had not bled, nor had it grown puffy with infection.

“You were lucky to have escaped with little more than a scratch,” Chloe offered softly as she dabbed at the wound with a damp cloth. “The other gentleman was not so lucky, I fear.”

Louisa straightened. “Other gentleman?”

“
Oui, madame.
I ran out as soon as I heard the noise, so I was able to clearly hear the policemen when they arrived.”

Police?
Had John notified the police of the attempt on her life?

Chloe giggled. “It is quite funny, don’t you think?”

“What is?”

“The way the two men were fighting over that woman as if they were dogs after a bone.”

Louisa stared at the girl, confused. “Chloe, what are you talking about?”

“Didn’t Mr. Smith tell you? No one tried to harm
you.
” She bent close as she wrapped a fresh bandage around Louisa’s arm. “There was this woman, you see, a Mrs. Alexander. According to the snippets I overheard, she was…unfaithful…with the stable master who worked on her husband’s estate. The two of them vowed to run off together as soon as her husband was away on business. But the man returned much quicker than expected—mere hours after his wife had left him—and he hurried to the train station to intercept them.”

At Louisa’s open astonishment, Chloe laughed openly. “No one was trying to hurt you, Mrs. Winslow. It was all a mistake. Apparently, you dodged into the crowd at the same moment that the husband took aim at his rival. His first shot went wild, causing a beam to shatter mere inches from your arm. The other shot hit the stable master in the…nether regions.”

A slow anger began to brew in Louisa’s stomach. “And Mr. Smith knew of all this?”

“
Mais oui!
After he took you into the baggage room, the police questioned him to be sure that he had not been involved in the ruckus.”

Louisa pressed her lips together to keep from shouting in indignation.

John Smith had lied to her! It may have been a lie of omission, but it was a lie nonetheless. He’d allowed her to continue to believe that her life was in imminent danger and she was doomed to an early demise if she didn’t follow the man’s instructions to the letter.

Which was exactly what he wanted, no doubt.

Louisa jumped to her feet, ready to storm into the sitting room and demand an explanation, but she froze without taking a step.

No.

No.

If she railed at the man now, she would lessen her own power over the situation. But if she kept her silence, she would have the upper hand. He would think that she was frightened and willing to become his timid puppet. If she played her cards right…

She might even be able to lead the man in a merry dance.

A
s the train pulled into the Boston station, Neil checked the chambers of his revolver and slid the loaded weapons back into their holster.

Grover Pritchard regarded him with wide eyes. “You’re not really going to wear those into town, are you?” the man squeaked

“Yes,” Neil replied shortly.

“B-but it will look as if…”

Neil speared the man with a steely glance. “As if what?”

“As if you’re expecting trouble.”

“I am.”

Pritchard’s face lost some of its color. “Do you honestly think that Mrs. Winslow is in danger?”

“I know it for a fact.”

Refusing to explain anything more, Neil turned his back. Unfortunately, his new position gave him an unhindered view of the sleeping quarters at the rear of the car. The train had barely come to a full stop before Louisa slid the curtain back and came sashaying out.

Not for the first time, Neil was struck by the sight of his longtime friend. She was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Even in black.

“Gentlemen, are we ready?”

A glance at Pritchard assured Neil that he wasn’t the only one affected by Louisa. The mousy solicitor stood with his mouth opening and closing like a grounded fish.

There was no doubt that Louisa had dressed carefully for her arrival in Boston. A tiny black bonnet perched on the top of her head. An elegant veil flowed over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with her pale skin and copper hair. At her neck a ruffle of black silk framed her chin. The jacket was severely tailored, yet still managed to offer an air of femininity with sparkling jet buttons, delicate rows of tucks and insets of velvet. From her slender waist a swath of ebony silk and velvet billowed back over a full bustle. Beneath the lower flounces of her skirt, Neil caught just a peek of black jacquard shoes with jet buckles and bits of lace.

Never in his life had Neil seen a woman look so enticing while in mourning.

“Will we be waiting for the trunks?” Louisa asked as she pulled a pair of black kid gloves over her hands, then held out her wrists so that Chloe could fasten the buttons with a small silver hook.

“No.” Neil cleared his throat when the word emerged with a betraying hint of gruffness. “No, we’ve arranged for them to be delivered. Whenever you’re ready, the carriage is waiting just outside. There’s no need to go through the station house.”

“Really?” She bent to peer through the window, then smiled in delight. “Imagine that. I really am becoming spoiled by all of this personal attention.”

She took a small collapsible parasol from Chloe and looped a crocheted black reticule over her wrist. “I’m ready whenever you are, gentlemen.” She cast her eyes at Neil and he feared the gleam of mischief he found there. “Mr. Smith, I hope that you’ve taken precautions to safeguard my person.”

Safeguard her person?
The phrase sounded as if she were royalty and he a lowly servant.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled slowly.

Her hand spread wide beneath her throat as if she could still feel her own leaping pulse. “I hope so. After yesterday’s fright, I don’t know that I dare go anywhere without you.”

“Fright?” Mr. Pritchard echoed worriedly. “Has something happened?”

“Yes, Mr. Pritchard,” she breathed, before continuing dramatically. “Yesterday, someone tried to kill me!”

Pritchard blanched. “No.”

“Yes!”

Louisa stepped close to Neil and hugged his arm as if she were still afraid. “I can assure you that my heart still races whenever I think how close I came to death!”

Her fingers began to stroke Neil’s arm. He steadfastly ignored the reaction the innocent gesture inspired.

Innocent?

Again he caught a hint of mischief in her gaze and wondered what had prompted it. For most of the journey, Louisa had been consumed with anxiety. Yet this morning she didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Even the mention of her close call two days before didn’t seem to give her pause.

So what was she up to?

He caught her eyes, searched deep into their indigo depths. But this time she kept her thoughts and emotions carefully shielded. It was as if…

As if she knew the shot that had grazed her arm had not been directed at her.

Damn.
He should have known that someone would tell her. The train employees who had checked on them at each stop weren’t well known for keeping secrets, and Chloe was probably no better.

Which meant that Louisa knew he had purposely misled her.

And now she was going to make him pay for it.

Under normal circumstances, Neil would have found it disconcerting to be the target of a woman’s vengeful nature. But surprisingly, the only emotion he felt as Louisa clung to him was…

Anticipation.

Or would
exhilaration
be a better word?

Desire?

Sweet heaven, she was beautiful.

“Mr. Smith?”

He reluctantly banished from his mind fantasies of this woman trying her hand at seducing
him.

“Don’t you think we should be going?”

“By all means, Mrs. Winslow.”

“Bitsy!”

The little dog came bounding out of the back room. She’d been recently brushed. Tiny pink bows adorned her ears and her tail. Sighing, Neil bent and picked up the animal without being asked.

Tucking Louisa’s arm into his, he led her toward the door and from there outside to the waiting carriage. As Louisa climbed inside and he handed the dog to her, he could only pray that the real threat against her was not lurking nearby. She waved to railway workers and other departing passengers as if they were long-lost relatives. But she wasn’t content to make a spectacle of herself alone. When Bitsy escaped, she forced Neil to chase after the animal and retrieve it.

Finally, on the second attempt, he gave up trying to take a seat on the driver’s bench. To give himself some peace, he handed Bitsy to Chloe, climbed into the carriage loaded with hatboxes and parcels, yanked the shades down and slapped the wall.

The conveyance lurched forward, nearly pitching Louisa into his lap.

For the first time that morning, she seemed slightly taken aback. “Where’s Chloe?”

“In the next carriage with Mr. Pritchard. Your little beastie is with her, as well.”

Her brows rose. “Surely it would be more proper to have her riding with me as a…chaperon of sorts.”

“Do widowed women need chaperons?”

“Not in the strictest sense of the word, but one must always do what one can to prevent gossip.”

“You weren’t concerned about gossip in New York.”

“Ah, but I didn’t plan to live in New York. Now that I’m in Boston, I must guard my every move.”

“Does that include making a spectacle of yourself at the station?”

“I was merely being friendly,” she said with a sniff.

“Your familiarity is dangerous.”

One of her brows lifted. “Oh, really. I thought that was precisely why Charles hired you. To keep me out of danger.”

“I could use some help on your part in the way of a healthy dose of common sense.”

She leaned forward to touch him on the knee. “But you have already demonstrated to me how capable you are at your job.” She patted her own chest as if her heart raced. “My lands, you have such quick reflexes!”

Without thinking things through, he grasped her wrist, tugging her closer. “Yes, I do,” he said as her eyes grew wide. The mischief quickly disappeared.

“I am also a patient man—up to a point.”

“I—I’m sure that character trait must come in handy,” she said breathlessly as she tried ever so subtly to remove her hand from his grip.

“At times.” He pulled her closer still. The carriage jounced over a rut, causing her to lose her balance and fall against him, her hands splayed wide over his chest. “But there are also times when patience should be abandoned in favor of other, more spontaneous delights.”

Then, before she could utter a word, he covered her lips with his, kissing her with the pent-up desire that had been haunting him for days. He wasn’t gentle. Instead, he hungrily sought each nuance, each sensation—and she eagerly responded, keeping nothing back.

Her instantaneous reaction was enough to turn his blood to fire. He was inundated with a need for this woman unlike any he had ever known before. The scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her became a part of him, flowing through his veins like molten honey, and yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted—needed—more.

Drawing her onto his lap, he pressed her body to his, delighting in the way her breasts flattened against his chest and her fingers clutched at his shoulders.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he gasped when finally they were forced to take a breath of air.

Her only response was a muffled sob, then her hands reached for him again, her fingers plunging into his hair and drawing him down for another kiss.

His lips began a sensual foray across her cheek, over her jaw and down the tiny sliver of her neck exposed by the high collar of her jacket.

“You’ve bewitched me,” he murmured against her.

“I think…you are the one casting the spell,” she gasped, her head arching backward, her eyes heavy with desire. “I swore that I wouldn’t let you touch me again.”

“Why?”

His hand spread wide over the indentation of her waist, then moved up, up, up until he touched her breast through the taut layers of fabric and the boning of her corset. She gasped, her body trembling in his arms.

“Because when you hold me, I lose all sense of reason.”

His thumb stroked the sweet curve of her breast. “Perhaps this is sanity and all else is foolishness.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t real life. This is…”

“What?”

Bit by bit she stiffened, the fire fading from her eyes, to be replaced by an infinite sadness. “This is fantasy.”

As if she’d suddenly awakened from a dream, she lifted her head and focused on the interior of the carriage, a place where they had come to the brink of making love. Gently extricating herself from his embrace, she returned to her seat. Ignoring him, she opened the blind and allowed the afternoon breeze to cool her pink cheeks.

“It mustn’t happen again,” she said firmly.

But Neil was certain that she knew the attraction between them would inevitably lead to…

To what?

To whisking this woman away to Oregon?

More and more, Neil was beginning to see that his original plan could never be that simple. Everything about the situation was complicated—including Louisa herself. There would be no clean escape.

Unless that clean escape came from him.

Once again, Neil considered abandoning his efforts and returning to Oregon. But even that would never be as simple as it had once seemed. When he’d come to retrieve this woman, it had been a means to an end: he’d wanted a bride to provide him with sons.

But somewhere along the way, the need for a wife had become more personal. He’d been able to see that there were advantages to marrying beyond beginning a family—such as finding a helpmate.

Companionship.

Sex.

But even as he thought the word, he shied away from it. Neil wasn’t an innocent, by any means. He’d had his fair share of romantic liaisons.

But somehow this was different. More enticing. More intense.

“Yes, we’ll stay away from one another,” he said when Louisa continued to look at him like a deer suddenly coming face-to-face with a hunter. But even as the words came from his mouth, he knew that neither one of them believed the promise.

This would not be the last embrace they shared.

It was only a matter of time before they were intimate again.

As she stared resolutely out of the carriage window, Louisa forced herself to think about the days ahead and
only
the days ahead.

First impressions were vital. She knew that fact from years of experience. She must be on her guard as she made her way to the Winslow estates—where she would probably be introduced to a large staff and perhaps neighbors and friends who would come to pay their respects. There were funeral arrangements that would need to be made—and quickly, too, since Charles had already spent too much time “in state.” Then there was Evie to think about, a household to run.

Louisa closed her eyes for a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

Was she ready for this? But even as her doubts surfaced, she knew that she couldn’t afford to fail. If the truth of her identity was ever discovered, the punishment against her would be harsh. Not only would she be damned for assuming another person’s life, she would also be condemned for taking an inheritance that was not technically hers.

No, the time had long ago passed for her to have second thoughts. She had to see to it that her mode of dress and air of behavior were somber and controlled…

Even though each new day seemed to hold a fresh wonder.

Trying her best to ignore the man who sat opposite her, she focused on her first glimpse of Boston. She knew that the city was “old” by American standards, but to her eyes, it looked new and quaint, with tidy brick buildings and narrow cobblestone streets. She eyed the shops and the fashions of the passersby with interest, realizing that for the first time in her life she was one of the “elegantly dressed ladies” rather than a mere servant who was expected to blend into anonymity.

“Have you been here before, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“During the war, I was stationed here for a few months.”

She studied him anew. “Ah, yes. Your infamous War of the Statehoods.”

His lips twitched at that remark and she wondered if she’d made a mistake in the title.

But wasn’t that what Neil Ballard had called it in his letters?

“And what did you do during that war, Mr. Smith?”

Neil had been in the cavalry.

“Other than training time in Boston and Chicago, I spent most of my time dodging bullets.”

She grimaced when he refused to take her seriously.

“I had a friend in your war,” Louisa admitted softly. “He said it was awful.”