Читать книгу The Other Bride - Lisa Bingham - Страница 8

New York

June 1870

Gabriel Cutter caught the line being thrown over the bow of the ship. Tying it to the skiff, he clambered up the rope ladder to the deck and accepted a helping hand.

“Gabriel Cutter?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me, sir.”

Gabriel did as he was told, being careful to keep his hat pulled low and his face averted from a striking pair of redheaded women who were standing nearby. He had no wish to capture the attention of anyone on board. And if he were to be seen, he didn’t want anyone to remember him too clearly.

The sailor led Gabriel to the lower cargo decks, then motioned to another figure waiting in the shadows. Without another word, the sailor withdrew.

“Gabe Cutter?” the second man asked.

Taking a leather folder from his pocket, Gabriel held his Pinkerton identification card beneath the glow of a lantern.

The man heaved a relieved sigh. “It’s good to finally meet you, sir.”

Gabriel extended his hand in greeting. “I appreciate the work you’ve done so far, Roberts.” Lloyd Roberts had been one of the Pinkertons assigned to guard the shipment during the crossing.

“I’ll be happy to have you take control of the shipment, I can tell you,” Roberts said, leading Gabe to a cargo hold, and from there to a stack of crates that had been under constant guard.

“Sir.” The acknowledgment came from a second ruddy-faced guard, who stepped from the shadows where he’d been hiding. The fellow was little more than a kid.

Gabriel grimaced. He had requested that the Pinkerton offices give him experienced agents for this assignment. They’d sent him a boy who was barely out of short pants.

Gabe supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the home office’s decision. He’d grown used to fighting for every concession he could get. Despite Gabe’s abilities as an agent, there were too many men above him who remembered him from the war. It wouldn’t matter that Gabe had a sterling reputation with the Pinkerton Agency. The memory of his wartime desertion would outlive any successes he might have had in the succeeding years.

“What’s your name?” Gabe asked brusquely.

The boy blinked and shifted uncomfortably beneath Gabriel’s narrowed glare.

“P-Peterson, sir. Luke Peterson.”

“How long have you been with the Pinkertons?” Gabriel asked. A brief glance at the boy’s grip on his rifle confirmed that he was quaking.

“Th-this is my first job.”

Gabriel took a deep, calming breath, then asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Peterson blinked, clearly confused by the question. “I—I’m guarding these crates.”

“Why?”

The kid sent a pleading glance toward Roberts. “B-because they told me to.”

At the frank answer, Gabriel’s lips twitched in the beginnings of an unconscious smile, but he quickly controlled the impulse. It wouldn’t do for the boy to grow too relaxed around him.

“There may be some hope for you, Luke. Continue to do as you’re told and we’ll get along together just fine.”

The boy offered him a shaky grin. Then he drew to attention as if remembering that the job was a serious one and Gabriel…

Gabriel had a reputation of being a bastard.

Gabriel was fully aware of his reputation. He was a tough taskmaster, demanding infinite obedience from his men. Nevertheless, it wasn’t his role as a senior Pinkerton agent that alarmed Luke. Gabe could gauge the moment Peterson remembered everything he’d been told. Bit by bit, the warmth faded from the boy’s eyes, to be replaced by a horrified curiosity. Gabriel could almost read Peterson’s thoughts.

Was this Gabriel Cutter? Was this the man accused of desertion?

“Any problems?” he asked, turning his attention back to the elder Pinkerton.

“None. I doubt anyone even knows we transported the shipment of gold.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Gabriel’s tone had a hard edge to it.

To date, four payroll shipments destined for the Overland Express had been stolen en route to the construction sites in the Oregon Territory. The laborers were growing restless and threatened to revolt if they weren’t paid, leading Josiah Burton, the owner of the Overland Settlers Company, to enlist the aid of the Pinkertons in transporting the latest shipment.

“Stay on your toes. There have been four previous robberies. Whoever is responsible will be watching, have no fear.” Gabriel nodded in the direction of the shipment. “You’ll be relieved of your posts in an hour. I’ve got rooms reserved for you at the Golden Arms Hotel under the names Walters and Williams, but I’ll expect you to be here when the ship docks in the morning. At that time, you’ll meet up with the rest of the crew and see to the transfer of the crates. You’ll have little more than a few hours to rest and relax tonight, so get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

Peterson offered a muffled, “Yes, sir.”

Roberts merely nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”

As he turned to leave, Gabriel motioned for Roberts to follow. Once they were out of earshot, he asked, “How’s the boy?”

“He’s young, but he’s eager to please and he’s capable. He served with the First Pennsylvanian Battalion during the war.”

Peterson couldn’t be more than nineteen, yet he was a veteran in a war that had ended more than five years before. The fact didn’t surprise Gabriel. There had been so many boys who had run away from home to join the cause—either by serving as drummers or lying about their ages so they could enlist in the infantry.

“Keep your eyes open, Roberts, for your sake and the boy’s. He might have served in the war, but his hands are sweating—and we haven’t even docked yet. Veteran or not, he’s too wet behind the ears for my taste.”

Gabriel waited until Roberts had returned to his post. Then, tugging his hat more firmly over his brow, he wound his way through the narrow corridors to the deck again.

The sooner he left the ship, the better.

Gabe had barely climbed to the first class cabins when a door a few yards away suddenly opened.

The figure that emerged was clearly that of an aristocrat.

Immediately, he recognized her as being one of the women who’d been on deck when he’d climbed aboard. She was willow slim, with red-gold hair coiled in an artful arrangement that did nothing to disguise the natural curls that many women would have found “unfashionable.” Her indigo silk gown was simple, with stark, tailored lines. Except for a small amount of lace that circled the collar, and an elaborate strip of pleats at the cuffs, her bodice was unadorned with the usual manner of feminine frippery. The lines were tight and form fitting, ending at a skirt festooned with elegant swags of fabric that puffed over a full bustle.

In all, Gabriel wasn’t prone to admiring the latest fashions. But as this woman turned, offering her back, Gabe acknowledged for the first time that there was one clear advantage to the exaggerated silhouette. Indeed, as she moved and the bustle twitched, he found himself infinitely aware of the sway of her hips and the tiny circumference of her waist. To his disgust, he felt an immediate masculine reaction.

The thought caused him to draw back and curse his own wayward imagination. Damn it, he was exposed here in the corridor. If the woman were to turn around, she would see him clearly—and such an eventuality could lead to complications he didn’t want to envision.

But even as he berated himself for the waywardness of his thoughts, Gabe’s eyes slid back to her again.

She was a striking woman, in his opinion—although some might consider her a bit on the plain side with such pale features and that red hair. Moreover, there was a jut to her chin that showed a streak of obstinacy.

Or was it passion?

Gabe took a step forward as if to follow her. But in that same instant, another shape appeared in the doorway—another redhead, this one smaller and more voluptuous. A sister, perhaps? The similarities between the two women were astounding.

“Louisa?” the woman called from the doorway. “Don’t you think you’d better take your shawl? It’s chilly outside.”

“I’ll only be a moment, Phoebe.” The one named Louisa turned, and Gabriel shrank deeper into the shadows, praying that she wouldn’t look in his direction. “I left my drawing book and my shawl on deck. I’ll return directly, I promise.”

For one more moment, Gabe was able to study the woman wearing sapphires and silk—the elegant contours of her profile, and eyes that were a deep, stormy blue. Then the smaller woman closed the door, and Louisa turned, hurrying toward the companionway in a rustle of skirts.

Not really understanding his own motives, Gabriel followed her. He wanted—no, he needed to be near her for a moment longer. And even though caution nagged him to return to his duties, he trailed her as she made her way into the chill evening air.

All too soon the woman found the items. Shrinking into a space created by two stacks of crates, Gabe grew still, knowing that she would return to her cabin as promised.

But to his infinite surprise, the woman didn’t immediately go below deck. Instead, she tipped her head up to the stars as if she could feel their scant light upon her cheeks like the warmth of the noonday sun. Then, wrapping the shawl around her, she gripped it tightly to her chest.

“Tomorrow,” Gabriel heard her whisper. “Tomorrow, I will be free.”

Free? He frowned. Free from the ship? Or something more?

Gabe scowled at his own musings. What had come over him? He didn’t have time for any of this. Tomorrow morning, the dummy shipment and the actual payroll would be transferred onto the boxcars bound for California. Before that could happen, he needed to brief his men, review guard schedules, meet with Josiah Burton.

Flipping his collar up around his chin, Gabe shook away the invisible sensual threads that had begun to bind him. He had a job to do, and he was determined to do it well. His name was at stake. His reputation. Moreover, he wasn’t the kind of man to keep company with someone of “quality.” He’d grown too crass and coarse for anyone from such rarified air—and he was honest enough to know he was the sort of man that mothers warned their daughters about.

But even as he would have retreated toward the rope ladder, he hesitated. A gust of wind brought a hint of sound that sounded suspiciously like…

Weeping.

Gabe would have been the first to admit that the sound of a woman’s tears generally tended to drive him in the opposite direction. But there was something about the noise, about the efforts Louisa exerted to keep her emotions private, that caused him to hesitate.

Hairs prickled at the back of his neck and he cautiously searched the darkness. What had happened? Was she in trouble? The woman had altered from joy to sadness so quickly that something must have affected her deeply. A terrifying memory, perhaps?

His jaw clenched.

He knew all too well how flashbacks from the past could arise without warning. He’d become an expert on such matters. Over the years, he had discovered that a hint of spring lilacs could wipe away the intervening years so that he was standing again in the orchard, staring down at the sprawled, battered bodies of his wife and son.

No. He mustn’t think about that now. He had to keep his mind on the job, only the job.

But as he took a step backward, he looked at the woman in blue and a wave of protectiveness surged within him. If she were being threatened or intimidated, he would…

What?

What would he do? He didn’t know the woman and he had no business interfering in her affairs.

Gabe’s hand tightened around the butt of his revolver and he hardened himself to the sounds she made. Blast it all, he was a man who prided himself on finishing a job without interference. If that were true, why had he allowed himself to be so easily distracted now, at a point in his career where one false move could mean the end of everything?

The woman’s sobs intensified, but Gabe steeled himself against their appeal for help and steadfastly stared at her back. He had troubles of his own to tend to. He didn’t have time to worry about those of a stranger.

And yet…

Damning himself for his weakness, he didn’t walk away. He couldn’t. Instead, he stepped forward, slowly, quietly.

Although Gabe could never have been accused of rescuing damsels in distress in the past, he reached into a pocket, removing a clean handkerchief. Shaking it free of its folds, he extended it to the woman over her shoulder.

She started, clearly unaware of his approach. But when she would have turned, he took her shoulders in his hands, forcing her to remain with her back to him.

“No. Don’t,” he said, so quietly that he wondered if she would hear. “Let the interference of a stranger remain just that…the actions of a stranger.”

He didn’t know where the words came from. His voice was gruff, telling. Kindness had become a foreign emotion to him. For so long he’d been angry at the world and most of the people who inhabited it. And yet at this moment, with this woman, he found his anger slipping away, leaving him bereft, hollow, and infinitely sad.

Long, long ago, in another lifetime, his wife had hated to be caught crying—and uncomfortable with such womanly emotions, Gabe had been happy to let her vent her grief in private. Now, years later, he didn’t think that he could bear to see this woman’s cheeks stained with tears. He didn’t want to remember her that way. Days from now, months, years, he wanted to recall the way he’d first seen her in the corridor.

Beautiful.

Happy.

The woman sniffed, taking the handkerchief. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not normally so…what I mean is I…”

Her hand waved in the air, a bright patch of white from his handkerchief and a darker, eloquent shadow caused by her gloves. Inexplicably, Gabe wished that her hands were bare. He wanted to see the velvety texture of her fingers. From his vantage point behind her, she was little more than a shadow. Only the lighter patch of her hair and a brief glimpse of the skin at the nape of her neck helped to remind him that she was flesh and blood.

Gabe’s heart floundered sluggishly in his chest. Years of avoiding even the barest hint of attraction seemed to dissolve, leaving him aching with loneliness. He suddenly felt like a shell of a man. The anger that he had carried with him left a taste on his tongue like ashes.

Dear God, what had this woman done to him? In the space of a few minutes, she had exposed his life for what it was—an endless struggle to forget. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But could it ever be anything more? He’d had his one chance at happiness, and through his own carelessness, his wife and son had died. It was his fault that he hadn’t sent them away to safety during the war. He should have forced Emily to leave their farm—or at best, should have ensured she’d had someone with her for protection.

A breeze caught at the tiny curls that had escaped the coils of the woman’s hair. The scent of lilies wafted around him, making him ache with sadness.

So delicate…so feminine…

So real.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t pollute her presence with his own. She was so clean and fresh, while he…he was a mere shell of a man, one who had brought more than his fair share of shame and pain upon his family.

Even as he tried to remind himself that he wasn’t worthy of a woman like this, a yearning began to pulse within him. He wanted to feel the softness of a woman against him, caress the velvety texture of her skin. But he soon realized that the hunger had far less to do with a sexual need than with a hunger for companionship and compassion.

Instantly, he shrank away from the idea. No. Hadn’t he learned his lesson already? Could he so easily forget that such indulgences could bring a searing pain along with the pleasure? Could he forget his responsibilities?

He was tired, that was all. He’d already decided that this would be his last job for the Pinkerton Agency. He’d grown increasingly restless within the structure the job required.

But where did he intend to go? What was he looking for that he didn’t already have?

Not a woman, surely. He wasn’t a man worthy of a good woman, and he’d already sworn to himself that he would never allow another female into his heart. He owed Emily that much. He might not have been the husband she’d needed during her short life, but he would grieve her properly now that she was gone.

Which was the very reason he needed to return to his duties and forget this woman, this moment.

But just as he would have released her, Louisa shuddered, and in that instant, he knew he had no recourse but to remain for a few minutes longer. If he didn’t, he would regret his aloofness for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” the woman sobbed again.

Reaching out, he briefly laid his fingers on her arm. “There’s no need to explain.” He didn’t want to know what had upset her. Once he learned the cause of her pain, a bond, no matter how innocent, would be formed between them.

Louisa looked down, then took a shaky breath.

“I don’t know why I’m crying. I have everything ahead of me. Everything I’ve ever wanted.” She offered a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and pressed his handkerchief to her mouth. “I guess that the strain of worry has merely worn me down.”

Not sure how he should respond, Gabe stated, “You’ll be on dry land tomorrow.” Despite his matter-of-fact observation, he stroked her hair with his thumb, and one of the tendrils wrapped around his knuckle as if to trap him there.

She nodded. “Yes, but I still have a long journey ahead of me.”

“Eventually you’ll arrive at your destination.”

“I suppose that’s true. I’ll be glad when I have a home of my own.” Her tone was wistful.

A home of her own.

Gabe could understand the woman’s longing. There were times when he failed to work long and hard enough to exhaust himself before sleep. On those evenings, he remembered when he’d belonged to something other than himself.

A family.

Dear heaven, why think about that now?

Just as suddenly as he had been swamped with the need to follow this woman, Gabriel now had an overwhelming urge to walk away. In the scant moments they had been together, she had managed to stir emotions that he had buried in the same cold earth that now held his wife and son. If he didn’t leave her now…

He tore his hand free from the capricious tendril that would have held him captive.

“Will you be all right here alone?” Although he kept his voice a soft whisper, he couldn’t completely conceal his sudden brusqueness.

The woman stiffened in obvious embarrassment. “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry.”

She made a move to return his handkerchief, but he quickly said, “No. Keep it. You may have need of it sometime in the future.” And he didn’t need another reminder of how quickly this woman had infiltrated his defenses.

He hesitated only a moment, feeling that he should do more, offer more. But with a final light touch to her hair—an action that was more caress than dismissal—he retreated into the darkness, stepping behind a stack of crates.

He waited there for long moments, his heart pounding inexplicably, until he finally heard the rustle of silk.

Then she was gone, hurrying below deck, narrowly missing Gabriel’s hiding place in her haste.

Berating himself for being ten times a fool, Gabriel made his way to the skiff. He had a job to do, and he’d best be keeping his mind on the matters at hand. He didn’t have the time or the energy to worry about a mysterious woman whom he would never see again.

Nevertheless, as he rowed into the shadows, his mind returned irresistibly to the woman in silk and sapphires. What had brought her here to New York?

And what kind of freedom awaited her that would make her call out in happiness, then cry as if her heart were broken?

Dawn was still hours away when the woman stretched sinuously, her hand sliding over the cool silk of the sheets.

“I should go,” she murmured, lifting an arm to plant a kiss against the spine of her lover.

She wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t slept long. He was a restless creature—and with everything on his mind, he was bound to have a few sleepless nights. It was just that…

She stifled an inner sigh. What worried her was that he seemed removed and distant, even in the heights of passion—as if she weren’t enough for him.

Brushing the thought away, she ran her hand over his taut flesh. Scars crisscrossed his back, but she carefully avoided drawing attention to them. She had learned long ago that to caress them would cause a black mood to descend over his features. At those times, he could be cruel.

“Isn’t there a way you could arrange for the brides to take the train West?”

He grew tense and she immediately wished that she’d kept her complaints to herself.

“No.” His tone was curt. Cold. “From what I’ve been told, Gabriel Cutter is adamant. The mail-order brides will have to make other plans. He absolutely refuses to allow the women to make the journey.”

She frowned. The gold would be on that train. She could feel it. Gabe Cutter, the trail boss for the Overland Settlers Organization, had decided at the last minute that the mail-order brides would not be allowed to accompany the rest of the group—and his arbitrary decision merely strengthened her suspicions.

Damn that man and his meddling. Since it would prove suspicious for her to travel on her own, she had agreed to pose as one of the brides so that she could journey West with her lover. She’d been left out of so many raids against the Overland Express that she didn’t want to miss this one as well.

Her gaze darted around the luxurious hotel suite with its hand-painted frescoes, gilt and antique furnishings.

She loved money and everything it could buy. By becoming this man’s mistress, she’d been showered with riches such as she had never imagined. But she feared that her lover was beginning to grow restless—not with her, but with the effort of stealing so many payroll shipments. He had decided that this would be his last raid.

She shivered, knowing that there was more to the enterprise than mere greed. This time, with an old enemy guarding the shipment, the plots had become personal.

Her lover meant to have revenge.

Which was also her greatest fear. If he managed to punish Gabriel Cutter and ruin the man’s reputation, she feared that her lover’s darker needs might be met…

And he would suddenly find her superfluous.

No. She wouldn’t let that happen.

Biting her lip, she reached for her own clothes, knowing that it was past time she returned to the boardinghouse. Once there, she would begin her role as a mail-order bride anxious to head West.

She could only pray that someone would find a way to get Gabriel Cutter to change his mind and allow the brides to travel with the train as originally promised. She wanted—no, she needed—to be there when all of their plans came to fruition. Then her lover would turn to her again, this time in exaltation.