Devereaux glanced out the window of his private rail car. The scenery displayed the final stretch into Baltimore, the familiar farms and towns getting closer together. He leaned back into his seat, welcoming the itch to be home. Work waited, both with the business and the Knights. It would be satisfying to report that he had found the perfect hiding place for his cache of Confederate supplies.
Even more satisfying would be his arrival at the house. The last time he had been gone for more than two days in November, his homecoming had been sweet indeed. He had barely made it through the door before Marietta had pulled him into the library and launched herself into his arms. The kiss she’d given him still fueled his dreams.
He hoped his promise to keep his distance until April wouldn’t dampen her passions any today. He needed to hold her, to see that longing for him in her eyes. And maybe, once she was hazy eyed from his kiss, he could convince her to shorten this half mourning, to forgive his promise altogether. Two more months. That would be cutting it close. He wanted to have the cache buried by then, and if they found a time to take Lincoln…
Surely he could convince her to marry him sooner.
He shook himself and slid his papers into a neat stack. He must be careful with these. He had needed to draw the map and write down the directions, but he wouldn’t keep the documents any longer than necessary. Only until he could come up with the right encryption for Mason to help him leave along the way. The blacksmith had proven himself a willing cohort, praise be to the Almighty. Moving the cache from a small railhead, over the Potomac, and to the cave would require horses, a cart, and two sets of hands.
But at least the cave had been all he remembered and more. As a boy, he hadn’t explored it deeply enough to find the small rear exit, but an escape route was always vital. The cave itself was the perfect size, and it was hard enough to find that he could be sure no one would stumble upon it after he and Mason rolled the boulder into place and armed the booby traps.
He slid the papers into his binder and the binder into his satchel. All in all a successful trip. Though he might not be welcome back at the Appalachian Inn on his next journey. His lips pulled up as he set the satchel on the table. He hadn’t meant to frighten Ruby, exactly, but after a week of exaggerated flirtation, what did the chit expect him to do?
It had only been a kiss—mostly. More to silence her than out of interest. If his hands had wandered roughly, it had only been to show her what she could expect from such behavior.
Given the tears in her eyes when she pulled away, she had learned her lesson.
No hardship on his part, he admitted. She was no Marietta, but if the promise of having his Helen of Troy forever hadn’t been so close at hand, he might have indulged a bit more to stave off the hunger. With more care, of course.
But Helen was at hand, more beautiful than any mythical goddess, and she was all his. He let that thought warm him through the last few minutes of the ride, and it put a bounce in his step as he debarked at one station and hired a carriage to deliver him to the next. His private car would be pulled through the city to await his next pleasure.
When he got down again outside his offices, he spotted Osborne within seconds, talking to one of the guards Devereaux kept on the payroll. He approached the two with long strides.
Osborne looked up as he neared and greeted him with a nod. “Welcome home, Hughes.” The underling moved off, and Osborne held out a hand. He winced when Devereaux gripped it.
“Problem?”
Osborne rolled his eyes and rubbed the hand. “Yeah, with your soon-to-be brothers-in-law. One or the other of them must have bruised something. Or broken it,” he added in a surly mumble.
Devereaux lifted his brows. “The Arnauds? What, were you fighting with them?”
Osborne snorted and motioned him to lead the way inside, obviously knowing his habits well. “Shaking their hands. They didn’t take too kindly to their grandfather manipulating me into joining the family at the theater last week.”
Chuckling, Devereaux hurried toward his office, trusting Osborne to follow. The fellow even thought to close the door behind him. “He’s an eccentric sometimes. Why did he insist you come?”
Osborne folded his arms, clearly resentful. “Made me feel that it was my duty to make sure Marietta got there and back safely. Though—”
“Wait.” He dropped his bag upon the desk and turned. Slowly, with deliberation. “Mari went to the theater while I was gone?”
Osborne shrugged. “She made an appearance, though I had to bring her and Barbara Arnaud home early. Headache.”
The anger, quick to flare, was quickly banked. Thad Lane forced his family wherever he willed, and even Mari didn’t often withstand him. But it sounded as though she had done what she could to escape.
Still. They’d had an understanding that when she reentered society, it would be with him. That was why they had planned… “Blast it.” He swept his hat off and tossed it to his desk. “Was she angry with me over canceling our engagement at the Ellicotts?” She hadn’t seemed too terribly put out, but she was a woman, after all. They let things fester.
Osborne blinked. “How would I know?”
“She could have said something.” Though to Osborne? Unlikely. He gusted out a breath and picked up the stack of post that arrived in his absence. “Never mind. Though I still fail to see why her brothers punished you for being forced to go.”
He looked up in time to see the roll of Osborne’s black eyes. “Her grandfather introduced me as her ‘friend.’ I think they got the wrong idea.”
The flame licked higher again. “And how many other people heard him say that?”
It was small consolation that the other man looked as put out as Devereaux felt. “At least one too many.” He sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk and hooked an ankle over a knee. “I don’t know how you tolerate this society nonsense.”
Devereaux muttered a curse and slapped an envelope down harder than necessary. “Gossip?”
A snort was his only answer.
He cursed again and flipped quickly through the rest of the post. “Do you have any good news?”
“No trouble at the rails while you were gone.”
Devereaux ran his hand over his hair. “That is good, though not exactly news. Anything from the brothers?”
“Yeah. I talked to my friend.”
Devereaux looked over, but Osborne’s expression said no good came of that. “No weaknesses before the inauguration. But Booth and Surratt got wind of a possible review Lincoln will make of the troops a few days afterward, and we all know he’s never highly guarded at those.”
Devereaux let that roll over in his mind a few times while he sorted the mail into stacks according to importance. At length he nodded. “It’s worth pursuing.” He shuffled the important correspondence into a neat stack and slid it into his bag. “But for now, home.”
At the motion of his hand, Osborne got up and followed him out. All in all, the Yankee made a decent henchman. His only questions were intelligent ones, he followed orders, showed initiative, and knew how to stay out of the way. When all of this was over, Devereaux might have a permanent position for him. He couldn’t imagine Osborne would want to remain in Pinkerton’s service once he didn’t need that cover story anymore.
He considered the idea as they walked to his carriage and measured the man across from him once they had settled. He looked right for the job. No hulking giant to shout his profession, but he always wore that expression that dared anyone to cross him. Devereaux set his bag upon the seat and straightened his gloves. “Do you have plans for the future, Osborne?”
A glimmer of surprise surfaced in his coal-black eyes. At least Devereaux thought it had, though his usual foul temper swallowed it up in the next second. He shrugged. “Do what I do, I guess.”
What lofty goals. Devereaux smiled. “I’d like you to consider doing what you do for me.”
For a long moment, Osborne just held his gaze, making no other response. Then he gave a short nod. “I’ll consider it. Thanks.”
“Good.” Considering it would no doubt lead him to the logical conclusion.
For now, the closer they got to home, the more Devereaux’s thoughts whirled around the other half of his life. And the tighter his frown pulled. What had she been thinking? He understood the tug of family, but he had specifically told her they would accept an invitation when he got back. Together. That most certainly did not mean making a theater appearance with…with an employee. A guard.
He cast a glance at Osborne as they pulled onto Monument Square. Irritation spurted, but he pushed it down. It wasn’t his fault he’d been pulled into it. No, that was all Lane. And while Devereaux didn’t expect to ever get an apology from the old man, he would get a few answers from Marietta. She should have known better. She must have known better. She must have done it deliberately, which was inexcusable.
By the time he climbed down and strode toward the family home, the fire was a steady burn in his chest. He let himself in the front door, too impatient to wait for doddering old Norris to answer a knock, and nearly bowled into Jess.
“Lawsy!” The old woman splayed a dark hand over her chest. “Mr. Dev, you plumb scared me to death!”
He forced a smile. “Where is Marietta?”
She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Don’t rightly know, sir. Though yo mama’s in the drawin’ room and looking better ’n I seen her in a year.”
Maybe Mother knew where Marietta was. And even if not, he needed to greet her too. “I’ll head her way then.”
A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Osborne had disappeared, wisely. Devereaux strode into the ground-floor drawing room, a smile ready for his mother to cover the anger simmering below.
“Devereaux!” She rose when he entered, putting aside her mending and not so much as faltering on her way up. That did his heart good, as did the bloom of healthy color in her cheeks as she held out her hands.
He took them in his, noting that her skin no longer felt so fragile and papery, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Good day, Mother. Look at you, glowing with health. Have you had a pleasant week?”
“Not as pleasant as this one will be, now that you are home.” She gripped his fingers, her smile bright. “How was your trip?”
“Excellent.” He urged her back down into her chair but didn’t take one of his own. “Is Mari here?”
The usual sour look entered her eyes at mention of Marietta. “I believe so. Probably with that Barbara woman.”
Right. Her. Surely Marietta would tire of the good deed soon and send the woman away. He didn’t like having a Unionist stranger living right above his castle. And he still couldn’t figure why Marietta had taken her in to begin with.
It must be some feeling of debt to her so-dubbed saint of a dead brother.
“Don’t worry, Mother.” Not in the mood to seek all over the grounds for her, he sat after all. His anger would hold. “We’ve already discussed it. As soon as we wed, that woman leaves.”
Mother sighed. “Perhaps you could just buy the house from her. Have you considered that? Then they can both leave.”
His fingers curled into the arm of his chair. “I don’t just want the house. I want Marietta as my wife.”
And he would have both, whatever it took.
Marietta closed the book and made a quick series of signs. “Good job, Elsie.” She glanced up at Walker, Cora, and Barbara too, grinning. “And the rest of you. Though not quite as good.”
Cora’s laugh rang out as she helped the little one from her seat. Blond curls bobbing, the toddler bounced her way to the floor and ran to the window where she’d left her doll.
Watching her, Marietta’s heart fisted. Perhaps she had never yearned as much as Paulina and Laura, but looking at Elsie made her wonder. If she had ever conceived, would her child have looked like Elsie? Been so sweet natured?
Probably not. Her children probably would have been doomed to foul tempers and conniving spirits and abounding selfishness. But maybe, just maybe, her blood would have created someone more like Stephen.
Not an issue now. She would never again make the same mistake with a man she had with Dev, and as for marrying again…no. She would count herself blessed beyond measure if she escaped from Dev and wouldn’t tempt fate again.
Elsie rose to her toes to look out the window and then turned back to them with familiar curiosity in her eyes. How Marietta loved watching the little one look upon her world these past three weeks, now that she could ask for the names of things. She made the most familiar of her signs, the first two fingers of her right hand tapping against the first two of her left. Name.
Marietta joined her at the window and crouched to peer out with her. “What do you see, precious?”
Elsie pointed at the two men descending from the carriage parked across the street and striding for her front door.
Marietta swallowed. Dev was home, and his gait looked none too happy.
Elsie made the sign for name again and pointed at him.
They had already introduced her to Slade on Friday when he had shown up for a lesson, claiming Barbara had invited him. Barbara admitted she had, but Marietta suspected it had been pure disbelief that had led him here, not a desire to learn. He had looked utterly bemused when they created a sign for his name for Elsie’s use, and he hadn’t lingered after the lesson to talk.
He hadn’t lingered around her house much at all. That hour was the only time she’d done more than catch a glimpse of him since the theater on Wednesday. Wise. But painful.
Now she cleared her throat and watched Dev storm into her house. Was it cowardly to be glad she was out here, where he would never think to look for her? He would find his mother instead, and seeing her so well would perhaps mollify him.
She drummed up a smile for Elsie. “That’s Mr. Dev.” She spelled it out, though more to establish habit than anything because the child was too young to understand spelling.
Walker crouched down on the other side of his daughter, formed his hands into a D and made the sign for bad. “Mr. Dev.” He made the sign again.
“Walker.” Marietta pressed a cold hand to her forehead. “She knows what that means.”
Amusement and challenge winked from his blue-gray eyes. “Can you think of a better way to describe him?”
She sealed her lips as Elsie practiced the sign. Perhaps associating him with the word wasn’t such a terrible idea. It would impress on the girl the need to stay away from him. And even if he saw it, he wouldn’t know what it meant.
No doubt Walker recognized her sigh as capitulation.
Cora joined them with a muted smile and touched her little girl on the arm to get her attention, and then she pressed her palms together at the side of her face. “Nap time, baby.”
Elsie hooked her doll under her arm, popped her thumb into her mouth, and stretched toward her mother. Cora gathered her close and met Marietta’s gaze as she stood. “Thank you, Miss Mari.”
“Rest well.” She kept the smile in place until Cora turned, but then her gaze strayed back out the window, to Slade striding toward the carriage house. Her breath tangled in her chest, and she barely eked out an “Excuse me” before she darted for the door.
Hurrying down the rickety stairs, she touched a hand to the pocket hidden in the folds of her gray satin skirt. The silver chain was where it had been the past five days, still secure inside the muslin pocket she put on each morning under her dress. As if she would really give it to him today any more than she had any other day.
It wasn’t done. A woman didn’t just make expensive gifts to a man, even if it had cost her nothing. Even if her sister-in-law had taken the matching watch and insisted that, yes, the fob should be put to use by one who needed it.
Marietta couldn’t convince herself to put the chain away once she’d realized how closely Stephen’s old one matched the one she had seen Slade pull out time and again. But neither could she bring herself to give it to him. She knew well he would refuse it even if she worked up the courage to offer it.
Still. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Stephen would have wanted him to have it. Which made absolutely no sense. So it would likely remain in her pocket indefinitely.
She pivoted at the base of the stairs and found Slade a few steps away, frowning.
“Where’s your wrap?”
“Hmm? Oh.” She clasped her hands to her elbows where the shawl had been earlier, finding only the black cording at the edge of her gray sleeve, the lighter fabric of her undersleeves beneath it. “I must have left it on my chair.” She folded her arms around herself, having no idea what else she meant to say to him.
And society had once called her a silver-tongued flirt.
Slade’s face slid into one of its usual looks, challenge mixed with cynicism. “In that much of a hurry to see Hughes?”
“No, not him.” The words felt at home on her lips, yet the tone came out wrong, uncertain. What was the matter with her? She cleared her throat. “He looked upset.”
“Yeah, I…your granddad came to see me yesterday.”
Her eyes went wide. He hadn’t stopped by to see her. “Why?”
His lips curved into a smile. “To recommend I blame the theater gossip on him, and that I admit it to Hughes first thing.”
“Did you?” That would explain the anger.
He nodded. “Lane’s a smart man. I’m still alive.”
Laughter tickled. Slight and low, but it brought much-needed relief to her chest. “He has instincts like none other. And I am glad they were right.”
“Me too.” He took a step back. “I wanted to make sure our stories agree. He convinced us both to go and then introduced me as your friend.”
Apparently he hadn’t assumed she would opt for the truthful explanation. Or perhaps that she hadn’t the sense to end it there and let Dev think the gossips had overdone the reports of them being there together.
Her throat felt tight and dry as she forced a swallow. Relaxing her arms, she squared her shoulders and stepped away from the wooden stairs. “I might as well get this over with. If you’ll excuse me, Slade.”
Rather than step aside as she moved past him, he fell in beside her. “I’ll see you in.”
“Not necessary.”
“It is.” He stayed a step away from her, kept his eyes straight ahead. “We both know he’s a violent man.”
And so, like the day she brought Barbara home, Slade would hover outside the room, ready to rush to her aid? She shook her head. “I can handle Dev.”
Still he didn’t so much as glance at her. “Humor me.”
He wasn’t leaving her much choice, but it grated. If she meant nothing to him, if his feelings were only “wanting,” why did he have to concern himself? “I really don’t think he would hurt me. He loves me.”
Slade snorted and finally glanced her way. For all of a quarter second. “Yeah. That’s what my sister says about her husband. While sporting a black eye.”
She couldn’t help but wince. “I didn’t realize you had a sister.”
“I do. So humor me.”
Marietta tucked her hands under the wide bells of her sleeves. Her fingerless gloves were more for style than warmth. “What’s her name?”
“Jane.”
Jane. Watching her step to be sure she avoided all the mud from Saturday’s rain, she searched her mind. “You’ve never mentioned her.”
This time his snort was a laugh. “Ross was her favorite.”
She would have liked to probe deeper, but she couldn’t be sure he would answer even were they alone, much less when they were three steps from the entrance she had aimed them at. So she bit her tongue and kept her face neutral as she brushed by him to get through the door he held open.
Mother Hughes’s voice came from the drawing room, Dev’s baritone joining it, though the words were indistinct. She took a silent step to the side. The allure of getting this reunion over with evaporated. Maybe she could slip by without being noticed to steal a few minutes in her room.
A fine thought until Slade let the door slam shut, thereby announcing her presence to the entire house. She spun, her eyes wide, expecting to find him looking sheepish and blaming it on the draft.
But no. He was grinning. He even winked at her before his face moved back into its usual lines, eyes going cold and hard. Winked.
And gracious, why did she feel like a schoolgirl around him lately, always at sixes and sevens? Desperate to get hold of herself before Dev emerged, she drew in a deep breath and let her own countenance empty of all but the old Marietta and her mask. The one that could dangle keys before Slade’s nose with a flirtatious tilt to her lips.
The one who had the man striding from the drawing room with fury in his eyes wrapped around her little finger.
Perhaps she didn’t feel it, but her mouth knew the right smile to put on, and her fingers just how to curl as she held out a hand to him and rushed forward. At least, having an audience as they did, he wouldn’t expect too warm a welcome.
Slade’s plan? She was indebted to him for it.
“Darling! Oh, how I missed you.” She stopped a few inches too close as he took her hand and raised it to his lips, a glance over her shoulder at Slade to prove why she didn’t do more than rest a hand on his arm. “I didn’t expect you until later this afternoon.”
“I was eager to be home.” He let go her hand and clapped his fingers around her arm like a cuff. The second time he had made such a move in a fortnight, and it infuriated her as much now as it had the first time. He looked over her head to Slade. “Where did you find her?”
“Excuse me?” She pulled her arm free. “Did you sic your bloodhound on me, Devereaux?”
Slade, she hoped, would be amused and not insulted, though she couldn’t tell by the quiet huff that could have been either laughter or indignation.
Dev gripped her arm again and tugged her down the hall. “I didn’t have to. He knew I wanted to talk to you. And now if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Osborne.”
Determined not to be forced anywhere, she wrenched her arm free again and stormed into the dining room—the nearest empty chamber. No acting was required to keep her face pulled tight in fury as she turned on him. “I will not be spied on in my own home by that—that—”
“At a loss for words, are you, darling?” Though he smiled, it snapped and sparked. He advanced so quickly she retreated by sheer instinct, until the table’s edge bit into her hip. Dev rested his arm on the back of the chair beside her, boxing her in. “Get used to it. I intend to keep him around.”
Perhaps that too was part of Slade’s purpose in announcing her. He had made himself more indispensable. Marietta rested a hand on Dev’s chest to keep some space between them. “And what if I don’t want him around?”
Dev snorted, gruff and unamused, as he dropped a hand to her waist and yanked her closer. “A strange question, given the rumors flying about the two of you. Really, Mari. Going to the theater with him?”
What could she do but lift her chin and force haughty amusement into her gaze as she would have done before her world shifted? “Marietta Arnaud Hughes on the arm of a—” Casting around for the right words, Slade’s own found her tongue. “—two-bit detective? Laughable.”
“I’m not laughing.” His hand slid up her back, light but unyielding. Each point of contact seeming to brand her, to claim that she was his. And she had no room to argue. She had given him that, given him the right to touch and demand. She had forfeited herself to him. She shuddered, but he either assumed it from pleasure or just didn’t care. His nose traced her cheek. “I didn’t wait four years to call you my own just to hear your name linked with someone else’s.”
He knew how she hated it when he did that, referring to her years of marriage to Lucien as nothing but a nuisance to his courtship. “Dev—”
“Why did you do something so foolish? You know how people talk. Were you angry with me, is that it? Because we had to withdraw from the Ellicotts’?”
A shifting shadow in the hallway caught her eye. She could see only the edge of Slade’s sleeve, but it was enough to make the anger twist its way into self-loathing. Why did he have to witness her shame? Again?
To Dev’s question she shook her head. “Why would I be angry over something to which I am so accustomed? Lucien did the same thing all the—”
“Do not compare me to him!”
She saw Slade slide forward even as she drew her head back. No doubt he was ready to spring into action if Dev’s hands turned to fists, and for a moment she feared they would. But then she looked in his eyes.
Beneath the anger pulsed pain, strong enough that for a moment she remembered only how she had loved him so recently, and how he loved her still. He had been wrong, so very wrong, to try to lure her away from Lucien, but that did not make his feelings any less real, did it?
“Dev.” She rested her palm against his cheek and wished life could be as simple as marrying him and being happy. “I meant only that you have the same responsibilities and I understand them.”
He drew in a long breath, and some of the fire went out of his eyes. Then he bent down, trailed his lips down her neck, and held her close.
She dared another glance at the doorway. Her gaze collided with Slade’s, but she read no relief in it, certainly no approval. He didn’t nod, didn’t smile, didn’t even smirk. He just blinked once, his nostrils flared. And then he disappeared from view. Gone without a sound.
A tremor started in her stomach and swept its way upward, lodging in her throat.
“Darling.” Dev anchored a hand at the base of her neck, under the lace net holding her hair. “Forgive me if I am cross. It is only my impatience making me so.” He tilted her head, kissed her jaw. Not so long ago, delight would have raced through her veins instead of ice. “I hate anyone thinking for even a moment that you belong to someone else. You’re mine.”
His arms were iron bands around her, but she could escape them if she must. The ones around her spirit, though…how was she to break free of those?
His hand moved down her back again and settled at her waist. “Commission yourself a new gown, darling. Something breathtaking and exquisite. We’ll find the most well-attended gathering, and you’ll wear it there with me. We’ll set the wagging tongues aright.”
A new gown. A ball. A life that held no shine anymore. But if he would leave it at that, then she would agree to the wasted expense. She pulled away, knowing her smile was tight. “All right.”
“Mari.” The hand on her neck held her in place and forced her to look up at him. “No doubt you know this, but…if we need to wed sooner. If you are…”
Heat rushed her cheeks, and she made no effort to tamp it down. Some things ought to be blushed over. She shook her head.
When she saw the disappointment shadow his eyes, the sting of heat shifted. She gave him a push, not as forcefully as she would have liked to. “You can’t be sorry about that. I would have been ruined.”
“Nonsense. There would have been talk for a few days, that is all.” Though he retreated a step and let his hands fall, his brow remained in its condescending arch. “You know as well as I that at least half your friends have engaged in affairs. It is hardly a novelty.”
Perhaps that was true, but it hardly made it right. “I had never thought to be one of them.”
Given the irritation flickering again in his eyes, she expected another retort. Instead, he backed away a step and brought his expression under control. “Your conscience will be assuaged as soon as we are married. In the meantime, pay a visit to your seamstress.”
“Certainly.” Because the smile felt so false, she curled her fingers tight to her palm. They came to a rest against her skirt, where the silver links were hidden.
“I had best get caught up on correspondence.” He measured her a moment, smiled, and then turned to the door.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised when he stopped in the threshold, when his gaze went sharp again. “Where were you when I got home? Certainly not on a promenade without a wrap.”
Again her hands went to her empty elbows. She must make it a point to keep better track of her shawls. “Making sure Cora is resting. If she doesn’t, she can barely move by the end of the day.”
He was still for a moment, but his nod looked satisfied. “Very well. But I would prefer you not spend too much time out there. I have never much cared for that half-breed groom.”
A defense sprang to her tongue, but she bit it back. She had never had a nice thing to say about Walker in Dev’s presence before. She had best not start now.
Dev’s gaze went smug. “And I trust you’ve seen the brat and realize it is Lucien’s, from the look of her.”
Lucien’s? Devereaux knew exactly what he had done to Cora, yet he would try to cast the blame on his brother? Her jaw went tight, but she held the threads of anger tight. “I’ve seen her.”
“And still concern yourself with the mother. You make a fine mistress, darling.” With a confident grin in place, he exited the room.
Marietta leaned back into the table, slid her hand into her pocket, and let the warm silver links wrap round her fingers.