Sitting there on that hillside in the warm sunshine, Yancey basked in the warmth of the look Sam was giving her. She didn’t see how she could keep her heart detached from her mind’s workings in this case. Then she had an idea. “Sam,” she began, “I think you ought to officially retain the Pinkertons to act on your behalf in this matter.”
“No.”
Yancey blinked. “You don’t even want to hear my reasons why?”
“No.”
“But you said you want to know the truth.”
“And I do. But you don’t fool me for a minute, Yancey Calhoun. You mean I should retain you, don’t you? You’re the only Pinkerton around. You’re asking me to officially put you in harm’s way.”
Yancey puckered up sourly, as if she’d just bitten into an unripe persimmon. “I’m already in harm’s way, Sam. I’m here and pretending to be your wife, aren’t I?”
“Oh, I see. You would prefer being professionally retained by me, then. Is that because I don’t have such a good record with wives?”
Yancey gasped. “You stop that right now. I won’t listen to it.” She pulled herself up to her knees. “One more word like that and I’ll leave you sitting here on this hill by yourself to rot, is that clear? And that’s not even all I’ll do. I swear to you I will”—she cast about for something severely threatening—“go tell your mother on you, Sam Treyhorne. Don’t think I won’t.”
His face was red, his eyes were the darkest gray she’d ever seen them, and he was already pointing at her, no doubt intending to roundly tell her off. But then he blinked and started laughing. “You’ll what? You’ll tell my mother on me?”
Embarrassed, laughing at herself, Yancey plopped back down beside him. “Oh, be quiet. You were being so awful to yourself, and it was the only thing I could think of.”
“Yancey Calhoun, you are an absolute delight. And you will be the death of me yet.”
“Actually, I was hoping to preserve your life, Sam. Not end it.”
“Come here.” He surprised her by pulling her to him and soundly kissing her, this time with no hesitation and no holding back.
Delighted to the tips of her toes, her heart singing, Yancey recognized this for the opportunity it was and threw her arms around his neck, giving him every ounce of passion she felt for him. Immediately, Sam’s arms went around her and he held her tightly to him. His kiss said he was every bit as hungry for her as she was for him. Indeed, his hands roved over her back, kneading her muscles. His breathing erratic, he fisted her skirt in his hands, pulling at the material, pushing it up her legs, then his hands were on her thighs, caressing her bottom through her underclothes.
Yancey gasped, moaned into his mouth, then planted tiny, biting kisses along his lips as she pushed herself against him. The next thing she knew, Sam toppled over backward, taking her with him. He was lying on his back with her atop him. Startled, her hair flying everywhere, her arms still around his neck, and her breasts crushed against his chest, she looked down at him. He was grinning up at her. Though her passion was aroused and she could barely breathe, Yancey pulled back to stare wide-eyed at him. “What just happened, Sam?”
“You got yourself hired, that’s what. Is this how you interview every prospective client? No wonder you Pinkerton women are so successful.”
Into the dead silence that followed this, Yancey heard a horse neigh. A bird chirp. A dog bark. Men calling out to each other some distance away. She and Sam had behaved like wantons and outside, under God’s blue sky. “Oh, dear heavens, Sam.”
“What’s wrong?”
She pulled her arms loose and disengaged from him, sliding off him sideways, gracelessly, struggling to sit up. She tried to right her clothes and her hair. “We are out here in the open. Anybody could see us.” She smacked at him just lying there and grinning at her. “I’m serious,” she cried. “What were we doing?”
Sam jackknifed to a sitting position and then arranged himself with a knee bent, an arm resting atop it. His expression was droll, his eyebrows arched. “You aren’t seriously going to tell me you don’t know?”
Yancey stared at him in exasperation. How was it possible for the man to be so supremely handsome even now, when here she was, her clothes twisted around, her hair a fright—“Of course I know. Don’t be ridiculous. But we’re out here in the open, Sam. We could be seen.”
“Please don’t expect me to be upset about that. If we were, then we would certainly make a very good case for actually being married, wouldn’t we?”
“Oh, you’re impossible.” Then she stopped, suddenly recalling what he’d said several moments ago. “I’m hired? Really?”
He shrugged, a grin tugging again at the corners of his mouth. “I can deny you nothing. Jewels, furs, employment, whatever you want.”
He was teasing her. She knew that. Yet she couldn’t help but feel ashamed somehow, as if she had used her feminine wiles to bring him around. She lowered her gaze to her lap. Trying not to feel how kiss-swollen her lips were, she smoothed the folds in her skirt, just for something to do.
“What’s wrong, Yancey? Didn’t I do as you wanted?”
She met Sam’s questioning gaze. “Yes. I just hope it wasn’t for the wrong reason. I’ll do a good job, Sam. I swear I will—”
“Shh.” He’d put his fingers over her lips. “I know you will.”
Then he sat back and watched her, making Yancey feel awkward, ill at ease. His gaze on her body made her feel undressed and made her wish she were. Feeling on the brink of forgetting herself and her mission here, she fell back on professional behavior. “Maybe we should talk about the case. Tell me more about Sarah. Before we, uh, sidetracked ourselves, you were saying she was worsening.”
He looked askance at her abrupt shift of tone and subject—Yancey felt her face heat up—but then he blessedly complied. “All right. At the time, I had no idea what I was dealing with. Then her bad moments came more frequently. Obviously I knew she was disturbed, but I never suspected the depths of her outright insanity.”
Yancey suspected he was glossing over the awful episodes and the fear he’d felt. She didn’t blame him a bit, though. Certainly, living through it once was more than enough.
“The doctors convinced me that her condition would only worsen over time. They strongly recommended that I commit her for my own safety and hers. I didn’t want to, Yancey. You have to believe me. But I did it. Right then. I put her away.”
Yancey put a sympathetic hand on his arm. “It sounds to me as if you had no choice.”
He looked away from her, showing her his stern profile and set jaw. A muscle jumped as if he were clamping down on his back teeth. So different from the laughing man who’d just kissed her. “Choice? I was just so damned relieved to hear that she was beyond my help. I wanted only to be rid of the burden of caring for her. And now my decision may have killed her.”
Yancey tightened her grip on Sam’s arm. He looked at her hand as if he’d had no idea she was touching him. “You did the only thing you could, Sam. You didn’t cause her death. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything about this other Sarah Calhoun in Chicago.”
Sam glared at her. “Don’t do that. You think it’s her, don’t you? You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Yancey released his arm and exhaled. “Yes, I do believe this other woman was your wife.” And she’d been carrying a child. Sam’s child? He didn’t seem to know. Yancey looked into Sam’s pained eyes and made a decision on the spot. Not until she knew without a single doubt that it was indeed his wife who’d been murdered would she divulge that dreadful news to him—and maybe not even then. She would have to weigh his right to know, she told herself, against what the news of that final tragedy would do to him. The truth or the greater kindness? That was what she needed to consider.
“She begged me not to leave her.” His voice sounded hollow, strained.
Yancey’s heart constricted. She wanted so badly to hold him and comfort him. “I can’t even imagine. It must have been awful for you, Sam. And for her.”
His expression cleared as he focused on her. “Yes. It would have been better had she had no awareness of her surroundings. But she did. I visited when I could. But it turned out to be less and less often. I had to pursue a living so I could pay for her care. But more often than not when I did go, I couldn’t even see her because she’d be having a spell. After a while, I didn’t go at all anymore.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Is it?” He was acting as judge, jury, and hangman to himself. “Not too long after I sent her away, I had to mortgage the ranch and sell off the cattle. Then finally the land. All to pay for her care.” He was quiet for a few moments, but then again took up his narrative. “At precisely the point when I was having to consider exactly how I could support myself and Sarah, I received word that Geoffrey was dead. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Ironic? How do you mean?”
“I mean, I came back to England because of my brother’s death, which endowed me with great wealth and a title and all this land. Except for the title, it has turned out be everything I could want. But I wanted them in America. Only that certainly wasn’t to be. Still, my brother’s death also afforded me the means to pay for my wife’s care. Ironic, as I said.”
“More ironic than you know. It’s a good thing you were in America when he died, Sam,” Yancey said wryly. “Otherwise—and for all those reasons you just gave—you’d be my prime suspect in your brother’s death, not Roderick.”
“My God. I suppose that’s true, isn’t it? And now I’m not a suspect in Sarah’s death because I was in England when she was killed.”
Yancey nodded. “There’s nothing like the width of an entire ocean to act as your alibi. But you know, Sam,” she began, “the Sarah Calhoun in Chicago, by all accounts, lived quietly and worked as a maid in a boardinghouse. I just don’t see how that poor woman and the violent woman you’re describing to me could be one and the same.”
“I can. When she wasn’t in a state, she was just bewildered and timid. But she could take care of herself. In fact, she liked keeping house. So being a maid, in some simple way, might have been something she understood. Too, it was my understanding that at the asylum the doctors believed that performing simple chores, doing for themselves, was good for the patients.”
“I see. Then it makes more sense. But what do you think she was doing out of the asylum?”
“I have no explanation for that. She wouldn’t have been released without my being informed. Even if she’d escaped somehow, the doctors would have told me.” Sam frowned. “Assuming they are honest.”
Yancey slumped. “Oh, Sam, do you know how much I hate all of this? All I can do is assume. I know nothing. Usually on a job I enjoy this part, the search for motives, trying to find out how all the pieces fit together. But in this instance I hate it. I hate it because for the first time I know the people involved and I care. It makes everything different. Harder. I don’t want to tell you my theories. This is your wife we’re talking about. Well, maybe your wife. There. I’ve done it again. Do you see what I mean? I can hardly throw my suppositions out and look for the logic in them without seeming the worst kind of callous woman.”
Sam gripped her wrist. “I don’t see it that way at all. You’re not upsetting me. I want to know. I hired you, remember? And even though it may not seem like it at the moment, I have come to terms with what I had to do regarding my wife. It’s something I must live with. But I want you to talk to me. I need for you to tell me everything. Besides, I think if we talk long enough we’ll find out how Roderick fits into all this.”
Yancey chuckled as she covered Sam’s hand that held her wrist and squeezed it affectionately. “You’re very certain that Roderick is our villain, aren’t you?”
He pulled his hand back and frowned hugely. “I don’t like the man. I’ve been looking for a reason for years to poke him in the nose. Or worse.”
“I know you have. And I don’t blame you. But that brings up something else. Earlier you said that one of the reasons you need me to masquerade as your wife was so your cousin wouldn’t know your affairs. By that I assume you mean Sarah’s … madness?” He nodded. “I thought so. What are your other reasons?”
Sam’s face colored, surprising Yancey. “If you weren’t introduced as my wife, who exactly could I say you were, Yancey? You’re an unmarried, unchaperoned woman in my home. And your bedroom suite is next to mine.”
Assailed by a sudden shyness, Yancey looked down. “I see the problem. That would not do.”
“No, it wouldn’t. So, it’s easier for now—at least while Roderick is here—to say you are my wife.”
“But you have to tell your mother the truth, Sam.”
“No. You don’t know her. She can’t keep a secret.”
“She kept her letter-writing a secret from you.”
His puckered expression said he didn’t like being reminded that he’d been duped. “Perhaps I should have said she’s not a good actress, that she can’t be trusted not to misstep and give the game away accidentally. No, I would feel safer if, while Roderick is here, she doesn’t know.”
“As you wish. But in that case, and given what you’ve told me of her”—Yancey grinned—“make certain I’m not here when you do tell her the truth.”
Suddenly sober, Sam winced as if something had hurt him. Very quietly, he said, “I can’t imagine you not being here, Yancey.”
Taken by surprise, but afraid her heart was in her eyes, Yancey lowered her gaze to her lap. “Still, your poor mother,” she murmured, choosing to ignore his last remark. “She thinks her daughter-in-law is dead.”
“Not for long,” he said, cupping her chin and raising her head until she met his warming gaze. “Not with you, the green-eyed evidence to the contrary, staring her in the face.”
Yancey smiled and Sam returned it, taking his hand away. Then, as if seeking a position on the ground conducive to being practical, he shifted about and ran a hand over his jaw. “We need to worry more about Roderick, actually.”
“I agree. You said he looked like hell, I believe was your word. What do you make of that?”
Sam shrugged. “Well, he had been on the road for two days with my overwrought mother. I can almost sympathize with him, yet I feel he deserves that and more. What concerned me more was his mannerisms and the things he was saying, how he was saying them. They seemed off somehow. Artificial. Smug. As if he knew something that we didn’t. I know I sound vague, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Not as vague as you think. You might make a good detective yourself, Sam. The other agents and I, once we get a few facts together, turn them all over to see how they feel. We go more by instinct or blind feeling at the beginning of a case than I almost care to admit.”
That seemed to please Sam. “Do you mean it? Do you think I’d have a future as a Pinkerton?”
Yancey chuckled. “Dear God, no. I don’t think Mr. Pinkerton is currently hiring titled nobility.”
“Oh. A shame. I think I’d like it.”
“You’d hate it.”
“I don’t think I would.”
“You would. And you’d have to take Her Grace Nana and her nurse and Scotty along. And Mr. Marples and the cats.”
“I would not.”
“Shall we go inside and put it to them? They’d want to go. And I cannot imagine a bigger nightmare, Sam. Think about yesterday and a simple jog into the village. We had nearly a dozen people, two carriages, and an assortment of animals.”
Sam’s grin was bright and teasing. Yancey wished for a big spoon with which to lap it up. “I see what you mean,” he conceded graciously.
Then he surprised her by jumping to his feet and towering over her still seated there on the grass. “Enough of this sitting around,” he declared, holding his hand out to her. “Come on. We’re going back inside and set our plan into motion.”
“We have a plan?” As if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to place her hand and her fate in this man’s keeping, Yancey accepted his assistance and allowed him to tug her to her feet. The feel of her hand in his, of his much larger fingers intertwined with hers, of his palm, his skin, against hers, sent tiny shocks up Yancey’s arm. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t enough presence of mind to question him. “What plan, Sam? I didn’t know we had a specific one.”
“We don’t.” Still holding on to her, he set off energetically down the hill at such a clip that she struggled to keep her feet. “But you’ll think of something,” he informed her over his shoulder. “It’s what I’m paying you for—beginning right now, Miss Pinkerton Agent.”
* * *
Hours later, they were in the vast formal drawing room, she and Sam, and they were plotting in earnest. They’d pulled their chairs close to each other’s, and their heads were all but together in a conspiratorial pose. Upstairs, Sam’s mother and cousin still slept, and he had left orders not to awaken them. Luncheon with Nana had come and long since gone. That sweet lady napped upstairs now, as well. And the afternoon sun, slanting warming rays in through the open French doors, verified by the shadows it cast that the four o’clock time displayed on the mantel clock was correct.
Much had already been accomplished on this fateful day. As soon as they’d come in from sitting on the hill, Yancey had given Sam his mother’s letters, the ones sent to her by mistake, to read for himself. And he, in turn, had drafted his letter officially retaining the Pinkerton Agency to act on his behalf in their ongoing investigation in America. Once written, it had been tucked in with Yancey’s updated one from yesterday, and that provocative packet had been sent with a footman to be posted in the village.
Then the two of them had bathed … separately … and dressed in their best afternoon attire. Yancey’s heart had beat happily and with relief when Robin had excitedly told her that the costumes purchased yesterday at Mrs. LaFlore’s shop had arrived while she and Sam had been outside earlier. Yancey came close to kissing Robin’s forehead when she’d made her announcement. Thank God for that ill-conceived trip into the village yesterday or, as Yancey knew, she would never have been able, without the proper clothes, to convince Sam’s family that she was a duchess.
It was along those lines now that Sam was rapidly instructing her. Yancey worked hard to understand and retain all of the practical information she would need to know in order to pass herself off as a long-married duchess. Sam had first reminded her that his mother thought that he and his wife were estranged. So Yancey’s story would be that his mother’s letters had convinced her to give Sam another chance. Instead of answering them, and after much thought, she had simply shown up and surprised him and they’d had a private reunion. It was simple and romantic and his mother would love it.
“However, Yancey—”
“Sarah, Sam. Not Yancey.”
“Damn. Exactly. Sarah. All right, we’ve been married for five years, and we had money, for all they know. Given that, you would know how to handle servants—”
“Tell that to Scotty.”
Sam’s expression became very droll. “First, don’t tell Scotty he is a servant. You could get bitten. Never mind the servants. They mind you better already than they do me. Let’s discuss the dinner service. Being American will not be a valid excuse for poor table manners.”
“I have bad table manners?”
“No. But it can get complicated. If you get confused, just watch my lead to see which piece of silverware to use.”
“How hard can it be, Sam? All we’re going to do is eat.”
He rolled his eyes. “In a formal setting, Yancey—much more formal than last night—there will be as many as fifteen different knives, forks, and spoons, each one with a distinct use. You wouldn’t want Scotty to smack your hand for using the wrong one, would you?”
“Dear God,” was Yancey’s despairing remark. “Maybe I should take all my meals in my room.”
“And have them think you’re indisposed, or perhaps with child?”
Yancey’s eyes widened. “No. That won’t do.” Flitting through her mind were thoughts of the other Sarah and her baby. “But why didn’t we have children, Sam?”
Did he not want children? Yancey had to wonder. This was interesting—and his answer would be very telling.
Sam sat back in his chair, looking every inch the aristocratic gentleman as he lounged there, an elbow resting on the chair’s arm and his chin and jaw supported by his thumb and forefinger. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’ve been married for years, Sam. Why are there no children?”
He cocked his head at a considering angle and ran his gaze over her person, finally capturing her eyes with his. The warmth she saw there clearly said he’d found her to his liking. Yancey fought her body’s tightening response to his intense notice. She barely stopped herself from crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of modesty to hide the evidence of her nipples hardening into tiny buds. How distressing. Why had she brought up children? Or lack thereof?
“Do you want children, Yancey?”
His low, seductive bedroom growl did nothing to calm her nerves. In fact, his tone of voice alone had her babbling. “It’s a little late for that. Unless you intend to produce several in the next few hours.”
He grinned evilly. “We could certainly try.”
Outraged … and titillated … Yancey tsked. “We most certainly can not.”
“Too bad.”
“And that is not what I meant. I marvel at you, sir.”
“On what score? You’re the one who reminded me that I am among the living and should behave accordingly.”
“Do not toss my words in my face for your own advantage. Here our very lives hang in the balance—”
“Perhaps not.”
“Oh? What’s changed?”
“My thinking. Roderick is only one man. And he and I are not children any longer. If he is responsible in any way, then he has more to answer for than we do. So, if it’s a fight my cousin wants, it’s a fight he’ll get.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, Sam. Remember, you hired me to—”
“To uncover facts, Yancey. Not fight my battles.”
“Be that as it may, I—”
“No. Hear me out. I am no longer the young and penniless second son. I am now the Duke of Somerset. And that may well be because of Roderick’s machinations. I refer to Geoffrey’s death, of course. I owe Roderick, Yancey. And I find myself in a mood to pay him back in full—and then some.”
“Again, Sam, I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Really? How do I sound? Hard? Bitter?”
“You have every right to be both. And I don’t blame you. But what you are is vengeful. Which means you’re not thinking clearly and you’ll make mistakes. We cannot afford mistakes, Sam. There have been two deaths already.”
Sam shot forward in his chair, his expression hard and bitter, just as he’d described himself. “And there will be another one before this is over, I assure you.”
Yancey exhaled slowly, knowing Sam was in no mood to be mollified. She’d have to choose her words carefully. “Have you ever killed a man before, Sam? I have. Two, actually. And what it does to your soul is unspeakable. No matter how much the man might deserve to die, what it does to you is much worse.” She stared soberly at Sam. “Much worse.”
Sam gestured, spreading his hands wide. “I’m sorry for you, Yancey. But what would you have me do? Clap Roderick heartily on the back and say all’s forgiven?”
“Hardly. But I think you’re purposely not hearing me, Sam. You’re toying with me, and I don’t like it.”
A complete transformation came over him. Grinning at her and arching an eyebrow, he smiled. “Would that I were toying with you, dearest. It would be much more pleasurable an activity than instructing you in which spoon to use.”
Yancey felt her face heat up. Yes, she knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract her from lecturing him on seeking vengeance. But, God help them both, she was going to allow him to do so. “We were not talking about spoons. We were talking about children.”
“Yes. We were. We would have beautiful children together, Yancey.” The dancing lights in his eyes raced her pulse.
They shouldn’t be doing this. She knew that. But this banter, this sensual web they were weaving, felt so good and so delicious that a shiver of anticipation slipped over her skin and had her smiling just as archly as her duke. “We’ll never know, though, will we? You forget, Your Grace, this marriage is our masquerade … and nothing more.”
Sam’s gray eyes warmed with awareness as he languidly sat forward, every inch the aroused panther ready to pounce. “Would you like for it to be more?”
Yancey’s breath caught. Was he speaking from his heart? Or merely trying to seduce her? If so, he was doing a wonderful job of it. But much more of this and she would faint. She had to put a stop to it. Had to get them back on an even keel. “You ask me a question I have no way of answering. And then you don’t answer a question I need answering. I refer, of course, to children.”
Her duke slumped back in his chair. “Oh. Them. I say we have four. Two girls. Two boys. That has a nice ring to it.”
“Indeed. Four in five years. Quite a feat, given our estrangement.”
“Very true. We’ll not mention children to her. Can I at least give her hope and tell her we’re trying?”
“You are outrageous, sir.”
“And you are beautiful, Yan—Sarah. About your name. You don’t like to be called ‘Sarah,’ if I remember correctly. Would you prefer I bastardize ‘Margaret’ and call you ‘Maggie’?”
Yancey raised her chin. “You do, and I’ll call you Sammy.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Vile creature. You wouldn’t?”
“I would.”
A thunderous knock upon the door had Yancey shooting out of her chair, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. She wadded handfuls of her skirt in her hands and stared wide-eyed at Sam. “They’re here. It’s them. What are we going to do? There’s so much you haven’t told me. I’m not ready.”
Sam was on his feet, too. He gripped her arms and stared down into her face. “No, it isn’t them. They’d simply sweep in. That’s Scotty, most likely, since the door almost splintered. Come on, now, where’s the charge-ahead woman who lectured me at breakfast? The one who so calmly questioned me outside on that hill and came up with probability after probability and then likely solutions? Where is she?”
“You’re right,” Yancey said, hating that her voice sounded so breathy with nerves. “They would expect me to be nervous, wouldn’t they? But they’re not going to come in looking for faults, are they?”
“Of course not,” he lied, and she knew it and loved him for it. “No doubt, upon seeing you alive and well, they’ll be the ones we’ll have to revive. Then, once she adjusts, my mother will be thrilled. She will also have a lot to answer for with those letters of hers. And Roderick? Ah yes, my cousin. He will be shocked and then falsely charming and mannerly. Watch yourself with him. He fancies himself a ladies’ man. He and my brother apparently cut quite a swath together through London.”
Feeling better for these benign characterizations, Yancey squared her shoulders. “Well, his best efforts will all be for naught with me, I assure you.”
“Spoken like a true and faithful wife.” Sam surprised her by tugging her to him and kissing her forehead lightly. His lips against her skin were firm and warm … and so welcome. When he released her, Yancey’s steps faltered. She hadn’t realized that she’d been leaning in toward him.
“I’d best see what Scotty wants before he becomes impatient and comes through the door. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Yancey had no reply. She watched Sam’s retreating figure, thinking he looked so strong now, and not the least bit diminished by his more formal attire. If anything, he seemed more powerful, more sure of himself. It was as if they’d reversed roles from this morning. Now she felt uncertain and faltering. And Sam was steady as a rock. Not that she should be surprised. He wasn’t the impostor here. She was. He couldn’t slip up with a lie. She could. He couldn’t give the game away and get them both killed. She could.
Yancey hated these misgivings. She’d never experienced them to this degree on previous cases. Always before, she’d felt excited and on edge, looking forward to the challenge, but not here at Stonebridge. And not with Sam. She placed the blame for her present uncertainty squarely on the broad shoulders of the man across the room from her. She cared about him. And it was making her … scared.
Sam opened the door and spoke in low tones to Scotty. She assumed it was Scotty because Sam had said it was, but all she could see was Sam’s profile and his hand on the partially opened door. Then he shook his head no. Yancey’s palms felt moist. What were they talking about? Why was Sam whispering? What had happened now?
“Sam?” she called out. “Is something wrong? Something I should know about?”
He nodded at Scotty, said something else to him, then stepped back into the room and closed the door. “Yes and no,” he said, coming toward her, frowning in consternation.
“Well? What is it? What’s happened?”
“It’s one of my horses. A prize mare. She’s pulled up lame all of a sudden and refuses to allow her foal to suckle. Daniel, my stableman, came to the back door, asking for me to come investigate and render a decision. I’m afraid I must go.”
Yancey clutched at his coat. “What? Now? Are you mad? You cannot leave me here to face them alone.”
Smiling, chuckling, Sam rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “You won’t have to face them alone. Mrs. Edgars says they’re not even awake yet. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about being fine. I’ve played undercover parts before. It’s just that this time, the news—or the reality of me, Sam—and given what’s at stake, well, it needs your presence.” Yancey was still wadding his dark blue frock coat under which he wore a snow-white shirt and dark waistcoat and matching trousers.
“I agree. And the sooner I go see about the mare, the sooner I can be back.” Gently he extricated her from his person and caressed her jaw lightly with his fingers. Yancey’s breath caught and held, and her heart raced. “Dear Sarah.” Then he frowned, looking troubled. “Strange. I find it oddly disconcerting to call you by her name.”
“It’s also my name, Sam. One I hate but there it is.” She hesitated and then plunged on. “I know I have no right to ask you, but can you not just think of me when you say it?”
He smiled, looking both tender and wounded as he roved his gaze over her face. “That’s the problem. You are all I think about, Yancey.”
Desire poured through her in honeyed waves. She grabbed Sam’s waistcoat and pulled him to her, tilting her face up to his. “Kiss me, Sam. I really need for you to kiss me. As if I were your wife. I want to know how a wife feels when the man she loves kisses her.”
Sam needed no further prodding. An arm instantly around her waist, he held her tight and cupped her chin in his other hand. His gray eyes warmed to pewter as he stared down at her. Then he lowered his head until his lips met hers … and claimed her mouth.
Instantly seared and weak-kneed, yet wonderfully alive and sweetly lethargic, Yancey clung to Sam, hungrily deepening their kiss. She stretched up to meet his questing lips, wanting to have all of him, wanting not to miss any part of him. Barely able to breathe, so wonderful and fulfilling was his kiss, much like coming home and being welcomed with open arms, Yancey embraced the pooling tension low in her belly and felt Sam’s answering hardness, despite the hindrance of clothing, pushing against her. In her heart Yancey knew that this was what she wanted, this man, his body, his strength, his weaknesses, his compassion, his love.
She couldn’t have said which one of them broke their kiss. All she knew was it ended, and they were both gasping for air and clinging to each other. Breathing as raggedly as she was, Sam stared down into her eyes. He appeared dazed or overwhelmed. Yet Yancey reveled in the knowledge that her lips were dewy with Sam’s kiss, her mouth heated by his ardor, and her body warmed by his passion for her.
“Oh, Sam, my God.” She could barely get the words out. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that. I mean that strongly. I feel so overwhelmed.”
“I, as well.” Sam shook his head as he peered into her eyes. His own eyes widening, he told her, “When this is over, Yancey, when all is said and done, I—”
She put her fingers over his mouth to stop his words. “No, Sam, don’t say another word. Please.” She rested her forehead against his chest, and he held her to him.
“What’s wrong, Yancey? What did I say? I meant nothing wrong.”
She could only shake her head no. Yancey could feel his heart beating thunderously with health and vigor and passion. So very much alive, this man was. She knew on some elemental level that he could very well be the man for her. But again she heard her mother’s words, warning her not to give up her freedom, perhaps her very life, to any man.
In a flash of awful memory, the images from the past, from that fateful day, poured over Yancey. She saw her mother’s body lying pooled in blood. She saw her father, five years after returning home, standing over his wife, his fists red and slick with her blood. Then Yancey saw him spying her and his realization that she’d seen his crime. He came after her. Then she saw the rest … and finally she saw herself, a terrified eighteen-year-old, running … running … running away. Never to look back. Never to go back.
And she heard as well Mr. Pinkerton telling her she must never, never become involved with anyone from any of her cases. It was grounds for instant dismissal because it compromised everyone … her, the client, the other agents, the entire agency. She was already under review; and here she was, in the arms of the man who had only that morning retained her services as a Pinkerton, the profession Yancey had gravitated to so she could keep men and love at arm’s length.
“Yancey? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Snapped out of her nightmare, Yancey pulled back from Sam, releasing him. She looked away from the confusion in his eyes. Staring instead at a small round table situated between the two chairs where only a few moments ago she and Sam had been sitting, their heads together in what had seemed an exciting masquerade, one in which they were a happily married couple, Yancey inhaled slowly for calm and exhaled rapidly for courage.
“Go, Sam,” she told him, defeated by her own past. “Go see to your mare. I’ll wait here for you.”
“Look at me.” She did. Sam’s expression was hard with determination. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. I know it wasn’t the kiss. You wanted me to kiss you. You asked me to.”
“I know, Sam. It wasn’t the kiss, and yet it was. Just … please don’t say anything else. Not now. Please.” She hated the ragged emotion in her voice. Hated the frown of concern on his face. Why did she have to care so much? Why? She’d been here only three days. Three intense days. But never before, with any man, had she involved her heart. But now, with this man, it was already too late. And it was awful.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that Sam held a hand out to her and that he’d taken a step toward her. She turned on him, much like a wounded animal striking back. “Stop, Sam. Right there, I beg you.” He did. Yancey’s voice was no more than a jagged sob of desperation. “I was wrong to kiss you. We were wrong. Both of us. We can’t—”
“No.” Angry now, his coloring heightened, his eyes blazing, Sam pointed an accusing finger at her. “We weren’t wrong, Yancey. And we weren’t carried away simply by the moment. We both know better. And I won’t let it go at this. I won’t. You can’t kiss me like that and not expect me to know your true feelings.”
“You know nothing.”
“I know. I felt it in your kiss, and in the way you clung to me. It was there, how you feel.” Sam softened his stance, now holding an imploring hand out to her. “Yancey, you’re not alone in this. Don’t tell me we can’t do this, that we can’t feel this. We can. We do. It’s too late to step back from each other, Yancey. Too late.”
She feared he was right. But all she could do was stand there in her aloneness and stare at him and deny what her heart wanted and what her mind railed against. As if in physical pain, Yancey wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. “You’re wrong, Sam. We’re wrong. But it’s not too late to make it right.” She had to say these hateful things. If she didn’t, she’d lose herself in him. Yancey hardened her heart and turned away from him. “Go see about your mare. We have a job to do.”