Kitabı oku: «The Other Bride», sayfa 4

Chapter Four

“You’re going to do what?” Doreen Llewelyn-Bowes blurted when the women outlined their plan to obtain a male escort. “Have you all lost your minds?”

Phoebe was beginning to grow tired of Doreen. The other women had barely returned to the boardinghouse and gathered together their emergency funds before she’d begun a litany of complaints—they’d taken too long, the weather was too hot, New York was too noisy. When Mable and Maude explained the plan to hire Bertram Potter to escort them West, Doreen had stared at them with as much horror as if they’d announced they planned to strip naked and dance in the streets.

“I really don’t know what you find confusing about the plan, Doreen,” Phoebe said. “We need a man—any man—who would be willing to travel West with us in the morning.”

“B-but you said this Potter person was in jail!”

“Merely a formality. He hasn’t committed a crime. Not really. He merely…played stowaway. I heard the captain say that he would forget the charges if Bertram could find a way to raise the necessary funds. If not, they’ll send him back to England.”

“So let them.”

“He’s our only chance, Doreen,” Twila said impatiently.

Without another word, Phoebe dumped the bonnetful of coins they had collected onto an overstuffed settee. Allowing for those expenses that would arrive during their journey, the women had contributed any money they felt they could spare. Now, gathered in the sitting room, they feverishly counted their stash.

“Do we have enough?” Edith breathed.

“If I’ve figured the correct exchange for dollars into pounds, we’re…” Phoebe quickly counted, then bit her lip. “We’re five dollars short.”

Five dollars. She found it ironic that only weeks earlier she had boarded a ship as the daughter of the Marquis of Dobbenshire. If only the title had come with tangible wealth rather than letters of credit.

En masse, the women turned to look at Doreen.

Betty proclaimed indignantly, “You haven’t contributed yet.”

Doreen sniffed. “That’s because it’s a horrible idea. It won’t work.”

“You’ll contribute or we’ll go without you,” Mable said. She clasped the handle of her walking stick in a way that warned she wasn’t so ladylike that she wouldn’t consider using it.

Doreen huffed again, folding her arms tightly beneath her breasts. But her stance had lost some of its bravado. “I don’t have five dollars to spare.”

“Give what you have,” Phoebe said softly, “and I’ll find a way to get the rest.”

It was clear that Doreen didn’t believe Phoebe’s assertion, but she finally sighed with great theatrical emphasis. Bending, she lifted her skirts to remove a small coin purse stitched to the inside of a petticoat. Removing two large dollar coins, she tossed them on the pile.

“I expect my money back when this preposterous idea fails to work,” she proclaimed. “If Gabriel Cutter frowns on women joining his group, he won’t let a felon board that train.” Then, turning on her heel, she left the room in a swish of skirts.

“We still need three dollars,” Mable said, counting the money, then counting it again.

Phoebe mentally reviewed the valuables she’d sewn into her spare corset—a few pieces of her mother’s jewelry and the signet ring her father had given her as a wedding present. The items were precious to her, worth far more in sentimental value than they could ever obtain on the market. But she was at a crossroads. She had no money to speak of, merely the smallest amount she had thought necessary for the journey. Even her friend “Louisa” could be of little help to her until she arrived in Boston and was able to exchange the letters of credit for cash.

So Phoebe would have to sell something.

Spying her dusty satchel still lying on the floor next to the door, Phoebe said, “Can someone show me to my room? I’ll just freshen up a bit, then we’ll find Mr. Potter and obtain his release.”

“But how?” Edith whispered.

Phoebe squeezed her hand in reassurance. “I’ve got a few valuables socked away for an emergency.” She grimaced good-naturedly. “I just hadn’t thought I’d be dipping into them before I managed to leave New York.”

Phoebe’s heart thumped against her ribs as she pondered the audacity of what she was about to do. After taking stock of the treasures she’d hidden in her trunk, she knew there was only one item of value that she would ever be able to sell.

The Dobbenshire signet ring.

By selling the piece, she would be severing the last tangible link with her father. And although she had convinced herself that such an action would be an easy enough matter to accomplish, she was discovering that the thought of forfeiting the ring filled her with a small amount of sadness.

True, her father had never loved her. She’d been an inconvenience to him and a burden—and he’d never lost the opportunity to remind her of that fact.

But he was her father. Didn’t that title alone demand a certain amount of respect?

Shaking free of that thought, she collected her things and followed the other women down the hall to her room, knowing that if she didn’t sell the ring quickly, she might well lose her resolve.

Gabriel waited until he was sure he hadn’t been followed before making his way into the “rarified” area of town frequented by the wealthy.

Checking quickly to ensure that he’d garnered no attention, he slipped into the lobby of the Biltmore Hotel and quickly made his way to a back set of stairs used by the staff. Tugging his hat more firmly over his brow to avoid giving anyone a clear look at his face, Gabriel wound his way through the narrow corridors to the presidential suite. He knocked once, paused, then scratched the gleaming wood three times.

For one beat of silence, there was no response. Then the door creaked open a slit.

Gabriel waited, knowing that he was being studied. This time a far more experienced pair of Pinkertons completed the inspection. He’d trained the two men himself during the past three years.

“All clear, sir?” a voice whispered.

“Clear.”

The space widened only enough to allow Gabriel to slip into the darkened room. Then, with a thump, the door closed and the lock was driven firmly into place.

Gabriel waited, hearing the rasp of a match. A bright flare of light revealed two men dressed like London dandies in creased trousers, silk shirts and brocade vests. With a wry smile, Gabriel noted that the elegant attire contrasted sharply with the ammunition belts draped across their chests.

“Green and Miles.” Gabe nodded to the men.

Isaac Green spat a stream of tobacco into a spittoon on the floor. The shot was made with amazing accuracy, revealing just how long the men had been cooped up in the opulent hotel suite.

“You can call me Sally and pin a bonnet on my head as long as you tell me we can get out of this stinking hotel.” In as long as Gabriel had known him, Isaac had never been fond of being closeted indoors.

“The crossing was smooth?”

Abner Miles didn’t even pretend to misconstrue the meaning of Gabriel’s question. They all knew he wasn’t speaking of the weather they’d encountered while sailing from London to New York.

“No problems, cap’n. I don’t think a soul on board cared if we finished the trip alive for all the attention they gave us. Not much has changed since we’ve arrived here. No one has given us a second glance.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” Gabriel examined the trunks and crates stacked in the corner.

Here was where the real payroll shipment was hidden—amid boxes labeled Farm Equipment and battered steamer trunks bearing the names Miles or Green.

From the moment the Overland Express’s payroll gold had been removed from an English vault, Gabe had gone to great lengths to ensure no one would ever know that Roberts and Peterson, the two new Pinkerton agents, guarded little more than crates filled with lead bars. At the same time, on a separate ship, Miles and Green had been unobtrusively making the same journey with their trunks of gold.

Satisfied that the seals on the containers were still intact, Gabriel surveyed the men again. He’d asked them to blend in with the other genteel travelers at the Biltmore, and judging by their attire, the men had followed his instructions to the letter.

“The two of you will need to see to the transfer of the gold before nine tomorrow morning. I’ll send the usual agents dressed as stevedores to give you a hand, but I’ll only be able to watch from afar.”

“No problem, cap’n,” Green said.

Miles nodded, then asked, “The rest of tomorrow’s instructions are as planned?”

Both of them stared at Gabe intently, knowing the trust he’d placed in them.

“Everything else goes as planned,” Gabe confirmed. He studied the men again, noting the ease with which they held their weapons. Despite the duo’s casual stances, Gabriel had no doubts that they could shoot and reload faster than the average man. Their senses were highly tuned to each nuance of sound outside the hotel room. They could sense trouble like a deer smelling a hunter. Such skills had kept them alive during the war and made them invaluable to Gabriel now.

“See to it that you change your clothes before you arrive at the station,” Gabriel said. “The moment you join the group of settlers on the train, I want the two of you to look like dirt-poor farmers who have finally managed to scrape together a few dimes for your passage.”

It was clear that both men were eager to abandon their current mode of dress for the more comfortable gear usually worn on the job.

“Once on the train, we won’t speak unless necessary,” Gabe continued. “You’ll have two men at your disposal—Garrison and Withers—to spell you off every twelve hours. Use them as runners if you need anything from me. Any questions?”

They shook their heads.

“Until tomorrow.”

Gabriel turned to leave, but paused when both men saluted.

He knew the gesture was automatic. After all, Miles and Green had served beneath him during the war. They’d grown accustomed to taking orders. But after charges of desertion had been brought against Gabriel, more than one man in his old regiment had turned against him.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to challenge the men for believing in him when so many didn’t. But he knew the pair hadn’t meant to remind him of things he wished to leave forgotten.

“Good luck, gentlemen,” was all he said. Then Gabriel retreated into the corridor.

The afternoon heat was beginning to mount when Gabe exited the Biltmore and pulled a pocket watch from his vest.

Nearly twenty-four hours remained before the journey West would begin.

Sighing, Gabe resisted the urge to rub away the tension gripping his neck muscles. Instead, he paused outside, leaning his shoulder against the marble facade of the hotel. Hoping to catch a hint of a breeze, he took the hat from his head and wiped his brow with his arm.

Replacing his hat, Gabe looked up, then froze. The man he’d sent to follow Phoebe was mere yards away, sitting on an iron bench with careful nonchalance. What catastrophe had caused the Pinkerton to abandon his orders in order to find Gabe?

“O’Mara,” Gabe said quietly as he approached.

“Cap’n.”

“What’s happened that you were sent to find me?”

The Pinkerton seemed confused. “Beg pardon? I followed the woman here.” The Pinkerton pointed to a jewelry shop across the road. “She’s gone in there.”

The fact that Phoebe had felt it necessary to visit a posh jewelers did nothing to calm Gabe’s suspicions. Why would a woman dress like a pauper to meet with him, then indulge in a whim for pretty baubles mere hours later?

“Go on home, O’Mara. I’ll take care of things from here.”

“You’re sure?”

Gabe nodded. “Perhaps it’s time Miss Gray and I had an in-depth talk.”

As the door snapped shut behind her, Phoebe bit her lip in disappointment. She had instructed the hansom cab to bring her to the “most expensive jewelry store in New York City.” But after gathering her courage and entering the establishment, she had been treated no better than a beggar.

Twenty dollars! That was all they were willing to offer her for the signet ring. Granted, twenty dollars would help her buy the things she needed, but the amount was a tenth of what she had been expecting. She’d been so angered by the patronizing tone of the clerk that she’d stormed from the shop with the ring still clutched in her palm.

What was she going to do? She needed money. Desperately. Quickly.

Stepping out of the way of the passers-by, Phoebe vainly tried to brush as much of the dust as possible from her skirts and bodice, sure that there must be another jeweler nearby where she could try again. But with her gloves as soiled as her dress, her efforts were less than satisfactory.

“Problems?”

Phoebe jumped when a deep, husky voice murmured the word in her ear. For a moment, her heart leaped and she was sure that it was the stranger from the boat. But when she turned, it was to find Gabriel Cutter standing at her shoulder.

Her stomach flip-flopped and her mouth grew suddenly dry. “Mr. Cutter,” she said weakly. Then, with more strength, she added, “Has no one told you that it isn’t polite to startle a person on a crowded thoroughfare?”

His expression remained neutral, but she thought she caught a glint of humor in his steel-gray eyes. “I would imagine it’s impolite to startle a person at any time or in any location.”

Phoebe pressed her lips together, refusing to rise to the bait offered by the lift of his brows. It was clear that he found her amusing and wished to rile her. But she would not argue with the man. She wouldn’t. With her luck, she would make him angry and he would find a way to renege on his agreement.

The thought caused her to frown. “Have you been following me?”

His dark brows lifted even more. This time his gray eyes darkened with something akin to suspicion. “Why would I possibly want to follow you, Miss Gray?”

“Perhaps you should tell me,” she insisted archly. Something about his look made her uncomfortable. So much so that her shoulder muscles grew tight with the effort it took not to run away.

“For your information,” Gabe said, “I had an appointment in the area. Imagine my surprise when I emerged on the street to find you here.”

He plucked a stray piece of fluff from her shoulder, and she stiffened. The action was innocent. So why did that tiny point of contact send a flurry of gooseflesh down her spine?

“Perhaps,” Gabe continued, “I should accuse you of following me.”

This time, as he watched her from beneath hooded eyes, she gasped indignantly.

“You can’t possibly think that I would…that I could be…that I would want to…” The idea that he could think she’d meant to spy on him caused her to sputter in consternation. “I—I can assure you, Mr. Cutter, that from the depths of my being—from the very marrow of my bones!—there is nothing on earth that could ever, ever, persuade me to follow you anywhere!”

He looked far from cowed by her response. But what alarmed her most was that he didn’t seem entirely convinced by her protestations.

“Then why are you here rather than preparing for your imminent journey?”

She didn’t like his tone, didn’t like it at all. Obviously, the man doubted that the women would manage to have their bags packed by sunrise, let alone have a male escort in tow.

“For your information, I had some shopping to do.”

He flicked a glance at the exclusive neighborhood where she had chosen to do her errands.

“And just what were you looking for here? A diamond stickpin? That should prove helpful.”

She felt her face grow warm. Damning her penchant for blushing, she hastened to exclaim, “For your information, I need some sturdy shoes and a few…personal items.” Then, realizing that he would never believe such a thing given the expensive shops that surrounded her, she added, “The cab driver must have misunderstood my directions.”

“Ahh, then you’ll be needing another ride to a more sensible area of town.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

When she tried to brush past him to hail another cab, he took her wrist and stopped her.

“There’s no need to waste your money on a carriage. I’ve got my horse right over here.”

“B-but your meeting!”

“It’s finished. And since I’m not due at the railway yard for a few more hours, I may as well help you with your shopping.”

Once again, Phoebe began stammering in protest, but the words fell on deaf ears. Gabriel pulled her irresistibly toward a large roan gelding tied to an iron hitching ring.

“Oh, no. No, I really couldn’t,” she gasped.

The animal was huge! And with each step, it became more and more clear that Gabriel meant for her to ride atop the beast’s back.

She’d never ridden a horse before. On those infrequent occasions when she had been allowed to travel from the school, she had always used a carriage. Even with Gabriel holding her, she didn’t think that she could stay atop the brutish animal. And by heaven, she couldn’t allow the man to hold her, either!

“Is something the matter?”

She dug her heels into the ground, refusing to budge another inch. “I really can’t accept your kind offer, Mr. Cutter.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

“In what way would it be improper?”

She lifted her chin to a prudish level. “I hardly know you well enough to allow you to take such liberties, Mr. Cutter.”

“Liberties? From my point of view I would hardly describe a ride through the streets of New York as ‘taking liberties.’”

“Which is why we will have to agree to disagree on this point. I can’t and shan’t impose upon your goodwill in such a manner.”

“I hardly think you’re imposing on anything if I’m the one who made the suggestion.”

Before she knew what he meant to do, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her sideways onto the gelding.

“Do you wish to remain sidesaddle or would you rather sit astride?”

Phoebe’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no sound emerged. Never in her life had she been so terrified. She felt as if she were twenty feet up, staring down, down at the rock-strewn ground. If she were to fall, she would surely be killed.

“Sidesaddle,” she finally managed to whisper, worried that Gabriel might take it into his head to help her sit astride by rearranging her skirts and lifting one leg over the pommel. Her face flamed at the mere idea.

She was so intent on gripping the pommel that she barely noted the way he swung into place behind her. It wasn’t until Gabe wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him that she suddenly realized the danger of her position—and this time it had nothing to do with the horse.

How had she managed to land herself in this predicament? Of all the people she could have encountered in New York City, why had she the misfortune of meeting up with this man yet again?

“Are you sure you haven’t been following me?” she said, confronting him face-to-face.

The instant she turned, she wished she’d kept quiet. He was much nearer than she had imagined. She could see the deep creases on either side of his mouth and the bits of silver that flecked the gray of his eyes. This close, his features gave the appearance of being hewn from a block of marble, the sharp angles and blunt edges giving him the fierce countenance of a battle-hardened warrior.

And yet…the way he met her gaze, the way his eyes dropped to focus on her lips, created an intimacy that was at odds with his appearance.

“I’m not following you, Phoebe. Although perhaps I should.”

“Why?” The word was a bare puff of sound.

“Because you’re dangerous.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Me? How can you possibly have come to that conclusion?”

“You have a way of infecting a man’s brain so that he can’t think of anything but you.”

The words were uttered so softly that Phoebe’s mouth parted and she blinked at him in disbelief, sure that she’d misunderstood.

He couldn’t possibly be speaking of her. She wasn’t the sort of woman to inspire a second glance, let alone “infect a man’s brain….”

Long moments passed before she managed to whisper, “I think that you must be pulling my leg, Mr. Cutter.” The moment she uttered the phrase, she wished she hadn’t. How often had the faculty of Goodfellow’s scolded her for her informality?

But if Gabe was struck by the commonness of her speech, he gave no indication. Instead, his gaze had dropped to her skirts. She blushed, realizing that she’d given him ideas that he shouldn’t entertain.

“Where are you taking me, Mr. Cutter?” she asked imperiously.

“You stated that you needed shoes.”

“Yes, but I have a good many things to do today and I’m sure that you don’t want to trail after me.”

“As I stated, I have a few hours to waste.”

Blast the man! Why couldn’t he realize that she might not want his company?

“Mr. Cutter, I don’t wish to be rude, but there are a good many things that I need to do that are of a…personal nature.”

“Such as?”

Phoebe didn’t know if the man was being purposely obtuse or if he really did have the manners of a goat.

“Stop the horse, please.”

“But we aren’t there yet.”

“Stop this horse at once, or I will jump down in the middle of the street!”

Given the fact that she was clinging to Gabriel with a white-knuckled grip, her demand lost some of its effectiveness. Nevertheless, with a slight touch of the reins against the horse’s neck, Gabriel turned the animal down a side street and stopped in the shade of an alley.

“Very well, Miss Gray. What is it that you feel a burning need to say standing still that you can’t say while we are in motion?”

For long moments she studied the man, wondering if she could trust him. Heaven only knew that she hadn’t had much luck with the rougher sex. Her father had ignored her, and her intended husband hadn’t bothered to show up for his own wedding. What made her think that this man would help her?

She studied the hard angles of his cheek and jaw. A shadow was already beginning to appear, giving testament to a heavy beard. The sight should have given him a scruffy appearance, but only served to cause her breath to hitch in her throat in a manner she had never experienced before.

Her gaze slipped to his lips. She had almost kissed him earlier that day. What would happen if he were to try again? Would she allow him to succeed so that she could feel those lips against hers?

The mere thought was enough to bring a sizzling heat to her cheeks.

You mustn’t think such things!

“Well? Do you mean to sit here all day?”

Ignoring Gabe’s pithy tone, she reached into the watch pocket of her skirt. She could think of no reason to keep her true errand from the man. She had to find a way to exchange her father’s ring for coin. Why shouldn’t she ask Gabriel’s help? As an American, he wouldn’t recognize the significance of the crest. He might wonder why she wished to sell it, but the fact that she was willing to marry a stranger was proof enough of her impoverished circumstances. What did it matter that she intended to sell a family heirloom?

Feeling instinctively that she could trust in the man’s discretion, she held the ring out for his inspection. “I wish to sell this to someone who will give me a fair price.”

She saw his eyes narrow in interest. Briefly, his fingers brushed hers as he took the signet ring and held it up for a better look. Intently, he studied the ornate design of lilies swirling around a griffin with an up-raised paw.

A whistle escaped from his lips. “Very impressive.”

“It’s solid gold, with sapphires and rubies set into the band.”

Cutter twisted the ring to look at the jewels. “So this is why you were loitering outside that jewelry shop.”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where did you get it? Did you steal it?”

“No! It once belonged to my father.”

“Does he know you have it?”

She offered Gabriel what she hoped was a withering stare. “My father had it refashioned as a gift for me before I left England.” She snatched the ring away from him. “Now, if you will kindly take me back to the jewelers, I would be grateful.”

He clucked to the horse, and again she grabbed at Gabe’s waist to keep from becoming unseated.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said as they entered the crowded thoroughfare. “But you’ll need to hang on tight. We’ve got a bit of a ride ahead of us and only a short time to make it before the shop closes for the afternoon meal.”