Dalliances & Devotion Page 11

“That’s what the entire agency is trying to figure out, while I keep you safe.” David tapped a finger against his lips, his eyes on her. “There was something I noticed, the other day, in the dossier. I’m sure it’s nothing or the people in Indiana already know and it isn’t my job, but I might as well ask. Your accounts are a trifle low for the various amounts of money you receive every month.”

  And now he thought her an incompetent. How did she explain. Her cheeks burned. “I—”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he continued. “The number didn’t really make sense. There’s also some accounting recordings in the files regarding a trust, not the main Truitt one. A lot of lawyers appear to withdraw from it. Are they doing work for you, or perhaps cheating you in some way?”

  “Oh, I’d know if someone was cheating me.” She took another sip. I think, I hope. “No, that’s a charitable trust I created and control. My family has nothing to do with it. It has an odd name because, as a wealthy Jew, my contributions engender controversy. Thus, I prefer to remain anonymous. I do it fully, so neither the beneficiary nor the recipient knows the other. My mother takes a different route, splashes her name around because she thinks you can inspire, but I like my way. It won’t worry my parents, and it’s a higher degree and all.”

  David blinked at her. “Where did you learn Maimonides?”

  “Hebrew school.” Amalia slid in her chair. “I always liked it, found it interesting and it was one of the few things that stayed the same during the war. My mother’s cousin and her companion both teach and want me to join them when I return.”

  “Do you want to?” he asked, his eyes intent on her through his spectacles.

  “I don’t know.” Her stomach tightened. It was tempting. Because it would involve a touch more consistent income. And yet... “Something about it feels like giving up even if I might enjoy it.”

  “Giving up what?” He cocked his head.

  “I’m not sure.” She stared at her lap. How did she phrase it? How did she explain what it would be like, that would make him understand without sounding...shallow? “Because most of the women who teach are spinsters and people feel sorry for them.” And then they’d feel sorry for her as well.

  “But if it interests you and you enjoy it, why would you let what other people might say about you make a difference? And what’s wrong with spinsters? Ones who teach are usually the most intelligent women anyway. You might like them.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Besides, I think you might be good at it.”

  Maybe, probably, at least regarding the other women. After all she adored cousin Rachel and Lydia had her moments. But still, a voice in her head nagged, repeated “failure” over and over.

  Before she could respond, he frowned. “So, that explains your financial state.” He tapped his fingers again, the wheels in his mind obviously grinding, and gazed into her eyes once more with that searching, judging gaze. “You’ve never...”

  “No.” A stale, hard lump grew in her stomach, despite the rather lovely meal. And here it came, another criticism, another reminder of her failures, another proclamation that she was the author of her own doom.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” David’s face softened a little and he leaned forward.

  “I don’t need to. I’ve not had enough coffee to listen to a lecture on all the mistakes I’ve made in my life and what the consequences are. I’m sure I’ve already heard them multiple times from my parents.” Her muscles shook. “And if you’re suggesting I did something specific the agents haven’t discovered, there’s really nothing.”

  Because there wasn’t. Her biggest secret was she once fell in love with someone who wouldn’t give her what she wanted. And told a few lies to cover it up. Which had no bearing on the situation whatsoever.

  “I’m sorry.” David pursed his lips. “And I didn’t mean—I’d never suggest you deserve this or that anything you’ve done makes this fair or right. I mean, everyone makes mistakes. Even me.” He gave her a small wink.

  Her innards relaxed and she almost took a full breath, corset and all. “Perish the thought.” He grinned and she clasped her hands tight. Pain shot through her cut, harkening her back to reality. She sighed again. “No, I’m sorry too. I’m frustrated. And scared.”

  “You should be.” Any amusement in his voice and tone vanished.

  “Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” She swigged more coffee.

  “My duty is to protect you.” David rubbed the back of his neck. “Besides, fear is good. It’ll make you more aware. It’ll make you pick up on little things, little clues. Keep you out of danger.”

  “I thought my ‘safety’ was your job.” She shifted in her seat, re-crossing her ankles.

  His face dropped and her gut twisted again. “I make mistakes.” He removed his spectacles and wiped them. “I’m sorry, Amalia. I should’ve helped you out of the cab instead of arguing with you. I should’ve been more aware of our surroundings.”

  What? She wrinkled her nose. No one could’ve prevented that. “I wasn’t blaming you, David.”

  “You should.” He shook his head and pulled his chair closer. His eyes grew doleful. “Which is why we need to talk.”

  “No.” Very much no. He was using a tone very similar to her mother’s whenever she was about to be left behind while her parents went off to England or Washington or wherever. She wagged a finger from her good hand at him. “We most certainly do not need to talk.”

  “Again, you don’t know what we were going to talk about.” David rolled his eyes. “You always assume things.”

  “No, I make judgments and prepare, based on evidence, which is kind of what you do in your job. Right now the evidence is telling me that there is nothing we should be talking about. Nothing good.” She shook the finger even harder. “You’re going to tell me that the kiss was a mistake and I’m not sure that my pride can take that.”

  David pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Define ‘mistake.’”

  Amalia’s chest burned. Why did she have to always be right? She placed her good hand on her hip and paused, parsing his words in her head. “A bad thing that you never want to do again.”

  “No one ever said you weren’t quick with words.” He chuckled a little. “I’d certainly not call that kiss ‘bad.’”

  Tingles shot through her body.

  Yes.

  So new David liked it...and her? Again. A small version of herself twirled inside her head, until the breath stopped in her lungs. There was a “but” in there.

  “But, now is not the time for any of that. You were stabbed yesterday.” David removed his spectacles, revealing dark circles beneath his eyes. “I barely slept.” On closer inspection red lines streaked through the white of his puffed eyes. He tilted his chin. “Though it’s had positive effects. I’ve come up with a plan for switching trains in Hunterdon.”

  “Congratulations.” She took another long sip of coffee, her mind racing for a counterargument that wouldn’t appear. Especially as there was something else in his voice and expression. He might be telling her it was about the job, but there was more. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t giving her the full truth.

  Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who needed to do some investigating.

  “You’re pouting.” David gave her a chagrined half smile.

  “You bet I’m pouting. I’ve been threatened, stabbed, and someone attempted to give me plague. I should be terrified out of my wits, but instead all I can think about is the way you kissed me and kissed me and kissed me and how good it was. Until you stopped. And now you refuse to touch me again.” Steam might have come out of her ears in time to the train’s whistle.

  It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

  “And I’m wearing pink and black undergarments.” She slapped her hand—the one on the bad side, ow—over her mout
h.

  Not what she intended to say. Not to him, not in the middle of this conversation.

  David gasped, much louder than her, and she could’ve died on the spot. “I—”

  She pressed her fingers over her eyes for a moment. “Not for you. For me, really, but your pleasant reaction would’ve been a bit of a boon. If it came to that. Not that it would, but in the abstract, a man, such as yourself, finding them attractive would be extra nice.”

  “Just in the abstract?” David removed his spectacles for a moment and arched his brows.

  “Yes?” She squeaked the word. Mercy, she was a coward.

  Not that it mattered what she said because her cheeks were on fire and he was smirking at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He slid his spectacles back onto his nose. “You’re fun to tease.”

  And the train car was suddenly full of sunshine again. Warm, beautiful sunshine. She leaned forward. “So, you want to—”

  Another sigh. He leaned back, away from her. “‘Want’ isn’t the question. I told you, after this is over we can have this discussion. Figure out parameters, before we do anything rash.”

  Ugh, maturity may have made her more aware but it certainly got in the way.

  “Fine. Later. Like you said.” Amalia took a long sip of coffee and wagged a finger at David. “But, as I presume we are not only going to Hunterdon, but all the way to Bedford in an attempt to lose whomever is after me, I’ve decided that we are staying there for the night. At the hotel. Not just any hotel, the hotel. Bedford Springs. And using the spring water. Because my complexion needs it. Badly.”

  He opened his mouth again but no words came out.

  “And I can get a column out of it, something I still need to write.” She snapped off a piece of toast and swallowed. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not the only one who has a job.”

  He showed her his palms, as if warding off a potential blow. “I’m not saying anything. If you need a column, research a column. I’m sure you have deadlines and the like. I’ll even let you dictate the thing to me since you can’t possibly hold a pen with your hand like that.” He took a big bite of his toast and chewed. “I draw the line at trying any of your tips though. I think my hair is shiny enough without eggs, don’t you?”

  Amalia’s heart swelled. He really read them. Not just one but several and he didn’t belittle or criticize or pooh-pooh her deadline. And he offered to help. And if she didn’t want to show him her knickers before, now...well...foot. When exactly was “later”?

  Chapter Eleven

  Hunterdon, Pennsylvania. Railroad town extraordinaire. The exchange hadn’t been bad. Bedford now waited. The former military post was tucked in the bowl-like valley. Why did the best city in which to lie low for a spell, happen to be the same city in which Amalia’s second husband lived?

  David frowned. Elias Armstrong resided in Philadelphia when Amalia married him, but according to the paperwork, he’d returned to run his family’s farm right after the honeymoon, taking his new wife with him.

  Amalia. On a farm. That had to have been...interesting. David’s lip curled as wicked images of Little Miss Truitt without a powder puff or vial of perfume or dress shop in sight. If ever she needed rescuing...

  Though that couldn’t be possible, could it? There had to be more to Bedford than just hay and cows or she wouldn’t have made it more than a week. Or at least there had to be more to husband number two. She’d never marry someone so dissimilar. How did he have so much information on her yet, her behavior often made so little sense?

  He turned to Will. “You ever interact with Armstrong?”

  “The major?” Will tapped his chin and wrinkled his nose. “Maybe once. Did you?”

  “I don’t even remember seeing him, to tell the truth.” Officers didn’t usually bother with volunteers outside their company, after all. The man had to have been near them on the field, but damned if David could recall what color hair he had. No memories at all, despite Armstrong’s legendary heroics at Laurel Hill.

  Though he’d had other things on his mind during that part of the campaign. He’d almost died—twice. David sniffed the air, the thick smoke of the train mimicking the gunpowder in his mind. “Obviously I’ve heard of him.”

  “And read every scrap of paper Thad gave you concerning him, no doubt.” Will shoved his elbow into David’s side. Hard enough that his hips swayed. “What’s really bothering you?”

  David kneaded the back of his neck. He could really use someone to crack some of the tension from his muscles. “Nothing, it’s just we have no direction. No plan. How do we defeat an enemy with no identity, no motive, no anything?” David kicked the trunk in frustration. Hard. So hard he stubbed his toe. He sank down on top of a trunk and rubbed the throbbing appendage.

  He was covering all his bases, as was the agency. Agents had not only been dispatched to Indianapolis and Philadelphia, but to Pittsburgh as well, to keep on the police over the stabbing. Certainly, they were all competent, all doing their jobs and he was just in charge of the muscle. Still...the back of his brain tingled, as if he was missing something, but damned if he knew. “Something feels off.”

  “Stop fretting and leave that to the investigators. Concentrate on our part of the mission.” Will cracked his knuckles. “You need to focus on your task, not get distracted. Especially now that Amalia’s giving you hope again.”

  “She is not.” He rotated his ankle. “I hardly know her—not then nor now. Certainly not enough to hope for anything.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.” Will patted him on the shoulder. “I peeked in on you this morning.”

  “And here I thought you’d just been off improving Meg’s mood.” David slid off his boot. Damn. He cracked a nail.

  “Not dignifying that. You still want Amalia.” The only reason Will’s tone wasn’t singsong was that his friend was too distinguished for that. “Don’t repeat your mistakes. Ask her for her feelings, let her tell you where you stand instead of endlessly dancing around the subject or denying anything is there.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m not dancing around anything. Not one of my skills.” David squeezed his foot, as if the pressure could relieve...everything. “And where I stand with Amalia isn’t the issue right now. The job is. Like you said.”

  His toe had long ceased hurting but he kept working the spot, in silence, so only the echoes of his words assaulted him.

  His partner though, couldn’t take a hint. “Because those two things aren’t connected at all.” He slid down next to David. “You think she loved him?”

  “Who?”

  Will gave him a withering glare. “The man who lives here, the man you keep muttering about.”

  Damned Armstrong, with his rank and medals and presumably cool, dignified, commanding demeanor, which Amalia probably found attractive. David slapped his hands over his ears to stop his spiraling. He drew in three sharp breaths to calm himself before turning back to Will. “If she didn’t, why would she marry him?” The nonchalant tone he intended came off as glum, but what could he do?

  “Tons of reasons. Responsibility, obligation, duty, procreation, building a family.” Will was chipper as he recounted each possibility on a long, slender, finger.

  “I think those are my grandfather’s reasons for marrying.” David scowled. “Or more, the reasons I once listed when we discussed matchmaking in my community. How it was about social structure, not love, and thus unnecessary in an ideal modern society.”

  Will hummed a little to himself.

  “But that has no relevance here. Amalia was never part of my community. Her family doesn’t use a matchmaker.” Though some of the wealthier families in the west did use lawyers instead, solidifying their wealth and influence. David ran his tongue over the back of his teeth. Amalia’s parents wouldn’t have done that with A
rmstrong though. Maybe with the first husband, but not Armstrong. He tapped his chin. “Obviously, it wasn’t for money. But—”

  “We need to talk.” Meg strode over and placed herself between the two men.

  “What’s going on?” David rubbed his temple. “Where’s Amalia?” He glanced around, searching for their charge. Because if anything happened to her...

  “Fluffing her hair or something.” Meg slid closer to Will. “So we have some time, but not forever.” His partner’s tone was more weary than sarcastic though, and her usual smirk wasn’t present. David’s blood froze in his veins.

  “Is she all right?”

  Meg pursed her lips. “She’s fine. Primping, like I told you. If anyone’s been injured it’s me.” She held out a palm. “Just look at this.” A bubbling, red tube of skin rose like an angry snake across her flesh.

  In an instant, Will was at her side, his hand on her shoulder. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Those are burns.” Meg brushed Will off with her most withering eye roll. The woman had a way of dismissing everyone around her as an idiot, even when she was in clear pain.

  “She burnt you?” Will’s voice was a chilly growl.

  Meg snorted. “No, her foolish curling tongs did. I didn’t even get them in her hair. I did this heating one with a lamp.” She gave a begrudging head-nod and shifted from foot to foot, her tone almost chagrined. “Actually, she did the task herself, despite not having use of both hands when she realized what was happening to me, so she isn’t a selfish witch. Well, not entirely.”

  “Only a partial witch.” Will’s body relaxed and his lips quirked. “A beautiful, spell-casting one, who has her hooks into David.” He gave Meg a hasty glance before elbowing his ribs, again. They were going to be so bruised. Will might be wiry, but he was strong. “Like the one in the Odyssey. The one who turned the sailors into pigs. You remember her name, right, David?”

  “Circe.” David straightened his spectacles. “And I’m in no danger of changing into anything. She has no influence on me whatsoever.” He blew out a slow breath. “I’m only focused on her safety.”