Dalliances & Devotion Page 5

  “And I recall from our very first conversation that you were once unversed in quite a few things. In need of some tutelage, some might say. Though you made up for the lack of knowledge with enthusiasm on Rosh Hashanah, if I remember it correctly.” David’s chest grazed her back, the vibrations melting into her despite the bubbling guilt welling in her gut.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘enthusiasm,’ it was more practicality,” she said, as the blood pounded in her ears. “And as for the rest, I’ve learned more than a few things in these past eight years.”

  “Really?” Bemused skepticism rang in his tone. “What sort of things? Dangerous things? The sort of things that could get one into lots of trouble? Make someone very angry?”

  What did he mean by—oh good lord. He was nosing about. Again. About the idiotic threats. Even if his job was just guarding her. Damned busybody. Their source was none of his business.

  Ugh. Imagine the lecture she’d receive from him. He’d probably assume the fund’s financial state was her fault—that she was too “vapid” to head her own charity.

  Amalia blinked. Twice. Because there was dust in her eye. And she was jumping to conclusions. After all, he did have a job to do.

  “Not unless you consider teas and fashion dangerous and not ‘vacuous.’” More blinking and swallowing, because if he—She couldn’t take the criticism that day, especially as she’d have to face her parents in less than twenty-four hours. She really couldn’t. With all the fortitude she could muster, she picked his hand off her waist. “Be careful with that hand or my bustle will slip.”

  “What does it matter? What is it supposed to do again, anyway?” He settled himself on the now-stripped mattress, pressed his hands down and bounced.

  Moment over. Crisis averted. She twirled a little from side to side. “Gives me a larger...behind. It makes my waist appear smaller.”

  “I thought the medieval torture device I had to tie did that.” He scooted back so his head was against the window and spread his legs wider.

  Lord he was the king of muddled messages. At least his body was.

  Amalia rolled her eyes. “Everything is supposed to do that. Gives you the right shape for the dress.”

  “Well you looked perfectly lovely in just your nightdress, without any of this chazerai.” He tapped his chin. “Are you sure fashion isn’t dangerous? Because if you romped through the streets like that it could certainly cause a few horses to get tangled up.”

  And there he was again. Teasing, giving her a glimpse of that humor he once had, that formerly hesitant, earnest humor he’d deploy just when she needed it most. The way he made her laugh instead of think about Simon. The way she could just exist in the moment with him.

  But nothing had changed, had it? Or more everything had. Because she’d learned the truth about herself. Even if a liaison wouldn’t jeopardize her case with her parents, her heart couldn’t handle only the physical. It needed it all. Or nothing. And that was the way of it.

  Amalia’s mind churned and flickered on David’s several rather angry and hurt expressions. He was tired and suspicious, that was all. He wasn’t the one with the scars, only her and—

  The door slid open and her brother’s other friend Will poked his head inside. “David, Amalia, have you—” He opened his mouth and closed it as his eyes darted between the pair. At least they were both dressed. “Oh. Oh.” He glanced to the side and frowned. He knelt on the floor. “Wait, David—have you seen this?” Will held up a scrap of paper. A bloody scrap of paper.

  “What is that?” David rose and snatched the thing from his friend.

  “I think it came with the rat.”

  Amalia leaned over David’s shoulder as he unfolded the message.

  Death would be too good for a treacherous villainess like you.

  And all her analysis of the past faded away, leaving only the present. The now more frightening present.

  Well, the cat story wasn’t going to work anymore, was it? Pressure beat against her skull as the words echoed in her head once more.

  Villainess.

  She wasn’t one, was she? Sure, she was often thoughtless but never mean. Except...

  We have nothing to discuss, Mr. Zisskind, not in private. I’m an engaged woman now and there is nothing between us, absolutely nothing.

  Stale sourness invaded her mouth, choking off her air. She’d gone on to expound upon her wealthy, blond, educated, fashionable fictitious fiancé. Mean wasn’t the half of it. It was vicious.

  Especially as she’d wanted a dark-haired radical who cared about ideas, not meaningless things. But he was going to leave her—like everyone else—and in that moment, all she wanted was for someone to hurt half as much as she did. Even if it was wrong.

  And she might not be clever, but she could craft words. She had that power. And those shots at his insecurities she’d fired...more precise than anything her sharpshooter brother could pull off...

  Lies. Which wounded quite a few people—more than just her and David. Especially when she forced them to be true. When she’d ruined her life instead of facing reality.

  No. Amalia forced herself to breathe, to swallow, to keep her chin steady. She hadn’t ruined her life. She’d learned from what happened. It’d opened her eyes.

  And even if her chickens were coming home to roost, or whatever the saying, there was no use acting like a weakling about it. She was among people who stared down cannons and charging men.

  She squeezed her thumbs, the nails digging into her palms. “Well, does that mean that I’m not having my head chopped off? That’s a bit of a relief, actually. It wouldn’t be a good look for me, though I suppose I’d be an easier height to dress. And think of all the money I’d save on hats.”

  “We’re getting off in Pittsburgh.” David gave Will a small pat on the back.

  “And changing lines, I know.” She chewed a nail. Terrible habit. If her mother saw she’d rip Amalia’s hand from her mouth and stick it in a glove.

  “We’re not taking our scheduled train.” David was halfway out the door, his posture warrior-like, all broad shoulders and bulging arms...

  Will nodded. “A fair alternative plan. Though make sure you check in with both Thad and the boss. They’ll want to know, even if you’re asking forgiveness not permission. That’s better than letting them find out themselves.” The taller man’s eyes never left David, as if she wasn’t in the room. As if she had no say in anything. “But yes, throw whomever it is off our trail.”

  “We’ll just have to kill some time. We’ll find a private place to guard her. Somewhere safe. And quiet.” The men exchanged glances, but had to meet her gaze. It was the one advantage of being tall: no one could look over or down at you.

  “I suppose we could wait in one of the storage areas...” Will shuffled from foot to foot. “Not the most comfortable, but, secure.”

  Yes, siree, an advantage. Now they had to look her in the eye when they discussed treating her like a prisoner.

  Which was not going to happen. She screwed her mouth to the side. What could they do in Pittsburgh? Oh. Well, it wouldn’t be enough money to solve all her problems, but it could buy her time. Especially if she failed with her parents. Besides, any donation helped.

  “Ethan.” She nodded to herself. Her first husband. Who could be charmed. Better, who owed her.

  “You want to visit your first husband?” Will gaped at her.

  “He has food, servants, and security. His family also holds a major stake in the railroad so he can see you two have all the aid you need.” She wrinkled her nose. As long as it didn’t come out of any money he was going to give to her fund.

  “You divorced him. Why would he do that for you? Unless he’s the one after you. Do you have a death wish?” David brushed past her and into the main sitting area. Probably to eat all the good breakfast before it got cold.
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br />   “I have nothing of the kind. And isn’t preventing my death your job? If you deserve a big promotion, you can certainly handle protecting me through one tea.” She sniffed a little. “We’re going.” She snapped the last word as the door shut. She could put on her makeup and hat and gloves all by herself.

  Chapter Five

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The western city was nothing like its eastern cousin. The tri-point burg in no way resembled cobblestone covered Philadelphia, the place where he’d lugged his cart every day, selling scraps and rags. The place he’d landed, to find and take hold of any opportunity America could offer.

  A stranger in a strange land. Alone.

  Until he wandered into a synagogue and heard Rabbi Einhorn speak. And was urged to join the fight. To force America to fulfill the promises it offered: real equality, for everyone.

  The words rekindled the fire in him, alighted a purpose as clear as Joseph’s dreams from the story.

  Not to mention the pay, something he couldn’t refuse, especially as the days grew colder and his own garments—certainly no coats of many colors—wore down regardless of how many times he patched them. After all, he’d never spur on fair wages for every job if he starved. Thus, he traded a cart for a pack, a brown coat for a blue uniform.

  Once upon a time, he aspired to study. And his mind had earned him a chance, despite his family’s poverty.

  But he’d been betrayed, fed to the Russian army. The most disposable member of his family, sacrificed to the tsar’s plan to decrease the Jewish population. He’d barely escaped. And once he’d arrived in Berlin, he’d been so lost. However, never once had violence tempted him.

  Not in his wildest dreams had he suspected that he actually could fight, and more, kill. But he had. Easier than he could’ve ever imagined. A fact that bothered him less than it probably should.

  David stuffed a slice of toast into his mouth as he stuck his head outside the door of Amalia’s car. He brushed a few flecks of dust from his worn, dark navy coat—the only presentable one he owned aside from his old uniform. One didn’t need more than a shirt to spy. Sentinels didn’t care about dirt or soot. Or accents.

  To protect. To serve. To push the world forward. This was his purpose, his destiny. And if that destiny involved a fancy promotion and title, all the better. He’d write his family, for the first time ever, and thread in the information, in the most casual manner...

  He blinked as a breeze rustled his hair against his brow. The joint between the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers glistened in the distance. David pulled out his pocket watch. Almost eleven.

  At least they weren’t taking their originally scheduled second train. Meg might be unfair to Amalia in certain respects, but even he had to admit the woman possessed a ridiculous amount of luggage and took forever with her cosmetics and the like.

  Though... He bit his lip. Thad had included some financial records in the dossier. He was good with numbers and had been in the garment industry long enough to have a sense of what material cost.

  Amalia Truitt had far too little money in her bank accounts even considering her volume of gowns and jewels. She received a generous monthly allowance and was paid for her columns. Where were the funds going?

  Did she have a costly vice? One that could make her enemies?

  “Where to?” Will, arms filled with carpetbags and leather cases, nudged his shoulder while Meg shuffled behind, similarly occupied. He handed the bulkiest down off the train to two more uniformed men with a cart.

  Onlookers stopped and stared. Not good. They didn’t need people to notice them, or worse remember them. And the three of them together made an interesting picture. A tiny red-haired woman, a wiry black man, and a bespectacled Jew walk into a train station... Quite the setup.

  After Meg placed her load onto the cart, he herded them into a dark corner behind a stack of barrels. Hopefully not filled with something dangerous like gunpowder. He shuddered.

  Pushing back memories, David dipped back inside. Time to work. He addressed his partners. “We’re going to Cedar Street. Apparently, that’s where Ethan Bloomenstock, the first ‘Mr. Truitt,’ now lives. With his parents. Only a little over a mile from here.”

  “We’re not lugging Thad’s sister’s belongings for over a mile.” Meg stomped her foot. “This place is hilly.” She frowned as she searched the horizon. “Very hilly.”

  “No, you aren’t lugging anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Either of you. Will—you’ll stay here to stow and guard the trunks.” His friend nodded in agreement. They couldn’t just leave everything unattended, not after the rat, but they couldn’t haul the load anywhere without attracting even more eyes. Whomever was responsible could be anywhere and if they were going to lose them...

  David stuck his hand in his pocket and shoved a fistful of bills at his friend. Funds Major Allen had handed him when he accepted the assignment. “Purchase us tickets for the midnight train. I don’t care what Amalia says, I don’t trust Bloomenstock. I don’t want him to know anything about where we will be after we leave his home.”

  He turned to Meg. “You’re going to continue playing maid. Fit in with the servants, or as much as you can.” He smirked a little at her horrified expression. “You’ll be my backup in case there’s any trouble.”

  Will grumbled in the affirmative and nodded. “And that’s why they call you the ‘smart one.’”

  “I thought that was you?” He winked at his friend.

  “Depends on the day.” Will adjusted his cap. “But I’ll go do my best spy patrol. Keep to the shadows. The usual.” The taller man gave him a quick salute.

  “I’ll keep my head down too, follow close behind, the usual.” Meg wrinkled her nose. “Are you dragging her out of the bedchamber, or should I? She’s been staring at this tiny hand mirror for hours. It isn’t going to tell her she’s the fairest of them all if that’s what she wants.”

  David groaned in his head. Amalia had dropped her cutlery at least a dozen times—in the most obvious and shamelessly purposeful manner—to force his partner on her feet over and over that morning. Amusing. Not nice, but still amusing.

  Though Meg had given as good as she got with snide comments about everything from Amalia’s jewelry to intimate acts she might have done with her husbands. It was a wonder they hadn’t come to blows yet. Amalia might be bigger, but Meg had a mean right hook. Thad would not be pleased.

  If only Meg and Will could’ve had some “private time,” or whatever they called it when they were teasing him. Or more, if they could settle their future. But that was easier said than done.

  How someone who could charge cannons, get accepted to Harvard, and do their job well enough that the promotion would’ve been his if he wasn’t leaving, couldn’t ask one woman one question...?

  “Give her a chance, Meg.” He rubbed the space just above the bridge of his nose. “She’s the client. We have to make her happy, get her to cooperate, or we won’t succeed.” Or I won’t succeed.

  “Traitor.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “I’ll talk to her.” Maybe. Possibly.

  “Sure you will. You’re so upfront and honest with her, after all.” Meg sighed, and turned to exit the area. “Good luck, by the way. Ex-lover and ex-husband all in one room. I’d love a front row seat for that show.”

  “Please just do what you’re told. Make sure we don’t all die.” David pressed a hand to his temple.

  Meg didn’t answer and instead disappeared into the crowd.

  Ex-lover indeed. They’d been two fumbling teenagers who believed themselves far grander and more sophisticated than reality. Oy, the sort of self-important, know-it-all proclamations he used to make... He grimaced at the memory. Thank god that was all in the past. He was older and wiser and would not give in to any base emotions like lust and envy.

  Amalia had no power ove
r him.

  The tea would be harmless. And an opportunity for some free food. And who didn’t like free food?

  He reached into his satchel to reinspect Thad’s information on husband number one. His own age, yet hadn’t served in the war. But wealthy. From Cologne, or at least his family was. Were able to leave with all their money after Prussia revoked the liberties Napoleon granted the Jews. An entire proper, intact, family.

  Bloomenstock himself was born in America. Like Amalia. Without any of the scars of Europe. No father who abandoned him and made the gossips whisper. No grandfathers and cousins who would’ve thrown him in a pit if they could. David squeezed the papers so hard they near split.

  Images of Amalia giggling with some rich, smug railroad investor’s playboy son taunted him. Shmuck. He didn’t care anymore. Not. At. All. So what if she tossed him over for Bloomenstock? Look where that got her.

  Why she’d want to visit him though... He shook his head. None of his business. He was just there to guard her. Hired muscle.

  David strolled back through the car and knocked on the bedroom door. “Amalia?”

  “Come in,” she called, loud and hurried.

  David pressed in the door and entered. “I’m not sure you should keep letting a man into your bedchamber when you’re alone.”

  “Aren’t you still pretending to be my servant?”

  Like Meg reported, her nose was deep in her hand mirror. With no interest in meeting his gaze. Which was fine by him. “You have male lady’s maids? From what I saw of your parents, I don’t believe they’d permit that. Especially your father.”

  “There’s no such thing as a male lady’s maid.” She tucked the mirror in her black bag. The one that rarely ever left her side. She fluffed her hair. “And at this point, I could probably dance naked and it wouldn’t matter. I mean, what would the Talmud call a third-time bride?”

  David winced at her tone. Her eyes were so sad and he’d have to be a monster for that not to move him a little, even if entertaining and coddling her wasn’t part of his job. He pressed two fingers to his lips. What could make her smile? Someone was threatening to kill her. She needed a little humor in her life, no matter how shallow and spoiled she was.