Circle of Spies (31 page)

Warm fingers touched her arm and then retreated. She glanced over to see that Slade's frown had scored its way deeper. “Are you certain you are well enough for this? I could see you home.”

Home sounded like heaven. She could curl up with a hot water bottle, close her eyes, and read.

But this was her grand reentrance, independent and victorious. At
Our American Cousin
, a play Granddad and Grandmama had been wanting to see so badly. With most of the people dearest to her—even if two of them were shooting visual arrows at her even now.

She summoned up a smile. “I'm fine.”

The look he gave her was rife with disbelief, but he said no more. He merely pulled out his pocket watch to check the time.

It was Marietta's turn to frown. “What happened to your fob?”

“Pardon?” He replaced the watch.

She waved her hand. “You usually have that on a silver chain. Is it in need of repair?” It was none of her business, granted, but a better topic for conversation than her health.

A lopsided smile settled on Slade's mouth. “No. I had borrowed it from a friend a year ago and finally remembered to give it back today.”

Hez, seated on the other side of Slade, snorted. “You borrowed a fob?”

If she could just reach across to smack that derision from his tone…but Slade laughed. “Only after I lost the one my father gave me and didn't want him to find out.”

Hez looked about to make reply—though whether it would be amused or cynical she couldn't be sure—but he paused as more people moved to the seats on the other side of Marietta.

She glanced over too and smiled at the couple. Polite greetings sounded from both sides of her, but thankfully servants began dimming the house lights, and the babble in the auditorium quieted. The play would soon begin.

She made it through the first act with no increase to her headache.
Lucien had taken her to New York once to see the original cast, and she always enjoyed watching how productions changed over time, the roles growing and expanding. This set of actors breathed life into the lines.

During the first intermission, all the voices around her started buzzing. Much of the second act she scarcely heard. And when she rose for the second intermission, the pain behind her eyes pierced too quickly for her to control the response.

Her whole family, it seemed, had been waiting to pounce at the end of the row.

“You are ill.” Isaac said it like an accusation. “Why did you even come tonight if you are unwell?”

Hez rolled his eyes. “You know how she is when she makes up her mind to do something, but this is absurd, Mari. You must think of your health. Come, I will see you home.”

A train ride home with Hez when he had a bee in his bonnet—not a relaxing end to the evening. “I'll be fine. It's nearly over.”

Granddad elbowed his grandsons out of the way and tipped up her chin to look into her eyes. “A headache? You need quiet, Mari.” He tapped the end of her nose. As always, pure love flowed from the point of contact. “Which you wouldn't get if we all left with you.”

“I am ready to go as well.” Barbara slipped into the place at her side and wove their arms together. She did look exhausted, no doubt from her hours of volunteering at the hospital that day.

Granddad patted her on the shoulder as he would any of the grandchildren who shared his blood. “Good of you, my dear, but two lovely young women will not be making the trip back to Baltimore on their own. Oz, you'll see they arrive safely, won't you, son?”

Isaac stared at their grandfather as if he had lost his faculties. “Granddad—”

“An elegant solution.” Isaac's wife, Laura, tugged him back a step, amusement gleaming in her eyes.

Slade looked none too sorry to be asked to depart. “It would be my pleasure.” He crooked both his arms. “Ladies?”

Too miserable to argue, Marietta settled her hand in the curve of his left elbow while Barbara took his right. “Thank you. Goodnight, everyone.”

None of them said much as they descended the stairs and waited for their wraps, nor during the hack ride to the train station. And, of course, once they were on the train to Baltimore, it was far too easy to stare into the darkness and let the sway of the car lull her into a half sleep. She scarcely noted the second cab ride home, and she may have trudged up to her room without even the presence of mind to wish Slade a grateful farewell had Barbara not taken the lead.

She halted them all inside the front door by the low-burning lamp and smiled warmly at Slade. “Thank you so much for seeing us home, Mr. Osborne. And Mari dear, for insisting I come. It was a true pleasure. Shall I fetch Cora for you?”

“No.” No need to rouse Cora from her bed. Marietta returned Barbara's smile. “I can manage on my own.”

“Then I will bid you both good night.” She grasped Marietta's hand and gave it a squeeze, dropped a quick curtsy to Slade, and turned toward the stairs.

Marietta watched her disappear and then pivoted slowly toward Slade. His gaze was already on her. Maybe that was why her throat went so dry. “I…thank you, Slade. For seeing me home.”

“Sure.” His fingers tangled with hers, and she wasn't certain which of them had reached out first. “You looked beautiful tonight, Yetta.”

A breath of a laugh eased past her tight throat. The familiar compliment brought no pleasure, just another wave of shame. “I meant to. Probably just to slap at Dev, and it didn't…it didn't occur to me that it would hinder your work here. He's going to be angry, and I'm sorry. I've made things more difficult for you when I wanted to be a help.”

His thumb stroked over her knuckles and tied her in knots. “I'm not worried. You have him wrapped around your finger, and I know how to play my hand.”

Wonderful. He wasn't worried because he recognized her as what she was—a professional coquette. Tears burned at her own weakness. Even now she would rather curl into his chest than stand on her own feet and face what she had done, what she was.

“Hey, now. What's this?” His fingertips brushed her cheek, making her aware that her tears hadn't just burned; they had slipped through her guard.

For a long moment she could only squeeze her eyes shut and struggle
with all her might to keep her breathing even. Once she felt marginally under control, she shook her head. “I'm no good at being good.”

His laugh was a low rumble, somehow soothing. “Ah, Yetta. In some ways we are so much alike.”

A wobbly smile stole onto her lips. “In all the ways we shouldn't be.”

He wiped away another tear. “Don't cry. I don't have another spare handkerchief to lend you.”

How could he make her laugh now? More, why did the laughter have to catch and make the burn behind her eyes worse? “I should give that back to you.”

Her tone must not have sounded very promising. His hand cupped her cheek. “But?”

“But I don't intend to. And I don't know why.” She risked a lift of her eyes and found his face close, intent. And oh so alluring. “That's terrifying.”

“I know.” In the lamplight, low and golden, his black eyes gleamed like onyx. They stayed locked on hers for a long moment, long enough that she nearly wished for the familiar snap of the wolf within them. At least then she knew how to respond, knew how to keep her distance. But the way he looked at her now…it wasn't like the looks she was used to. It was softer, almost mournful. When his gaze fell to her lips, she felt the familiar pull in her chest, but it lacked the edge she expected.

The breath he drew in shuddered. “Yetta.” His voice was a mere exhale, lower even than a murmur. He rested his forehead against hers. “I want to kiss you.”

“I know.” Her fingers tightened around his of their own volition, and her free hand settled on his chest. “I would let you.”

“I know.” He pulled away and caught her gaze again. His eyes looked as pained as hers must have earlier. “I'm not going to.”

Of course not. He had said just two days ago he wouldn't again, and he'd obviously meant it. “Smart.”

“Yeah.” He lifted their joined hands, turned them, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. When he had first done that nearly two weeks ago, it had healed something inside her. Tonight it broke her to pieces. “We're neither of us naive, Yetta. We both know it's just…wanting.”

The pieces broke to pieces. “Mm-hmm.”

“Fact is, when all this is over, you'll probably go through a rocky
spell. But you're smart and have a solid family, so you'll know how to handle it. In another year or so, I'll pick up the paper and see an announcement that you're marrying some wealthy politician or businessman.”

The fractured pieces dug in like splinters. He was ending his courtship before he even started one. “Is that how it will be?”

“Yeah. You'll forget my name in a few years. I'll just be that reformed gambler, the two-bit detective who helped ruin your life.”

She might have laughed, if she weren't afraid it would come out a sob. “Right.” She would forget.

His fingers traced the contour of her cheek. Funny. As much as his words sounded like one, his touch didn't feel like a goodbye. “Pinkerton will send me north again, I bet. New York or Chicago. Maybe Boston.”

She strove to match his tone, easy if a touch regretful. “Where you'll bravely chase down criminals and right society's wrongs.”

“Yeah.” He twisted one of her curls around his finger. “Just another adventure. I'll look back on this one and…” He swallowed, gripping her hand tighter still. Amusement snapped to life in his eyes. “And wish I had kissed you again tonight.”

Marietta smiled because her lips insisted on it. Then, because her heart couldn't handle any more and her head thumped anew in protest of that pain, she backed away. “I had better let you get home.” Maybe she meant tonight. Maybe she meant forever. Maybe she just wanted to mean it at all.

Slade didn't release her hand. No, he held it in his, opened her fingers, and this time pressed a kiss to her palm. “I'll have that book back by tomorrow. Just in case.”

Right. The book from the cellar. Dev. The Knights. His only purpose here. “Good. And good night.”

“Lock the door behind me.” He released her fingers and moved to the exit. He cast only one glance at her over his shoulder before he disappeared through it.

Marietta felt as though she trudged through molasses as she followed his path. Leaning into the door, she slid the bolt into place and rested her throbbing head against the panel.

“Miss Mari? You all right?”

Cora's voice was so quiet she couldn't even drum up any alarm.

Marietta pushed herself upright with a sigh that tasted of resignation. “No. I'm a fool.” She slogged her way toward the main stairs, picking up the lamp on her way by. When she drew even with where Cora stood at the base of the staircase, she paused. “You didn't need to get up, Cora.”

The young woman smiled. “I already was when I heard you pull in. Thought I'd see if I could get ya anything.”

“A new past would be appreciated.” She shook her head. “Sorry. No, I can manage. Go back to bed.”

“If you're sure.” Cora's smile had faded to worry. “Miss Mari?”

She stopped on the second step. “Yes?”

“You done the right thing there. Mr. Slade's a fine man, but he ain't from your world. You be savin' yourself a passel o' heartache by not gettin' involved.”

Advice obvious to everyone. Barbara alone would disagree, and she could do so solely because of how exceptional Stephen had been, willing to marry for love above all.

But Marietta was no Stephen. They all knew that. She didn't know the first thing about real, uncontainable love. She'd be doing everyone a favor by locking her shifting heart away forever.

“Thank you, Cora. Good night.” Feeling as though her whole body were made of aching, weeping lead, she forced herself up the stairs to her room.

Some triumphant debut this had been.

Twenty

D
evereaux glanced out the window of his private rail car. The scenery displayed the final stretch into Baltimore, the familiar farms and towns getting closer together. He leaned back into his seat, welcoming the itch to be home. Work waited, both with the business and the Knights. It would be satisfying to report that he had found the perfect hiding place for his cache of Confederate supplies.

Even more satisfying would be his arrival at the house. The last time he had been gone for more than two days in November, his homecoming had been sweet indeed. He had barely made it through the door before Marietta had pulled him into the library and launched herself into his arms. The kiss she'd given him still fueled his dreams.

He hoped his promise to keep his distance until April wouldn't dampen her passions any today. He needed to hold her, to see that longing for him in her eyes. And maybe, once she was hazy eyed from his kiss, he could convince her to shorten this half mourning, to forgive his promise altogether. Two more months. That would be cutting it close. He wanted to have the cache buried by then, and if they found a time to take Lincoln…