Kathleen Y'Barbo (14 page)

He chuckled despite himself. “Perhaps I will.”

There was no need to tell her that the principles behind the machine she had flown in with him tonight were, he hoped, building blocks upon which that very sort of invention might one day be created. That was a topic best kept to himself. Even Lucas hadn’t quite decided whether the idea was brilliance or lunacy.

When they finally fell silent, a comfortable quiet settled between them. Kyle had no idea how long they stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

Finally, she turned to face him again. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “For what?”

“For taking me seriously and not thinking the worst of me because I have an interest in the scientific arts.”

“Thinking the worst?” He shook his head. “I have never met a more interesting woman than you.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in the beginnings of a smile. “Interesting,” she repeated. “I suppose that is a nice way of calling me odd.”

“I meant nothing of the sort.” He turned her to face him fully and then traced the length of her jaw with a knuckle. “Let me rephrase so you will understand.”

She allowed the familiar gesture, her expression unchanged. “Please do.”

“When I say you are the most interesting woman I have ever met, what I mean is...” Almost in spite of himself, he leaned in to the attraction. “Is that you are a woman of substance. A woman with a quick mind...” He paused only long enough to choose his words carefully. “A brilliant intellect...” He moved slightly closer. “And...”

Words failed him as his companion lifted up on tiptoe. “And?” she asked from just inches away.

“And...” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

Softly. Gently. With a tenderness that belied the fact he knew nothing of her other than what he had discovered on two rooftops and the flight in between as well as on the Peabody’s dance floor.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered against her cheek.

“Happy...”

Apparently she could not manage more than that. Without warning, she slipped from his arms and turned away. “It has been quite the interesting night,” she whispered.

An understatement. “It has.”

“But it is time to say goodbye.”

He should have let her go right then. Should have given her a swift nod or a word of agreement. Instead, Kyle opened his mouth and ruined everything by saying, “I will see you home.”

“That’s not necessary.” She gathered up her skirts and swept past him toward the door and then paused to look back. “If my father or Sir...” She shook her head. “If anyone comes asking for me, will you
please keep my secret?”

“How will I know they are asking for you?” he teased. “I don’t even know your name.”

As soon as the idiotic statement was out of his mouth, Kyle wished he could reel it back in. Instead, he stood firm and offered his most bland expression.

Or, rather, the blandest expression he could manage considering he had just kissed her. Thoroughly and completely kissed her.

In response, the lovely lady bested him with a broad smile. “No,” she tossed over her shoulder, “you do not, do you?”

He easily caught up to her and turned her to face him. “Lady, you need to understand that as long as I live, I will never forget you.”

A smile began on the lips he had just kissed. “Nor will I.”

“Stay here,” he said before he could come to his senses. “I think you and I were meant to meet. I know it sounds crazy and yet I believe it.”

“Not crazy,” she said. “I think perhaps we are two kindred souls who chanced to meet.”

“And now that we have, I cannot let you go. Not yet.”

She shook her head. “We have no choice. Very soon I will be in England.” A pause. “With my husband.”

“Do not marry him. Stay.”

The society scientist reached up to touch his cheek. “I can’t,” she whispered. With that she turned and was gone.

Going after her was the obvious choice. And yet what purpose would it serve? Waiting for the men in her life to make their way up to the roof so he could ruin her wedding plans was a tempting second option he quickly discarded.

He would allow her the wedding she wished, though Kyle knew he would long remember the flight over Memphis, their dance across the Peabody ballroom, and the conversation regarding science and the stars.

The kiss.

Oh, he would never forget that New Year’s kiss. As the song went, their acquaintance would not be long forgotten.

Nor would the place she had etched in his mind and, strangely, his heart. For something about the woman just seemed as if the Lord had
made her for him. If that were true, then surely she was not meant to leave him. And yet she had.

Kyle sighed, and then an idea occurred. He had been raised a gentleman, and gentlemen did not allow a lady to leave alone at such an hour. So he followed as his flying companion slipped past the kitchen staff to leave the Peabody Hotel and make her way down the deserted city streets.

Keeping just far enough behind her to prevent detection, Kyle easily trailed her all the way to Adams Street. When she opened the gate of a redbrick mansion midway down the block, he waited a full minute before casually walking past and jotting down the address in his notebook.

As he had guessed, her home was expansive, though not more than the others on this block. Captains of industry, scions of wealth, and a few bankers and tradesmen thrown in were the residents of the homes on Adams Street.

Not for the first time, he wished for an end to his Pinkerton days. Were he simply an inventor, there would be nothing keeping him from paying a social call on the young lady of the house.

But he was a Pinkerton agent. A Pinkerton agent working a case that could easily involve any of the residents on this street. And whether or not he believed in the existence of Confederate gold, he still had a job to do.

Kyle ran his hand over the cornstalk fence that reminded him of his New Orleans neighborhood and then resolutely turned and walked away. He was tired, that was all. Tomorrow he would not give the woman he had spent this evening with another thought.

Nor would he consider the kiss.

He swiped at the lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes and picked up his pace. Indeed, he was tired. Exhausted.

Once back at the hotel, Kyle returned to the rooftop to gather up his flying device, and then he made his way back to his room. Dropping his things just inside the door, he loosened his collar, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep fully clothed.

He awoke to the sun’s rude glare and a list longer than his arm of things to do. Then he recalled that it was New Year’s Day. The banks would not be open until tomorrow. And while he could pull rank and gain access to the
records he needed, he would not do that. Not on a case that still seemed like a waste of time.

Kyle rose and stretched the kinks out of his muscles. After bathing, changing into a fresh set of clothing, and then calling down to order something to eat, he snatched up the file folder Henry had given him and began to read.

As before, the beautiful dark-haired scientist tugged at his thoughts and caused him to read the same words over and over without comprehending any of them. This time, however, he pushed back against them, tucking all thoughts of a woman bound to marry another into the vault of his mind.

The key that sealed the lock on that vault of memories was comprised of the last words she had said to him.
Very soon I will be in England. With my husband.

“And soon I will be hunting Will Tucker again.” Kyle returned to the documents with renewed resolve.

Three days later he stepped out of the Union & Planters Bank, his last stop of the day. Bank president Napoleon Hill had left instructions to provide him with anything he needed.

The staff had been most accommodating, and so he had managed to rule out this bank as a possible depository of hidden gold. Should any new information be found, Kyle had the telephone number of Samuel Read, Union & Planters’ second-in-command, written in his notebook. He had a similar experience at the other banks in the city.

Turning his back on the three-story brownstone building in the heart of the financial district, Kyle paused. All leads exhausted, he had no further reason to remain in Memphis.

Except one.

Eight

January 4, 1889

Memphis

T
hree days.

Millie released her grip on the curtain and let it slide back into place. Sir William had kept her waiting three days...and then he had arrived unannounced on her doorstep an hour ago, saying he needed to meet with Mr. Cope in his study at once.

She had hurried into her best afternoon dress and called one of the maids to pin up her hair once again. And then she began to wait. And wait.

“What are they doing down there?” she muttered as she once again pulled back the lace window covering.

At any moment she fully expected her father to come storming up the stairs and announce that she had ruined her chances of marrying the Englishman and, in the process, brought embarrassment to the family. And so she steeled herself, leaning against the windowsill and making a feeble attempt to distract her scattered thoughts by watching the activity on the street below.

If Sir William were to leave without speaking to her, at least Millie would know before she heard it from her father, not that she was looking forward to talking with him. He had been exceptionally grouchy these past few days, and his lady friend had not appeared at any of the evening meals. Instead, Father sat silently brooding over his dinner plate and requiring more than the usual refilling of his wine glass.

Though the evenings generally found Silas Cope away, he had remained sequestered in his library until well into the night. Millie found the quiet almost as unnerving as when Father was shouting.

Millie owed this information to her inability to find a restful sleep apart from dreams of a handsome aviator with dark eyes and the loveliest way of kissing her goodbye. For it must be goodbye. She could not possibly entertain any idea of repeating the scandalous behavior of New Year’s Eve.

Foot traffic on Adams Street was light this afternoon, likely owing to the chill that had overtaken Memphis. People hurried by in warm coats and winter hats under gray skies that threatened rain.

Too close indeed to her mood. She rang for her maid. “Is Sir William still here?” she asked when the girl arrived.

“He is, miss. Still in the library with your father.”

Though she hated gossip in all its forms and generally avoided any pretense of it, Millie knew the walls in her home practically had ears. And the servants had eyes that rarely missed anything. Between Cook in the kitchen, the butler and the valet, and the maids—two pretty Irish sisters—little went unnoticed indoors.

Thus she knew with absolute certainty that her comings and goings on New Year’s Eve were common knowledge among the help. Though Millie would never ask it of them, they would likely keep her secret against any inquisition on Father’s part. They liked her. They merely tolerated her father.

“And is their conversation of a cordial nature?”

“It is, I do believe,” the maid said. “There has been much laughter, and Cook is preparing a right delicious-smelling roast dinner just now. It is to be ready within the hour.”

Millie glanced at the silver clock on the mantel. “Dinner? It’s not even four o’clock.”

“Yes’m. Cook did find it odd.”

“As do I.” Millie moved away from the window and squared her shoulders. “Please lay a fire in the fireplace of my private room and light
the lamps. I will be having my dinner there this evening.” She looked at the clock again. “But at a more reasonable hour.”

A wisp of a smile softened the maid’s stoic expression. “Yes’m.”

“And should my father or his guest wish me to join them...” She gave
the remainder of her statement some thought. “Please inform them I am indisposed.”

“Yes’m.”

Millie allowed time for her wishes to be carried out and then went to seek solace in her third-floor sanctuary. The attic room, while small in size, felt grander to her than any other room in the Cope home, especially when the lamps were lit and the fireplace shed a golden glow over the furnishings.