Lisa Bingham (16 page)

Newfoundland Waters

“Do you have an update for me, Mr. Ritchie?”

Ritchie snapped the door to the private cabin shut and leaned against the panels to keep his balance against the pitching sea.

“The weather has caused a delay. The captain has been forced to ride out the storm. Nevertheless, he believes we’ll arrive within a day or two of our original schedule. At the very least, the weather has to be giving your brother fits. There’s no telling how long he’ll be delayed.”

For the first time, Ritchie saw the man smile—a slow feral smile that made the hairs at the back of Ritchie’s neck stand on end.

“Excellent. I’ll expect you to make contact with Badger the moment we arrive. Hopefully, he will have taken care of our western problem by then.”

The man was so cool and calm when he spoke of the planned murder that Ritchie shivered.

Horace’s eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong, Mr. Ritchie?”

“No, sir,” Ritchie said quickly—perhaps too quickly.

“You aren’t getting soft on me, are you, Mr. Ritchie?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. It wouldn’t do for you to become a…problem as well.”

“My only wish is to please you, milord,” Ritchie said.

Because if I don’t, you’ll see me dead like the two Haversham women.

Hearing John Smith walking down the hall, Louisa slid her diary into her highboy and stood. Peering into the looking glass, she made the last few adjustments to her toilette. As she was doing so, she became aware of Evie at the far side of the room.

Thinking she was unobserved, Evie was delving into the contents of Louisa’s steamer trunks. Due to a lack of wardrobes in the garden house, Louisa had positioned the full-size trunks in the corner of her room as makeshift closets. Evie was apparently mesmerized by what she found in the compartments. She tried on several bonnets, lovingly stroked the velvet of a cape, then knelt down to finger a pair of shoes. Through it all, there was a simple reverence to her actions.

Sensing that she may have stumbled upon a way to strengthen her bond with the girl, Louisa called out, “Mr. Smith?”

Within seconds, John stood in the doorway, his fingers hooked over the upper jamb in such a way that she couldn’t ignore the breadth of his shoulders tapering down to narrow masculine hips and muscled thighs.

For a moment, all coherent thought scattered. She could do little but stare at the man, her heart pounding in her chest, her blood pooling deep in her belly in the first coilings of desire.

Silence spooled between them, fraught with awareness and remembered passions. It had been days since she’d felt his arms around her—and although she’d sworn she would behave with all of the decorum and severity of spirit of a new widow, she couldn’t deny that she hungered for his touch.

“Did you want something?”

Yes. Yes, she wanted something. She wanted to wallow in the warmth of his embrace. She wanted to feel his lips against hers. She wanted…

More than she could ever have.

Turning resolutely away, she donned what she hoped was a bright, cheerful facade.

“Mr. Smith, arrange for a carriage. I think the time has come for me to take Evie shopping.”

At that, Evie looked up, and for the first time, Louisa caught something in the girl’s eyes that looked very much like a glint of hope.

“Do you think that’s wise?” John drawled. But even he had caught the change in Evie’s manner, because when she glared at him, he grinned and straightened.

“Very well, Miss Evie. I’ll get the team myself and bring it around front.”

If Neil had thought shopping with Louisa on her own was a chore, shopping with Louisa and Evie together was a nightmare.

Although Evie had come to accept the fact that John would accompany them everywhere they went, her feelings about him were mixed. At one moment she regarded him with overt suspicion and dislike, yet in the next she clung to him for reassurance.

It was the latter reaction that worried John the most. He’d never encountered anyone so…fragile. Evie’s emotions were often chaotic, her grasp on reality tenuous. He feared that if she began to form any sort of attachment to him, she would suffer once he was gone—because he would leave. With Louisa or not. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his life.

That fact was brought home to him time and time again as he accompanied the women through the shops of Boston. As Louisa and a shopkeeper dithered over the merits of a single yard of ribbon, and Evie looked on as if the entire process fascinated her, Neil was filled with a raging impatience.

He should be home, tending to his stock and his property. The narrow streets of Boston made him itch at the confinement, and the need to dog Louisa’s every move was…

Well, it was disturbing. In more ways than one.

So what did he intend to do? So far, there had been no overt attempt made on Louisa’s life. Indeed, except for Boyd’s obvious enmity, there hadn’t been a hint of trouble.

Why? If Horace Haversham was intent on removing the threat of his brother’s heirs, why was he focusing his attention on Phoebe Gray rather than Louisa? According to the telegram Neil had received, there had been an attempt made in Oregon.

Yet everything here had been peaceful.

No, not peaceful. Since joining Louisa, Neil had found his existence to be confusing, chaotic, arousing and confining.

And yet…

As much as he might tell himself that there was nothing to fear and that a mistake must have been made about Louisa’s predicament, he still felt uneasy. Years as a scout in the war had taught him that instincts should never be ignored—and Neil’s instincts refused to grow quiet. He knew the danger was there, waiting, crouching in the darkness, like an animal ready to spring.

So he continued to bide his time and keep a wary eye. Even if it meant hours of shopping and inane feminine prattle. In the meantime, he had a pair of men patroling the grounds while the others investigated Haversham’s business practices in the U.S. in the hopes of discovering his whereabouts.

“Let me see you in this bonnet, Evie!”

Neil had lost count of the number of hats that Evie had modeled. But then, as he saw the women stand in front of the mirror, Louisa’s hands resting lightly on Evie’s shoulders, Neil suddenly realized that Louisa wasn’t really intent on gathering clothing for the girl as much as she was on forming an emotional bond between them.

In a rush of clarity, Neil felt his impatience drain away. Evie’s eyes were alight and clearer than he’d ever seen them. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled with hope and delight.

“Do you like it?”

The girl nodded.

“We’ll take this one, Mrs. Beem.”

“And the ribbon?”

“Yes, the ribbon, too. But let’s make it two yards rather than one.”

“Very good.”

As the shopkeeper went to cut the ribbon, Louisa slipped her arm around the girl’s waist.

Neil noted that Evie actually stepped into the embrace rather than shying away like a skittish colt. So much progress had been made in a single afternoon.

“Would you like to wear the bonnet or carry it home in a hatbox?”

Evie’s hands settled on the hat and Louisa grinned.

“I don’t blame you. It’s a wonderful bonnet. It brings out the green in your eyes. We’ll have to find the perfect fabric and have a dress made to match. Silk, I think. Every girl your age should have a beautiful silk dress in her wardrobe.”

Evie raised herself on tiptoe and threw her arms around Louisa’s neck. But what began as a quick hug became a desperate clench.

“There, there, Evie. You’re safe with me. You won’t be returning to Hildon House. I promise,” Louisa whispered.

Neil looked away, a curious pang striking his heart. Louisa was so earnest, so openly affectionate with the girl—and Neil couldn’t fault Louisa for her methods. It was clear that she was willing to do everything in her power to make Evie feel loved and accepted.

But inwardly, he cringed at the rapport the women were developing. The longer he and Louisa stayed here, the more she became embroiled in a life he would have her leave behind.

If he thought such a tactic would work, Neil would take Louisa in his arms, tell her his real name and whisk her back to Oregon to be his wife, as she’d once promised to become. But more and more, he was beginning to realize that he wanted something more from her than mere obligation. He wanted Louisa to truly care for him—just as he was beginning to care for her.

The thought was so sudden, so piercing, that Neil had to look away from the women. In a heartbeat, he realized that he was jealous of Louisa’s open affection with Evie—and the whole idea rankled. How could he possibly deny her one moment of happiness?

Yet he also couldn’t deny that he would give anything to have Louisa touch him, spontaneously, innocently, then look up at him with a quick smile and her eyes alight with laughter. He wanted her to feel free around him, to enjoy his company.

If he thought that revealing his true identity might cause such a thing to happen, he would shout the truth out right now. But he feared that he would only complicate things even more. Louisa would probably be angry with him for playing her for a fool. Worse yet, she might refuse his offer of marriage and send him packing.

So he had no choice but to stay a little longer, to become more embroiled in his role as Louisa Haversham Winslow’s bodyguard. His only hope was to make her feel something for him that she could neither deny nor refuse.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Smith?”

Neil shook himself from his ruminations to discover that Evie and Louisa were staring at him.

“You look awfully grim,” Louisa remarked. “Are you growing tired?”

The question was an open challenge.

“Not at all.” He gestured to Evie. “I like the bonnet. It’s very fetching.”

Evie looked down, but the pink that touched her cheeks told him she was pleased by the compliment.

“If I’m looking grim, it’s because I’m hungry. And I think Evie is hungry, too,” he said.

Evie couldn’t prevent a quick smile.

“There’s a hotel down the block that is famous for its desserts.”

Louisa’s brows rose. “Dessert? Don’t you think we should concern ourselves with a proper meal first?”

“The food is good, even if the waiters tend to fuss. But the real treat is the assortment of ice cream and cakes that follow.”

Evie’s eyes grew wide.

Louisa reverently echoed, “Ice cream?”

For an instant she looked so much like his childhood friend that he could have laughed. How many times in the orphanage had they dreamed of rich foods and smooth, sweet ice cream? Although neither of them had ever tried the stuff, they’d heard about it and longed to taste the sweet treat.

“Do you think I could tempt either one of you to break off your shopping for an hour or so?”

“By all means, Mr. Smith.” Louisa gestured for Evie to collect the packages they’d left on a nearby bench. When the shopkeeper returned and began to help the girl, Neil took the opportunity to bend close to Louisa.

“Is that all I can tempt you to do, Mrs. Winslow?”

He saw a tide of pink rise in her cheeks. “Behave, Mr. Smith.”

“I have been the model of decorum all day, Mrs. Winslow.” Out of sight of Mrs. Beem and Evie, he traced a finger down the length of her spine. “I would like you to know that such measures of restraint have been very…taxing.”

He felt her breath quicken.

“Oh?”

“Yes. It is difficult to spend so much time with you.”

She stiffened. “I didn’t think my company was so onerous.”

“Quite the contrary. It’s keeping my hands away from you that has become the chore.”

Her lashes flickered shut for only a moment, and he thought he heard her say, “As it has become for me.”

Then she stepped away, calling, “Come along, Evie. Let’s discover for ourselves how wonderful this ice cream can be.”

“…as Mr. Rochester…”

Louisa allowed her voice to trail away into silence. Evie lay fast asleep in her bed, her arms tightly clutching a beautiful china doll.

Even now, Louisa felt a tug of tenderness at the sight of Evie’s affection for the doll. Soon after finishing a tantalizing meal of roast chicken, new potatoes, hothouse asparagus—and all of the sweet, delicious ice cream they could eat—the three of them had been on their way back to the seamstress, when Evie had seen the doll.

Louisa had often seen finer creations in the arms of her young charges. But this doll’s bustled skirts, gold curls and paperweight eyes had immediately entranced Evie. She’d stared longingly at the toy for several seconds before resolutely turning away and following Louisa into the next shop. There she’d patiently put up with being measured and having countless fabrics and trims held up to see how they complimented her coloring. With the promise that the seamstress would come to the Winslow estates for final fittings at the end of the week, Louisa had finally ushered Evie into the waiting carriage.

And there, wrapped in paper and tied with a satin ribbon, lay a package.

Seeing Evie’s name on the tag, Louisa handed the object to the girl. Evie had torn the outer coverings free with the eagerness of a child at Christmas. When she’d seen the doll, her eyes had filled with tears—as had Louisa’s.

She’d known the instant she’d seen the golden curls who had purchased the toy. Glancing down at John, she’d offered a gruff, “Thank you,” unable to say anything more past the tears that knotted her throat.