The Other Bride. Lisa Bingham
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Golden Arms Hotel under the names Walters and Williams, but I’ll expect you to be here when the ship docks in the morning. At that time, you’ll meet up with the rest of the crew and see to the transfer of the crates. You’ll have little more than a few hours to rest and relax tonight, so get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
Peterson offered a muffled, “Yes, sir.”
Roberts merely nodded.
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”
As he turned to leave, Gabriel motioned for Roberts to follow. Once they were out of earshot, he asked, “How’s the boy?”
“He’s young, but he’s eager to please and he’s capable. He served with the First Pennsylvanian Battalion during the war.”
Peterson couldn’t be more than nineteen, yet he was a veteran in a war that had ended more than five years before. The fact didn’t surprise Gabriel. There had been so many boys who had run away from home to join the cause—either by serving as drummers or lying about their ages so they could enlist in the infantry.
“Keep your eyes open, Roberts, for your sake and the boy’s. He might have served in the war, but his hands are sweating—and we haven’t even docked yet. Veteran or not, he’s too wet behind the ears for my taste.”
Gabriel waited until Roberts had returned to his post. Then, tugging his hat more firmly over his brow, he wound his way through the narrow corridors to the deck again.
The sooner he left the ship, the better.
Gabe had barely climbed to the first class cabins when a door a few yards away suddenly opened.
The figure that emerged was clearly that of an aristocrat.
Immediately, he recognized her as being one of the women who’d been on deck when he’d climbed aboard. She was willow slim, with red-gold hair coiled in an artful arrangement that did nothing to disguise the natural curls that many women would have found “unfashionable.” Her indigo silk gown was simple, with stark, tailored lines. Except for a small amount of lace that circled the collar, and an elaborate strip of pleats at the cuffs, her bodice was unadorned with the usual manner of feminine frippery. The lines were tight and form fitting, ending at a skirt festooned with elegant swags of fabric that puffed over a full bustle.
In all, Gabriel wasn’t prone to admiring the latest fashions. But as this woman turned, offering her back, Gabe acknowledged for the first time that there was one clear advantage to the exaggerated silhouette. Indeed, as she moved and the bustle twitched, he found himself infinitely aware of the sway of her hips and the tiny circumference of her waist. To his disgust, he felt an immediate masculine reaction.
The thought caused him to draw back and curse his own wayward imagination. Damn it, he was exposed here in the corridor. If the woman were to turn around, she would see him clearly—and such an eventuality could lead to complications he didn’t want to envision.
But even as he berated himself for the waywardness of his thoughts, Gabe’s eyes slid back to her again.
She was a striking woman, in his opinion—although some might consider her a bit on the plain side with such pale features and that red hair. Moreover, there was a jut to her chin that showed a streak of obstinacy.
Or was it passion?
Gabe took a step forward as if to follow her. But in that same instant, another shape appeared in the doorway—another redhead, this one smaller and more voluptuous. A sister, perhaps? The similarities between the two women were astounding.
“Louisa?” the woman called from the doorway. “Don’t you think you’d better take your shawl? It’s chilly outside.”
“I’ll only be a moment, Phoebe.” The one named Louisa turned, and Gabriel shrank deeper into the shadows, praying that she wouldn’t look in his direction. “I left my drawing book and my shawl on deck. I’ll return directly, I promise.”
For one more moment, Gabe was able to study the woman wearing sapphires and silk—the elegant contours of her profile, and eyes that were a deep, stormy blue. Then the smaller woman closed the door, and Louisa turned, hurrying toward the companionway in a rustle of skirts.
Not really understanding his own motives, Gabriel followed her. He wanted—no, he needed to be near her for a moment longer. And even though caution nagged him to return to his duties, he trailed her as she made her way into the chill evening air.
All too soon the woman found the items. Shrinking into a space created by two stacks of crates, Gabe grew still, knowing that she would return to her cabin as promised.
But to his infinite surprise, the woman didn’t immediately go below deck. Instead, she tipped her head up to the stars as if she could feel their scant light upon her cheeks like the warmth of the noonday sun. Then, wrapping the shawl around her, she gripped it tightly to her chest.
“Tomorrow,” Gabriel heard her whisper. “Tomorrow, I will be free.”
Free? He frowned. Free from the ship? Or something more?
Gabe scowled at his own musings. What had come over him? He didn’t have time for any of this. Tomorrow morning, the dummy shipment and the actual payroll would be transferred onto the boxcars bound for California. Before that could happen, he needed to brief his men, review guard schedules, meet with Josiah Burton.
Flipping his collar up around his chin, Gabe shook away the invisible sensual threads that had begun to bind him. He had a job to do, and he was determined to do it well. His name was at stake. His reputation. Moreover, he wasn’t the kind of man to keep company with someone of “quality.” He’d grown too crass and coarse for anyone from such rarified air—and he was honest enough to know he was the sort of man that mothers warned their daughters about.
But even as he would have retreated toward the rope ladder, he hesitated. A gust of wind brought a hint of sound that sounded suspiciously like…
Weeping.
Gabe would have been the first to admit that the sound of a woman’s tears generally tended to drive him in the opposite direction. But there was something about the noise, about the efforts Louisa exerted to keep her emotions private, that caused him to hesitate.
Hairs prickled at the back of his neck and he cautiously searched the darkness. What had happened? Was she in trouble? The woman had altered from joy to sadness so quickly that something must have affected her deeply. A terrifying memory, perhaps?
His jaw clenched.
He knew all too well how flashbacks from the past could arise without warning. He’d become an expert on such matters. Over the years, he had discovered that a hint of spring lilacs could wipe away the intervening years so that he was standing again in the orchard, staring down at the sprawled, battered bodies of his wife and son.
No. He mustn’t think about that now. He had to keep his mind on the job, only the job.
But as he took a step backward, he looked at the woman in blue and a wave of protectiveness surged within him. If she were being threatened or intimidated, he would…
What?
What would he do? He didn’t know the woman and he had no business interfering in her affairs.
Gabe’s hand tightened around the butt of his revolver and he hardened himself to the sounds she made. Blast it all, he was a man who prided himself on finishing a job without interference. If that were true, why had he allowed himself to be so easily distracted now, at a point in his career where one false move could mean the end of everything?
The woman’s sobs intensified, but Gabe steeled himself against their appeal for help and steadfastly stared at her back. He had troubles of his own to tend to. He didn’t have time to worry about those of a stranger.
And yet…
Damning himself for his weakness, he didn’t walk away. He couldn’t. Instead, he stepped forward, slowly, quietly.