The Rebel Wife (16 page)

Uh-uh. You’re not clamming up now
. “Is that what has them quarrelling? Jack’s newspaper job?”

“It’s not mine to say. Done said too much now, and I doubt either of them gentlemen would ’preciate it.” She reached out and patted Louisa’s cheek. “You’re just too sweet and easy to talk to. I can see why Master Jack brung you here.”

“He brung...uh...brought me here because I needed a place to stay.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Jack’s just helping me find my brother. I’m sure he’d be as kindly to anyone in need.”

“Uh-huh. Kind ain’t but half of it, if I know that boy at all.”

“I admit we’ve become friends...” She let her words die off. That sounded feeble even to her own ears, and if that raised gray eyebrow was any indication, Sally wasn’t fooled either.

Before the housekeeper could question her further, Louisa swung the conversation back around. “It’s a shame about those two. Jack and Mr. Porter, I mean. Such a waste of time being angry. If my granddaddy were alive, I’d want to spend every possible moment with him.”

“Oh they spends time together. Every now and agin, Master Jack comes round an’ stays for a day or so. I swear it’s just so they can sit and stare daggers at each other. Men. Hmmph. Makes you wonder what the good Lord had in mind.”

A dull thud sounded, like the shutting of a door deep in the house. Time for her to face the music.

Louisa rose to her feet. “I ought to be getting back to the parlor. Don’t want to keep Mr. Porter waiting. Thank you for doctoring my finger.”

“Just like Master Jack, I’m always glad to help a person in need. Enjoy your game, miss.” She grinned, her smile wide and bright against her rich coffee-colored skin. “But you watch Mister P...he cheats.”

Chapter Ten

Fool
. What had possessed him to take his anger out on Kitty? She had trust issues. He knew that. A few days in his company wasn’t going to allay her fears, no matter what trials they’d overcome together. She needed time to learn to trust him. Why was it he could control his emotions around everyone except those closest to him? He shifted in the desk chair, seeking a more comfortable position for his rear and his conscience. He’d make it up to her—somehow.

He returned his focus to his journal and the notes he’d penned earlier.
Lawrence vendetta against the Carleton’s
.
Why
?
When
?
Who involved
?
Still on-going
?
What of their father’s death
?
Was it questionable as Kitty believes?

He tapped the pen against his lip, thinking, then jotted another notation.
Any connection to the Lawrence involved in shady dealings at Fort Delaware and Camp Douglas
? He had a hunch there was. The more he learned about the Carleton situation, the more certain he was his article about federal prisons was about to turn into a full-blown unveiling of government corruption.

The soft pad of footsteps echoed in the hall, then a familiar gowned figure filled the doorway. His blood heated as it always did at the sight of her.

Kitty entered the study, toting a tray. “I thought you might like some tea and pie. It’s apple. Your favorite, so Sally says.”

She was all the sweetness he needed. He wanted to tell her but held the words on his tongue. Such a confession would only send her scurrying for the door.

He closed his journal and stood. “Apple
is
my favorite. But you didn’t have to bring it to me.”

“It’s no problem. When you didn’t come back to the parlor, I offered to carry some dessert to you.”

“Sally could’ve brought it.”

Her chuckle skimmed in pleasant waves over his skin. “She was busy riding herd on your granddaddy. He tried to light a cigar in her parlor, and she chased him into the garden.”

“I see you figured that one out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Who rules the roost around here.”

“Oh...yes.” She placed the tray on the desktop. “Those two are quite an interesting pair.”

“That they are.” He glanced at her hand and spied a bandage wrapped around her middle finger. “Did you hurt yourself?”

She crooked her swaddled finger and gave a wry smile. “Just a little scrape. Wish I could use it as an excuse for my poor checker playing.”

“You didn’t fare so well against Grandfather?”

“He won all three matches.” One corner of her lovely mouth wilted. “Papa would be shamed. I’m normally pretty good at checkers.”

“Odd. Grandfather usually lets his opponents win at least one game before he starts cheating.” He’d engaged in enough matches with the old fox to know.

“I didn’t notice any plucking going on. But then again, I was having a hard time concentrating.”

“Oh?” Was she thinking about him? His thoughts certainly centered on her.

She tipped the pot and poured tea into a cup. “Is your granddaddy a lawyer by any chance?”

“No. He runs a shipping firm. Why?”

“Man asks more questions than a magistrate. Figured he had to be a lawyer or something.”

“Inquisitive was he?”

“If by that you mean he poked his nose where it didn’t belong, then yes, he was inquisitive. He thinks I forced you into helping me. As if I can control what you do or don’t do.” She lifted the sugar bowl lid. “Sugar? Milk?”

“Neither, thank you. I’m sorry you were subjected to his cross-examination. He doesn’t trust my judgment. Never has. Tries to run my life, and usually causes more problems than he solves.”

“Well, he wants to keep me away from you and your money. I got that warning, loud and clear.”

“Now that’s a laugh.” Her expression fell, and he held up his hand. “Not you. The money. I don’t have any. I’m poor as a church mouse. At least until I get this prison article written and submitted.”

She glanced around the room at the floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined with hundreds of leather-bound books. One lacy eyebrow lifted. “Poor as a church mouse, huh?”

“I don’t own any of this.” He gave a cynical grunt. “Or the money to have such luxuries. Old man cut off my allowance as soon as I accepted a job with
The Herald
.”

“Why’d he do that?”

Gripes.
Why was talking to her so easy? He’d confided more to her than he’d spoken of in years. Buying time, he gathered his pie and tea. “Let’s sit on the settee where we’ll be more comfortable.”

She glanced at his closed journal. “I didn’t mean to take you away from your work.”

You are my work, in more ways than one
. “I’m finished for now. Pour yourself a cup of tea and join me.”

She wagged her head. “I had lemonade and pie earlier. I’m full up.”

“Then just sit for a while. I’d appreciate the company.”

“If that’s what you want.”

What he wanted was her lips on his, soft and pliable and showing him how much she desired him. But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d made her feelings quite plain.

He sat on the sofa, and she settled in the chair across from him. She treated him to a sweet smile. “So, we were talking about your granddaddy.”

“Were we?” He placed his teacup on the end table, then balancing the pie plate on one knee, forked up a healthy helping, stalling for time as he chewed. How much about his quarrel with Grandfather did he really want to divulge? He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.

He poked at the flaky piecrust dripping with cream. “This is good. Haven’t had pie topped with cream in a long time.”

“It was my suggestion.”

“And a good suggestion it was.” He forked up another bite and moaned in contentment. His two favorite pleasures in one night. Apple pie and Kitty Carleton. What could be better?

“About your granddaddy...”

She wasn’t going to give up. “Yes..?”

“Why’d he cut off your allowance?”

Maybe she ought to know the particulars, especially if the old man refused his request for a loan and caused further delays to their trip. “Just after the War started, I had an offer from
The Herald
to write first-hand about the fighting. It was a golden opportunity...a chance to get my name known outside of Baltimore.”

“I wondered why you chose to be a newspaperman,” she waved a hand, “when you could’ve enjoyed the easy life.”

“I wanted to be recognized on my own merit, not as Elias Porter’s grandson. After living under his shadow for most of my life, I was ready to become my own man, a successful and sought-after journalist.”

He finished off the last bite of pie and swapped the empty plate for the teacup. A few sips of tea soothed a throat gone dry as a summer field. He usually kept his deepest desires well-guarded. To speak them aloud felt like he was stripping himself naked.

“At the time,” he continued. “I thought traveling with the Army would be a grand adventure.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Not to Grandfather. It angered him that I wanted to leave a steady, safe job at the local paper. Said traveling with the Army was too dangerous. We argued. He finally told me to go and write about the War. But don’t expect him to pay for it.” Even now, his blood bubbled at his grandsire’s high-handedness.

“Seems to me, he was worried about you.” She rose and gathered his plate. “Would you like more tea?”

“No, that was plenty, thank you.”

She crossed to the desk and placed the dish on the tray. Instead of returning, she wandered past the bookcases, trailing a finger along the spines as she walked. “You know, as much as your granddaddy’s prying annoyed me, I understood he was only looking out for your best interests.”

“Let’s hope that
looking out for
includes giving me the loan I asked for.”

“Loan?”

“To get us to Elmira. Having my wallet stolen has put me short on funds.”

She skirted the table and returned to the settee. “That must’ve hurt.”

“What?”

“Swallowing that massive pride of yours to ask for help.” She folded herself beside him and rested a hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry. I suspect he’d give you anything you ask for. It’s obvious how much he cares about you.”

Who was reassuring whom? “He sure has a strange way of showing it.”

“Some folks aren’t good at saying how they feel.”

“Unlike you.”

Pink stained her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “I’m sorry if I caused you any pain earlier in the garden. It wasn’t my intention.”

“No. No. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He set the tea cup on the end table, then shifted to get a better view around his nuisance of an eye. “From the beginning, you made it clear our relationship would be business only. I crossed the line and shouldn’t have. Please forgive my churlish behavior when you...er...called me on it.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You were upset with your granddaddy and not in your right mind.”

And he still wasn’t. He couldn’t seem to get the taste of her lips out of his head. “It was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I want to make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” He scratched his chin, his mind whirling with possibilities. “What did you do for entertainment at Spivey Point?”

“Entertainment?”

“Fun. What did you do for pleasure before the War? Dancing? Games?”

“Work kept us busy most of the time, but we did have an occasional barn dance. Not as fancy as the Lawrence cotillions, but we had fun. As to games, we played checkers and mumblety-peg...”

Mumblety-peg
. He chuckled. “Why am I not surprised you played a game of knives?”

“I usually won, too.”

“Again, not surprised. What else?”

A gleam lit her eyes. “Riding. I used to sneak into the back pasture and climb on one of Mr. Lawrence’s racehorses. Those beauties sure could run. I’d imagine I was a jockey, riding at the Richmond racetrack.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course. Everyone wants to win.”

“Sometimes losing is more advantageous.” Like yielding to a knife-wielding Rebel and finding out she’s the one woman you could learn to love.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He stood and crossed to the bookshelves, an idea percolating. “So, horse racing interests you, does it?”

“Very much. It’s so fun and exciting. Papa once let me bet on a race at the track. Naturally, I picked the winner.”

“Naturally.” Smiling at her bravado, he ran a finger down the spines until he reached the one he wanted. He plucked the book from its slot and returned to the sofa.

“
Silk and Scarlet
.” He held out the book to her. “One of Henry Dixon’s better works on racehorses.”

She eyed his hand as if he held a snake. “It’s a book.”

“Yes. And a very good one.”

She looked up, her wounded gaze digging holes in him. “I told you I can’t read very well. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember. But I want to help change that.”

“How?”

“By showing you how to read better.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even Lance became frustrated with my stupidity.”

“We’ll have none of that. You’re not stupid, Kitty. Far from it.” He turned up the wick on the table lamp, then sat beside her and pressed the book into her hands. “You just need to take a different approach.”

“How do you know what I need?”

“I had a fellow school-mate who had a similar affliction. He trained himself to go slow and concentrate and was soon able to read as well as the rest of us students.”

She licked her lips. “I tried that. But it doesn’t work for me.”

“Have you truly tried?” He leaned closer, forcing his gaze away from those pouty, moistened lips. “From what I’ve seen, I suspect you rush into the task and then become frustrated when it doesn’t come to you as easily as everything else.”

She glanced away, looking guilty as charged.