The Rebel Wife (17 page)

“Won’t you at least give it a try?”

Myriad emotions played across her face—doubt, resentment, and finally resignation. “Very well. But I warn you, it won’t be pretty.”

“Pretty isn’t necessary.” He reached out and opened the book. “Now go slowly. Take your time and concentrate.”

She frowned and bent over, her slender shoulders pulled tight. Perspiration dotted her forehead. He hated seeing her so distressed, especially when he took such pleasure in reading.

“What do you see when you look at the page?” he offered.

“Just a jumble of letters.” She puckered her lips. “None of it makes any sense.”

“See if tracing your finger under the words will help.”

“What good will that do?”

“Just try it.”

She heaved a sigh and pressed a finger to the page. Only the tick of the mantel clock and Kitty’s rapid breaths broke the quiet. After a few minutes, she shifted uneasily and swiped her lips with quick stroke of her tongue. Fire shot into his groin. To have that lovely pink tongue caressing his own lips...

“I’m sorry, Jack.” She lifted her head, cheeks and ears flaming. “I just can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. Concentrate.”
Like I’m trying to do to keep from pouncing on you.

“It’s not working...”

“Giving up already?”

Green eyes shot daggers at him. God, she was a beauty when riled. “Here, let me help you.” He reached across her, his chest brushing along her shoulder. “This first word has an
h
and an
e
.” He tapped a finger under each letter. “
He
. Can you see that?”

She leaned away, breaking the contact between them. “I think so.”

“And this next one.” He scooted his finger next to hers, letting them touch ever so slightly. “
w-a-s
.”

“Was.” Her finger retreated. “And after that is an
a
.”

“Good.” He couldn’t help himself and countered her move by spooning her hand with his. “What’s this one?”

Her eyes went wide, and she sucked in a breath. His pulse quickened at the thought of his touch arousing her. “Think about what you’ve already read, and picture the next word.”
Like I’m going to picture you
—

She shoved the book from her lap onto his. “I believe I’ll have some tea after all.” She gave a clearly contrived cough. “My throat is a little dry.”

Hell. What was wrong with him? She was uncomfortable enough with the reading. He’d made it worse with his little parlor games. Before he could put her at ease, she was on her feet and making a rabbit-dash for the desk.

The clink of china rang out, then came the soft gurgle of pouring tea. “I prefer honey with my tea,” she said in a strained voice. “Unfortunately, Sally was fresh out.”

“Sorry to hear that. If we’re still stuck in town tomorrow, we’ll make a trip to the market and get you some.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary.”

“I hope not either.” He wanted to be on the way to Elmira as much as she did. He missed the intimacy of traveling alone with her, of being her protector and provider. It made him feel wanted—needed.

She returned to the sofa with her tea, making sure no part of her body touched his as she sat. She took several sips, then supplied him with a reserved smile. “Much better.”

“Good.” He propped the book on his knees where he wouldn’t be tempted to tease her. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

Her soft grunt could’ve meant anything. He took it as acquiescence. “So, we’ve read ‘
He was a’
...” He pointed to the next word. “The one after that has five letters. See them?”

“Yes.
g-r-e
...great.” She let out a frustrated breath. “I can read each letter by itself, but when I look at the whole word, it looks backwards.”

“You’re doing fine. Try the next one. It has five letters as well.”

She scrunched up her face and leaned closer. Her soft breaths caressed the back of his hand. “Is that a
b
or a
d
? I can never tell them apart.”

“It’s a
b
.”

Her mouth moved as she formed the letters. “
b-l
...Black.”

“Good. Keep going.”

“Lordy, another of those confusing letters. It’s a
b
, right?”

“It is.”
B as in softly rounded breasts...

She leaned back, her expression wary. “Why are you doing this, Jack?”

Gripes, did she read minds instead of books? “Doing what?”

“Trying to help me read better.”

Bullet dodged
. “Because I want to. Reading is a big part of life, even for a woman.”

“I’ve gotten by without it so far.”

“Who read for you? Lance? Your father?”

Her expression sank, and he patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to see to it you don’t need to rely on anyone else ever again.” His chest tightened.
Not even me
.

“But you’ve helped me so much already. Getting me to Point Lookout. Bringing me here. Why would you want to put yourself through this torture?”

The only torture was having her close and knowing it could go no further. “Helping you is no torture. I’m actually enjoying the challenge.”

She lifted a dainty eyebrow. He wanted to kiss it back into submission.

“Let me put it to you another way.” He leaned away from temptation. “You ride well and take pleasure in a rousing gallop. Am I right?”

“Well...yes.”

“So, if some affliction caused me to ride poorly, and I feared horses, wouldn’t you do all you could to help me find a solution?”

“Like your eye? I didn’t notice you having any problems with Socks.”

That hit a bit too close to home. Socks was well-trained for a reason. “It was just an analogy.”

“A what?”

“An illustration. An example to explain why I want to help you.”

She fingered the handle of her teacup. “You’re just full up with those high-falutin words, aren’t you?”

“You can learn them, too. Think of reading as a game of checkers. You have to think several steps ahead in order to beat your opponent.”

She pushed a sigh past those luscious lips. “If only it was that easy.”

“It can be, if you really want it. You have the drive, Kitty. I’ve been treated to it since our very first encounter. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

Silence descended as she stared at him, her pale eyes revealing little of her thoughts. Damn. He’d done it again. Shoe leather was fast becoming his steadiest meal.

The gong of the clock drew her gaze to the mantel. “It’s growing late. I should be getting to bed.” She rose and set her teacup on the end table. “I appreciate you helping me. It was very kind.”

He stood and handed her the book. “Here, you keep this.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“Yes, you can. I want you to have it. You’ll be more likely to read if you’re interested in the subject.”

“Your granddaddy—”

“Would want you to have it as well. Keep practicing. Before you know it, you’ll be reading like a scholar and enjoying it.”

“Don’t know about all that...” She clutched the book to her chest. “But I’ll do my best to practice like you said.”

If only he could be that book. Pressed against her soft bosom. Accepted. Trusted. No longer shirked out of fear.

Chapter Eleven

People jammed the sidewalk, rushing through their morning chores as though wanting to be done before the broiling afternoon heat set in. Carts, wagons, and hacks filled the narrow street, adding to the noise and confusion. No wonder Papa hated city life. Her nerves were strung tighter than a banjo, and they’d only just started their stroll.

She moved closer to Jack to avoid colliding with a passing couple. Her parasol tipped dangerously close to the gentleman’s head before she yanked it upright. Sally had lent her the contraption, insisting a lady didn’t venture outdoors without one. Who cared if the sun caused freckles? Papa had adored hers and called them her angel kisses. But she was in Jack’s society now and expected to follow their rules.

An avenue of storefronts loomed ahead, their colorful awnings and busy window displays an eye-catching sight. Touring such new and fascinating places ought to have her giddier than a drunk with the keys to the tavern. Yet it didn’t. Troublesome thoughts kept her from enjoying their outing to the market.

For one thing, the northbound trains continued to be at a standstill. Every minute spent in Maryland meant one less minute she had to save Lance.

And then there was Jack.

After a night of tossing and turning and being plagued by prickly thoughts, she’d come to a painful decision. Elias Porter was right to want to keep her away from his grandson. Not because of the money. She didn’t care beans about his money. Her worry was the heartache she was sure to bring Jack. He was starting to care for her, had even admitted so in the garden. If she were honest with herself, she was starting to care for him, too.

And that couldn’t be. She and Jack were worlds apart, in class and smarts. There was no future for them. No matter how painful, she had to free him from his promise to help her.

She could make it to Elmira on her own.

She had to—for both their sakes.

They rounded a corner and entered a less crowded and much quieter section of the city. Stately townhouses and tall oaks lined the street. Birds flitted through the treetops, one merry songstress piping out a cheerful melody from a branch overhead.

Louisa tipped back her parasol and spotted a splash of orange and black in the greenery. “What a pretty bird.”

“It’s an oriole. That one’s a male. Females are duller, more yellowish-gray.”

“Hmmph,” she said, grateful for the distraction. “Unjust treatment, I say.”

“You’ll be happy to know the males don’t get their brilliant plumage until their second year. They have to make due with drab coloring until then.”

“Better, but still unfair.”
Like a lot of things in life
.

“You can’t tinker with mother nature, Kitty.”

“Funny, Lance used to say that.” She gave a sad sigh as the memories rushed in. “He’d sit in the meadow with his sketchbook on one knee, his pencil busy capturing nature on a blank page.”

He patted her hand resting on his bent arm. “Don’t worry. The trains will start running again. We’ll be in Elmira and with Lance before you know it.”

We
. Her belly knotted. It was time to tell him about her decision. No more shilly-shallying. “Jack, about that—”

“Shhh. Let’s not talk about Lance or the train. It’s too nice of a day to worry about things we can’t control.”

“But I have something I need to tell you.”

“Later. The market is just ahead. Let’s enjoy a brief sojourn from our troubles, shall we?”

By his cheery tone, a sojourn must be a good thing. She didn’t have the heart to deny him this small pleasure. Besides, the walkway was filling with people again. Better to wait until they had more privacy.

He guided her into a long, open-air shed. From one end to the other, stalls displayed everything from ice-packed meat and fish to bins of apples, melons, and berries. There were as many people milling about as there were types of produce for sale.

She collapsed her parasol and drew in a deep breath, savoring the pungent hodgepodge of aromas. “Mmmm. Don’t you just love that smell?”

“What?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “The odor of dead fish?”

“No, silly. The smell of earth’s bounty.”

“Smells more like earth’s—”

“Jackson Porter!” A well-dressed man stepped into the aisle in front of them. “What a pleasant surprise.”

A smile lit Jack’s face, and he extended a hand in greeting. “Mr. Abell, so nice to see you again, sir.”

The older man shook Jack’s hand while eyeing her with friendly interest. “Are you in town visiting Elias?”

She shifted uneasily under the man’s scrutiny. He appeared to know the Porters. Would that knowledge put her at risk?

“Yes, we are.” Jack pressed a reassuring hand to the small of her back. “Kitty, may I present Mr. Abell, a long-time family friend. Sir, this is my wife.”

“Well, well.” The older man doffed his hat and gave her a welcoming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Porter.”

She inclined her head. “Sir.”

“Mr. Abell is the owner of
The Baltimore Sun
where I worked after graduation.” His voice rang with respect. “Learned everything I know about journalism from this man.”

“I can’t take all the credit, Jackson. You appear to have done quite well since leaving us. By-lines in
The Herald.
Acclaimed as a brilliant War Correspondent. And not to mention a beautiful new wife.”

Drat. Not the direction she wanted the conversation to drift. She adjusted the market basket on her arm. “I imagine you two would like some time alone to get reacquainted.”
And talk about something else besides me
. She glanced at a nearby produce stand. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll have a look at those apples.”

Jack gave her a loving smile. “That’s fine. I won’t be long, dear.”

Dear
. Was he still playacting? She couldn’t be sure. The line between charade and truth was blurring faster than footprints in blowing sand.

She lifted her skirt out of the sawdust and crossed to the produce stall. Dozens of shiny red apples filled the wooden bin. She picked one out to test for firmness. It had a bruise near the stem that would only get worse and spread. Just like Jack’s heartache if she allowed his feelings for her to grow.

“Only one,” a stern female voice commanded.

A few feet away, a young boy stood on tiptoe over a pickle barrel, his guardian watching him like a mother bear with a cub. His sleeve shoved to his elbow, the youngster beamed with excitement as he fished in the briny water. Most likely groping for the largest pickle he could lay his fingers on, just as she and Lance had done at the General Store in Richmond.