Circle of Spies (39 page)

What could he do but huff? “Yeah.”

Her grandfather chuckled. “When that girl decides to change, she doesn't do it by half measures.” He charged into the dim interior of the stable. “We had better hurry. Julie and the boys will fuss a good while, but they will eventually notice I'm gone.”

Slade didn't have to ask to realize the man intended the same thing he did, to accompany Walker on his errand. And when Walker glanced up from the wagon he was loading, his expression looked about how Slade's felt. They were all of the same mind, and no one wasted time with words. Lane and Slade lent a hand with the last two boxes, and then they loaded themselves in.

The reins fit Walker's hands like a natural extension, and the two horses responded as one to the single click of his tongue. “I had a feeling I would have some company,” he said as he directed them toward the alley. “Fool woman.”

Lane chuckled. “I admire her for wanting to help.”

“But?” Walker sent him a sideways glance.

The old man shrugged. “But I don't know the man. And I don't feel very gracious to anyone who would hurt my granddaughter.”

Slade snorted. He wasn't feeling particularly gracious either. But as he settled in among the boxes in the back, he didn't want to err on the side of Hughes. He let his gaze settle on the house as they rumbled away from it. Marietta was safe there, at least when surrounded by family.

Soon the buildings towering around him weren't so hopeful, nor so unravaged by the war. Soot marred them, paint peeled and chipped, mortar crumbled. The pedestrians wore threadbare garments, and some of the children were barefoot despite the fact that winter hadn't completely let go of its hold yet.

Questions churned in Slade's mind. “Say, Lane. Did they ever catch Lucien's murderer?”

The old man turned on the bench. “No. You don't think the same…?” He glanced ahead of them.

“No reason to think so. Just curious. How long did Devereaux search?”

Lane pursed his lips and looked to Walker. “Longer than the police
cared to keep looking into another random mugging-gone-awry. A month, maybe.”

Walker turned his head enough to catch Slade's gaze, to share his thoughts. “He loves Yetta a whole lot more than he loved his brother, though. He's gonna be a dog with a bone over this.”

“He won't have anything to go on unless Mari or I give him a description.” Amusement, of all things, lit the old man's yellow-brown eyes. “I wouldn't be surprised if he hired you to find him, Oz.”

“Nah. He'll want to do that himself.” Half his mouth tugged upward. “He hired me to protect her in the meantime.”

“Convenient. And stupid.” Lane chuckled as he shook his head. “He honestly doesn't see it? He, who is usually so jealous of anyone who looks twice at her?”

Wariness whipped through him, made him struggle to find a more comfortable position against the rough-hewn wood. “I don't know what you mean.”

Lane rolled his eyes. “Thunder and turf, man, what good does it do to lie to yourself about it? When I met my Gwyn, I knew within three weeks she would be my wife.”

Wife?
When did they start talking about wives? He turned his gaze on Walker. Surely he, who had already given him a talking-to on the subject of Marietta, would pipe up and help him wiggle out of this conversation.

Walker remained mute.

Lane didn't. “Don't look to him for help. He'd only known Cora a week or two before they married. Sometimes you just know.”

Yeah, well. “I don't.” He didn't know much of anything, not when it came to Marietta.

“No?” Lane leaned over the bench's back, eyes narrowed. “How did you feel when you learned she was attacked?”

That stab of powerlessness came back too fast, too strong. No matter what he did to try to stop a few evil men, more always came, eager to destroy what mattered most.

She could have been killed. He could have lost her, and he wouldn't even have the right to grieve. He wouldn't have anything but another hollow place to carry inside him.

“That's what I thought.” Lane turned back around, but Slade had no trouble imagining the smug smile he would be wearing.

Walker sent a glower Slade's way. “You'd better be careful. Real careful. If Hughes realizes his error in assigning you to her, he'll make up for it with a bullet.”

This is why he preferred the company of men like Herschel, who knew the value of holding their tongues. “I'll keep her safe. That's all.”

“I know you will, otherwise I'd try to convince her again to go home to her mother.” Lane turned just enough to reveal the edges of that smile. “That will go a long way with her brothers, you know. Protecting her and eventually getting Dev away from her. And Jack will approve of you, I have no doubt. That will matter to Mari.”

Jack…as in, her father? Approve of him? Slade shook his head, but it did nothing to ward off the strange itch in his chest. “You're crazy, old man.”

“You're the one who just said you were in love with my granddaughter. I'm merely providing you some hope as to how well you'll fit into the family.”

The wagon bed might as well have dropped out from under him. “I did not.”

“Not with words. But then…” Lane turned more toward him, revealing his full, frustrating grin. “Since when do you need them?”

Slade folded his arms and focused his eyes on the faded buildings rolling by. There was nothing to do but ignore him.

Twenty-Five

N
ot since Lucien's death had so many people crowded into Marietta's house. She had attended aid meetings aplenty the past seventeen months, with just as many fluttering females, but never had she wanted to snarl at them as she did today.

So she brightened her smile and made it a point not to touch the scrape on her cheek. It itched, but if she touched it, the bruise would throb. And everyone would look at her. Her mother and Barbara and Mother Hughes with concern—even
that
irritated her today—and her neighbors and so-called friends with an interest bordering on delight. In their eyes, it was merely exciting that she had been mugged. They reveled in the injuries and cajoled her to tell the story.

She nearly wept with relief when the gaggle made their exit.

Mother Hughes arranged a bonnet over her flaxen curls and sent Marietta a look at once so very welcome and so very stifling. Finally, the woman's eyes held no veiled animosity, but in the past forty-three hours, she had scarcely let Marietta out of her sight. “Are you certain you do not mind me visiting with Bulah this afternoon, dear? I hate to leave you alone.”

Please, please leave me alone
. She felt ungracious even thinking the thoughts, but they wouldn't go away. All she could do was sweeten her smile and pray her heart would match it. “I am hardly alone.” She
motioned to her mother and Barbara. And beyond them, to the corner in which Slade had taken up residence. She had fully expected him to disappear when the hordes of women arrived, but instead he had become a shadow.

Smart of him, which she realized when an acquaintance who had seen them at the theater looked his way with arched brows, obviously recognizing him. And just as obviously recognizing the stance he now took. Guard, employee. Servant.

The women paid him no more heed, other than an occasional stolen glance. Those, no doubt, were merely because he looked as alluring as ever, scowling at his current book in that way he always did.

Not that Marietta stole any glances.

“If you're certain.” Mother Hughes gave her a careful embrace, as if she feared hurting her. “Can I fetch you anything on my way home?”

Some of the resentment faded. “Thank you, but I have all I need. Enjoy your afternoon, Mother Hughes.”

Barbara came to her side the moment Mother Hughes left it. “What shall we do this afternoon, Mari? I can set up a game, or read to you, or—”

“Nonsense.” Mama, bless her, put her hands to Barbara's elbows and pointed her toward the door. “It is your afternoon at the hospital, and I am accompanying you.”

Barbara's horrified expression would have been amusing had it not been so sincere. “But Mari—”

“Needs some quiet.” Mama shot her a knowing grin. “She likes coddling for exactly a day after injury or illness, after which she may just bite the hand trying to spoil her. Right, dearest?”

Why had the Lord blessed her with such a family? A father who adored her and a mother who understood her so well, though they were nothing alike. She leaned over to kiss her matron's cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I only wish I could take it from you entirely.” Mama's arms came around her and held her tight for just long enough. Then she pulled away with a smile and cast a glance over her shoulder. “I daresay I shan't convince Mr. Osborne to leave, though.”

“Not a chance,” he said without even looking up.

Though Marietta chuckled, the realization that his presence didn't
bother her in the least, that she wanted him to stay when she wanted no one else to, made the good humor fade quickly. “I hardly notice him.”

Her mother gave her a look that said she didn't believe her for a moment, but she merely wove her arm through Barbara's and headed for the door. “I will see you both at dinner tomorrow.”

When they disappeared into the hallway, she breathed in blessed silence with gratitude. It wouldn't last long—she was due at the carriage house within the half hour for Elsie's sign lesson—but she would savor it while it lasted.

Which was all of five seconds before she heard familiar footsteps in the hall and Dev's rumble of greeting. “Mrs. Arnaud, good day.”

Mama made a polite reply. And since he, as usual, spared no greeting for the other Mrs. Arnaud, his tread soon sounded again.

The irritation, soothed by Mama's understanding, flared up again as he strode into the room. And blazed into outright anger when he caught Slade's gaze and jerked his head toward the door.

Slade, happy to play the lackey, got up without a word. She knew by now he wouldn't go far, but that wasn't the point.

“Close the door behind you.”

His gait hitched, but he obeyed. Marietta sank back to her seat rather than holding out a hand to greet Dev.

He would notice the slight. The edges of his smile strained as he sat beside her. “How was your aid meeting, darling?”

“Inconsequential. You needn't check on me, Dev.”

His blue eyes snapped, but he banked the flame. “I want to.” He took her hand in his and held it tight despite her keeping it limp. “And I wanted to see if you had remembered anything more about the scoundrel who did this to you. I have questioned all the usual petty thieves, but I do not think any of them our culprit.”

For a moment she studied his face. Was it love that made him pursue this so relentlessly when she had given him so little to go on? Or did he merely hate the thought of another daring to mark what he considered his? Finding no answer in his gaze, she shook her head. “I told you all I could.” She certainly wouldn't mention that Slade and Walker and Granddad had delivered the goods she sent, and that Granddad had offered the man employment at his warehouse in addition. Doyle,
they assured her, would haunt the streets no more. And his nine children, now motherless, would have food on their table.

“I know. But something more could have come to mind.” With his free hand, he touched her cheek under the mottled bruise, his frown fierce. “I will find him if I have to question every low-life ruffian in Baltimore. I promise you that.”

She turned her face away. “What does it matter? He stole nothing, the scrapes and bruises will fade—”

“He hurt you, and he will pay for it.” He said it with such superiority, as if he weren't every bit as guilty of hurting her, and so much more deeply. “He put marks on your skin and shadows in your eyes. He interfered with our plans—and Mother said your new gown is perfect.”

Marietta hadn't even looked at it. “A few weeks' delay, that is all.”

Simple words, but something must have come through in her tone. Dev dropped her hand and put a few inches between them on the divan. “What is the matter with you lately, Mari?”

She lifted her chin and met his accusing glare. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Like blazes you don't. You haven't been acting yourself, not since you brought that
woman
into the house.”

“ ‘That
woman
'?” She pushed to her feet, knowing her cheeks had flushed scarlet. “That
woman
is my sister and friend.”

He followed her up, where of course he towered over her. “You have changed.”

“That has nothing to do with Barbara.”

“Ha!” He pivoted away but then spun back on her, a finger leveled at her chest. “Perhaps she isn't the cause, but she is certainly proof of it. My Mari would never,
never
have taken her in. Certainly wouldn't sit around for hours listening to her pious prattle without filling my ears with complaints about it later. What has happened to you?”