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She snickered.
“What? Still too self-righteous.” He gave her a lopsided grin as he guided her farther away from the station, the wind ruffling his dark waves.
“Just a touch. The point is well made but, as you said, the delivery...” She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t stop a small snort from escaping.
“But you find that ‘adorable’?” He leaned even closer, so her body was against his in an almost improper manner and the words rumbled through her core.
“I do.” She gasped a little because adorable wasn’t the half of it. Lust-worthy was much more accurate.
He straightened so they were at a normal distance, but placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her forward, towards the hotel, towards a night together, and towards a still uncertain future, but still, towards sunshine.
* * *
The fingers of David’s free hand itched as he guided Amalia through the streets of Bedford, leaving the isolated offshoot of the Juniata River for the center of town. Millstone buildings lined the streets of the valley enclave, the green-covered mountains creating a deep bowl around it.
Despite the occasional group of children bounding across the street during a game of hoops or a merchant with a horse and cart, the hamlet was quiet enough to make out the birdcalls overhead and the rushing water of the various tributaries.
The one thing David couldn’t make out were either Meg’s or Will’s footfalls. His partners were good though and always kept a few hundred feet behind—hidden so each could observe and intercept. If needed. Eventually, they’d both sneak into the inn or hotel or whatever the place was called, under the guise of a porter and kitchen help. They could hash out guard shifts later, and a time for Meg to come and play lady’s maid, even if he was better at it.
Amalia tugged his hand and led him down Richards Street. A yearning to take her in his arms rippled through him. Though he didn’t and couldn’t do anything of the sort, the desire burned beneath his skin.
Did she notice? Could she tell? Or more, did the same—well, similar, because no one could lust more than he was at the moment—cravings flare within her?
Adorable.
She found him, of all people, adorable. Even when he behaved like an “over-serious know-it-all” as Thad once called him.
If only his tendencies to rail against injustice at a frequency and velocity that made his friends cover their ears were his sole flaws.
David sighed. He caught his reflection in Amalia’s looking glass earlier. More and more like his father. Every day. If they were that similar on the outside, imagine what they were like on the inside? He shuddered, before adjusting his slipping spectacles.
“You’ll like this hotel.” She skipped alongside him, completely unaware of the turmoil within or that he was even studying her. “Well, resort really. Every sitting president has stayed here since Buchanan, and tons before him after they left the White House. Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, all of them. We’ll be lucky to get in but I can pull some strings with the Truitt name if my editor didn’t arrange it first.”
“What exactly did you say to your editor?” he asked, his mind reawaking into the present, into the task at hand—her safety. Because, if one considered it, telling her editor where they were, or more, not only her editor, but a great deal of telegraph workers...now their detour was not quite as clandestine, was it? Oy. Will was right. This is why he needed to get himself under control, or he was going to get them all killed.
“That I was making a secret visit for a column, a review—people really like that sort of thing. Thus, I instructed him to make a reservation under a different name, with a fictional husband, so I’d be as unobtrusive as possible.” She leaned close to David, flowers and powder washing over him, along with a fresh wave of desire.
Because there was nothing quite as alluring as her pride in her work. Even if it would be the death of them—literally. He’d better double patrols.
“Thad has pretended to be my husband often enough for these sorts of things. People act one way around reviewers and another around a silly, spoiled, brainless, rich wife of a dandy out for a lark.” Her curls bounced as she spoke, still unaware of the potential danger.
Perhaps he was being a bit hasty.
Besides, he wasn’t the only “adorable” person around. The way Amalia was basking and preening in the glow of her own prowess for subterfuge...there was no better word. He wetted his lips once more.
“Anyway, I’m so excited about the springs.” She clutched his arm a little, like she really was his overexcited new wife out for a bit of fun. “They’re supposed to have healing properties—supposed to be able to cure all kinds of conditions.”
“Unlikely.” He snorted.
Amalia twirled the bottom of her skirts against his ankles, like petals dancing on a breeze. “Probably, but I was at least hoping they might make my hair softer or my skin clearer or something. I like to recommend things, not the opposite way around. A positive column is more enjoyable to read. Though, no matter what, I need something soon because I’m on a—”
“Deadline. You said.” He chuckled a little before sobering. The telegraph. The other telegraph. The one Meg mentioned. This was as good an opening as any for that conversation—a much more promising angle—unfortunately. Time to set the snare. “Your editor is impatient, I take it? That’s why he arranged for this?”
“I’m sure he’s as nervous as I am regarding the complaints, but I’ve never been late and I won’t be this time. I take too much pride in my work and he knows that.” She straightened, brushing his side, sending a jolt through his body. Any sane man would be quiet and just luxuriate in her pleasant, attractive nearness; fantasize rather than interrogate.
No. He needed to focus. He had a job to do and a job to gain and a purpose and her life was in danger and... He cleared his throat. “You’re very...responsible.”
“Of course. Besides, I hate lateness.”
