coughed, his whole body jerking with the effort. When he’d managed to catch his breath, he added, “He asks only that you…supply him with a male heir.”
Charles wished for an heir? Or did her father?
As if sensing her thoughts, her father’s narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to a chilled sliver of sound. “Take great care as you embark on this life, Louisa. Charles walks in…important circles. As his wife, you must guard every word, every deed. If you prove…an asset to him, I’m sure your life will be a happy one.”
Louisa knew her father wasn’t overly concerned about her emotional welfare. Instead, he was offering her a none-too-subtle warning to behave.
“Charles has made great concessions on your behalf.”
Again Louisa bit her tongue. In her opinion, Charles Winslow had done little more than instruct someone else to take his place.
Her father’s voice grew brittle and his gaze flicked in the direction of the magistrate. “He has supplied you with…a wardrobe befitting your role as his wife. Traveling trunks…feminine frippery…”
Lord Haversham held out an imperious hand to the lady who had been waiting in the shadows near the door. “This woman…is also on her way to America, where she will be wed. Charles and I have arranged for her to be your companion.”
At that moment, the woman stepped more clearly into the light surrounding the altar. The glow pierced the folds of the veil that draped from her mourning bonnet, and a gasp of surprise lodged in Louisa’s throat.
No. It couldn’t be. God couldn’t have answered this one prayer when he had ignored so many others.
But as the woman lifted the veil and stopped mere feet away, one inescapable fact lodged in Louisa’s brain.
She looks like me.
Chapter One
New York
June 1870
Gabriel Cutter caught the line being thrown over the bow of the ship. Tying it to the skiff, he clambered up the rope ladder to the deck and accepted a helping hand.
“Gabriel Cutter?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me, sir.”
Gabriel did as he was told, being careful to keep his hat pulled low and his face averted from a striking pair of redheaded women who were standing nearby. He had no wish to capture the attention of anyone on board. And if he were to be seen, he didn’t want anyone to remember him too clearly.
The sailor led Gabriel to the lower cargo decks, then motioned to another figure waiting in the shadows. Without another word, the sailor withdrew.
“Gabe Cutter?” the second man asked.
Taking a leather folder from his pocket, Gabriel held his Pinkerton identification card beneath the glow of a lantern.
The man heaved a relieved sigh. “It’s good to finally meet you, sir.”
Gabriel extended his hand in greeting. “I appreciate the work you’ve done so far, Roberts.” Lloyd Roberts had been one of the Pinkertons assigned to guard the shipment during the crossing.
“I’ll be happy to have you take control of the shipment, I can tell you,” Roberts said, leading Gabe to a cargo hold, and from there to a stack of crates that had been under constant guard.
“Sir.” The acknowledgment came from a second ruddy-faced guard, who stepped from the shadows where he’d been hiding. The fellow was little more than a kid.
Gabriel grimaced. He had requested that the Pinkerton offices give him experienced agents for this assignment. They’d sent him a boy who was barely out of short pants.
Gabe supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the home office’s decision. He’d grown used to fighting for every concession he could get. Despite Gabe’s abilities as an agent, there were too many men above him who remembered him from the war. It wouldn’t matter that Gabe had a sterling reputation with the Pinkerton Agency. The memory of his wartime desertion would outlive any successes he might have had in the succeeding years.
“What’s your name?” Gabe asked brusquely.
The boy blinked and shifted uncomfortably beneath Gabriel’s narrowed glare.
“P-Peterson, sir. Luke Peterson.”
“How long have you been with the Pinkertons?” Gabriel asked. A brief glance at the boy’s grip on his rifle confirmed that he was quaking.
“Th-this is my first job.”
Gabriel took a deep, calming breath, then asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Peterson blinked, clearly confused by the question. “I—I’m guarding these crates.”
“Why?”
The kid sent a pleading glance toward Roberts. “B-because they told me to.”
At the frank answer, Gabriel’s lips twitched in the beginnings of an unconscious smile, but he quickly controlled the impulse. It wouldn’t do for the boy to grow too relaxed around him.
“There may be some hope for you, Luke. Continue to do as you’re told and we’ll get along together just fine.”
The boy offered him a shaky grin. Then he drew to attention as if remembering that the job was a serious one and Gabriel…
Gabriel had a reputation of being a bastard.
Gabriel was fully aware of his reputation. He was a tough taskmaster, demanding infinite obedience from his men. Nevertheless, it wasn’t his role as a senior Pinkerton agent that alarmed Luke. Gabe could gauge the moment Peterson remembered everything he’d been told. Bit by bit, the warmth faded from the boy’s eyes, to be replaced by a horrified curiosity. Gabriel could almost read Peterson’s thoughts.
Was this Gabriel Cutter? Was this the man accused of desertion?
“Any problems?” he asked, turning his attention back to the elder Pinkerton.
“None. I doubt anyone even knows we transported the shipment of gold.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Gabriel’s tone had a hard edge to it.
To date, four payroll shipments destined for the Overland Express had been stolen en route to the construction sites in the Oregon Territory. The laborers were growing restless and threatened to revolt if they weren’t paid, leading Josiah Burton, the owner of the Overland Settlers Company, to enlist the aid of the Pinkertons in transporting the latest shipment.
“Stay on your toes. There have been four previous robberies. Whoever is responsible will be watching, have no fear.” Gabriel nodded in the direction of the shipment. “You’ll be relieved of your posts in an hour. I’ve got rooms reserved for you at the 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.