Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope) (7 page)

He hefted her higher against his chest and then waded out of the tide. The other party guests had stopped what they were doing and were now gathering in clusters to watch the spectacle. Samuel and Nathaniel had pulled away from each other and were staring at her, their expressions filled with both surprise and chagrin.

Nathaniel was the first to react. “I’m so sorry, darling.” He rushed toward her and reached out to take her from Mr. Cushman. But Mr. Cushman leveled a glare at Nathaniel that made him freeze. He dropped his hands and stepped aside, having been thoroughly reprimanded by just one look. Mr. Cushman turned the same glare upon Samuel, but he only jutted his chin out and glowered back.

“What happened?” Nathaniel asked, but without making another move toward her. Blood dribbled from his nose and his hair was mussed. He’d been so focused fighting Samuel that he hadn’t realized she’d been swept aside and dumped into the ocean. She couldn’t blame him for her predicament. Besides, she wasn’t in the least injured. Just startled. And wet.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. But she made no move to free herself from Mr. Cushman’s hold.

“Please forgive me, darling,” Nathaniel said again earnestly. “I was entirely too careless.”

“Yes, you were,” Mr. Cushman agreed as he started up the sloping beach toward the house.

“You may take her inside to one of the guest rooms,” Nathaniel said.

Mr. Cushman didn’t respond. He tromped through the sand as steadily as if he were on solid ground. She rested her head against his shoulder, knowing she should tell him that she could walk. Instead she relished the feeling of safety, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Through the thin wet layers of her garments, she felt the solidness of his chest and the muscles in his arm. She’d never been held by a man before. All her interactions with Nathaniel and past suitors had been chaste—holding the crook of an arm, a brief kiss to her hand, a simple pat on the shoulder. Samuel had kissed her once, on her cheek, but only quickly. It had really been more of a peck.

Now, in Mr. Cushman’s arms, she was keenly aware that not only was he her bodyguard, but he was also a very attractive man. His strong chin brushed against her hair, the hard thud of his heartbeat resounded between them, the heat of his body enveloped hers. Even though she was wet and chilled, strange warmth spread through her stomach.

She was just embarrassed at her awkward predicament, she told herself. That was all. She would have felt the same way had Nathaniel been holding her.

Once Mr. Cushman reached the manicured grass of the garden, he veered in the direction of the carriage house.

“We’re not leaving the party yet,” she said.

“I’m taking you home.”

She ought to protest. The Winthrops had servants who could divest her of her wet garments and help her dry off. She could send home for another fresh gown. Maybe the maids would have trouble re-fashioning her hair into dangling ringlets, but they could figure out something presentable.

But for a reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t complain. When Mr. Cushman settled her onto the carriage bench, covered her with a wool blanket, and commanded the coachman to leave with all haste, she was surprised by the sense of relief that overcame her.

Within minutes, the carriage arrived at the Cole’s beach cottage. She was disappointed when Mr. Cushman didn’t pick her up again. Instead, he handed her over to the care of her servants, who ushered her to her dressing room and set to work, releasing her from her constrictive garments and tight corset.

An hour later she was in her boudoir, dry and warm and sitting in a lounge chair in front of a fire. She held a cup of tea between both hands and sipped the liquid slowly. The light chintz curtains had already been pulled even though darkness had not yet settled. The room was bathed in the soft glow of firelight and wall sconces, revealing the elegant striped wallpaper of alternating light and dark greens, the white wainscoting and cornice, and the large green rug that covered the hard wood floor. She’d had the small sitting room off the bedchamber redecorated several years ago by one of New York’s top designers to reflect her growing maturity as a woman. Now it was one of her favorite places.

“You’re sure you’re warm?” her mother asked from her spot on the settee. Isabelle Cole was attired in an elegant wine-colored evening gown and matching ribbon tied around her slender neck. Her dark hair was fashioned into a high knot on top of her head. Her features were pale but flawless.

Her father always said Mother was as beautiful now as the day she’d pulled him from the sea after his steamer had wrecked in a storm.

He wasn’t exaggerating. Her mother was beautiful. But she rarely left home. Even tonight, although Mrs. Winthrop had invited her to the beach party too, she’d only gone for a short while to put in an appearance before having father bring her back home.

She always had one excuse or another for why she didn’t want to go out in public. But Victoria knew the real reason. Her mother didn’t want to face the whispers and gawking. At parties, dinners, the opera, and other events, she had to accept the fact that she was blind and that people noticed it. Here in the confines of home, Mother could pretend she wasn’t different. Here she expected everyone to ignore her sightlessness and treat her like anyone else.

Victoria had always indulged her mother. And at times, she even forgot that her mother was blind.

“It wouldn’t do for you to take a chill so close to your wedding,” Mother said.

“Don’t worry.” Victoria took another sip of the black tea that contained a hint of honey and lemon. “It was just a tiny tumble in the water. That’s all.”

Her mother seemed to peer directly at the diamond bracelet that Nathaniel had given her, which was now sitting on the end table next to Victoria’s chair. Victoria held her breath and waited for her mother to comment about it. Even if Mother couldn’t see it, she’d probably touched it when she’d come in to hug Victoria. Not only did her perceptive mother know it was there, but she probably realized why Nathaniel had given it to her.

“Nathaniel’s a wonderful man,” Mother said earnestly.

“Yes, I agree.”

Her mother’s sightless gaze moved to Victoria’s face. For a moment, her mother seemed to be straining to see Victoria’s features. Her golden eyes had a desperate hunger in them that Victoria had rarely seen.

Victoria held her breath, wishing that for just one brief instant her mother could see her. But the intense gaze lasted only a moment longer before her mother schooled herself back into her usual calm and dignified expression.

“Promise me that if you have any problems or concerns, you’ll talk to me?” Mother asked.

“There aren’t any problems, Mother,” Victoria assured. “Nathaniel and I are getting along perfectly.”

Her mother nodded, looked as if she wanted to say more, but then closed her mouth. She slid to the edge of the settee and rubbed her hand over the damask. “You brought the cross again.”

Victoria glanced across the room to the bureau at the two dark pieces of driftwood that were fashioned into a cross. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to bring the rough-hewn cross with her everywhere she went, but ever since she’d been given the cross several years ago, she’d gotten into the habit of bringing it along on her trips.

During the life of the cross, it had become known as the cross of hope. Victoria didn’t feel particularly in need of hope. Her life was wonderful. She had everything she ever wanted. Yet, she clung to the cross of hope anyway.

“Do you think I should stop bringing it with me?” Victoria asked.

“Not at all,” her mother replied hastily. “I’m just glad it comforts you.”

“Maybe I should give it away to someone who needs it more than I do?”

“I think you’ll know when you’re ready to let go of it.” Her mother rose, kissed her gently on her forehead, and left the room.

In the quiet of the boudoir, with only the crackling of the fire for company, Victoria stared at the amber liquid in her cup. All she could see were her mother’s amber eyes, hungrily scanning her face, trying desperately to see features that she never had seen and never would.

How must her mother feel? Victoria sloshed the tea around the porcelain and felt a painful heat slosh in her heart. Not only was her mother denied the pleasure of seeing her child, but she hadn’t been able to look at her husband for years either.

Victoria didn’t realize she’d been swirling the tea too high and fast until some splashed over the rim. She tried to ignore her shaking fingers as she replaced the cup on the saucer, but she couldn’t ignore the emotions spilling into her chest—emotions she didn’t want to feel, thoughts she didn’t want to think, the very real possibility that she could turn into her mother some day.

A rap on the door was Mr. Cushman’s signature call. She welcomed the distraction from very dangerous thoughts and feelings—thoughts and feelings that were better left locked away in a deep, dark chest at the bottom of the sea.

The door opened and Mr. Cushman walked into the sitting room, as composed and tough-looking as always. In one quick glance, he took in all the details of her appearance, her long damp hair, and the fluffy blanket draped around her, concealing all but the hem of her silk robe and her slippers.

“How are you doing?” Mr. Cushman asked, although she wasn’t sure why he bothered to ask since he’d likely surmised exactly how she was doing even better than she had herself.

“I’m well enough to go back to the party.” She wasn’t sure why she felt as though she must challenge him, except that she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of returning. Because she wasn’t.

He peeked out the window through a slit in the curtain before facing her. “We want you to stay away from Samuel.”

“We?”

“Your father and I.”

She picked up her teacup, took another sip. “You don’t think Samuel is behind Arch’s attack, do you?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then why are you worried? Samuel might be upset at Nathaniel, but he surely won’t attempt to harm me.”

“He may try to undermine the wedding plans.”

“Do you honestly think Samuel would try to prevent me from marrying Nathaniel?”

“Maybe.”

She was ashamed to admit the thought didn’t bother her. She lowered her eyes so that Mr. Cushman couldn’t read her thoughts and confront her again. Her sights landed upon the side table and the diamond bracelet. She wished she’d thought to put it away before Mr. Cushman came into the room.

“Nathaniel is desperate to keep you.” Mr. Cushman followed her gaze, and his meaning was all too obvious.

She gave a short laugh. “He’s a generous man. And he gives me presents almost every time we’re together.”

“Because he’s afraid he’ll lose you.”

“Because he’s sweet.” She hated that Mr. Cushman’s conclusions too closely mirrored her own, but she wouldn’t admit it to him.

Mr. Cushman shook his head. “He’s dense if he thinks he can win you through gifts.”

“Apparently among all of your other skills, you’re also the expert on how to woo a woman?”

His upper lip twitched with the beginning of a smile. “Only for a select few women.”

His words jarred her and reminded her that she wasn’t the first woman he’d protected, nor would she be the last. In fact, the final time they’d visited Arch before leaving New York, Mr. Cushman had indicated that he’d only stay until she left on her wedding trip. After that Arch would have to take over again, or they’d have to find someone else. Mr. Cushman had made it abundantly clear that he was there only temporarily and that he was past ready to move on.

She was ready too. After the wedding she wouldn’t need a bodyguard any more. Not with Nathaniel by her side day and night watching over her. Nevertheless, she still couldn’t stop from wondering what types of women Mr. Cushman had protected in the past and how she compared to them.

“So…” She toyed with the diamond bracelet, waiting for him to settle his attention on her fully before sweeping up her lashes and gazing at him with what she hoped was her most beguiling expression. “What number am I in the list of women you’ve guarded?”

“Four.” His placid expression didn’t waver. She should have known by now that Mr. Cushman was immune to womanly charms. She had no doubt he’d rebuffed many women over the years and had plenty of practice withstanding an extraordinary amount of flirting and eyelash-batting.

“And how do I compare to the other three?”

“I don’t make a practice of comparing.”

“Am I prettier?”

He didn’t respond.

She smiled. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

“I’m not surprised you would.”

“Oh, so you think I’m conceited?”

“Most rich people are.”

“That must mean you’re very wealthy,” she said beginning to feel testy toward him. “Because you’re extremely conceited.”

At that, he laughed. Not a mocking laugh like she was accustomed to among her circles. But a genuinely amused laugh. She couldn’t deny that she liked the sound. Really liked it. She smiled at him, took another drink of her tea, and wondered if she could figure out a way to make him laugh more often.

Before she could try, a knock sounded on the door.

Mr. Cushman’s humor immediately dissipated, and his stoicism was back in place. “It’s Nathaniel.”

“How do you know?” She’d learned not to doubt him. He was almost always right. Even so, she liked to hear how he came to his conclusions, the details he noticed that she missed.

“He’s the only one around here who owns a Stanhope gig.”

“And how do you know he’s driving his gig?”

“The vehicle I heard had one horse and two wheels.”

She smiled.

“Did I pass your test?” His brows were raised, revealing a glimmer of the previous humor.

“Yes, you passed with a perfect score.”

Mr. Cushman started toward the door. “I don’t want him to stay long.”

“And why’s that? What harm will come of him staying for a while?”

“You’re in your bathrobe.” He didn’t look at her. “I’d suggest covering yourself back up.”

She glanced down to see that her blanket had slipped off her shoulders, revealing the silky white bathrobe that was cooler for the summer, but certainly also less modest. Heat infused her cheeks at the realization that Mr. Cushman had seen her immodesty and hadn’t been the least flustered by it. She readjusted the blanket around her shoulders and clutched it tightly in front so that her bathrobe was concealed again.