Kissing Comfort (7 page)

Bram jerked his chin in the direction of his brother. “He looks just like our father. She loved the good-looking bastard.”

“Mind your language,” Tucker growled.

“Pardon me,” said Bram. “You're right. I forgot myself. I meant to say handsome bastard.”

Comfort set her jaw so she wouldn't laugh out loud, but her eyes warned Bram that he needed to apologize. It wasn't that Tuck objected to blue language, only that he objected to it being said around her. When he thought he was outside of her hearing, he favored certain expressions that would put color in a sailor's cheeks. She might have given in to her amusement if Newt hadn't stepped away from his post and invited her to take a turn with him. She accepted his offer gratefully.

“Tucker can be a bit of a prude at times, and that's nothing I've not said to his face,” Newt told her. “Not that I approve of Bram's language either, but I would have taken him aside and said as much, not made a point of it in front of you. That's not the way it's done.”

“His father was a thorough bastard, though.”

Newt gave a shout of laughter. “That's my girl.” Comfort had to guide him through the next few steps while he recovered his timing. “Do you think Bode knows about your engagement to Bram? He didn't mention it.”

“I imagine his mother is telling him now.” It was odd, Comfort thought, how she could manage to avoid an outright lie by not quite answering the question that was asked.

“Tuck and I were surprised by Bram's announcement,” Newt said.

“I saw that.”

“We were thinking he should have said something to us beforehand.”

“I told him that. He thought he was being modern.”

“Is that what he's calling it?”

Comfort thought it best not to make any response. Uncle Newton was a single syllable away from a tirade.

“How do you suppose Bode will take it?” asked Newt.

“I haven't thought about it.”

“Perhaps you should. He's steering Alexandra this way, and unless I miss my guess, we're about to change partners.”

Comfort's distress was real, although she forgave her uncle for thinking she was merely flattering him by pretending not to want to leave his side.

“Chin up, Comfort,” he said, bussing her on the cheek before he turned her over to Bode. “At least you won't have to worry that he'll tread on your toes.”

Overhearing this, Alexandra looked alarmed at the prospect of Newton doing as much to her beautifully shod feet. She made one last appeal to her son as Newt led her away. When it was clear Bode wasn't going to change his mind and rescue her, she flung the accusation of heartlessness at him.

Comfort observed that the epithet had no impact. It didn't come as a surprise. “Perhaps you
are
heartless.”

“This can't be the first time you've thought it.”

It wasn't, and she realized she must have shown that in some small way, because he gave her a smile that hinted at superiority. “Smug is an expression not suited to a man with only one useful eye.”

“Your point is well made.”

“Oh, I know I made it well. It begs the question, was it taken?” She heard him laugh softly. The sound lingered at the back of his throat, aging like a fine wine before it touched his lips. Realizing that she was staring at his mouth, she quickly lifted her gaze. His pathetically swollen eye looked painful; his good one looked amused. “Is there something particular that you want, Mr. DeLong?”

“Bode. I'm going to be your brother-in-law.”

“Bode,” she repeated. “Now, will you take me back to Bram?”

“In a moment. It doesn't hurt for my friends to see that I'm pleased with the engagement.”

“You told me you don't have friends here.”

“I'm making some.”

Comfort had never heard that Beau DeLong possessed a shred of humor. His reputation was for working hard and then working harder. She didn't trust this man holding her. She wasn't even sure who he was. Her regard grew suspicious. “Did they club you on the head?” she asked.

“They?”

“The mother cat and her litter.”

“Oh. I might have a lump or two at the base of my skull.”

Comfort peered more closely at his good eye to see if the pupil was contracting properly. She couldn't tell without holding a candle flame close to it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Trying to determine if you're concussed.” She thought it was to his credit that he didn't ask why. Some part of him must know he was behaving strangely. “You've danced with me longer than you danced with your mother,” she said. “And done so beautifully in spite of your injuries. I imagine everyone is convinced that you are over the moon at the prospect of having me become a member of your family. Now, please, escort me back to Bram.”

“When this piece is ended.” He glanced in his brother's direction. “Bram appears to be deeply engaged in conversation with Tuck.”

That did not ease Comfort in the least. “If they're talking politics, it can't end well.”

Bode didn't disagree. “Why do you think Bram chose tonight to announce your engagement?”

“You should ask him.”

“I will, but I'm asking you now. Didn't you discuss it?”

“Not before this evening.” Even as she said it, she wondered if Bram's answer would support her or make it seem as if she were lying. Just now, she wasn't certain that she cared.

“Bram takes some odd notions into his head.”

Comfort didn't hear a question, so she kept quiet. Perhaps if he only talked to himself, he'd grow tired of the company.

“You've always impressed me as a sensible influence. Mother says the same. How long have you and Bram known each other?”

“Since my coming-out.”

“That's right. The party. You were what? Sixteen?”

“Yes.”

“And he was seventeen. Nine years, then. You wrote to each other, I believe, when he went east to Harvard. And didn't you later attend some seminary for young ladies?”

“Oberlin College,” she said. It was difficult not to grit her teeth at his condescension. “In Ohio. Men also attended.”

“Did your uncles realize that when they packed you off?”

Now she understood he was purposely trying to rile her. Although she was unclear as to his motive, it made it easier not to give in. “You know them,” she said lightly. “Do you think they'd let me go anywhere without sending three Pinkerton men in advance of my arrival?” He surprised her by chuckling again. “Actually, Uncle Newton accompanied me there and remained until he was certain I was settled. Uncle Tuck attended my graduation and escorted me home.”

“I see. You and Bram corresponded while you were both away?”

“Yes.”

“As friends.”

“You say that as if you cannot fathom it, but it's true.”

Bode did not trouble himself to pretend he believed her. He made a small shrug to indicate it didn't matter. “How many proposals of marriage have you had, Miss Kennedy?”

“Mr. DeLong,” she said deliberately, “if you persist on being rude, I'll make you wish you were still fighting off the Rangers.”

“I think it must be four,” he said. “Perhaps five. What was wrong with—ahhh!” Bode's right knee buckled as pain arced jaggedly down his leg. It was like electricity crackling between two copper leads, only this was a jangling nerve between the base of his spine and his kneecap. It made no difference that Comfort was responsible for crippling him; his only choice was to accept her support when she offered it or fall flat on his face.

Several men rushed forward to lend their assistance, but Bode put up a hand and held them off. “Something to sit on,” he said. “That will be enough.” Almost immediately he felt the seat of chair pushing against the back of his knees. Comfort bent with him, easing him down. Through a haze of pain, Bode saw she was actually smiling. Those attending him might mistake her expression for sympathy and concern, but he knew she was sincerely pleased to have put him so firmly in his place.

“He was fine,” she said by way of explanation. “Until he wasn't.” Comfort backed away as more guests crowded in. When she saw that Alexandra had reached Bode's side, she ducked out and went in search of Bram.

She came toe to toe with Tucker Jones first. He smiled, slipped his arm in hers, and would have dragged her out to the portico if she had not accompanied him willingly.

“I saw that,” he said without preamble. “You wedged your foot between his, stepped sideways, and bore down on him.”

Comfort sighed. “He was annoying me. Do you think anyone noticed?”

“Other than Bode? I doubt it. You moved as smoothly as Chin Fong clearing opium eaters from the back room at the Snow Palace.” Tuck shook his head. “That was an observation, not high praise.”

Her mouth twitched.

“Oh, very well. It was an observation
and
high praise. Bode's not likely to forget what you did. How did you know he'd go down so easily?”

“I knew his back was bothering him,” she said honestly. “And I took shameless advantage.”

Tucker didn't care about that. “How was he annoying you? Was he improper?”

Comfort was trying to decide how to answer that when Bram appeared at her elbow. “Oh, I was looking for you. Do you mind, Uncle Tuck? I wanted to take some fresh air with Bram.”

Tucker waved them off, but not before he made Bram shift uncomfortably under his most implacable stare.

“Why did he look at me like that?” asked Bram as he escorted Comfort off the portico and into the garden. “Did you already tell him?”

“I'm not going to do that here,” she said. “So, no, I haven't said anything. He looked at you like that so you aren't tempted to annoy me.”

“Oh. Do I? Annoy you, that is.”

“Frequently.”

“Well, I'm less likely to do it now that I know your uncle can turn me into a pillar of salt.”

Comfort flashed him a grin. “Did you see Bode? Is your brother all right?”

Bram shrugged. “I couldn't get close. I think Mother intends the servants to bear him upstairs on a chair like he's the Pharaoh Ramses. I wanted to make certain that you suffered no injury.”

“Me? No, I'm fine. It was sudden, and I suppose he could have pulled me to the floor if I hadn't been quick or strong enough to support him, but I was, so that's that.”

Bode looked her over, gauging that what she said was true. “He asked you about the engagement, didn't he?”

“Yes. He's curious about the suddenness of it. I told him we hadn't discussed it before this evening.”

“True enough. I'll remember that.”

“I think he means well,” she said, surprising herself. “He's accustomed to looking out for you.”

“Cleaning up after me, you mean.”

Comfort could have told him that if he didn't take his position as society's—and his mother's—fair-haired bad boy quite so seriously, Bode wouldn't have to carry a broom and dustpan. She held her tongue. “I didn't say that.”

“You don't have to. I did.” He sighed heavily. “What can he possibly find objectionable about me asking for your hand? You are educated and even-tempered, possess sound judgment, and exert a reasoned influence.”

“Maybe he thinks I will bore you,” she said dryly. She was all the things Bram said she was, and more than a little bored herself by so much in the way of good sense and moderation.

“Maybe you would, but I believe he'd be glad of it.” The words were out before he properly heard them. “I'm sorry. I meant no offense. That came out in a ridiculous fashion.”

“It's all right,” she said.

But there had been a hitch in her step, and Bram knew that he'd bungled it. “You
don't
bore me,” he said. “You couldn't.”

“I could,” she insisted. “If we were married.” She stopped in a pool of torchlight and waited for him to turn to face her. “Eight weeks, Bram. You'll wish at the end of it that I'd won the negotiation. We're friends, certainly we are, but we've never—what's the old expression?—oh, yes, we've never lived in each other's pockets.”

“It's true that we haven't, but you'll see that it doesn't matter. You're looking on the wrong side of things, Comfort. Hasn't it occurred to you that at the end of two months you'll be the one wishing you'd accepted my original terms? I intend that we should have such a fine time as an engaged couple that you will put aside your reservations about my character and want to accept my proposal in earnest.”

What Comfort wished was that she could duck into the shadows. It required a great deal of effort to keep her expression guarded and skeptical. “We'll see,” she said. She took his arm and led him away from the light and toward the stone bench where she'd found Bode. “But I'm doubtful.”

 

 

Alexandra DeLong paced the length of the rug in front of the fireplace in her son's room. Bode lay on a chaise brought in for him from one of the guest rooms. It was a necessity when it became apparent the bed did not offer enough support or comfort for him. He claimed there was less pain in a partial recline than either standing or lying flat on his back.

The door had just closed on the retreating servants when she spoke. “This is why you should come home,” she said, gesturing broadly to indicate the length of the damask-covered chaise.

“I
am
home,” Bode said reasonably.