The Shot: Traincoach of Death, Book 1 (3 page)

“So your titles are Scottish?”

“Now, kind sir, the Scottish aren’t the only ones with hereditary titles for the fairer sex, mostly thanks to the dowager queen. But I’m sure you have heard the stories as often as I.”

He laughed and took her hand, tucked it under the crook of his arm, and began walking. “I think, my Lady Moores, that your grandmother and m...” He hoped she didn’t catch the hesitation and hear his slip. He almost said his great aunt. “My queen was more into telling you these stories than my father was in passing them on.”

“What about your mother?”

“She always did as my father asked.” When had he become so bitter about it? He realized, with a jolt, that watching Victoria’s father had brought it to the surface. Though gifted with many talents, his mother had little time to explore any of them. He’d have to think on it at a later time.

“Are you from the Americas?”

Bill paused as he thought how to answer the question. According to his work profile, he came from the American continent. However, he held no desire to lie to her. The only desire he possessed came from a completely different part of his anatomy, although using his tongue wasn’t out of the equation. “No,” he said. “We have holdings here and spend time at them every year. From your speech, it seems you grew up on this side of the pond.”

“I did, yes. But while my mother was alive, I spent many years in Great Britain, particularly the Scottish Isles. My grandfather was a Scottish Laird.”

His laughter broke out again. When was the last time he’d laughed like this on assignment? Or anytime? “Well at least I know where you get your hair from,” he teased.

“And the infamous temper to go with it. We Scots kept a king under the high kings. Never fully lost our separate citizenship, unlike the Irish. They refused to compromise, and one day, it killed too many.”

He knew the history well, but listening to her, hearing her compassion as well as the steel beneath it, made him realize how intelligent and kind she was. “You know the Irish killed each other more than the rest of the United Kingdom?” His mother had taught him better.
Politics and Religion. You just don’t talk about them while in the wilds of America.
Things were a little more volatile on this side of the Atlantic. Yet, here he stood, encouraging her to talk about both.

“I think that one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard is the story of the Irish killing each other over a religion that’s supposed to teach love and peace,” she said in a quiet voice.

“It did bring about religious tolerance.”

“At what cost? Why do we need to lose so much before we see how devastating it is to not accept that others may believe differently than ourselves? Even now, there are people who will persecute those not of the official religion.”

The compassion in her voice belied the figurehead-with-no-substance reputation she retained with the masses. A reputation her father cultivated when he went to other branches of the company. Why did he insist on doing that? Did it have to do with his setting her up with so many men to get her married off?

The idea of her being married off started a slow burn in him. They’d reached the upper levels by now, and he looked around for prying eyes. No one paid them any more attention than the next person.

Bill pushed her up against the glass dome. With the sunset falling behind her, her hair looked like flaming fire, reflecting how he’d started to feel about her. He’d already admired her on paper. Since meeting her in person, he felt like he rode the express train to ever after and didn’t know how to get off—or if he even wanted to.

He put a hand behind her neck and drew her in. Surprise flashed across her features as he dropped his lips to hers and then the fire from the sky spread through him. Their tongues dueled and his free hand brought her body close to his, seeking her fire. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and met him thrust for thrust, causing him to see and feel each second, each movement in slow motion.

A moment in time. Precious, short, eternity. His mom had mentioned it to him once when he’d questioned her about why she gave up so much for his dad. She’d told him, “For the one moment in time.”

Now he knew. Time slowed so that each whisper of their lips lasted as a hurricane, each heartbeat a lifetime of promise. Then time returned to its normal flow, and his body responded to the soul’s fullness. His ears buzzed with lust, and he wanted to lift her skirts right there and then and complete the act of becoming one. However, it occurred to him she didn’t know the truth about who he was, and it killed his libido faster than a cold shower.

He kissed his way up her cheek, placing a final kiss on her forehead. She relaxed her head against his chest, and he held her close as the sun set.

Something wasn’t right on the Louisiana Rail and Engine Company. The King showed his great knowledge and wisdom once again when he sent Bill to the Hastings’ holdings, and he hoped to live up to the king’s expectations.

Chapter Four

The second day, Bill proved to be an excellent companion. He neither pressured Victoria nor treated her as a pawn in a business game, even as they’d inspected a smaller station on the line. Over the course of their time together, they spoke of art, sports, trains, and history. Anything she could think of, she asked. The kiss on the promenade gave rise to foolish dreams and desires. She wanted to find a flaw in him, something—anything—to prove he wasn’t as good as he seemed, to counter the welling attraction that built in her, despite her best efforts to tamp it down.

Instead, she found him to be well educated, able to have a disagreement without disparagement, and a good listener which caused her to smile more than she remembered doing in a long time, despite her father’s presence. She caught her father’s smug look a few times as they’d checked on the station masters and other workings of the railroad station but refused to let it faze her. The inheritance would come to her, and then she would deal with the Earl’s manipulations.

By the end of the day, Victoria’s intuition said she could trust Bill, as much as anyone could upon short acquaintance. Although she squashed the thought immediately, she wished he’d kissed her good night and repeated the sensations from the dome. Something different had happened to her then, and she wanted more of it. Glad not to be pushed, on the third day, she still found herself looking forward to spending time with him when she woke. Fighting her needs and wants with decorum, she waited until after the servers delivered their breakfast before speaking of the day’s plans.

“We will be arriving at one of the larger stations today,” she began, then halted. What was she doing? Should she be asking him to go explore the station and town with her? One look at his lips, and she decided, yes, definitely. Maybe he’d kiss her again. She didn’t like the formal distance between them. It was almost as if Bill regretted kissing her.

“Yes, we will. About an hour, I should think. What’s up?” Bill asked.

“I thought we could explore. The train will need to refuel, so we’ll have time after the inspection if we want to go out into town, maybe do some shopping?”

“I would like to get out and look around. I’ve never been in the town of Marial before. A few Spaniards started to colonize it before Great Britain took over. A friend of mine said it’s a great place to get spicy food. Care to join me for lunch after our walkabout?”

Foolishly pleased at his counter invite, she allowed the butterflies in her blood to flitter for a quick moment even as the heat in her belly expanded. “Yes, I believe I would,” she replied, standing up and putting the linen napkin on her gold-rimmed china plate. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my things together.”

Back in her room, Victoria gathered some items and put them in her leather messenger bag. She put her pencils and sketch pad in, her miniature laptop, a few makeup items, and her wallet. She freshened her makeup even though it appeared fine and fussed like a girl going on her first date. It had been a long time since she enjoyed another person’s company this much. Not since her college chum, Brandon, who sat next to her in entry levels. And this level of sexual attraction? The more she talked with him, the more affected by his mere presence she became.

Already dressed in some of her favorite clothes, black pants, a tea length amethyst purple silk overskirt with a lightweight suede black tank, she put on boots made of the same lightweight suede. The manufacturers in Paris were making a mint off the rich women who lived in warmer climates. They’d developed a way of making strong, tough boots that wore more like gloves. She loved her leather, and when it felt like silk, all the better. Underneath she wore black garters and stockings.

She put on two black leather bracelets, amethysts embedded in a Celtic pattern in the center of each one, and a set of thin gold bracelets on the other wrist. A leather belt, consisting of three lengths wrapped around and three buckles, and a place for her pistol on the lower third of the belt which rested on her hip, finished her ensemble.

The effort proved worthwhile when she noticed Bill’s look of appreciation. She smiled slightly but turned her head to look at the Earl. “Who are we seeing first, Father?” she asked. “The station master or the accountant?”

Victoria did not like the speculative look she thought she saw in his eyes before he looked at Bill with his
business
smile. “You two saw what I want, and so far, I’m impressed with your teamwork,” he replied.

She struggled to keep her mouth from dropping open in the uncouth manner of a large bass, but her father had complimented her in an arena related to business. “Tha...” she cleared her throat, “Thank you.”

“What if I meet with the accountant, and the two of you meet up with the station master? I’ll meet you both at,” he paused and looked at the Rolex affixed to his wrist, “say five o’clock for an early dinner? We can discuss what we found then.”

“Sounds like a good use of time, sir,” Bill said. “I’m willing if Victoria is?”

Victoria was willing for a lot more pleasurable uses of their time. Before she could come up with a less obvious response, her father started to speak.

“Victoria will do as I say,” the Earl replied before she answered. “Including freshening up before seeing the station master. Now, I’m off. See you two at five-thirty.”

Victoria felt her cheeks flame and hoped her makeup hid most of it. When her father left, she spun around and went back to her room, mumbling something to Bill as she passed him. She would not cry in front of the debonair man. Bad enough she let her father hurt her again.

She blinked rapidly, trying to forestall the tears. When she had herself under control, she went back to the shared car and gave Bill a small smile. “Sorry you saw that. He’s been so good this trip; I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be attacked.”

“I’m sorry. Are you ready?” Bill asked quietly, indicating the door. A quick look at his face revealed his sympathy for her but also something else.

She nodded and preceded him out the door, all the while trying to figure out the something else she’d seen on his face, in his eyes. When they were walking down the platform and into the glass building, she paused. “You’re angry,” she told him in wondrous tones. “But you’re not angry at me. You’re angry that my father said those cruel words to me.” She stared at him, almost daring him to deny it.

“After we finish with the station master, I’ll take you to lunch. Then we can discuss things. I’m not putting you off. I want more time then the few minutes it will take us to get to the station master. Now,” he said, taking her hand and tucking it under his so she held his arm as they walked.

Satisfied he wasn’t ignoring her, she walked with him, automatically taking stock of the cleanliness of the station and the overall feel of the people waiting. Were they uncomfortable, impatient, frustrated, and did any of that have a bearing on the station’s service to them? She did it without noticing. It was a habit from her early years when she traveled with her mom. Listening to her explain what to look for, why, and how it involved the running of the railroad had entranced her from the time she turned five years old.

She adored the old world feel of all their stations. Despite the glass outsides, most of the buildings boasted hard wood finishing inside and were decorated much as nineteenth century Victorian stations to keep the ambiance, with a touch of Early Edwardian finishing it off. Even the modern electronic devices were gracefully intertwined with the heavy beams and other décor. It possessed all the contemporary conveniences, yet the average passenger said it didn’t have the impersonal feel other competitors exhibited at their stations.

She loved railroad stations and often painted them on scene. Never the same picture twice because the people always changed, and the people could change the mood. Or maybe it was just her moods that changed? Whatever it was, her paintings of the rail stations remained her favorites.

They followed the signs to the office where they met up with a barricade. Her name was Fiona.

“My associate and I are here to see the station master,” Victoria said formally, adding, “Fiona,” after seeing the girl’s scrolled name plate on the desk.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona replied, barely glancing at them as she juggled papers and small hand-held devices of various sorts. Victoria recognized most of them but not all.

“Excuse me,” Victoria said, incredulous at being dismissed as a fly might be.

This time Fiona did stop what she was doing and peered at them with abject boredom. “You’ve come here for no reason. The station master sees no one without an appointment, and I don’t let just anyone spoil his work day.” Fiona’s pierced eyebrow lifted as if to say,
So what are you going to do about it?

Grateful Bill stayed silent and let her handle it, Victoria studied Fiona carefully. Her dark hair contained teal green and white highlights, all of it wound in a complicated knot at the top of her head, with a few tendrils framing her face. Not only did she have a pierced eyebrow, but her ears, nose, and lip also sported various jewelry glittering at them. They made Victoria feel as if even Fiona’s body decorations were laughing at her. Anger pulsed through her at the woman’s rudeness, but at the same time, she recognized that Fiona was only doing her job. She smiled at the girl dressed similar to herself, only in cotton fabrics. Preference or paycheck, she couldn’t be sure. Fiona didn’t strike her as the type to waste her good threads at the office. Victoria would also bet that Fiona’s boots sported more metal than her own. Her father refused to allow her the latest trend in so much metal adorning her footwear. What she wouldn’t give to wear that much metal whenever she felt like. Soon. She would be twenty five and then she’d see what she’d wear.