Flora's Wish (41 page)

F
lora stared the Pinkerton agent down. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow it.”

“That's where you're wrong,” he said as he advanced on her. “You do not get to decide.”

She skittered out of his reach. “Lucas, have you lost your mind?”

“No, Flora. I've finally found it.”

With that statement, he strode toward her. Flora squealed when he made a reach for her elbow, just missing it to make contact with the wall. The family photos shuddered, but Lucas seemed not to feel any pain.

“Come here, Flora. I'm in no mood to chase you, but I will if I have to.”

“Really, I—”

He made another lunge for her, this time capturing her wrist. “All right,” he said with deadly calm. “Let's go talk to your daddy. I couldn't turn you over to the deputy sheriff, but I can certainly turn you over to your father. Whatever it takes to keep you from ruining my investigation.”

She took two steps forward with him and stalled. “I won't. What are you going to do, tell on me for not listening to you?”

“I thought I'd let you do that.” Flora felt the impact of his stare. “I'm sure you'll come up with a better version anyway.”

“Version of what?”

“The whole story, beginning to end.” Green eyes narrowed. “Starting with the warrant for your arrest and your insistence on ignoring—”

“Not so loud,” she said in a hushed voice. “Someone's going to hear you.”

“That's the intention.” He shook his head. “Now are you coming with me or do I need to pick you up and carry you? Either way there is going to be a conversation with your father tonight so I don't have to worry about what you will do to endanger yourself or my investigation tomorrow.”

Panic stole her breath. “Honestly, Lucas, I am not a child,” she finally managed. “And I do not appreciate your references to me as such.”

“No, you're not a child. Things would much easier if you were. You're a full-grown woman, and I refuse to let anything happen to you.”

“Mr. McMinn,” she said as her gaze darted around for some means of escape. “You almost sound as though you care for me.”

“I do, Miss Brimm. I don't know what I would do if something—” If his admission surprised Flora, it seemed to cause an even stronger reaction in him. “All right,” he said with a tone that was brusque, even for him. “Last chance to walk upstairs with me without assistance.”

When she hesitated, he reached for her.

Before she could react, the horizon tilted and the stairs came into view as he swept her into his arms. Though the staircase comprised the full height of the foyer, he ascended the steps almost as quickly as he'd driven the buggy.

“I believe you now. I do. Please just put me down.”

“Too late,” he said as he reached the top of the stairs and paused only long enough to turn toward Father's library.

“As least put me on my feet,” she pleaded. “Let me walk in rather than being carried. I know you're angry, but think of how it will look to my father if you haul me into his office and unceremoniously drop me at his feet.”

She could see the indecision on his face and celebrated a small victory. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Father's valet watching from the door to the back stairs. When their gazes met, the man disappeared, likely headed down to the servant's kitchen to announce the latest Flora-induced scandal. He would tell her father what he saw at his earliest opportunity.

The horizon tilted again as Lucas set her on her feet. She wobbled a bit until he steadied her.

“Thank you,” she said as she adjusted her hat. “There's just one more thing.” She held her thumb and index finger up in an approximation of an inch. “Just a little tiny thing. Nothing, really.”

He did not look impressed. Thus, she offered her best smile and continued. “Just let me change into something more presentable.”

When he didn't respond, she tried again. “I know you're angry, Lucas, and I don't blame you. I realize on occasion I can be a little difficult—”

“A
little
difficult? You accused me of arranging illicit meetings with women in Natchez Under-the-Hill when I was merely meeting with a fellow Pinkerton, and all the while you were there in that ridiculous costume risking your life to speak to some man who would rather guess what you're hiding under your grandmother's doily.”

“You're right,” she said, wanting to choose words that placate rather than irritate. “About all of it. Please, can't we just start over?”

Lucas muttered something under his breath as he tightened his grip on her elbow. “Forget it, Flora. Let's go.”

“No, wait!” She dug in her heels as he tried to pull her toward him. “I'm just thinking of you.”

His laughter held no humor. “Really? All right. It seems at this moment I am just crazy enough to ask you how in the world you figure you're thinking of me? The only person you
ever
think of is yourself. So this ought to be good.”

The accusation stung, though she knew she deserved it. Part of being Flora Brimm of the Natchez Brimms meant cultivating the persona of a pampered and cosseted pet. And had Father got his way, that is exactly what she would have become.

And yet the truth of the matter was that she rarely thought of what was best for her anymore. Not when she was so busy seeing to the needs of the others God had placed in her life.

“If Father sees me dressed like this while under your care, he will not be happy.” She ignored his snort of derision. “And that unhappiness will likely reflect on you, not me. I'm his precious daughter, but you're the stranger who put me into a dangerous situation.”

He began to protest and she waved away the comment with a swipe of her hand. “Go on,” he muttered instead.

“If you will just let me change into something that will not steal Father's attention from the speech you wish to give to him about me, I think both of us will be better received.”

She paused to watch his expression go from aggravated to thoughtful. Then abruptly he shook his head, all the while keeping a firm grip on her elbow.

“I know women, and they do not dress in a hurry, especially when a man is waiting on them. However, as much as I hate to admit it, some of what you've said makes sense. So,” he said on an exhale of breath, “I'm going to do something I hope I do not live to regret.”

Flora tamped down on her smile. “What's that?”

“I am going to give you ten minutes to find something to put on.” He paused. “Lucy?”

To Flora's surprise, her maid crept around the corner to offer a downcast and decidedly shocked expression. “Yes, sir?”

“How quickly can you get Miss Brimm changed into something decent?”

Wide-eyed, the maid clasped her hands in front of her as she appeared to consider the question carefully. “Miss Brimm generally needs a half hour to complete her toilette once she's bathed and had her hair set up just right.”

“Can you rid her of this ridiculous costume and dress her in something decent in no more than ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes, sir?” She shrugged. “Maybe a morning dress or…well, yes, I think I can do that.”

Lucas turned his attention to Flora. “Do not make me regret this. Which room is yours?”

“My bedchamber?” She gestured toward the end of the hall. “That one nearest the windows. Behind the column.”

“Lucy, you will remain with her at all times. Understand?”

“Truly, Mr. McMinn,” Flora said, her hands on her hips. “This poor woman doesn't work for you. It's hardly appropriate for you to be giving her orders.”

“Suit yourself, Flora. Let's go see Daddy.”

He made a move as if he might once again sweep her into his arms, and Flora knew she'd pushed him as far as she could. The time had come for retreat and a few moments to revisit her plan.

“No, no. I'm going,” she said as she hurried past Lucy. The maid followed and shut the door behind her.

“Ten minutes,” she heard Lucas say. “And should you attempt to do anything foolish, I'll be waiting just outside.”

Flora sank down on her bed and looked at Lucy. Her maid was trying not to smile as she shook her head.

“Miss Flora, that man, is he crazy or does he just love you very much?'

“Love me?” She laughed as she pulled the doily out of her cleavage and tossed it aside. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Oh, he loves you, all right. It's all over him.” Lucy went to the armoire and pulled out a morning dress of mint green. “This one?”

“Yes, that's fine,” Flora responded, though she knew she would not be greeting Lucas or Father in that dress—or in any other one tonight. Not with what she had planned.

She slipped out of her borrowed clothes and kicked them aside. “I'm curious, Lucy,” she said as she bent to allow Lucy to slip the dress over her head. “Why do you think Mr. McMinn is in love with me?”

The maid grinned. “We all think that, miss. Mostly because of the way he looks at you when you're not watching. Can't you see it?” She laughed. “No, I suppose you can't, what with it happening when you're not noticing.”

Flora straightened and turned around to her image in the mirror. “No, I don't suppose I can. But truly, he is insufferable. All he wants to do is complain.”

“Yes, miss,” the maid said demurely, though Flora knew she was only agreeing to be polite.

She walked to the window and Lucy followed with the remainder of her ensemble. From where she stood, Flora could see the little cottage and the single light that always burned in the window.

Most nights the light gave her comfort. Tonight, however, the image unsettled her. If Violet would just set her pride aside and…

No, that was a thought for another day.

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed as she handed a folded piece of paper to Flora. “I almost forgot that I was sent up here to give you this. It came for you after Mr. McMinn carried you…that is, after you and Mr. McMinn arrived in the second floor hall.”

Flora turned around to open the note as Lucy attended to the fasteners along the back of her dress.
Must follow the job to New Orleans. Marry me there? Jackson Square. Noon on Friday.

She quickly folded the page and held it against her heart. Two days? Convincing Father of the need to visit New Orleans was a simple matter. She traveled between the two Brimm homes frequently.

Making the trip without Lucas McMinn was another matter entirely, especially since the man had already admitted he was from the city. Flora gave the matter some thought. And then the most brilliant of ideas occurred.
Yes, of course.

“There, miss,” Lucy said as she stood back to admire Flora. “You're all done, and according to your mantel clock you've a full minute to spare.”

Flora tore her attention from the cottage and turned to face Lucy. “I do, don't I?” She nodded toward the door. “Tell Mr. McMinn I'll be out directly, please.”

She gave Flora a doubtful look. “I…I believe I'm to stay with you, Miss Flora.”

“Until Mr. McMinn pays your salary, Lucy, you'll not be taking orders from him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she said, her eyes downcast.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just weary, and my patience is stretched beyond bearing by that man out there in the hall.”

“The man who loves you,” Lucy reminded her.

“Well, if he does, he certainly hasn't mentioned it.”

“No?” Lucy asked. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.” Except the kiss she hated to admit she still found herself thinking about. And the fact that tonight he declared he cared for her.

That was a surprise because most of the time he acted as though he was tired of dealing with her. Well, he would not have to deal with her anymore. Not if she could find her way out of this room and into the arms of Will Tucker on Friday at noon in Jackson Square.

The thought of Mr. Tucker's arms around her was quickly replaced by the recollection of the same embrace by Mr. McMinn. Why was it that the Pinkerton agent insisted on pestering her even when he was not in the room?

Again the light in the cottage caught her attention. “Of course,” she whispered as the final piece of the plan's puzzle clicked into place.