An Agent for Alexandra Read online

  That crack caused a ripple in Alexandra’s chest. The words had been spiteful and impulsive, but was it possible that they were also true?

  Senseless, childish, foolish girl. There would be no victory in abusing her partner, especially when she had no idea what he had suffered in her past. She was smart and canny, quick-thinking and unafraid, which was why it hadn’t seemed at all far-fetched that she should become a Pinkerton agent. But she was headstrong, and she was willful.

  Neither of which would suit her now.

  “I’m sorry, Tucker,” she murmured. “That was unforgivable, and I apologize for it. I had no idea that...”

  Her husband began to shake, and her stomach clenched in distress.

  Then she heard a snort, followed by more shaking.

  “Are you… are you laughing?” Alexandra asked in horror.

  Tucker turned towards her, grinning outright, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry, I’m so sorry... “

  Alexandra threw her hands up and shook her head, huffing loudly. “I actually felt sorry for you. I thought I’d hurt your feelings, and… Why would I ever think that? You clearly don’t have any.”

  “It’s true, I don’t.” Tucker pulled a knee towards his chest, still grinning in an all-too attractive manner, considering the infuriating character flaws he was displaying in every other regard. “I’ve also never had a partner.”

  “How fortunate for them.” She rubbed at her brow, then removed her hat and slammed it down on the seat beside her. “And to think I actually thought we could have a civilized conversation and form something that could resemble an actual partnership. But what else could I expect when paired with a mangy mutt from the streets?”

  Tucker hummed a short, low sound. “Careful. You might damage the peacock on top of that hat by being so rough with it. And you were balancing it so well, especially given the hoop skirt you seem to carrying it on.”

  Alexandra bit the inside of her lip, skewering her soon-to-be late husband with all the venom currently boiling through her veins. “I never thought I would say this,” she managed to tell him, her teeth grinding together, “but shut up, Mutt.”

  “Mutt?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Hmm. Oddly appropriate.”

  “It’s not a compliment,” she insisted with a murderous smile. “It’s a euphemism for what I would like to call you, but have too much good taste to do so.” She batted her eyelashes prettily. “Bless your heart.”

  Tucker finally sobered, his face hardening. “I think you’re a spoiled, rich, ignorant brat who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  She lifted a brow. “And I think you’re an abrasive, stubborn, tactless mongrel who should be taken out back and shot.”

  Her husband’s eyes narrowed, and then, to her amazement, he nodded once. “Good. Honesty. That’s all I expect. Got it?”

  Was he serious? All of that to get her to lash out and call it honesty?

  Well, if honesty was what he wanted, she could certainly promise that. “Got it,” she replied with a prim nod. She indicated the satchel sitting on the seat beside him. “Are you going to tell me what our assignment is?”

  “Of course,” he said simply. “But not here. We’ll be at the station soon, and then we need to find lodgings. Once we are settled, I’ll tell you everything we know.”

  “How refreshing,” she muttered in a dry voice. “To actually know something, what a thought.”

  Tucker gave her a frank look. “You have a sharp tongue, Chickadee. Do you shoot as well as you lash?”

  Alexandra smiled at her husband smugly. “Better, my dear Mutt. Much better.”

  Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln, she was magnificent.

  He couldn’t stand her, but she was magnificent.

  He’d always been amused by feisty women, but he’d never exactly wanted to be married to one. He always thought it would have been more fun to observe a marriage involving a feisty woman, particularly if she married a friend of his.

  Now he was tied to Alexandra for at least the duration of this mission, and, given that he had not married her by choice and could end it when the task was done, he’d decided to prod the Georgia peach to see if she would bite.

  And oh, how she bit.

  Tucker knew full well he was a difficult man, and his lack of interest in anything resembling social activity tended to irritate people, but he often found his tendency towards reticence to be rather useful. He’d gotten Alexandra to chirp incessantly and with just a little agitation, seen her temper in all its glory. He had already know she was witty and quick with her banter, but he had no idea of the stamina she possessed.

  His initial impression would have to be adjusted. Yes, she wore the fine clothing of the elite, and yes, her hats were all ridiculous, but she had no trouble diving into the murky pool of biting rhetoric with him. She hadn’t come anywhere close to tears in his maddening silence or harsh words, and that alone was remarkable.

  Alexandra was a beautiful woman, he had seen that from the first moment he clapped eyes on her. Her hair was the richest shade of brown he’d ever seen, and her eyes were a captivating golden brown than made him want to linger on them a little longer. Then there were the perfect lips that were beyond expressive, that could drawl with all the delightful sounds of the South in any given syllable, and that could curve in the sweetest smile that ever pleasantly cursed a person.

  He didn’t trust her.

  Not one iota.

  He’d argued having her as his partner from the moment she stormed out of the room until he had been bodily forced from headquarters into their transportation to the station.

  He’d refused to speak to her for the entire first day as a sign of resistance.

  Unfortunately, his wife hadn’t noticed and had begun to chirp then and there.

  Which, incidentally, was what had prompted him to keep at his reserve and see what would happen.

  Alexandra Drake Waite, as it happened, possessed a remarkable endurance of the lungs and an unbelievable stamina of the vocal cords. The only peace he had found had been while she slept, and he’d come to find the silence almost unnerving.

  They needed to get to Portland, and he needed to know just how inept his wife and partner would be to him.

  He had no doubt she was intelligent, and she was certainly quick, but such a woman could be perfectly useful in an office at headquarters or one of the other locations hosting agents. It was entirely probable that she would be useless in the field and a hindrance to their objectives. He saw himself as having to mind and tend her more than anything else, and if he were not careful, she would become lost, and he would have to look for her, and the entire venture would be utterly wasted.

  He would never progress up the ranks after a failed assignment like that.

  So here he was, trapped with a woman he couldn’t stand, didn’t trust, and actually enjoyed looking at, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Lovely.

  The train pulled into the station, and he was up before it completed the motion, sliding his satchel over his head and reaching for her bag in the shelf above her. She, meanwhile, plucked up the monstrosity that was her headwear and fastened it to her with a long pin he would need to watch out for. He silently scoffed and shook his head, wondering just how she intended to maneuver with that thing tilted so precariously on its perch.

  No matter. He could play the long-suffering husband with the ridiculous wife if he must.

  He had no doubt several other men in the country, if not the world, actively engaged in such roles daily.

  Glancing over his shoulder at her, and receiving a firm nod of affirmation, he strode out of the compartment, Alexandra on his heels, and they made their way to the exit.

  “Watch your step, sir,” the conductor said as they disembarked. “Watch your step. They’ve had a bit of rain here, don’t want you to injure yourself before your stay begins.”

  Tucker nodded his thanks, but needed no such warning. Then, inst
inctively, he turned to offer a hand to Alexandra.

  He caught a momentary flash of surprise, but her hand slid into his with ease, applying only the slightest pressure as she stepped down. She beamed up at the conductor, who tipped his hat at her with a half-bow.

  “Thank you for such a lovely trip, Conductor,” she practically purred in a thick Savannah accent. “It was a mighty fine way to travel, if I do say so myself.”

  The conductor turned pink and bowed further still. “Glad we could provide you with such comfort, Mrs. …?”

  “Carlton,” she informed him, looping her arm through Tucker’s and leaning against him a little. “Mrs. Tucker Carlton. Newly married and just starting out, sir.”

  Tucker tried not to look too inconvenienced by the tale, opting for a doleful expression worn by men for eons of time.

  “And what persuaded such a fine Southern belle to leave her place of birth and come all the way out here to Oregon, I wonder?” the conductor mused, his bristle mustache twitching with a flirtatious smile.

  Tucker’s left hand became a fist at once. The lady just said she was Tucker’s wife, for heaven’s sake, and he took that as an invitation to toss his hat in the ring?

  Alexandra’s hand moved up his arm and began to stroke in a strangely calming manner, as if she knew exactly what confusing rage was rattling him at the present. “Adventure, sir. Love for my husband, and a glorious adventure. I think I’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked me.”

  His throat seized up at the lie, and he swallowed, the soothing movement of her hand on his arm sending shivers into his legs.

  The conductor looked no less pleased at her answer, and he winked at Tucker. “And did he ask you, ma’am?”

  “Didn’t have to,” Tucker grunted roughly, defying his inclination to observe rather than participate. “She said yes before I opened my mouth.”

  Alexandra giggled a merry, musical laugh and buried her face against his shoulder briefly. “I fear I do have my own mind. Father was ever so delighted to turn me over to my husband.”

  The conductor chuckled and tipped his hat to them both. “Well, I wish you both the very best, and hope you will find Portland accommodating for your needs. You’ll be able to pick up your trunks just over there, and transportation available at the end of the block. Good day to you both.”

  Tucker moved Alexandra away before she could say anything else to continue the too-long conversation. Her hold on his arm loosened considerably, and the charmed smile on her lips faded into polite ambivalence.

  What an actress.

  “Did you have to do that?” Tucker muttered, leaning closer.

  She nearly blackened his eye with the bird atop her hat as she jerked around to look up at him. “Do what?”

  He exhaled irritably as he pointed at their trunks to the porter. “Whatever that was. Encourage him. Charm him. Flirt with him.”

  Alexandra’s eyes widened, her lips parting briefly. “Was that what you thought that was?”

  “That’s certainly what it looked like.” He lifted a shoulder. “If you’re going to be my wife, it’d be better if you were inclined to remain so.”

  “Going to be?” she repeated, her voice taking on a shrill note.

  He shushed her quickly, his eyes scanning the crowd, though no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

  She suddenly tugged at his arm. “I already am your wife, Mutt. And that wasn’t flirtation, it was good manners and congeniality. If you had any of either, you would recognize them when you saw them.”

  His response waited until they were loaded into a waiting coach, their trunks safely stowed atop, and no other guests within. Tucker gave the driver the address he had been given for their accommodations, and they were off again rather quickly.

  Alexandra stared out of the window, her arms tightly folded.

  “Listen, Chickadee,” he began in a low voice.

  She silenced him with a cold look. “No, you listen. You do not get to treat me like the dirt under your shoes and then demand that I be an adoring wife. We are married, though I don’t expect us to treat each other like husband and wife, and I refused to be dictated to as though I am some child who doesn’t understand what we are doing here. Do you think I paid Archie to give me this position? Or that he would somehow find me unqualified and hire me anyway? You know him better than I, so you tell me.”

  Tucker stared at her, momentarily without words.

  She had a point. Several, in fact. He had doubted Archie, though the man had been at this career longer than Tucker, and had, in fact, given Tucker his position. He had assumed that Alexandra was a mistake, and he had thought that he would have to explain every detail of the mission repeatedly and in rather simple terms.

  Clearly he had misjudged her.

  In part.

  “I don’t know anything about being a husband,” he admitted gruffly, sitting back against the seat, “but I think I could manage a partnership.”

  “How magnanimous,” Alexandra said, entirely unimpressed.

  He gave her a look. “I’m giving an inch, Chickadee. Help me out, would you?”

  She made a face, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. Starting over, are we?”

  He felt his mouth curve in a faint smile. “Something like that.”

  Alexandra nodded, sat up straighter, and held out a dainty hand. “Hello, I’m Alexandra Drake Waite. I do believe you are currently my husband. Charmed to meet you.”

  Now Tucker laughed outright, which surprised him as much as he was sure it did her. “Not that far, Chickadee.” He took her hand and kissed it in the most perfunctory manner known to man, then let it drop. “There will be time to get to know each other once we’re settled in, but given that we’re about to start our mission under the guise of being married, we ought to have a few things straight,”

  She nodded at once, amusement fading in the face of determination. “I’ve already given us a name. We can continue being the Carltons.”

  “We can, yes,” he agreed. “We will need to act like a true couple, though we don’t need to fawn.”

  “Pity,” Alexandra chirped. “I am desperately good at fawning, but I will refrain for the sake of your reserved sensibilities.”

  “Thank you,” he muttered dryly. “We’ll say that we met when I came down to Savannah on business.”

  “Seems viable enough,” she replied. “What business?”

  He paused, thinking. “I’m not sure. What do people come to Savannah for?”

  She flicked a curiously attractive grin, then let it fade into a more natural but no less appealing one. “Trade. We’ll say you’re in shipping, shall we? Also you should know that my father is a very successful businessman, entirely devoted to me, and my mother has been dead for ten years.”

  Tucker nodded in acknowledgement. “Sorry for your loss. I have no family, so that keeps things simple for you.”

  “Certainly does.” She tilted her head at him, a small dimple appearing in her right cheek. “Would you care to tell me what we’re doing here? Just the basics, details can be sorted out later.”

  He knew they would come around to this eventually, and he’d have to give her something to go on. He’d have to tell her everything in the file, in all fairness. Partnership, he’d said.

  He could treat her as a partner. He didn’t have to trust her for that, did he?

  Trust would come, he was sure, but he had to give some to receive more. Wasn’t that the way of things?

  Tucker stared at Alexandra, his wife, his partner, his startlingly beautiful torment. He exhaled once, then said, “There are people disappearing from Portland. Most without a single trace. We’re here to figure out what happened, where they went, and prevent anyone else from disappearing.” He smiled humorlessly. “That shouldn’t be too hard, should it, Chickadee?”

  Chapter 2

  “Good morning, Mrs. Carlton! How did you sleep last night?”

  Alexandra smiled at the pudgy wom
an who ran the boarding house, her clearly well-loved apron smudged, her brown and gray corkscrew curls sticking out from under her cap, and her plump cheeks rosy from a morning of baking, no doubt. “Like a bump on a log, Mrs. Ames. I doubt even Gabriel’s trump could have woken me, I was so fatigued.”

  The kind woman tutted and wiped down the table nearest her. “You poor dear. You looked well worn down when you and your husband arrived last night. I thought you might drift off with the biscuit halfway to your mouth.”