Page 26 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 26

“W HAT IS GOING ON BETWEEN you two?” The question barely waited until Theresa closed her bedroom door. “And don’t give me some fish tale about there being nothing.”

Lydia forced herself not to chew on her bottom lip as she tried to compose an answer. But how could she when she didn’t know the answer herself? What was going on between Abraham and her?

“I won’t dishonor our friendship by denying there is something between Abraham and me, but I honestly have no idea what that something is.” She dropped onto Theresa’s pristine bed. “He and I have only been friends for a single day.”

“Broderick and I were friends for years before we shared the sort of silent looks you and Abraham just did. I don’t think we shared even one like that until after we’d kissed for the first time.” Theresa’s eyes widened. “Did you two kiss?”

“No. Yes. I mean …” Lydia drew a deep breath and tried to state the facts simply, except there was nothing simple about them. “I kissed him, but it wasn’t a real kiss.”

“Nonsense! A kiss is always a kiss. When did this happen?”

“Does it really count as a kiss if our lips barely brushed before we pushed away and I literally knocked him off his feet?”

“Is that what all the knocking-you-off-your-feet talk meant? Good gracious, Lydia! The man just practically threatened you with a deep and passionate kiss.”

So it wasn’t just Lydia’s imagination taking his meaning further than she should. With his superior sitting right there, Abraham had threatened to kiss her.

She grabbed the novel sitting on Theresa’s bedside and used it as a fan. “Nonsense. We’re giving his comment more meaning than he intended.”

Theresa sat back and folded her arms with her you’re-being-absurd face. “I was nearly married to Broderick, Lydia. I recognize when a man has more than a passing interest, and Abraham was absolutely implying he would kiss you breathless.”

“But was it an invitation or a warning not to try?”

“Nora, Flossie, and I can arrange an opportunity to test it out.”

“Theresa!”

She shrugged and smiled. “It’s only fair that a romance author should experience her own love story.”

“I’m not a romance author anymore. And obviously Abraham was right. I have the ability to demonstrate sound judgment, but what I lack is the application. You cannot allow Abraham and me to be alone. I desire his friendship, and I don’t want to jeopardize it.”

“Is friendship really all you want? Or are you denying the fact that you wouldn’t be opposed to something more? Mrs. Hall does have a certain ring to it, after all.” Theresa waggled her brows.

The idea that Abraham hinted at an invitation set her heart racing and her palms sweating. As a gentleman, Abraham would wait for her permission before pursuing such a scintillating activity, but she’d read and written enough novels to know the danger in that. If a real kiss from him was half as good as she envisioned it to be, they’d best go after a short courtship and engagement.

But she didn’t just want passion in her romance; she wanted true love. Something that could endure the hardships of life. Someone who would stand by her side even when she was at her worst. She’d watched Theresa’s devastation when Broderick had left her when she needed him most. Lydia wanted better for Theresa and for herself.

Abraham stood next to Lydia as her friend for now, but how long would that last?

“I don’t know which one I want it to be, Theresa. All I know is I want a real love and not just some fleeting, passionate kiss.”

“And that right there shows you’re far wiser than you give yourself credit for.” The pain of abandonment played across Theresa’s face, fresh as the day she discovered Broderick was gone and never coming back.

Two years, and still Theresa grieved. And why not? Everyone had thought Broderick and Theresa were the embodiment of true love. They were best friends turned more, passionate and faithful. But that hadn’t stopped him from leaving. What hope for love did anyone have with an example like that? Lydia and Abraham were barely friends. There hadn’t been time for something deep and lasting to form between them. No. If she were going to have a chance at any future with Abraham, kissing had to stay firmly out of the picture.

After a moment, Theresa shoved her melancholy aside and replaced it with a gleam of mischievousness. “If a kissing opportunity should arise, Nora, Flossie, and I promise to turn our backs to afford you some privacy. You never know what a kiss might lead to—matrimony or just a sweet memory to relive in your dreams. My bet is on the first though.”

“You’re incorrigible. There is no need to turn your backs, and I’d rather you not. I’m certain once this Billy Poe case is over, Abraham will be as good as gone.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Abraham might end up as steadfast to you as your father is to your mother.”

Now there was true love. Lydia’s parents had met and married within a year. Devotion had laced every letter exchanged while Papa served during the War Between the States. Despite miscarriages, financial hardships, and an often-chaotic life, they’d remained faithful in their love. Sweeter still, they were affectionate to the point of embarrassment. Of course, most of the embarrassment came from Lydia watching them when they thought they were alone. That was what she wanted in a husband. A man she could respect, trust, be affectionate with, and lean into during the hard times.

One day of friendship did not make Abraham that man.

But he could be.

That idea needed squelched. Detective Lawson was right. She should not make any hasty decisions while her emotions ran high. Abraham must remain simply a friend, and if a future existed for them, she would explore it after this Billy Poe madness was over—something that needed to happen sooner rather than later.

It was time to call together the Guardians.

“I think it’s time we bring Flossie and Nora in to create a plan to capture Billy Poe. It’s obvious Detective Lawson has no confidence in the police’s ability to apprehend him before there is another death.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Theresa rubbed her hands together. “I’ll have Mrs. Hawking send them each a note to meet here first thing in the morning.”

“What should I do with the manuscript?”

“Is it here?”

“Of course. I was supposed to be working on it.”

“Keep it until the girls arrive. You shouldn’t be alone when you say goodbye to writing. Flossie, Nora, and I will be by your side as we burn your manuscript in a symbolic ceremony of your tossing out the old and becoming something new.”

Lydia cringed. “I’m not sure I want to be compared to changing from paper to ashes.”

“But what about the verse about God making beauty from ashes? The first step is to become those ashes.”

“That sounds painful.”

“It seems to me that you’ve already endured the pain. You might as well go the full distance and see what reward God holds for you on the other side.”

Why did that reward sound so ominous? “As long as that other side isn’t an early entrance into heaven. I don’t think Billy is going to be happy with me when he discovers in tomorrow’s newspaper that not only am I not writing any more books but Detective Abraham Hall is my supposed beau.”

“You didn’t tell me that bit of news.”

“Yes, well—”

A rap at the door saved Lydia from further explanation.

Mrs. Hawking marched in, stiff as a soldier on parade. “Miss Lydia, Mr. Monroe is here to see you. I tried to send him on his way, but Detective Lawson insisted you be notified. He wants you to lure Mr. Monroe into stealing your manuscript by hinting at where it is located.”

So much for not using her manuscript for bait.

But that didn’t mean it had to be located where she told Marcus it would be. Theresa could be trusted to hide the manuscript without reading it, so long as Lydia didn’t tell Theresa not to look. That woman’s desire to rebel increased whenever presented with a rule. How she’d managed to survive as the ward of a militant grandfather was beyond Lydia. Then again, Theresa was a master at evading Mrs. Hawking and Colonel Plane.

“Theresa, would you grab the manuscript from the desk in my room and hide it in your armoire while I speak with Marcus?”

“Are we not waiting for Flossie and Nora to set the trap?”

“Tonight, we’ll execute Detective Lawson’s plan. If it doesn’t work, then tomorrow, the Guardians will form one that does.”

Perhaps it was arrogant to believe four women could do what an entire police department could not, but Lydia was tired of passively waiting for Billy Poe to be arrested. She was an author, after all. She was used to plotting the end of a story, and she was ready for the climax. Too much time had been spent wading through the muddy middle.

Lydia met Marcus in the foyer, where he stood with his coat still on and hat in hand. No hospitality had been offered him, and she wouldn’t make him feel welcomed either. It was best to plant the seeds and then leave them to take root as quickly as possible.

Neither Abraham nor Detective Lawson were within clear view, but it was probably Abraham’s feet that caused the dark lines in the light beneath the parlor’s doors. It was a comfort to know he would be within reach if she were to need him. However, it wouldn’t be long before Theresa finished her task and grabbed a vase to heave from the landing should Marcus cause trouble. The plan had been laid out since she and Lydia were children imagining villains in every shadowed corner. If Marcus were Billy Poe, he had no hope of abducting or hurting her without immediate consequences.

Still, Lydia stood well outside of Marcus’s reach while addressing him. “If you’re here to beg for my manuscript again, you can leave.”

“Please, Lydia. You have a gift. You can’t give it up.”

“Gifts are meant to be used to glorify God. All I ever did was glorify evil. Tomorrow I will take that manuscript from Theresa’s guest room and burn it. No one else will die by the ink of my pen.”

He stepped closer but stopped short when she retreated. Hurt clouded his countenance. “I would never harm you.”

“You might. You could be Billy Poe.”

Hazel eyes pleaded with her. “You can trust me. I’m your friend, and if you give me your manuscript—”

“No.” If she’d had any doubts over his true reason for being here, they were gone now. “I’m sorry, but you are no longer welcome here. Please leave.”

“You would end our friendship over this?”

“You don’t actually care about our friendship. All you want is that manuscript so that you can save your job. I’d rather risk your job than the life of another man. It’s over, Mr. Monroe.”

He flinched at the formality.

“Leave and do not return. There is nothing for you here.”

The brim of Marcus’s hat crumpled within his fists, and his nostrils flared. However, he wasn’t red-faced, nor did any of his veins bulge. He might be upset, but he was far from a raging bull.

Lydia held her ground and waited him out.

At last, he jerked a nod, jammed his hat on his head, and strode out the door. It slammed with such force, she jumped at the crash.

Abraham emerged from the parlor with his gun still in hand. Detective Lawson followed close on his heels and slipped outside.

Abraham touched her elbow as he holstered his weapon. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t completely true, but how was she supposed to explain the ache of shoving a former friend away despite his possibly being a vile vigilante?

“Lawson is tailing Monroe. I’ll stay until he returns, then I’ve been ordered to go home for a good night’s sleep.”

“But Billy might try to break into the house tonight.” Involuntarily, she drew nearer to him.

He didn’t move away, instead caressing her arm with gentle encouragement. “You’ll be safe. Lawson’s bringing back several men to watch the house. Besides, I can’t always be around. Sleep with Miss Plane tonight and keep this handy.” He withdrew a hidden derringer from near his ankle.

“You did hear me tell you that I can’t shoot an object within three feet of me.”

“And that’s why I’m going to teach you in the carriage house. Colonel Plane has an area he uses for target practice.”

Lord, have mercy on her soul. The man was going to teach her to use a gun? How many times had she written such a scenario into her books? It had seemed so romantic when she’d written of masculine arms steadying the woman’s aim, the man and woman cheek to cheek as they lined up the sights. Now the only thing she could imagine was accidentally shooting her hero when she missed so badly the bullet hit something metal and ricocheted back at them. Or worse, she’d just put the bullet straight into him.

“I don’t think this is a wise idea. You greatly underestimate how poor a shot I am.”

“I think you’ve just had poor instructors. If you’re still not comfortable after I teach you, we’ll find another weapon for self-defense.”

Should she tell him Theresa likely had that covered? Or should Lydia allow him the opportunity to improve her shot, and herself the chance to enjoy a romantic gun outing with her “beau”?

One glimpse into his imploring eyes and she melted. He could ask her to learn how to dance with a cobra and she’d say yes. She only hoped he wouldn’t regret it.