An Agent for Liana Page 4

  “Hate to disillusion you, but the job is not all excitement. Sometimes, it can be downright boring and tedious.” He lowered his boot and then sat, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Attention to detail is key. The ability to move freely is important.” He waved a hand at her skirts. “Your dresses have to be shortened so they don’t skim the ground when you walk.”

  Frowning, she shook her head, loosening a tendril from the tortoiseshell comb. “But, the styles—”

  “Liana, you must keep both hands free to be ready for action.” He spotted her lips moving to respond. Probably another argument. “Remember, I’m the trainer and have firsthand experience about what to expect when we’re on a case.”

  Her hands clasped tight in her lap. “Do you know how long shortening all my dresses will take?”

  Dale leaned back and rested an arm along the back of the bench seat, watching as she scooted away. “Not long, I should think. You’ll be packing no more than three dresses. You need one split skirt for riding.” Hearing her take several deep breaths, he waited until she raised her head and met his gaze. “And no parasols.”

  A muffled squeal echoed from her throat. “C’est impossible!” She shifted position to face him. “What you demand is not reasonable. When Dixie and I traveled here a year ago, we were allowed luggage of one hundred pounds each on the train.”

  The flash in her eyes and the tilt of her chin amused him. “I’m not talking about railroad regulations. When you work with me, you’re allowed only what you can carry.” Should he mention the maximum forty pounds allowed by the stagecoach line that was the last leg of their trip? Might be too much of a shock. Better wait until the end of training.

  “But I already started packing my trunk.” She opened her hands and shrugged them, palms up, into the air.

  “No trunk connected to our tickets will be loaded onto the train.” Scoffing, he sat forward and leaned a hand on his knee so he could look into her face. “What happens if we have to travel by horseback? Have you ever seen a trunk riding behind a saddle?”

  Blinking fast, she gazed into the distance. “A gentleman would not be so quick to point out my faults.”

  That comment stung, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. He’d been raised to be a gentleman—at least until his father’s death at the beginning of his second year at West Point. His mother refused to pay for his schooling, stating the military was the reason she’d often lived more like a widow than a wife. Feeling rebellious in a way only a frustrated young man could, he joined the Army infantry. The hasty and defiant act also cost him his fiancée, Susannah, who feared he’d return maimed. “I apologize, Liana, if my analysis seems harsh.” He rested a hand over the clenched ones she held in her lap, registered how she stiffened. “But the questions are necessary. Why don’t you share what skills you bring to our team?”

  “I speak five languages. Mister Gordon thought that ability could be helpful.”

  “In Europe, maybe. In Nevada Territory, probably not.”

  She twisted to meet his gaze. “This Nevada is where we are going?”

  Not wanting to get into details at this moment, he nodded and withdrew his hand. “Tell me your other special talents.”

  “I take people’s dreams and make them realities.”

  “Wow, what a grandiose claim.” Adopting his best poker face, he nodded.

  “But I speak the truth. Women come to our shop with a vague idea of the type of garments they want. My sister and I discuss details, interpret choices, and create dresses that exceed their expectations.”

  Dale watched the graceful wave of her hands emphasizing her points. Enthusiasm lit her face and put a sparkle in her eyes. What had Archie been thinking? How could such a specific—and admittedly feminine—talent be helpful? But he wanted to find something to praise in what she described. “Sounds like you’re a good listener.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  The smile she beamed at his compliment just about blinded him. His throat tightened. She’s starved for attention. The temptation to enfold her in an embrace swept his thoughts. Instead, he stood. “Let’s conduct your first lesson.”

  She rose and waved a hand toward her body. “Wearing this?”

  “We’re just walking.” He reached for her hand and tucked it into his crooked elbow. Without another word, he sauntered across the yard and out onto the boardwalk to the street corner. “In what direction is your shop?”

  “Straight ahead in the next block.”

  Checking for traffic, he escorted her across the street and onto the next boardwalk. With his peripheral vision, he watched her gazing in the wrong places.

  Her footsteps stopped. “This is the shop.”

  Dale glanced at the overhead painted sign reading Dressmakers—Apparel & Millinery. Then he stepped in front of Liana and reached for her hands to keep her from turning. “Without looking around, tell me what you noticed.”

  Her eyes widened before she glanced at their clasped hands then looked up again. “Today is a beautiful day with no clouds in the sky.”

  “Agreed, but what about the people on the street?”

  “People?” Her nose crinkled.

  A groan threatened. He’d have to start with more obvious questions. “You and I are not the only pedestrians present. Who did we pass?” He’d nodded to the older man wearing a derby lingering in the doorway of the haberdashery and had heard a boy shouting the headlines of The Denver Times.

  “I do not know.”

  “What about other people on this side of the street?” A woman dressed in blue holding the hand of a young girl had stood looking at the display in the watchmaker’s window.

  “I do not remember seeing anyone.”

  “Across the street, who sits on the bench in front of the mercantile?” At a pull against his hold, he tightened his grip.

  “A man?”

  The question in her voice told him she guessed. Actually, two men sat at opposite ends with a checkerboard between them. “What color is the horse in the alley? Is it hitched to a buggy or a wagon?”

  “I give up. I was not paying attention.” Her shoulders slumped. “The neighborhood looks different when being escorted. I just enjoyed our walk together.”

  Her simple honesty tugged something in his chest. “Any time you are in the vicinity of others, you have to take notice.” He stepped to his left then rested his hands on her delicate shoulders and eased her to face the street. “Now, look again and tell me what you see.” For the next several moments, he listened as she listed details about people. She relayed how the mercantile owner always misspelled potatoes and tomatoes in his signs, leaving out the e. He wouldn’t have known the woman in blue wore a style five years out of date or that the haberdasher wore a different hat every day. A choice that he figured made sense to bolster the entrepreneur’s sales.

  Across the street, Alexei and Dixie walked and chatted.

  His fellow agent appeared to be enjoying an afternoon stroll. Had Dale been too zealous in deciding training needed to start today?

  “I wish to try again.” She stepped forward and turned, her gaze narrowing. “Now that I know what test I am taking.”

  “Maybe we should become acquainted instead, Liana.” What had he been thinking? Today was the woman’s wedding day—she shouldn’t be asked to analyze situations and people.

  “No, you have found me lacking, and I wish to improve on your opinion.”

  For the next hour, he set the parameters of designated walks along the main street, but he did not tell her what to look for. With the second walk, she still registered non-essential details about people’s attire or habits she knew about shopkeepers from living on the same street for a year. He found at least one detail to praise. In the third walk that took them away from the center of town, she commented about a disreputable man leaning against a saloon wall. Dale quizzed her on what aspects of the man qualified him for that label. The specifics she noticed pleased him. When he moved toward an alley between buildings, he felt backward pressure on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  “A lady should never walk into such a dark place.” Her delicately arched brows pinched tight over her nose. She glanced toward the shadows and then back, her eyes wide.

  How to word what he had to say? “Liana, you must not think like a lady. If your directive is to follow someone down an alley, you must do so.”

  “Even if another way exists?”

  He made a show of glancing around. “What other way?”

  “I could ask to walk through the”—she leaned back her head to read first one then the other of the shop signs—“gunsmith or the bookseller shops.”

  “But you’d lose sight of the quarry as soon as you left the alley.”

  “True.” She glanced again at the alley and squared her shoulders. Lifting her skirts, she stepped forward into the shadows, head tilted to watch the ground.

  After two steps, Dale shook his head and moved to follow, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet. Five feet in, he slipped an arm around her waist from behind and planted a hand over her mouth.

  Liana went rigid and inhaled through her nose. Then she leaned back her head against his shoulder.

  “Why didn’t you struggle?” He rested his hands at her waist and turned her to face him.

  “Because I recognized the woodsy scent of your soap.” She smiled and tilted her head.

  “Good detail to notice.” He returned her smile for a moment then let his lips flatten. “But did you consider how many other men might use it, too?”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders rounded.

  “Try again.” With hands on her shoulders, he eased her to face away. “This time, don’t watch your feet.”

  Her chin came up and she glanced over her
shoulder. “But how will I avoid the puddles that will dirty my hem?”

  Arching an eyebrow, he crossed his arms and remained silent.

  “So that is why my skirts need to be shortened.”

  At least, she was a fast learner. After nodding, he jerked his chin toward the alley and watched as she walked down the middle of the five-foot-wide space.

  She reached the bright street at the other end, turned, and waved.

  Her silver ball earrings flashed in the sunlight like twin beacons. Shaking his head, he gave a beckoning wave then cupped hands around his mouth. “Come back and pretend you don’t wish to be seen. Use places of concealment.” He’d already noted a side door that exited each business, as well as several crates stacked against the bookseller’s building.

  On her return trip, Liana minced her way down the alley, ducked behind the crates, and fitted herself into both the door frames.

  Unfortunately, doing so pushed her voluminous skirts forward so yellow fabric and white petticoats jutted at least fifteen inches into sight. Also, his new wife was well-enough endowed that neither of the recessed doorways hid her upper curves. He dragged a hand over his face, doing his best to calm his irritation. Maybe before Dale’s training of Liana ended, Archie could send Kate Warne a telegram wherever she was currently stationed and ask for wardrobe tips.

  Liana stomped up to him, eyes narrowing and breath panting. “I hope you are happy, Dale Claybourne. My dress is ruined.”

  He gave her a head-to-toe look, noting an inch of mud on her hems, torn lace on one cuff, and a ruffle hanging loose from her hat brim. She did appear quite the worse for wear. Part of him wanted to reach out and console her. But the rational part wanted her to finish her first assignment in one piece. “What did you learn?”

  “That you are a most inconsiderate man.” She batted at the fabric hanging from her hat.

  An insult. She was on the defensive. “I’ll buy you a new dress. I’m asking about the act of tracking.”

  Sighing, she poked a foot from under the skirt hems. “My attire impeded me. Shoes with heels, even short ones, would not be good in a chase. I need sturdier soles.” She shuddered. “Ugly, flat shoes.”

  “What else?”

  She fingered the ruined lace and sniffled. “That unadorned clothes would be best.”

  Her concession surprised him. At least, she’d learned this lesson through firsthand experience. “With less fabric and fewer petticoats?”

  Lips tight, she nodded.

  “A plainer hat, modest jewelry, and no dangling earrings.”

  Gasping, she lifted her hands to her ears then let them drop. “You wish to make me unattractive.”

  This lady, with her expressive eyes, pert nose, and creamy skin, marred only by a natural beauty mark on her left cheek, could never be anything but beautiful. But saying so would undermine his intention. “No, just less memorable.”

  “Qui veut une telle chose?” She waved her hands and paced, yanking at the train of her dress as she moved. “I am a seamstress who is proud to make lovely clothes. Why would I want to make myself look plain?”

  When turned away, she mumbled something he didn’t hear. This habit of breaking into French might be hard to stop. Or maybe they’d use it to help create a persona different from her own so when she quit after the assignment, as he assumed she would, no repercussions would follow.

  She stopped and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, have you no answer?”

  “The only answer is that you wish to become a Pinkerton agent.”

  Her head tilted, and she let out a long sigh. “Yes, I do.”

  “I have one last question.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited until her gaze focused on his. “In whose bed will we sleep tonight?”

  Chapter 4

  Liana’s heart beat so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. “Quel? I do not understand.” She took one backward step and wrapped both arms around her middle. His intense stare bored into her eyes. She searched for a hint of teasing in his expression, but his gaze did not flicker and his mouth gave no indication a smile lurked there. Another test? Had she already failed by not providing an immediate answer? “But we are still here…in Denver.” His continued silence confused her. “I thought the case would not start until we left on the train.”

  “Could start then.” A broad shoulder lifted then fell. “Or we could begin now, since you obviously need practice getting used to my touch and being at ease enough to touch me.”

  The thought of this large, virile man in her bedroom bathed heat through her veins. Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention. Dixie and her agent stepped up to the boardwalk and moved in her direction. By all appearances, they seemed to be getting along. “Non, messieur. That arrangement would never work. I have my sister to consider.” A flush rose up her neck, and she wished she could hide it with her fingers. What if the other agent was making the same suggestion? Would this decision be taken from her control?

  “Then I suggest we return to the office, and you have your first lesson in firearms.”

  Smiling, she breathed out a sigh. Handling a gun seemed much safer than the last topic he introduced. “Of course. I will learn a valuable skill for my adventure.”

  Dale reached for her right hand and tucked it into his elbow. “Each case is a job, Liana. A job with a specific goal and an expected outcome.”

  “But the skill is nothing like I know, so I like to think of it as my adventure.” She grinned at Dixie as the couples approached.

  Dixie nodded then tilted her head and gazed at her agent.

  The men jerked their chins at one another and tapped fingers against their hat brims.

  This time, as she walked, she scanned both sides of the street and searched for anything that looked out of place. More people crowded the boardwalk, moving in and out of the shops or going to and from their jobs, than when she first left the agency. But they all seemed to be acting out a portion of their daily routine. Certainly, no one scrutinized the crowd as she did. “Do you need to be a naturally suspicious person to be a good agent?”

  “Not really, but that trait helps. Mostly, you need to have sharp observation skills.”

  Not for the first time, she wondered if she should ask him to take shorter strides. If she was expected to walk this fast, then she understood why he banished parasols. Keeping hold of his elbow, managing her skirts on the steps down to the street and up again, and covering the distance to their destination took all her concentration.

  A sudden tug on her reticule yanked her off-balance and a few steps into a shadowed alley.

  “Give it to me.” A whiskered man in shabby clothes who stunk of whiskey glared.

  The cords dug into her wrist, but Liana grabbed the bag with both hands and held tight. Blood pumped double fast, and she planted her feet to resist the man’s pull. “Je ne vais pas.” Memories of a childhood bully surfaced. Jean Pierpont, a pudgy boy from the village where she grew up, coveted shiny baubles and always wanted her necklaces and earbobs. Still struggling to hold onto her property, Liana kicked him in the closest shin. “Arrêter, canaille.”

  The man bellowed and let go, hopping back a step. He hurried down the alley, limping.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she shook a fist in the air. “Cours!”

  At the end of the alley, the scoundrel turned back, swept the cap off his head, and gave a waist-deep bow.

  Slow applause clapped from a few feet away.

  For an instant, anger stiffened her muscles, and she gasped. Liana spun to see Dale’s grin over his still-moving raised hands. “That man threatened me. Yet, you did nothing.”

  His grin remained, but he dropped his hands to his sides.

  She charged forward. “I thought I was in danger, but this…this attaque was fake? How could you arrange such a thing?”

  Dale nodded. “Training, my dear.”

  Narrowing her gaze, she smoothed a hand over her dress front then lifted it to check for any hair that slipped from her combs. Then she executed a perfect pivot and marched up the walkway to the Pinkerton office. Under her breath, she muttered invectives in French, which only soothed her a little bit. How could he let her think her life was at stake!

  To avoid causing alarm to whomever might be close, she did not burst into the building like she wanted to. Instead, she knocked twice then stepped over the threshold and headed toward the library. There she paced, working out his logic. She did not have experience. So, like the interview, he needed to learn how she would handle herself when surprised. On the third round of stomping between the far bookcase and the doorway, she slowed her pace. A hand pressed to her chest did nothing to help her breathe more air.