Cadence (Langston Brothers Series) Read online

  Squinting playfully she tapped a thoughtful finger on her cheek. “Hmmm, wearing trousers every day would be tempting.”

  Turning his head he winked. “I know and it’s a lot easier to get you out of those clothes than these dresses with all of the hooks and buttons and frilly under things.”

  Her cheeks flamed but her eyes sparkled as he leaned close to brush her lips.

  Drawing her hand through his arm Curtis led her down the street toward the dress maker’s salon. “Hopefully there will be some gowns ready for purchase because we probably won’t be in London long enough to have any made, but once we’re back in Charleston we’ll make sure to have you fitted for a whole new wardrobe. As far as I’m concerned you never have to sew again in your life, unless you want to of course.”

  “With my duties as your cabin boy I can’t imagine I’d have the time for seamstress work,” she teased entwining her fingers with his. Passing through the doors of the dress shop she breathed, “Cabin boy, I feel more like a princess.” The store was immaculately decorated with plush carpet and rich velvet curtains. Elegant chairs and chaise longues decorated the interior, and various rooms for the seamstresses to work lay off of a large main room.

  “How can I help you this afternoon?” A woman of middling years walked over with her arms outstretched in invitation.

  Placing a hand at the small of his wife’s back Curtis turned to the matron. “My wife is in need of an entirely new wardrobe. We were hoping you had some dresses made ready for purchase.”

  The woman smiled warmly, “Certainly, Mister...?

  “Langston,” Curtis supplied with a nod, “Captain Curtis Langston and this is my wife Cadence.”

  “Langston?” A surprised eye swept the length of the shabbily garbed couple. “You wouldn’t have any relation to the Duke of Ashbridge?”

  “My grandfather was the disinherited son of some lord or other, so it’s possible,” Curtis shrugged. “But you needn’t worry about upsetting anyone important on my account.” He winked. “As far as the British aristocracy is concerned I am nobody, an American nobody, and I would just as soon keep it that way.”

  The woman smiled. “Well, right this way, please. We have several winter fashion gowns that would be lovely, and we could do a fitting for a spring wardrobe if you like.”

  “We’ll be setting sail in a few days’ time so I’m afraid we’ll have to forego a fitting at this time.”

  Cadence was only listening with half an ear as her eyes flew about the room, absorbing every corner of the elegant salon; this was nothing like Mrs. Bridger’s shop. Surrounded by plush fabrics and nattily garbed women speaking with such romantic accents she felt suddenly quite wanting. Looking down at the worn gown draping her form she knew a clinch of fear that any of these women would be more appealing to her husband.

  * * *

  Reclined on a chaise Curtis faced the dressing room, awaiting the completion of whatever preparations and measurements needed to be done. He hated shopping and would never understand why women—and some men—found fancy clothing so damned important. To his mind if a garment fit it was perfectly serviceable.

  He glanced impatiently at his pocket watch. It had already been forty-five minutes. How much longer could this take?

  As if hearing his thoughts, Cadence emerged from a dressing chamber clad in a pale green muslin day gown with matching bonnet. He decided shopping may not be so bad after all. He grinned. Perhaps he should accompany her back into the dressing room to aide her in removing the new gown. Their eyes met and she flushed, no doubt reading his mind.

  “I take it you approve?” Cadence did a flirty turn.

  “Very much. I thin—”

  “Captain Langston!” the shrill call rent the air.

  Turning Curtis groaned aloud as a woman with a dark mass of hair piled high on her head crossed the room, dark eyes riveted on him. A chill washed his entire body. “Oh, God,” he muttered. Grudgingly he stood, not quite managing a bland smile.

  “Curtis,” the woman said with blatant familiarity, “fancy running into you in London.” She raised crimson lips to a lofty height, pouting prettily. “It has been a long time since you’ve seen fit to pay me a visit.”

  “Christina Wirkinton… or is it Christina Fielding today?” Even as he asked the pointed question he dreaded the answer.

  “If you’re asking if I’m traveling alone—” she arched a suggestive brow “—the answer is yes, my husband is back in the states, South Carolina, I think.”

  He went weak with relief, an encounter with Colonel Fielding, who’d vowed Curtis would not survive their next meeting, was a situation he’d just as soon avoid.

  “Will you be available to keep me company this evening?”

  “So sorry, Christina,” he said, feeling anything but remorseful, “but I am not traveling alone.” Spying Cadence across the room he gestured for her to join them. Wrapping an arm about her slender waist he said, “Mrs, Wirkinton, I’d like to introduce you to my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Christina shrieked, raking a scathing glare the length of Cadence. “I wasn’t aware you were married.”

  “We were married quite recently,” Cadence answered for him. She slid a possessive arm through his, bestowing a sickeningly sweet smile on the other woman. He could have applauded.

  “Cadence, I’d like you to meet Christina Wirkinton, a native of Wilmington, North Carolina. And, Christina, I’d like you to meet my beautiful wife Cadence Langston. We grew up in Charleston together.”

  “Really,” Christina’s tone was flat. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Langston.”

  Cadence smiled tightly. “How is it you two know each other?”

  “Oh, Curtis,” Christina fluttered her eyelids prettily, “shall we enlighten your wife?”

  He nearly choked. “I, uh, well, you see Christina helped me, er, that is, us, my crew during the war when I was blockade running from Fort Fischer in Wilmington.”

  “I see.”

  The woman smirked. “It was a great honor to have a ship named after me.” She fluttered her eyes at Curtis. “Oh! How indiscreet of me… Tell me, Captain, have you renamed The Heavenly Mistress?”

  Oh, God, he groaned inwardly as the polite mask adorning Cadence’s face gave way to a guise of confusion, and then a glare of mutinous understanding. Her mouth dropped open, both hands balled into fists, and her eyes took on a razor sharp glint. He’d seen that look before.

  “Why you—oh! Oh! Curtis put me down!”

  He looped an arm about her waist and spun her quickly away from Christina. “We’ll take everything.” Curtis hailed the matron. “Box it all up and have it delivered to my ship.” He then proceeded to haul an irate Cadence across the salon, shoving her into the dressing room, and turning a bland smile to the rest of the room.

  The matron approached. “Is everything alright, Captain Langston?”

  “Fine, thank you. We just need to be on our way.”

  * * *

  Wrestling her way out of the new clothes and into the old Cadence was more than a little perturbed by the surge of pure jealousy the snide Christina had instigated. Why, the woman had practically spelled out what she’d been to Curtis and in light of the rocky start to their marriage Cadence had not been prepared to meet one of his… conquests. Encountering Christina capitalized on her abounding insecurities, though in reality she doubted ever being prepared for such a meeting. Pulling the door open she could not mask the glare in her eyes.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Perfectly well.” She shunned the hand Curtis placed at her elbow.

  “Cadence, wait.”

  She refused to look at him.

  “Come on, please don’t do this. It’s not like I knew she was going to be here.”

  “Oh,” she stepped through the door not waiting for him to follow, “is that why you shoved me into the dressing room? Did you need a minute alone with her?”

  “Alone with her? I didn�
�t speak with her again at all. I was busy paying for your gowns and slippers and what-not, and arranging to have them delivered to the ship. Cadence, I shoved—I mean—put you in the dressing room to avoid a scene. You looked ready to claw her eyes out and all I could think of is when you broke Hodges’ nose!”

  She whirled. “I was not going to claw her eyes out!”

  “You’re jealous.”

  She wanted nothing more than to wipe the self assured grin from his face. “I am not jealous.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Curtis smirked, holding a hand out to help her into the carriage. She promptly ignored it but as she reached up to pull herself into the carriage her foot slipped on the step and she stumbled backward. While she narrowly avoided landing squarely on her backside her small hand satchel flew from her grasp to land at the feet of a dapperly dressed gentleman.

  Cheeks flaming with embarrassment she turned as the man lifted the satchel and strode to their conveyance. “Excuse me, Miss, but would I be correct in assuming that this handbag is yours?”

  She smiled prettily. “Yes, I’m so sorry, sir, it nearly struck you.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for I assure you,” he grinned in return. “Please allow me the honor of returning it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “May I,” the gentleman raised a hand, indicating the conveyance.

  “Certainly,” Cadence slipped her fingers into the man’s palm, and he cordially handed her into the carriage.

  Tipping his cap to her the man turned to Curtis. “I’ll ask you to treat your sister with a bit more respect due a lady, sir.”

  “And I’ll ask you to keep your tongue in your mouth while panting after my wife,” Curtis replied curtly. Climbing into the carriage he grumbled, “Goddamned uppity English bastard.”

  “You were terribly rude to that man.”

  “Well he wasn’t terribly polite himself,” Curtis slumped against the far corner of the carriage imitating a snooty English accent. They were fighting. Why were they fighting?

  “You’re jealous.” A small taunting smile sat on her lips.

  “I’m not jealous,” he bit out. “I am irritated.”

  “I wonder,” Cadence canted her head thoughtfully, “is there really much difference between the two?”

  Curtis growled under his breath. What was wrong with him? He was jealous. Jealous! He didn’t want to be jealous. Jealousy was as bad as poetry, and men who became jealous became possessive, and men who became jealous and possessive had a nasty little habit of falling in love.

  Cadence pursed her lips casting a glance toward the window. “How long has it been since you were with her?”

  “Three years.”

  “Oh.”

  “Let’s not discuss this.”

  “Only if you’ll admit you were jealous.”

  He almost missed the teasing lilt in her voice but couldn’t help but smile beneath her warm eyes. “Haven’t you heard? I’m far too stubborn to admit such a thing.”

  Fifteen

  Sitting in the hotel restaurant that evening Curtis casually sipped a cup of black coffee, mentally calculating the myriad of colors evident in Cadence’s eyes when the candle light danced across them. Violet, magenta, deep purple, blue, storm—not that storm was a true color, but in her eyes it was—lavender-gray… her eyes were mesmerizing, like prisms.

  “Curtis, may I ask you something?”

  “Yes, of course, ask away.”

  “Why do you drink so much coffee? I thought sailors were supposed to drink rum.”

  Curtis laughed. “I don’t drink that much coffee, do I?” At her affirmative nod he leaned forward. “Maybe I just like coffee.”

  She arched a dubious brow, the gesture made her eyes look suspiciously like gems.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s going to cost you.” Suggestively his eyes drifted down to the rosy swell of her breasts, peaking over the top of her new green gown. “Payment will be due immediately upon return to our room.”

  “Agreed,” she flashed a devilish half smile and leaned in slightly. “Now tell me, why is it you drink so much coffee?”

  “After I was… shot I felt cold all the time. It was the damndest thing, but I could be baking in the sun and freezing all at once.” He shifted, uncomfortable talking about the war. “I tried brandy to get warm, I tried whiskey, a lot of whiskey,” he added dryly, “but coffee is the only thing that worked. Of course during the war what we had wasn’t really coffee, just that bitter chicory.”

  “I remember the chicory,” she made a face. “You must still feel cold.”

  He averted her gaze. “Why do you say that?”

  “You still drink so much coffee.”

  For a long moment he felt very troubled, opened his mouth to form a reply, but could muster no more than, “You are very astute, my dear.”

  “Why did you start blockade running?”

  The peaceful atmosphere surrounding him that evening began to slip away. “What is this, the inquisition?”

  She startled. “Curtis, I-I’m sorry, I just know so little about you.”

  “As it should be,” he said a bit too forcefully. She looked positively crestfallen, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Cadence, I’m sorry.” he sighed reaching for her hand across the table.

  “It’s alright.” She blinked several times, a wan smile touching her mouth. “I shouldn’t have pushed, it’s just—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  He knew better than to ask, but those huge disappointed eyes left him riddled with guilt. “Just what?”

  Nervously she chewed at her bottom lip toying with a strand of hair falling over her left shoulder. It was damnably distracting. “Curtis, I realize there are things in your past you don’t speak of and that you’ve been… hurt. I’m not asking you to tell me those things…” she paused imploring him with her beautiful, swirling, heavenly eyes, “you say that you want a real marriage, but when you push me away, I don’t feel that you want a real marriage. I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t know what you want from us, and I need to know. I want to help you.”

  Dear Lord, but he shouldn’t have asked. And what in the hell was he supposed to say to that? She’d read him like an open book. She knew he was holding back. And truth was he didn’t know what he wanted from them—from their marriage—at all. Since the war he’d known that his life didn’t merit a wife and family, but then he’d gone and blundered—as he always did—and he’d had to marry her.

  “Do you really want to know something about me or my past?”

  She nodded leaning forward eagerly.

  “You remember when I told the woman in the dressmaker’s salon that my grandfather was the disinherited son of a lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if you’d like to hear it, it’s really quite the love story,” he leaned across the table looking directly into her eyes. “My grandfather, Brandon Langston, was the son of the Duke of Ashbridge, but as the story goes he had a bit of a wild streak.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Yes, well, apparently I take after him,” he grinned ruefully. “Anyway, on a trip to Scotland my grandfather fell in love with a woman from the highlands whom his father deemed totally unacceptable. My grandfather was given two options, forsake the woman he’d promised to marry or be disinherited and left with nothing.”

  “So what happened?”

  “What do you think happened? He said to hell with his father and married my grandmother.”

  “How romantic,” she breathed wistfully. “To give up all of that your grandparents must have been so much in love.

  He shrugged. “Women usually say that.”

  “You don’t think they were terribly in love?”

  “Oh, I believe they loved each other, but I’m more inclined to believe the union came about because my father was already on the way.”

  “Oh.”

&nb
sp; “You sound disappointed.”

  “Well, knowing that does take a bit of the glamour out of the story.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I’ll omit that part when I tell it to our children.”

  “Children?”

  Sweet Jesus, he damn near choked on his coffee, children? Why had he gone and alluded to something like having children? He’d been doing a fine job distracting her from a conversation about love and commitment. “Uh, who knows,” he wheezed around the drink drizzling down his air tube. “I’m sure we’ll find time for children one day, when I’m home.”

  The light drained from her eyes almost instantly. Hurt dimmed her gaze.

  Curtis could have kicked himself. I am such a fool. She’d looked so happy all day and then he’d gone and reminded her that he would be going back to sea… leaving her.

  “So,” he said quickly, “my point in telling you the story was that my cousin Ashton Langston, the current Duke of Ashbridge, is one of my company’s primary backers. We’ll be meeting with him tomorrow night. I have every intention of introducing you as my wife.”

  “Really?” The disappointment ebbed from her gaze, and her face lit in a blaze of excitement. “Then I will have to find something fabulous to wear for tomorrow night. I haven’t attended a fancy ball since before the war. Do you remember some of the parties we used to have?”

  In that moment, watching her smile and listening to her talk, Curtis felt content, and he realized… this was one of the perfect little moments missing from his life.

  * * *

  “Did you have fun today?” Curtis inquired, closing the door to their hotel suite. He grasped her hand, pulling her to him.

  Playfully she skirted his grasp and pushed a finger against his chest. “Very much, but right now I have a surprise for you. Don’t peek,”

  “A surprise?” Curtis dogged her heels. “What kind of a surprise?”

  “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise,” she replied in mock sarcasm and slipped into the dressing chamber. It was remarkable, but a few new dresses had gifted her with a renewed sense of confidence. She’d even begun to devise a plan to win the heart of her husband. The first step had been her words at dinner, the next she planned to implement tonight, now in fact, though she felt absolutely ridiculous just thinking of the negligee she’d selected at the dressmakers salon.