Kissing Comfort Read online

  “There is that.” The momentary gleam in his eye said that he approved. Sobering, he looked Bode over, and then tilted his head toward the door. “Go on. Have a care you don’t upset your mother more than you can help it.”

  As advice went, it was exactly what Bode knew he needed to hear.

  Alexandra DeLong captured Comfort as soon as Bram released her at the end of the waltz. She crooked a finger at her son and kept him from slinking off. “Come with me, both of you. There are still more guests that want to congratulate you, and I won’t have you slipping away again either alone or together. Do neither one of you have any sense of what is expected?”

  Very much afraid that Bram would be unable to conceal his amusement, Comfort did not hazard a glance in his direction. Alexandra was a formidable presence, a force of nature on the order of earthquakes and tidal waves, and she did not suffer anyone opposing her for long. Determined and forthright, she made her opinions known, and for those who lacked her clarity of purpose or principle, she was entirely capable of making her opinion theirs.

  Comfort dutifully allowed herself to be moved through the guests lined six and seven deep close to the ice sculpture and lemonade drinks fountain and deposited next to her uncles. Their expressions told her they’d been swept up in Alexandra’s wake as well.

  “Apparently we haven’t accepted everyone’s best wishes,” Tucker whispered as Comfort leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

  When she did the same to Newt, he said, “If I die right here, don’t let them bury me with this idiotic smile on my face.”

  Comfort tamped her own smile as she turned to offer herself for Alexandra’s inspection. At her side, she felt Bram’s fingers close over two of hers and squeeze gently. Comfort had always suspected that Bram might be a little afraid of his mother, and she accepted that his gesture was as much to steady his own nerves as it was to steady hers. She’d never told him that while she sometimes stood in awe of Alexandra Crowne DeLong, she wasn’t afraid of her.

  Alexandra looked over her impromptu receiving line with the gimlet eye of a shipmaster examining his crew. Behind her, the ice sculpture at the center of the fountain dripped steadily, but its shape was still recognizable as the flagship of the Black Crowne fleet, the Artemis Queen. Alexandra might have been the inspiration for its figurehead. She stood like the immortal huntress, shoulders back, chin up, prepared to challenge anyone who did not meet her approval. At fifty, she was a handsome woman, though in her youth she had never been beautiful or even what passed for pretty. She’d once confided to Comfort that she’d grown into her features, and given the length of her nose, the narrowness of her face, and the bony definition of her jaw, it was the best she could hope for.

  Her hair was her vanity. Thick and lustrous, it was a deep shade of red and only beginning to reveal threads of silver. For tonight, it had been arranged in a smooth coil and artfully accented with white rosebuds. More rosebuds, this time in silk, trimmed the tiered flounces of her ball dress.

  “You’ll do,” she said at last. She speared Newt with a second glance. “Stop fussing with your collar.”

  Newt’s hand dropped to his side with such alacrity that even Alexandra was moved to smile.

  Inclining her head toward him, she said quietly, “Ask Bram for the name of his tailor. A thick-necked man like yourself can benefit from a good fitting.” She straightened, nodded her approval a second time, and moved into position beside her son. Almost immediately there were guests advancing on them.

  Comfort, suddenly recalling Bode’s description of the young ruffians as a swarm of locusts, had an urge to take a step back. These people were much better dressed, but Comfort believed they were capable of picking her bones clean, even if they’d leave her pockets untouched. A sideways glance at her uncles warned her they felt similarly, and probably weren’t as confident that their pockets were safe.

  Feeling every bit the pretender she was, Comfort nevertheless managed to accept the kind sentiments expressed by Alexandra’s guests. While her response tended to be reserved, she couldn’t help noticing that Bram was considerably more at his ease, cheerfully managing the fraud as though it were sport. She was not endeared.

  Had she not been so aware of his good humor, Comfort wouldn’t have sensed the change in him as quickly as she did. It was not a difference of tone or manner, but one of temperature. Where their fingers touched, his had gone cold. She was still trying to think what to make of it when the orchestra abruptly stopped playing.

  Her attention, like everyone else’s in the room, was drawn to the cause of the disruption. Bram’s fingers threaded in hers, and this time it seemed to Comfort that he wasn’t offering what might pass for encouragement. It seemed, rather, that he was clutching her.

  Perhaps he was, she thought. His brother looked like hell as he straightened from having the violinist’s ear. Whatever efforts Bode took to make himself presentable, they weren’t sufficient. On the other side of Bram, Comfort heard Alexandra inhale sharply. This was followed by a similar intake of breath from many of the female guests. To Comfort, it seemed as if the air had been sucked out of the salon. Seeing Arleta Ogden weave unsteadily, she supposed it was a good thing Bode took the time to scrub away the blood. There might have been fainting otherwise.

  Comfort was tempted to curl her lip at Miss Ogden’s dramatics. Instead, she remained politely fixed on Bode as he prepared to address his mother’s guests. She felt certain that she knew what he was about to say. Her lips moved around the word even as he spoke it.

  “Surprise.”

  And just like that, there was air to breathe. Bode’s voice might have been a stone skipping across the glassy surface of a pond. Tension broken, light laughter rippled through the salon. Even Alexandra was able to give up a faint smile. Bram’s hand felt warm again.

  “I apologize for the lateness of my arrival,” Bode said. He pointed to his swollen eye. “I don’t know what explains this except for the lowering truth that I should not go poking around my own warehouse with a walking stick and no lantern when there are boxes and barrels so precariously stacked that a mother cat and a litter of kittens can push them down on my head.”

  Comfort blinked. The lowering truth? What happened to the Rangers and the ruffians? She watched as Bode scanned the gathering with his good eye. Before she could look away, he found her. He only held her gaze for a moment, but she knew a warning when she was given one. Bode’s cautions were as sharp as darts. He’d learned something about a gimlet-eyed stare from his mother and showed he could use it to good effect.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to the musicians to pick up their instruments. “I hope you will forgive the interruption and go on as you have. It seemed prudent to make one explanation rather than dozens.”

  “More like a hundred,” Newt said in an aside to Tucker. It came out more loudly than he’d intended, but then again, he was a thick-necked man and had a voice that touched all the bass notes before it left his lips. He smiled unapologetically as Alexandra turned a disapproving eye on him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Prescott,” Bode said. “It is easily a hundred.” As though in sympathy, he mirrored Newt’s unconscious gesture of tugging on his collar. He was glad for an excuse to do it, because Bram’s shirt was an uncomfortably close fit. “And nearing a hundred degrees. Let’s open the doors, shall we? Mother? You don’t object?”

  Alexandra capitulated graciously. “Whatever you like, Bode. It’s your birthday.”

  “Well then, I do like.” He extended his hand toward her. “Will you take the floor with me?” When she nodded, he stepped forward to go to her. Guests parted for him. He permitted Alexandra a moment to frown and fuss as she examined his face before he took her arm and led her into the clearing made for them. “Everyone,” he called out just as the music began. “Pretend you’ve wished me happy and go about the important business of enjoying yourself.”

  Comfort watched Alexandra as Bode turned her on the floor. Her smile was unrestrain
ed and her skin fairly glowed. She looked a decade younger than her fifty years.

  Bram jerked his chin in the direction of his brother. “He looks just like our father. She loved the good-looking bastard.”

  “Mind your language,” Tucker growled.

  “Pardon me,” said Bram. “You’re right. I forgot myself. I meant to say handsome bastard.”

  Comfort set her jaw so she wouldn’t laugh out loud, but her eyes warned Bram that he needed to apologize. It wasn’t that Tuck objected to blue language, only that he objected to it being said around her. When he thought he was outside of her hearing, he favored certain expressions that would put color in a sailor’s cheeks. She might have given in to her amusement if Newt hadn’t stepped away from his post and invited her to take a turn with him. She accepted his offer gratefully.

  “Tucker can be a bit of a prude at times, and that’s nothing I’ve not said to his face,” Newt told her. “Not that I approve of Bram’s language either, but I would have taken him aside and said as much, not made a point of it in front of you. That’s not the way it’s done.”

  “His father was a thorough bastard, though.”

  Newt gave a shout of laughter. “That’s my girl.” Comfort had to guide him through the next few steps while he recovered his timing. “Do you think Bode knows about your engagement to Bram? He didn’t mention it.”

  “I imagine his mother is telling him now.” It was odd, Comfort thought, how she could manage to avoid an outright lie by not quite answering the question that was asked.

  “Tuck and I were surprised by Bram’s announcement,” Newt said.

  “I saw that.”

  “We were thinking he should have said something to us beforehand.”

  “I told him that. He thought he was being modern.”

  “Is that what he’s calling it?”

  Comfort thought it best not to make any response. Uncle Newton was a single syllable away from a tirade.

  “How do you suppose Bode will take it?” asked Newt.

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Perhaps you should. He’s steering Alexandra this way, and unless I miss my guess, we’re about to change partners.”

  Comfort’s distress was real, although she forgave her uncle for thinking she was merely flattering him by pretending not to want to leave his side.

  “Chin up, Comfort,” he said, bussing her on the cheek before he turned her over to Bode. “At least you won’t have to worry that he’ll tread on your toes.”

  Overhearing this, Alexandra looked alarmed at the prospect of Newton doing as much to her beautifully shod feet. She made one last appeal to her son as Newt led her away. When it was clear Bode wasn’t going to change his mind and rescue her, she flung the accusation of heartlessness at him.

  Comfort observed that the epithet had no impact. It didn’t come as a surprise. “Perhaps you are heartless.”

  “This can’t be the first time you’ve thought it.”

  It wasn’t, and she realized she must have shown that in some small way, because he gave her a smile that hinted at superiority. “Smug is an expression not suited to a man with only one useful eye.”

  “Your point is well made.”

  “Oh, I know I made it well. It begs the question, was it taken?” She heard him laugh softly. The sound lingered at the back of his throat, aging like a fine wine before it touched his lips. Realizing that she was staring at his mouth, she quickly lifted her gaze. His pathetically swollen eye looked painful; his good one looked amused. “Is there something particular that you want, Mr. DeLong?”

  “Bode. I’m going to be your brother-in-law.”

  “Bode,” she repeated. “Now, will you take me back to Bram?”

  “In a moment. It doesn’t hurt for my friends to see that I’m pleased with the engagement.”

  “You told me you don’t have friends here.”

  “I’m making some.”

  Comfort had never heard that Beau DeLong possessed a shred of humor. His reputation was for working hard and then working harder. She didn’t trust this man holding her. She wasn’t even sure who he was. Her regard grew suspicious. “Did they club you on the head?” she asked.

  “They?”

  “The mother cat and her litter.”

  “Oh. I might have a lump or two at the base of my skull.”

  Comfort peered more closely at his good eye to see if the pupil was contracting properly. She couldn’t tell without holding a candle flame close to it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to determine if you’re concussed.” She thought it was to his credit that he didn’t ask why. Some part of him must know he was behaving strangely. “You’ve danced with me longer than you danced with your mother,” she said. “And done so beautifully in spite of your injuries. I imagine everyone is convinced that you are over the moon at the prospect of having me become a member of your family. Now, please, escort me back to Bram.”

  “When this piece is ended.” He glanced in his brother’s direction. “Bram appears to be deeply engaged in conversation with Tuck.”

  That did not ease Comfort in the least. “If they’re talking politics, it can’t end well.”

  Bode didn’t disagree. “Why do you think Bram chose tonight to announce your engagement?”

  “You should ask him.”

  “I will, but I’m asking you now. Didn’t you discuss it?”

  “Not before this evening.” Even as she said it, she wondered if Bram’s answer would support her or make it seem as if she were lying. Just now, she wasn’t certain that she cared.

  “Bram takes some odd notions into his head.”

  Comfort didn’t hear a question, so she kept quiet. Perhaps if he only talked to himself, he’d grow tired of the company.

  “You’ve always impressed me as a sensible influence. Mother says the same. How long have you and Bram known each other?”

  “Since my coming-out.”

  “That’s right. The party. You were what? Sixteen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was seventeen. Nine years, then. You wrote to each other, I believe, when he went east to Harvard. And didn’t you later attend some seminary for young ladies?”

  “Oberlin College,” she said. It was difficult not to grit her teeth at his condescension. “In Ohio. Men also attended.”

  “Did your uncles realize that when they packed you off?”

  Now she understood he was purposely trying to rile her. Although she was unclear as to his motive, it made it easier not to give in. “You know them,” she said lightly. “Do you think they’d let me go anywhere without sending three Pinkerton men in advance of my arrival?” He surprised her by chuckling again. “Actually, Uncle Newton accompanied me there and remained until he was certain I was settled. Uncle Tuck attended my graduation and escorted me home.”

  “I see. You and Bram corresponded while you were both away?”

  “Yes.”

  “As friends.”

  “You say that as if you cannot fathom it, but it’s true.”

  Bode did not trouble himself to pretend he believed her. He made a small shrug to indicate it didn’t matter. “How many proposals of marriage have you had, Miss Kennedy?”

  “Mr. DeLong,” she said deliberately, “if you persist on being rude, I’ll make you wish you were still fighting off the Rangers.”

  “I think it must be four,” he said. “Perhaps five. What was wrong with—ahhh!” Bode’s right knee buckled as pain arced jaggedly down his leg. It was like electricity crackling between two copper leads, only this was a jangling nerve between the base of his spine and his kneecap. It made no difference that Comfort was responsible for crippling him; his only choice was to accept her support when she offered it or fall flat on his face.

  Several men rushed forward to lend their assistance, but Bode put up a hand and held them off. “Something to sit on,” he said. “That will be enough.” Almost immedi
ately he felt the seat of chair pushing against the back of his knees. Comfort bent with him, easing him down. Through a haze of pain, Bode saw she was actually smiling. Those attending him might mistake her expression for sympathy and concern, but he knew she was sincerely pleased to have put him so firmly in his place.

  “He was fine,” she said by way of explanation. “Until he wasn’t.” Comfort backed away as more guests crowded in. When she saw that Alexandra had reached Bode’s side, she ducked out and went in search of Bram.

  She came toe to toe with Tucker Jones first. He smiled, slipped his arm in hers, and would have dragged her out to the portico if she had not accompanied him willingly.

  “I saw that,” he said without preamble. “You wedged your foot between his, stepped sideways, and bore down on him.”

  Comfort sighed. “He was annoying me. Do you think anyone noticed?”

  “Other than Bode? I doubt it. You moved as smoothly as Chin Fong clearing opium eaters from the back room at the Snow Palace.” Tuck shook his head. “That was an observation, not high praise.”

  Her mouth twitched.

  “Oh, very well. It was an observation and high praise. Bode’s not likely to forget what you did. How did you know he’d go down so easily?”

  “I knew his back was bothering him,” she said honestly. “And I took shameless advantage.”

  Tucker didn’t care about that. “How was he annoying you? Was he improper?”

  Comfort was trying to decide how to answer that when Bram appeared at her elbow. “Oh, I was looking for you. Do you mind, Uncle Tuck? I wanted to take some fresh air with Bram.”

  Tucker waved them off, but not before he made Bram shift uncomfortably under his most implacable stare.

  “Why did he look at me like that?” asked Bram as he escorted Comfort off the portico and into the garden. “Did you already tell him?”

  “I’m not going to do that here,” she said. “So, no, I haven’t said anything. He looked at you like that so you aren’t tempted to annoy me.”

  “Oh. Do I? Annoy you, that is.”