Page 22 of Cloaked in Beauty

Philip unbuckled the strap, lifted the flap, and retrieved a thin packet of folded papers along with the daguerreotype from her grandmother’s wedding. He took one step toward Miss Hood, but halted when her wolf began to snarl.

“Uh . . . here.” He extended his arm, deciding it might be wise to let her come to him.

She moved toward him, her wolf pacing at her side. Distracted by the big canine eyes staring him down, Philip didn’t pay much attention to Miss Hood until he felt a tug on the papers. His gaze shifted to her face and was immediately captured by a pair of bright eyes. Were they brown or green? Both maybe? The color seemed to shift the longer he peered into their depths.

“Mr. Carmichael?”

He blinked. “Sorry.” He released his hold on the papers.

Miss Hood stepped back, her gaze scanning the documents now in her possession. She examined her grandmother’s wedding photograph. A small smile curved her lips for a moment before she shifted the daguerreotype to the bottom of the pile and unfolded the papers.

Her eyes widened. “My drawings.” She glanced up at him for a heartbeat before turning back to shuffling through the pages. “She kept these?”

“Yep. In a box full of keepsakes. Made me promise to handle them with care. Said they were priceless treasures.”

“They’re childish scribbles.”

“I don’t know. There’s some talent there.” Philip grinned. “But mothers do tend to be a tad biased.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Your mother?” Receiving a nod, Philip shrugged and did his best to recall as many details as possible. “She looks a lot like you. Her hair’s lighter, and her eyes are blue instead of . . . hazel.” The term fell short when it came to describing the complexity of her eyes, but he didn’t know how else to describe them. Even as he watched, their color seemed to shift, the green becoming more pronounced.

“Has she . . . remarried?” Miss Hood’s question yanked him out of the slightly fuzzy state of eye-color contemplation that had momentarily beset him.

Philip shook his head. “Nope. Far as I can tell she lives alone with a pair of servants. Her house is nice. Nothing too extravagant, though.” As he spoke, he caught a softening about her shoulders. It dawned on him that something deeper than simple curiosity lurked behind her questions. “I only met with her briefly, but one thing was abundantly clear. She is counting the hours until she can see you again.”

Those hazel eyes of hers glistened for a heartbeat, and an odd pang hit him in the chest. Thankfully it passed when she blinked and turned her attention back to the papers. She folded them with crisp movements, then extended them to him.

“I suppose you ought to come in.” She pivoted and headed toward the cabin, then stopped and spun back around to face him. “My grandmother is recovering from a spell she suffered yesterday. I won’t have her overtaxed by your visit. If I see her start to tire, I will call an end to things.”

“I’m very sorry that your grandmother is ill, Miss Hood, but I need to be sure you understand the urgency of the situation. I have reason to believe your uncle has hired men to try to find you as well. They won’t have the resources your mother provided to me, but with your birthday on the horizon, he’s desperate to get his hands on your inheritance. Every day you stay here is a day your life is in danger.”

“Which is why you’re going to take her with you tomorrow.”

Miss Hood spun around. “Grandmother!” She scurried back to the cabin, where a silver-haired woman stood in the doorway. “You shouldn’t be up.”

She took the woman’s arm, but Flora Anderson refused to budge when her granddaughter tried to gently urge her back into the house.

“I’m not going to wear out walking to the door and back, Letty. Besides, I needed to take this fella’s measure. Can’t do that sitting in my rocker while you take your sweet time inviting him in.”

“Well, he’s coming in now.” She shot a pointed glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Philip moved to follow but pulled up short when her wolf planted itself in his path and snarled.

“Leave him be, Rusty. He’s a friend.” Her brows scrunched a bit above the bridge of her nose, giving Philip the impression that his friendship status was provisional at best.

Thankfully, the beast complied with her instructions. Rusty allowed Philip to pass unmolested, though those big eyes of his watched him as if ready to pounce should his mistress change her mind.

Once inside, Philip removed his hat and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair as he scanned the two-room cabin. A kitchen complete with cookstove, small table, cupboard, and shelves loaded with preserves and canned goods stood to his left. A hearth stood to his right, two small rocking chairs angled toward each other in front of it with a pair of stacked crates serving as a table between them. A kerosene lamp, a match safe, and a short stack of books sat atop the makeshift table. Past the sitting area was an open doorway that led to a bedroom. It couldn’t be big enough for more than a bed and a chest of drawers, though. A far cry from the Radcliffe estate where a young Scarlett had been raised.

Miss Hood brushed past him after getting her grandmother settled in the first rocker. Philip twisted to look for a hook for his hat and spotted his buckskin coat hanging near the door on top of a long dark-red cape. Fitting, seeing as how they were fixing to spend quite a bit of time together. By the time he hung up his hat, Miss Hood had grabbed one of the kitchen chairs. Philip hurried to intercept her.

“I’ll carry that. Just tell me where you want it.”

She gave him an odd look before slowly releasing her hold on the back of the chair. Only then did it occur to him that she’d had virtually no exposure to gentlemanly behavior. His offer must have sounded quite illogical to someone who’d been doing for herself for more than a decade.

“In front of the hearth.” She pointed for good measure. “Thank you.”