Page 45 of Cloaked in Beauty

Finding her eyes had been easy, but finding his voice proved quite challenging. Finally, he rumbled out a good-night that must’ve been somewhat intelligible, for her eyes crinkled in a smile a heartbeat before her lashes lowered and hid them from his view.

He extinguished the lantern, then took a moment to stand in the dark and regulate his pulse.

Good grief. He’d never had such a strong reaction to a woman. Attraction—yes. A desire to protect—sure. But the compulsion to crack open his heart and let her crawl inside? Never.

He lowered himself to the edge of the mattress, one shoulder hanging off the edge of the lumpy tick thanks to the wolf taking up the middle. Rusty’s front paws hung off the top edge while his back legs curled beneath him. His head lay across his forelegs as his eyes followed Philip’s movements. Determined to ignore the animal’s glare, Philip stared into the shadowy rafters and started a list of all the reasons Letty Hood was the worst possible woman for him to form an attachment to.

1. She was a client. Developing feelings for her would be completely unprofessional.

2. She was fixing to be one of the wealthiest women in Texas, and he had no desire to try to fit into that elitist world.

3. Money changed people, almost always for the worse. Even if Letty managed to remain untainted, there were no guarantees that he’d come through unscathed if he tied his future to hers.

4. She’d lived a completely sheltered life and had no experience with men. Any affection she thought she felt for him was bound to fade when she compared his rough edges to the polished gentlemen who’d soon be vying for her attention.

That last one left a sour taste in his mouth.

It didn’t take long for Letty’s breathing to deepen. After all the excitement of the day, it made sense for her to drift off quickly. Besides, she was too innocent to let thoughts of a doomed courtship steal her sleep. She’d grown up believing tales where happily-ever-afters dropped into people’s laps. She didn’t work a job that forced her to peer into the seedier side of life. Where drunk husbands pummeled their wives. Where young women were lured into prostitution. Where fatherless boys ran loose on the streets, picking pockets and rummaging through garbage to survive.

Sometimes he wished he didn’t have an intimate knowledge of corruption, injustice, and abuse. The weight of such things pressed heavily on a man’s soul. Yet God had opened his eyes for a reason. One couldn’t help those he chose not to see. A man needed discernment to protect the innocent from those who hid wickedness behind gentlemanly manners and false morality.

An image of sweet, sheltered Letty falling victim to the charming smile of a handsome rogue or the pretty lies and insincere promises of a silver-tongued fortune hunter had Philip clenching his jaw so tight that pain radiated from behind his ear up into his head.

He twisted his face to the right, not surprised to find Rusty awake and eyeing him.

“Promise me you’ll take a bite out of any man who doesn’t treat her right,” he whispered.

The wolf held his gaze for a long minute, then leaned his face against his mistress’s head in a protective gesture. The tightness in Philip’s jaw eased.

20

Wakefulness slid over Letty with unaccustomed gentleness. She savored the cozy warmth of her cocoon, reluctant to open her eyes or move even the slightest bit. Not when a pleasant haze still lingered in her mind from a dream she couldn’t quite recall. One that featured a handsome Pinkerton agent. That she remembered. He’d probably done something heroic or admirable. Maybe even romantic, if the warmth radiating through her chest was any clue. A smile stretched her lips, and she nestled deeper into her pillow. The day could wait a few minutes to begin.

Her pillow shifted under her cheek, and something brushed along her shoulder blade. Letty’s eyes popped open, but her dim surroundings offered no clarity. Other hints seeped into her awareness, though. A woodsy scent that smelled nothing like either dog or straw. The rhythmic rise and fall of something beneath her right palm. Something warm and alive. The brushing along her back turned into a cupping of her shoulder, then a squeezing. A soft squeezing, one she might not have noticed if every nerve ending in her body hadn’t been standing at attention.

Good heavens. Her pillow was Philip Carmichael!

Doing her best imitation of a tortoise, she tipped her chin upward in infinitesimal increments as she held her breath. Please be asleep. She didn’t think she could survive the embarrassment of finding his gray eyes open and alert. Would he be laughing at her? Or worse, would he think she’d been trying to take advantage of him? She wasn’t exactly sure what taking advantage of a man entailed, but Grandmother had warned her against the improper advances of dishonorable men. Would Philip believe her to be a dishonorable woman? Her heart ached at the thought of him forming a poor opinion of her when she held him in such high esteem.

Where had Rusty gotten to? His presence was supposed to prevent this exact scenario from happening. The next time she got her wolf alone, he’d be getting an earful about neglecting his chaperone duties.

Her chin finally finished its uphill climb, and her gaze took in a marvelous sight. Closed eyes. Philip was still asleep. Thank the Lord for small miracles. Her breath leaked out in a slow stream of relief still tempered by caution. She wasn’t out of this predicament yet.

Her mind scrambled to come up with an extraction strategy, a rather difficult prospect with his chest rising and falling beneath her splayed hand in such a distracting manner. Her cheeks warmed. Goodness. Now was not the time to be noticing things like how nice his chest felt beneath her palm or how his arm curling around her back made her want to close her eyes and snuggle closer.

She lifted her head out of the crook of his arm with excruciating slowness. Surely he’d wake if she moved too quickly. Next came her hand. Finger by finger, she peeled away from the cotton of his shirt until her palm hovered safely in the air an inch above his sternum. She darted a glance at his face. Eyes were still closed.

Biting her lower lip, she braced for the trickiest maneuver yet—slipping free of the arm he had curled around her in his sleep. Tightening her stomach muscles, she lifted as much of her weight as possible off his shoulder before attempting to sit up. As she rose, his arm fell away from her back and slid down to the mattress with a flop. Her eyes flew to Philip’s face, but the man slept on. Thank heaven.

He’d always awakened before her when they made camp on the trail. The smell of his coffee boiling usually roused her from sleep. Climbing a ravine with a large boy strapped to one’s back was sure to deplete a man’s stores, though. Not to mention the fact that Philip had not been too keen on sharing a bed with Rusty. It had probably taken him longer than usual to fall asleep.

Whatever the contributing factors, Letty thanked the Lord that she’d escaped without having to face the humiliation of trying to explain not only how she’d come to be on his side of the bed but why she’d been using him as a pillow. He was probably gentlemanly enough not to ask and intelligent enough to understand that she’d been asleep and not fully aware of her actions. Yet if he’d been awake, she doubted she could have stopped herself from bumbling around with explanations and apologies, embarrassing them both even more.

After scrambling off the end of the mattress and untangling her feet from the crumpled quilt, she scurried over to her side of the stall and stuffed her feet into her shoes. Letty snatched up her bag of personal items and hurried out of the barn without taking the time to tie her bootlaces or brush the loose straw from her skirt. First order of business was to find the outhouse. After that, she’d reclaim her riding clothes from the drying rack in Susanne’s kitchen and prepare for the day. Surely if she was dressed and put together by the time she faced Philip again, he’d have no reason to suspect her of being a culprit of covert cuddling.

Her cheeks warmed. Again. Perhaps she should make a point to stand by the hot stove when she encountered him for the first time. That way she’d have a ready excuse for sporting red cheeks. For as much as she hoped he never discovered the truth, she was pretty sure she’d never forget the sweetness of waking in his arms.

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