An Agent for Brutus Read online

  Her eyes held his for a moment longer than polite society dictated. A sense of déjà vu came over him in an abrupt manner. Had he met this woman before? His eyes narrowed and he studied her face again. There was that about her that seemed familiar. Something about the dark gleam of her eyes. Their frank gaze made the hackles along his back rise. Whether it was in a warning or some hidden recognition, he wasn’t sure.

  Maybe it was nothing.

  Madame Gordon hung up their coats. “Archie is ready to see you, Miss Floyd.”

  Mademoiselle Floyd smoothed the thick plaits of hair coiled on either side of her head. “Thank you for your escort, Mister—”

  “Bradford. Brutus Bradford, mademoiselle.”

  She gripped his hand in a firm shake. Callouses on her fingertips brushed against his palm. What kind of work had the mademoiselle done before she became a Pinkerton agent? On a whim, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and gave it a brief chaste kiss.

  Mademoiselle’s eyes widened at the action and her thin mouth drifted open. He released her hand along with the question about her past. What did it matter? He was here to spend his remaining days in the company of his daughters and his grandchildren. Despite his daughters’ ardent demand that he contemplate marrying again, he had no desire for another woman’s company.

  How could anyone ever take the place of the goddess who had been his wife?

  Madame Gordon disappeared along with her guest down the hall.

  “Papa!”

  Brutus whirled around and then smiled. “Ma fille.”

  Arielle had brought the child to the agency as some of the other female agents in residence wanted to see the babe. Brutus took in the picture of motherhood his daughter made while his grandson, Brutus, named in his honor, gaggled in the incomprehensible language all children spoke fluently.

  Arielle kissed his cheek and then put little Brutus forward. “Mon fils, say ‘bonjour’ to your grand-pere.”

  Brutus tweaked the child’s nose, seeing something of himself in the stubborn, pointed chin. The child had taken most of his son-in-law’s appearance with his dark skin and light-colored eyes. “Bonjour, little Brutus,” he cooed to the child. “Are you making your mere happy, mon petit fils?”

  The child gurgled in a happy way.

  In that moment, a face Brutus hadn’t thought about in years flashed in his mind. His fingers froze over the child’s stomach. The face that shared the same dark eyes as Mademoiselle Floyd. Now he knew why she looked so familiar. It was not because of herself that she sparked that sense of recognition.

  It was who she represented.

  The corners of his mouth hardened. He muttered an apology and turned away from Arielle and his grandson. He retraced his steps back down the hall.

  Brutus’s hand curled into a fist. For certain, Mademoiselle Floyd had a lot of explaining to do.

  ***

  The back of her hand burned with the lingering warmth of his lips upon it.

  “He is a gallant man, Tam. You will use that to your advantage, is that clear?”

  Tam heard the words of White Caesar echo in her head. He’d proved correct about that aspect of his sworn enemy. Brutus exuded the kind of gallantry appealing to any woman above the age of eighty. If not for her mission, and White Caesar’s hate, his charm alone could ensnare her.

  His kiss upon her hand had nearly made her swoon.

  Her mind’s eye retraced the features of the man she was sent to bring to White Caesar’s feet. The sunshine of the tropics had darkened Brutus’s skin to an even bronze. His beard and mustache peppered with gray framed a firm mouth. Above his prominent nose, those blue eyes glowed like sapphire gems in the ruggedly handsome face.

  When Marianne had taken his coat and hat, Tam curled her hands into fists to prevent herself from reaching out and cupping those strong, wide shoulders. The callouses along her fingertips itched to feel the strands of his thick blond-grayish hair.

  He had changed from his youth; that much was certain. For some men, age diminished their looks. Brutus Bradford had become even more attractive with maturity.

  “Do you accept this condition when it comes to training new recruits, Miss Floyd?”

  Tam repressed the jolt of surprise. She hadn’t heard a word Archie Gordon said. Yet, her years of being an agent came to her rescue. She answered, “Of course. I think it’s a good policy to have.”

  Archie’s eyebrows arched. “You’re one of the few who think so.”

  She shrugged. “I am an unconventional woman.”

  A look passed between Archie and his wife. With a conspiratorial air, he leaned across the desk, his green eyes sparkling. “You’ll find, Miss Floyd, that most of the agents here fall into the same category of unconventionality.” He glanced at his wife. “Won’t she, Mo Chrìdh?”

  Marianne rubbed her protruding belly, calling attention to the state of her condition. “Oh, Archie. Do go on with the briefing.”

  “Since you’ve accepted this policy—”

  Tam’s mind wandered away from the conversation. What did it matter when she was here under pretense, under duress, and almost out of time?

  Why had she allowed herself to fall for White Caesar’s manipulation? How could she not?

  Everything was going according to plan. How she wished it wasn’t. Just once, could the man be wrong about something when it came to Brutus Bradford? Did he always have to be right?

  “I have waited many years for my revenge, Tam. If you want to be free, then you will do as I say.”

  Dear Lord in heaven, she wanted to be free of White Caesar. Over the years she’d prayed to be free of his hold. Now she had an avenue in which to be released from him forever.

  She just had to destroy a man to gain her freedom. Her fingers brushed the place where Brutus’s lips had kissed her.

  “My wife will show you the rest of the dormitory.” Archie’s words startled her out of her thoughts once more although she gave no outward sign of her inattention. Tam did her best to focus. She still would have work to do if she were selected for an assignment. Right now, her…condition had abated somewhat, but how long before it would kill her?

  “Thank you. I look forward to working with you.”

  Archie nodded in polite dismissal and his wife stood. Marianne insisted she call her by her Christian name. Tam decided to reciprocate in kind.

  “You look a little bit tired, Miss Floyd.”

  “Please, call me Tam. I’ve been called that for as long as I can remember.”

  Marianne smiled. “Tam it is. You look as if you can use some rest first. I’ll show you to the room first in case you’d like to lay down and then later, I can show you the rest of the house.”

  “That’s acceptable.” Tam grabbed her small case that contained her few belongings.

  Marianne opened the door and then gasped. “You startled me, Brutus.”

  Brutus’s chipped ice gaze met her own. Tam knew in that instant he had discovered her identity. Or, even if he didn’t figure out exactly who she was, he would have for certain known something about her would lead to White Caesar.

  Even this eventuality was planned for.

  “Je suis désolé, Madame Gordon.” He apologized with a faint bow although his eyes never left hers. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss seeing Mademoiselle Floyd. I would like to speak with her.”

  “I’m sure Tam would be happy to speak with you later, Brutus. I’m showing her to her room as she needs to rest.”

  Despite the reprieve from confrontation Marianne’s response offered, Tam waited with bated breath to see how Brutus would respond. His eyes retained that hard glint while a muscle leapt along his jawline. She fully expected him to ignore the woman and come after her himself.

  “Bien sûr.” He stepped back from the doorway. “I would never want to interfere with a woman’s rest.”

  Tam’s breath rushed out of her. How long this reprieve would last, she didn’t know. White Caesar wanted Brutus a
nd she had to deliver this man to him. Her life depended on it.

  She forced her eyes away from Brutus’s magnificent form as he walked away.

  Marianne led her up the stairs and opened the door to a sparsely decorated room. “We have agents coming and going all the time that utilize these rooms. Some of the women are located on this floor, but others choose to acquire lodgings at the boarding house nearby.”

  “It’s fine, Marianne.” The barrenness didn’t bother her in the least.

  “When you’re ready to come down, I’ll show you the rest.” With those final words, Marianne left.

  The tension that had held her together eased away as she unpacked her things. How long she would be here before she was able to bring Brutus to White Caesar, she didn’t know. A case may turn up that Archie would assign to her. Depending on what it was, it would impede her mission. But she couldn’t give away her true objective, so she’d have to accept any work that came her way.

  She went over to the lone mirror on the wall. Unbraiding her hair, and combing her fingers through the long, thick, and wooly shoulder-length mass, she stared back at her pensive reflection.

  Would her condition have worsened by then?

  A Bible verse floated up into her mind. “…Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

  Tomorrow would take care of itself. Today, she decided to forgo the evening meal and rest.

  She changed into her nightgown and fingered the light, sheer-like material. White Caesar’s mistress had given it to her. Though she felt naked, Tam liked the scandalous nature of it. Climbing into bed, she folded the pillow in half and placed it under her head. It was better for her condition to sleep in an upright position

  Many thoughts vied for her attention. Tam shooed them away as Morpheus’s arms embraced her.

  The knock on the door awakened Tam the next morning. Her memories came flooding like a wave of the ocean. She stretched and then sat on the side of the bed. Thinking Marianne had come to see her, and possibly ask why she missed last night’s meal, she called out, “Come in.”

  The door opened. Tam gasped at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man who entered her room as if he owned it. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she croaked out, “What are you doing in my room?”

  Brutus closed the door and leaned against it. His blue intent gaze made the muscles in her stomach quiver while a hard knot formed in her throat.

  “Be calm, mademoiselle. I have no wish to accost you in any way.”

  She wanted to cover herself up with the blanket. No man had ever seen her in her more serviceable gowns much less this scandalous sheer thing. But her pride and something defiant but nebulous she refused to dwell on, wouldn’t allow her to show that sign of weakness.

  Instead, she lifted her chin. “I find that difficult to believe, sir, when you steal into my room.”

  “Steal?” A cynical, arrogant gleam entered his eyes. “Mademoiselle, you did invite me in.”

  “I thought you were Marianne at—”

  The insolent wave of his hand dismissed her words. “It doesn’t matter what you thought, Mademoiselle Floyd.” Then he paused and added meaningfully, “If that is your name.”

  The knot in her throat tightened but she swallowed past the discomfort. “Yes, it is the name I go by, sir.”

  Brutus stalked forward until he towered above her, his face rigid and hard as granite. “Did you think I wouldn’t discover that you are the daughter of my best friend? The man who wants me dead?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Brutus absorbed the way Tamera Floyd composed herself after he thrust his way into her room. The shocked expression had firmed into a blank mask. He could almost admire the way she kept her face void of her innermost thoughts.

  “You must leave my room immediately, Mr. Bradford.”

  Looking at her now, his opinion of her appearance changed. Yesterday, he considered her a handsome woman, neither devoid of beauty nor bursting with it. This morning, as the bleak sunshine penetrated the room in a light wash of color, she presented a different picture altogether.

  The gauzy gown with its near transparency offered a tantalizing, but shadowed glimpse of her umber skin. It flowed down in a cascade of diaphanous material, giving her the appearance of some ethereal, unworldly thing. Her thick hair with its shocking white streak in the center tumbled down her shoulders. His fingers twitched in an innate need to touch those strands, feeling them slide through the openings of his hand.

  The sight reminded him of the many mornings he’d awakened by Roseline’s side, her wooly hair in lovely disarray as it slid down her back. An ache pulsed in his chest and he tore his attention away from this woman’s physical attributes. How could he even contemplate what had crossed his mind when he knew this was the daughter of the man who swore to kill him years ago?

  Honing in on her words once more, his teeth ground against each other. Did Caesar’s daughter think he would allow her to dismiss him?

  “Normally mademoiselle, I would hasten with alacrity to obey the wishes of a lady.” He bent until he was almost nose to nose with her. “But in this instance, I will not.”

  Her bird-like features tautened. “You have no right to be in my room.”

  This close to her face, he noticed her heavily fringed eyes. They weren’t the midnight, soulless orbs of her father but a dark reddish brown that nearly matched the complexion of her skin.

  Cinnamon eyes.

  “Perhaps,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “But I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

  “Do you want me to scream?”

  He shook his head. “If I know Caesar, you would hardly have been brought up as a weakling, mademoiselle. You would sooner strike me with your—”

  She lashed out as her hand balled into a fist, but Brutus saw the movement seconds before she could wallop him. He grabbed her fist ahead of it connecting with his face. Or even worse, his nose. He rather liked his nose unbent and unbroken.

  “See?” He let out a tight laugh. “You are Caesar’s daughter.”

  Her other fist came up and he easily ensnared it. Now both of her hands were held captive by his own.

  “Release me!”

  Chuckling, although there was nothing humorous about the situation, Brutus straightened and then yanked the woman onto her feet, slamming her into his body.

  His head jerked back at the impact, unprepared for the velvet crush of her softness against his body. In this moment of contact, he became aware of all those things that made a woman.

  Don’t think of how soft she feels. Focus on why she is here. What does Caesar want?

  Her breath rushed out against his face at the impact as he wrapped his arms around her and effectively imprisoned her.

  “Now, you may scream as you like, colibri rouge, since I have given you sufficient cause to do so.”

  Brutus waited. Would she see behind his ruse or remain steadfast to whatever agenda Caesar had commanded? He hoped it was the latter or he’d have a lot of explaining to do to the Gordons.

  Those reddish-brown eyes glared, and her thin mouth compressed into a line. Held within his arms as she was, he noted how slender her frame but not without rounded curves. The rapid beat of her heart pulsed against his chest. His nostrils flared as they inhaled with an almost greedy instinct the warm, womanly scent arising from her.

  When the silence went on, he lifted his brow. “Ah, you’ve not screamed yet, mademoiselle.”

  Her voice was low as she said, “Please let me go, Mr. Bradford, sir.”

  “Are you here to kill me?”

  “No, Mr. Bradford.”

  Brutus stared down into her serene face. Could he trust her at her word? This was Caesar’s daughter after all. He would have trained her to defend herself as well as other means of making sure she could attack if need be. The longer he gazed into her cinnamon eyes, his instincts told him that she indeed spoke the truth.

  Besides, he reasoned, if she was g
oing to kill him, she could have easily done so yesterday during their walk.

  “C'est bon.” He released her and she scurried away. The hem of her gown flared out in her rush to grab a robe to cover herself, revealing a glimpse of her brown bare feet and slim ankles.

  Her demeanor changed as she slid on her robe and cinched it around her waist with an almost painful tug at the belt. The careful blank mask vanished like mist under a morning sun. Her head tilted back as if she were smelling something distasteful.

  “If you ever do that again, Mr. Bradford I will make certain that you pay for it dearly.”

  “Tout à fait.” He declined to mention that she only said such things now that she was out of his grasp. “I would never treat a woman in such a way. But you…” He allowed his voice to trail off and linger between them. “You are Caesar’s daughter. I have never made the mistake of underestimating him.”

  Her eyes drifted away. “I am his daughter, aren’t I?”

  Brutus couldn’t tell whether she made a statement or asked a question. Something behind that haughtiness peeked through. An uncertainty. A vulnerability this woman tried to hide. Roseline had had such tendencies at moments. Strong women often do.

  “Then what are you here for, mademoiselle?”

  Her eyes darted back towards him. “My name is Tam, Mr. Bradford, sir.” A hard tone entered her voice. “Please refer to me as such.”

  “As you wish, Tam.”

  “My father heard about your coming here to America several months ago. As your…estrangement from each other has been rather lengthy, he sent me in his stead.”

  “Why you?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “My father wanted me to seek you out and bring you to him.”

  His brows angled down. “For what purpose? I know Caesar has wanted me dead all these years, Tam. Does he really think I will rush into a trap?”

  “There isn’t a trap, Mr. Bradford, sir.”

  “I am not a fool, Tam.”

  “No, you are not. My father said that he wishes to heal the rift between you caused by his pride years ago.”