A Match of Wits (6 page)

Not willing to be dismissed so easily, Agatha charged after him. “You’re not being reasonable, Zayne, and I . . .” She stumbled over a pile of dirt, but caught herself before she plunged to the ground by grabbing hold of the basket. Straightening, she looked it over. “This is an interesting contraption.”

“Humph.”

She ignored his less-than-charming remark. “Do you use this to get up to the mine, and if so, how does the contraption work, and how did you even come up with the idea for the basket gadget thing in the first place?”

Zayne began rubbing his head. “No offense, Agatha, but all of your questions are causing my head to throb harder than ever. What I really need right now is some peace and quiet, which means you need to stop talking, and I’d also enjoy some time completely alone.”

She waved that piece of nonsense away with a flick of her wrist. “You loathe being alone, and I’m getting tired of your surly attitude.” She nodded to the basket. “What exactly is that?”

“If I explain what this is, will you leave me in peace?”

“Probably not, and besides, I’m in need of a good story. I’ll bet my readers would love hearing how you’ve overcome you’re, er . . .” The rest of her words stuck in her throat when Zayne’s eyes turned glacial.

“You will not write a story with me as the featured invalid.”

“I wasn’t going to portray you as an—”

“I have to get to work.”

“But you haven’t explained what that is yet,” she said, pointing to the contraption in front of her.

“It’s a basket attached to a pulley.”

“Well, clearly, but . . . how did you come up with the idea and why?”

“I would think that’s obvious. Necessity is a great motivator for coming up with ideas. I tried to climb up to the mine once but it didn’t work out very well for me, hence the pulley system.”

“It’s ingenious.”

“No, it isn’t, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You may sit down here and write to your heart’s content about pulleys, but don’t bother me.”

“I’d be able to write a more fascinating account of your pulley system if you’d let me ride up the mountain with you. That way I’d be able to describe how it feels to hang over jutting rocks with only a cable saving me from certain death.”

“Maybe acting wouldn’t be such a stretch for you after all, but tell me, do you really expect me, an invalid, to be able to pull not only myself but you as well up the mountain?”

“I don’t really like it when you use that particular tone of voice with me.”

“Then stop annoying me and I’ll stop using this tone.” With that, Zayne yanked on the door leading into the basket, stepped in, pulled the door shut, and began cranking a wheel, which caused the basket to slowly ascend up the steep slope.

I
nfuriating man,” Agatha grumbled as she watched Zayne make his way up the mountain without her.

“He may be infuriating,” Drusilla said, coming to stand beside Agatha, “but I must say, even though he claims he’s an invalid, he looks to be in rather fine form to me.”

Squinting against the glare of the sun, Agatha found she couldn’t disagree. Muscles strained against his shirt with every crank, causing her traitorous heart to beat a touch faster than was strictly necessary. It was unacceptable, this irritating reaction she had to the man, especially since he was being less than cooperative at the moment.

Didn’t he remember that she hated being thwarted and that, when she was, she almost always resorted to something of a drastic nature?

Did he really want to put himself smack in the midst of—

“I find it somewhat distasteful, observing the two of you ogling the poor man.”

Dragging her gaze away from Zayne and all his muscles, she felt her face heat when she turned and found Mr. Blackheart
scowling back at her. Why he was scowling was beyond her. After all, she hadn’t been ogling
him
.

“There’s no harm in ogling,” Drusilla proclaimed, sparing Agatha a response. “Why, a lady would have to be dead not to notice such an impressive display of muscles.”

Mr. Blackheart turned his scowl on Drusilla. “Yes, well, Zayne’s muscles aside, we have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.”

“Oh?” Drusilla asked.

“Indeed, which is why I’m going to follow Zayne and have a bit of a gentlemanly chat with him. The two of you will stay down here.”

“Why do we have to stay down here?” Agatha demanded. “And why do you have to have a ‘gentlemanly chat’ with him? What’s wrong with having a normal chat, one where ladies are included?”

“Must you always be so difficult?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

A vein began to throb on Mr. Blackheart’s forehead. “This is exactly why Zayne and I need to speak privately. Gentlemen occasionally need to distance themselves from ladies—especially when said ladies unintentionally hurt our pride.”

“Surely you’re not implying that I injured Zayne’s pride, are you?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that you did.” He held up a hand when Agatha began to sputter. “You didn’t mean to, of course, but you brought attention to his weakness by suggesting he return to New York for the social season. He obviously can’t dance, and what were you thinking, suggesting he should assist me with keeping you alive? You’re a nightmare to guard, which Zayne knows full well, and he also knows he’d never be up for that daunting task given his bad leg.

“While it may appear that Zayne is somewhat nonchalant about his injury, I assure you, he’s not. That’s why I’m going to go speak with him, man to man. And since neither you nor Drusilla are men, you’ll need to stay down here until I call for you.”

“What if we have an emergency?”

“I’m going to encourage you to avoid emergencies at all costs.” Sending her another one of his all-too-familiar glares, Mr. Blackheart turned and began climbing up the mountain.

Drusilla released a huff. “Gentlemen are such peculiar creatures. I cannot believe Mr. Blackheart expects us to twiddle our thumbs down here while he goes off to soothe Zayne’s tender feelings. If you ask me, Zayne needs a kick in his rather nice behind, not coddling.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Agatha said as she moved to the back of the wagon. Pulling the picnic basket out, she set it on the ground. Plucking out two apples, she barely had a moment to straighten before Matilda was beside her, looking hopeful. Giving an apple to the little pig, she grinned as Matilda scampered back to her grassy spot and immediately began to chomp on her treat.

“Interesting pet you’ve managed to acquire,” Drusilla said.

“True, but I don’t think Mr. Blackheart is thrilled with my acquisition.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Blackheart is capable of experiencing a thrilling emotion, but now is not the time to delve into his odd ways.” Drusilla lifted her chin. “We need to discuss Zayne. I couldn’t help but notice the animated conversation the two of you were sharing on the ride out here, which made me realize you’re probably up to something.”

“I’m sure I should take offense at your reasoning, but annoyingly enough, you’re right,” Agatha said. She took
a few minutes to explain everything Zayne had told her, finishing with, “So Helena left him right when he needed her the most.”

“And you’re determined to sort him out.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Rumor had it back in New York that the two of you were more than friends.”

“That’s exactly why one shouldn’t put much stock in rumors, Drusilla. Zayne and I have always been just friends.”

“You spoke about him almost nonstop when we first started out on this adventure.”

“Did I?”

“Indeed. Non . . . stop.”

A flash of heat swept over Agatha’s face. “Oh, very well, if you must know, I did, once upon a time, hold Zayne in a small bit of affection. But after he learned of that affection, he very nicely explained to me that he was beholden to Helena and that I mustn’t ever believe he’d abandon her to form a relationship with me.”

“Helena doesn’t seem to be an issue anymore.”

Agatha wrinkled her nose. “You’re supposed to be my companion, Drusilla, not a matchmaker. Besides, you’ve spent an entire year with me. Surely you’ve realized by now that I’m perfectly content being an independent lady. I enjoy the success I’ve achieved as a writer, and I’m not ready, nor will I probably ever be, to give that independence up for a man.”

“Zayne was raised by one of the most progressive ladies I’ve ever known,” Drusilla countered. “I would have to imagine Gloria Beckett was more than successful with teaching her son tolerance for independent ladies. I’m sure Zayne wouldn’t be bothered in the least if you continued on with your writing, if you
were
to form an attachment to him.”

“Zayne’s a mess at the moment, and the last thing I need is more messiness in my life.”

“He’s an enticing mess.”

“
Anyway
, since I still consider myself his friend, I’ll do whatever I can to help him recover. However, much to my disgust, he’s already figured out what I’m up to, which means it’s going to be remarkably difficult to get him to cooperate.” She smiled at Drusilla. “I think I’m going to need your assistance formulating a plan.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the only way you’ll have the slightest chance of helping Zayne get better is if you somehow manage to convince him to go back to New York. He’s not going to agree to that, which means you’ll get it into your head to somehow drag him back there. Have you forgotten you’re not safe in the city?”

“Have you forgotten I haven’t exactly been safe out
here
?”

“True, but at least out here the danger is random, while in New York there’s a very specific and troubling threat waiting for you.”

“Theodore’s certain to find some leads soon. Maybe he’s already run the culprit to ground and just hasn’t had a chance to send us a telegram.”

“I received a telegram from Theodore a week ago. There are no new leads.”

“Why would
you
receive a telegram from Theodore Wilder?”

“Did I say
I
received the telegram? How silly of me, I meant Mr. Blackheart received a telegram, and . . .” Drusilla’s voice trailed off as she looked past Agatha’s shoulder. “Hmm . . . Now that’s interesting,” was all she said before she started
rummaging through a satchel that was attached to her hip. She pulled out a pair of opera glasses and immediately began peering off into the distance.

“I know I should ask why you have opera glasses stashed in your satchel, but since that’s somewhat self-explanatory because you’re always so annoyingly prepared for anything, what are you looking at?”

“I’m not sure, but . . . Oh dear.” Drusilla passed the opera glasses to Agatha. “Take a look.”

Pressing the opera glasses to her eyes, Agatha frowned. “Are those
women
riding this way?”

“Indeed, and do notice the rifles attached to their saddles.”

Agatha took another look. “I’ll bet those are soon going to prove to be problematic.”

“Exactly,” Drusilla said crisply before she took the glasses back from Agatha and quickly stowed them away. “I think we’re about to be held up, and I swear, if we get out of this latest calamity alive, I’m going to strangle Zayne. Only an idiot would flaunt his finds in a silly sack hanging from his belt.”

“You saw that?”

“I’m very observant.” Drusilla reached back in her satchel and pulled out a pistol, holding it with what seemed to be a practiced hand.

“I didn’t know you carried that.”

“Forgive me, Agatha, but this is no time for a pleasant chat regarding what you do and don’t know about me. We need to get up to the mine and warn the gentlemen. Plus, if those ladies begin shooting at us, we’ll have the better advantage if we’re higher.” Taking a firm hold of Agatha’s arm, Drusilla began to prod her up the mountain.

Agatha slipped on some loose dirt, which had Drusilla
tightening her hold and hauling her upright. “I’ll bet Mr. Blackheart never imagined when he told us to avoid emergencies that one would really happen.”

Drusilla’s brows drew together. “He should have remembered you attract emergencies like honey attracts bees, but enough about that. You need to stop dawdling.”

“I’m not dawdling. I slipped, and I’d be able to move faster if you weren’t dragging me along.”

“Stop being difficult,” Drusilla said, even as she released Agatha’s arm and scrambled up a few feet. “Honestly, if I’d known exactly what I was getting into, I might have hesitated briefly before I swore to protect you, because . . .”

Agatha stopped moving. “Swore to protect me?”

Drusilla let out a grunt, which was unusual in and of itself, and glared at Agatha, looking slightly like Mr. Blackheart. “I’m your paid companion. Of course I’m expected to protect you.”

“Protect my
virtue
,” Agatha clarified, “and forgive me, but I don’t believe that’s in jeopardy at the moment. Nor—just so we’re clear—are you actually responsible for my reputation, since I’m rapidly becoming a lady of a certain age.”

“You’re twenty-two, hardly ancient, but this is not the time to discuss such matters. We’re soon to be set upon by a motley-looking group of outlaws.”

“They didn’t look motley to me. I thought they—”

“Would you come on?”

Snapping her mouth shut even though she still had plenty to say, Agatha climbed a few steps, then stopped. “I forgot Matilda.”

“Don’t even think about going back for her.”

“What if they shoot her?”

“Why would they do that? They’re after gold, not lunch.”

“It’s a good thing Matilda can’t hear you, otherwise, she’d be very upset.”

The next second, Drusilla had another very firm grip on her arm, and Agatha had no choice but to continue upward. “I don’t like being manhandled.”

“Since I’m a woman, that makes absolutely no sense,” Drusilla said. “But in order to alleviate your distress, I saw Matilda making a dash for the wagon. She’s a smart little thing. She’ll hide until the danger passes.”

“Or until she’s dead.”

Apparently, Drusilla didn’t feel the need to address that particular statement, because she tightened her hold and increased her pace, dragging Agatha up the mountain. They finally reached the entrance to the mine, and Drusilla promptly pushed Agatha toward the opening. “Go find Mr. Blackheart. I’ll stay here and try to dissuade those ladies from climbing after us.”

Reaching beneath her shirt, Agatha pulled a pistol from the waistband of her trousers. “I’m armed as well, so perhaps both of us should stay here and hold the ladies off.”

Drusilla’s mouth thinned, and she looked rather fierce, nothing at all like the pleasant companion Agatha had grown accustomed to. “We have limited ammunition. They have rifles and I’m going to assume pistols as well. Go get Mr. Blackheart.” She took up a position right inside the entrance of the mine and gestured to Agatha. “Go.”

“Fine, but don’t think we’re not going to have a long discussion about this later.” Agatha turned on her heel and marched into the mine, pausing for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the space. Seeing a tunnel right in front of her, she scooped up one of the numerous lit lanterns on the floor and barreled through the tunnel, yelling for Mr.
Blackheart at the top of her lungs. Her voice echoed eerily around her, but to her annoyance neither Mr. Blackheart nor Zayne bothered to answer her.

She darted down a narrow passageway as irritation began to replace the anxiety flowing through her veins. Leave it to gentlemen to ignore a lady when danger was nipping at their heels. She was forced to stop when she reached a dead end, turned and raced back the way she’d come, pausing as she considered the two tunnels in front of her. The distant sound of voices met her ears, and she moved into motion once again.

“ . . . and if you’ll notice, I’ve carefully placed dynamite in precise locations so that I can increase the size of this tunnel without having all the walls collapse. I’ve attached the dynamite to that fuse line right over there, and I’ve already taken the end of that line out to the main tunnel. All I need to do is light it and—”