An Agent for Belle (The Pinkerton Matchmaker Book 11) Read online

  The Pinkerton Matchmaker

  An Agent for

  Belle

  Nerys Leigh

  THE PINKERTON MATCHMAKER:

  AN AGENT FOR BELLE

  Copyright: Nerys Leigh

  Published: 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted, without written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Get THE BLACKSMITH’S HEART free!

  Sign up for my newsletter to never miss a new book, receive either monthly news or only new release notifications (your choice), and get The Blacksmith's Heart novella absolutely free.

  TAP HERE TO SUBSCRIBE AND GET YOUR FREE BOOK

  NEW YORK TRIBUNE

  Sat. April 22, 1871

  WANTED:

  Female Agents to join National Detective Agency

  Daring women who seek adventure and are of sound mind and body.

  You will help the criminal elements answer for their crimes and secure safety for their victims.

  You will train with an existing agent…

  Chapter One

  “You want us to what?!”

  Isabelle Wood had never hyperventilated before, but she was coming close now. How could he do this to her?

  “Now, Miss Wood, please calm yourself.”

  A near uncontrollable urge to slap the moustache off Mr. Gordon’s face gripped her. “I will not calm myself! I came here to be independent and now you tell me I have to get married?”

  She turned away before she did something that would get her banned from the agency for life.

  Married! How could they expect her to get married when her whole reason for applying to become a Pinkerton agent was to avoid marriage?

  “It’s only for a short time, to protect your reputation. At the end of your training period you will have the marriage annulled.”

  Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. They hadn’t been trimmed for a while. She imagined they could do a fair amount of damage to Mr. Gordon’s face, possibly even remove an eyeball.

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I’m afraid we will be unable to accept your application to become an agent.”

  She spun back to him, garnering a small amount of satisfaction when he took a nervous step backwards. “And how many of your male agents had to marry someone when they applied, hmm? This is 1871, for goodness’ sake, not the eighteenth century!”

  A few of the other ladies in the room murmured their agreement. Belle had got to know her fellow applicants in the couple of days they’d been in Denver and she knew for a fact many of them would feel the same way she did.

  Mr. Gordon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You know as well as I do that it is different for a man.”

  “Yes, I know that very well,” she responded through gritted teeth. “And what if this man I’m being forced to marry decides he has the right to take advantage of this sham of a union?”

  He frowned. “Look, lassie…”

  “Lassie?” Under different circumstances, his Scottish brogue might have been charming, but right now it was just another thing that made her want to scream.

  “Uh… Miss Wood,” he corrected quickly. “I realize this is a shock, but I swear to you that you will be matched with a most appropriate, professional agent. All Pinkerton men are held to the highest standards of conduct. None of them would even think of taking advantage of a woman in any way; you have my word on that.”

  She couldn’t help but wonder how much his word was worth. If he’d been a scrupulously honest man, the letter she’d received inviting her to Denver to become one of the new wave of female agents would have mentioned that she would be expected to marry a man she hadn’t even met.

  Huffing out a breath, she looked down at the Pinkerton Denver headquarters’ dining room floor. She’d gone there to become independent, so she wouldn’t have to follow her well-meaning but stifling parents’ plans to find her a wealthy, socially superior husband. There wasn’t much she could think of worse than spending the rest of her life playing social politics and dying of boredom. That she was now expected to marry anyway had her not only furious but also slightly fearful.

  What if she couldn’t get out of it at the end? What if she was trapped, married to some grizzled, weathered man twice her age who kept her just as stifled as any upper class fop would? Admittedly, none of the agents she’d seen here fit that description, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any she hadn’t seen.

  But this was her only chance for the life she wanted. Could she throw it all away because she was afraid of taking a risk?

  She raised her eyes. “You promise I’ll be able to get the marriage annulled once the case is over?”

  “You have my word,” Mr. Gordon said again.

  “I’d prefer to have it in writing.”

  His lips twitched beneath his moustache. “You’ll have that too.”

  She sighed. “Fine, I’ll marry one of your agents. You just make sure to tell him that just because I’m his wife, doesn’t mean I have to do what he says.”

  His lips twitched even harder. “I’ll let him know.”

  Chapter Two

  Valentine Stevens trudged along the corridor in the direction of the library, feet dragging. Somewhere in there was his future wife, future meaning in roughly twenty minutes.

  Even with two weeks having passed since their lead agent told them that they would not only have to train the new lady agents but also marry them, he still wasn’t used to the idea. He never would be.

  He had nothing against marriage, just so long as it happened to other people. Women loved him and he loved women, just not in any permanent capacity. The thought of being married to one, even temporarily, scared him more than staring down the barrel of a gun, an experience he was all too familiar with.

  “You look as happy to be here as I am,” Caleb said, walking up beside him.

  He glanced up at the big man. Caleb was one of the few people who could make Val, at six feet and one inch, feel short.

  “And I thought I was hiding it so well.” He blew out a breath. “Why do I feel like I’m going to the gallows?”

  Caleb snorted a laugh. “Being dead is probably worse than wishing you were.”

  “Do you have proof of that?”

  “Nope. But we’re about to find out.” He clapped Val on the back as they reached the library door. “Good luck.”

  Caleb walked into the crowd of men and women packed into the room. Val slipped in the door and looked around, mildly surprised at the ribbons and decorations adorning the normally fairly plain room. Marianne and Pearl, no doubt. He couldn’t imagine Archie trying to make a mass wedding look nice.

  There was a substantial spread of food arrayed on a table at the front. That looked promising, at least. Pearl was an exceptional cook and the cake looked especially inviting.

  Not in the mood for being in the middle of things, he edged along the back wall. His shoulder nudged against something and he moved his gaze from the backs of the heads in front of him.

  Blue eyes rose to meet his and blinked.

  For a moment, he forgot what words were.

  “Uh… sorry,” he managed, after an embarrassing few seconds. “Pardon me.”

  The young woman was stunning, with dark auburn hair pinned in a relaxed style and full, pink lips. And those eyes.

  He swallowed and looked away. His wedding probably wasn’t the time to be gawking at other women. Fortuna
tely, he was distracted by Archie speaking from the front of the room.

  “Wyatt, Diana Gleason will be your partner. Will you step forward and move to this side? Holding of hands is optional.” There was a pause before Archie spoke again while the first couple moved into place. “Isabelle Wood? Are you here?”

  “I am,” said a not at all happy voice beside Val.

  He looked at the woman again. He hadn’t spent as much time as some of the other agents had with the ladies who’d arrived to train as Pinkertons, so he didn’t know names. Isabelle. It suited her.

  “You and Valentine,” Archie went on, “please come forward.”

  Val’s jaw dropped, and then he smiled. Maybe this temporary marriage idea wouldn’t be quite as bad as he was anticipating. At least he’d have something beautiful to look at.

  Although maybe that wasn’t such a good thing, since look was all he could do.

  He held out his elbow to her. “Looks like it’s you and me.”

  She looked up at him. “You’re Valentine?”

  “Sure am.” He waited for her to smile, possibly even giggle coquettishly. Women loved his good looks and charm. He knew she had to be elated at the match.

  Her morose expression didn’t alter, although she did sigh. “Oh, good.” Her tone said it was anything but.

  Ignoring his elbow, she walked away through the crowd to where the couples were assembling. After a few moments, Val followed.

  So maybe there were women who didn’t love him. One woman. The one he was about to marry.

  He joined her amongst the other couples and waited for everyone else to be paired up. He briefly considered offering her his hand, then he saw her expression and thought better of it. It seemed she was unhappier to be marrying than he was.

  The ceremony was mercifully brief, with Archie leading them in their vows, and it only took Val a mild amount of effort to force the “I do” from his lips.

  Finally Archie said, “You may now kiss your bride, or shake hands, or whatever it is that you decide to do.”

  Val glanced at Isabelle.

  “Don’t even think about it,” was her reply.

  He couldn’t help thinking about it, but that was all he did. She may have been beautiful, but he wasn’t stupid.

  Bronco, however, apparently was. A loud whoop came from the front of the room and Val saw him grab his bride and kiss her soundly. She pushed him away, he stumbled into someone else, and then chaos erupted.

  Val didn’t see exactly what happened, but suddenly the wedding was a melee of flying food and tripping brides and grooms.

  A slice of cake hurtled across the room at head height, straight towards Isabelle.

  He just had time to regret that she was now going to hate him even more before, with impressively fast reflexes, she ducked. The cake sailed over her head and hit him in the face.

  She looked back at him as the creamy lump slid down his cheek and dropped to the floor, for a moment simply staring at his icing-covered face. And then she burst into laughter.

  At least now he knew how to get her to smile. All he had to do was humiliate himself.

  Chapter Three

  The hazy clouds of a wonderful night’s sleep slowly drifted from Belle’s mind and she stretched, smiling.

  She loved this bed. It was big and comfortable, with soft sheets and pillows that smelled like a fresh spring day. She could get used to sleeping in nice hotels as a Pinkerton agent.

  Her eyes snapped open. “Oh, no.”

  The memories of the previous day returned, along with a deep longing to sink back into the blissful ignorance of sleep.

  She was married. Actually married. Wed. To a man.

  She was Mrs. Valentine Stevens.

  Her nose screwed up at that. No, she was still Isabelle Wood. She would always be Isabelle Wood, until such time as she found a man she wouldn’t mind giving up her freedom for, if such an individual existed. And handsome as he was, that man was not Valentine Stevens.

  Anyway, that would be far, far in the future, when she had lived life to the fullest and was happy to settle down as she entered into her older years. She’d be at least thirty by then.

  Unwilling to rise from the soft bed until she absolutely had to, she groped on the nightstand for her pocket watch and checked the time. Just after eight. She was to meet Mr. Stevens in the lobby of the hotel at nine, so she still had a little time.

  She closed her eyes and snuggled under the covers again. The day and whatever it would bring could wait another few minutes.

  ~ ~ ~

  Belle hurried down the stairs to the lobby at twenty minutes past nine.

  Pushing back a wild strand of hair escaping from her hastily pinned chignon, she scanned the large room for Mr. Stevens, frowning when she didn’t find him. Thanks to falling asleep again and not waking until just before nine, she was well and truly late. How could he be even later?

  Or maybe he’d tired of waiting and left without her. Her stomach lurched at the thought. Much as she hadn’t wanted to marry him, she didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to become a fully fledged Pinkerton agent.

  She rushed to the reception desk where a bespectacled, middle-aged man looked up from a ledger in front of him.

  “May I help you, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I’m supposed to be meeting Mr. Valentine Stevens here, but I can’t find him. Have you seen him?” She held her hand above her head. “He’s about this tall, clean shaven, with dark brown hair and gray eyes and…”

  He held up a hand to interrupt her description. “Are you Mrs. Stevens?”

  “No.” She frowned. “Well, I suppose technically I am.”

  He looked confused. “So are you Mrs. Stevens or not?”

  Much as it pained her, she said it anyway. “Yes, I am.”

  He nodded and reached beneath the desk. “I have a message for you from Mr. Stevens.”

  He pulled out a folded piece of paper and she placed her valise down to read it.

  Isabelle,

  I hope you slept well.

  Please forgive me for not waiting for you. I’ve had to go to the office. Could you meet me there and we will go on to the station together? There should be cabs outside the hotel to take you. The hotel bill is paid and I’ve left a dollar with the clerk to cover the fare.

  Your loving husband,

  Valentine.

  She rolled her eyes at the ‘your loving husband’ part.

  “He left some money with you for me?” she said to the clerk, folding the piece of paper and pushing it into her bag.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He handed her a dollar bill.

  “Thank you.” She picked up her valise and headed for the door.

  Two cabs were waiting on the street outside for trade, but Belle set off walking in the direction of the Pinkerton headquarters. If there was one thing growing up poor had taught her, it was that you didn’t spend money on a cab when you could easily walk the distance in ten minutes. Did Mr. Stevens think her incapable of walking a few blocks?

  She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was just being polite. If he wasn’t, she could correct him later.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Cheyenne, Archie? Cheyenne? It’s bad enough I have to marry the girl, now you want me to take her to about the most dangerous place in the country? How do you expect me to protect a high-class woman like her, who’s probably never faced anything more alarming in her life than a spider in the bathtub?”

  When Belle reached the Pinkerton headquarters, she didn’t have to ask if Mr. Stevens was there, she could hear him through the closed door of Mr. Gordon’s office as soon as she walked into the building.

  Marianne, Mr. Gordon’s secretary, was sitting at her desk outside his door. She smiled apologetically.

  “I know Cheyenne can be a wee bit rough…” Belle heard Mr. Gordon say.

  “A wee bit rough? That town is a madhouse! Last time I was there I was almost killed. Bullet missed me by this much
.”

  “And that’s why I’m sure you’ll keep her safe. You know what to expect.”

  “Yes, I do know, and that’s why it’s an insane idea! Why can’t you send someone else? Someone without a temporary wife.”

  “Because every man here is either in the same situation as you or on another case. You know how valuable James Horton is, with all the connections he has and the information he gives us. Now he wants the favor returned, and if we want his help in the future, we have to do it.”

  Belle placed her valise down beside Marianne’s desk. “Would you mind watching this while I go in there?”

  “Not at all. And good luck.”

  Belle gave her a rueful smile, walked past her to Mr. Gordon’s office door, and opened it without knocking.

  The argument inside came to an abrupt halt as both men looked at her in surprise.

  Mr. Gordon recovered first. “Mrs. Stevens, do come in. I was just discussing your assignment with Val.”

  Mr. Stevens flashed him a glare.

  “Yes, I could hear your discussion from outside,” she said, walking into the room. “And I would like to say something.”

  “I don’t think…” Mr. Stevens began.

  “You seem to have got the wrong idea about me,” she continued.

  He folded his arms, rocking back on his heels. “Oh? And how is that?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m not afraid of spiders.”

  Mr. Gordon snorted a laugh. Even Mr. Stevens smiled slightly.

  “I’m also very far from being high class. While the area I grew up in wasn’t the worst in New York City, it was close. I am used to rough neighborhoods, believe me.”

  Admitting her lowly origins was something her parents had impressed on her practically from birth should never be done. Actually saying out loud that she was from a poor background was surprisingly liberating, if a little scary.