“I don’t recall suggesting that.”
“It was certainly implied, as you seem to think I’m going to believe you’re here on legitimate business, when you and I both know you’re here because your abduction plan was foiled and you’ve now been forced to modify that plan.”
His brow furrowed before he smiled. “Ah, I see where you’re going with your train of thought, but I’m afraid you’ve read the situation wrong, Miss Pierpont. And before you try to explain why you’re not wrong, allow me to explain why you are.”
He nodded to the revolver Lottie was still holding aloft, although her arm had begun shaking more than slightly. “From what’s been said, my Colt Dragoon went into the Hudson River with you, and it wasn’t simply in the river but was fully submerged. That means the gunpowder residing in its cylinder is now wet, as are the percussions caps, which means there’s no need for her to continue pointing my own revolver at me because it’s been rendered inoperable.”
“How could that possibly prove I’m wrong about your intentions?” Camilla asked.
“Because you’re a, ah, diminutive lady, which I hope doesn’t offend you as much as calling you ‘little lady’ did, and as such, and given the differences in our sizes, if Iwerehere to abduct you, and because I know the revolver Lottie is holding is useless, you would already be slung over the back of my horse, riding down the road.”
Camilla stripped off a soggy glove and used it to dash aside a glob of mud that was trailing down her cheek, needing a few seconds to digest everything Mr. Chesterfield had said.
Frankly, he’d made some excellent points because he was, indeed, almost twice her size and could have certainly made off with her, as well as rendered Lottie and Mr. Timken incapacitated, with very little effort.
“May I dare hope, since you’ve had a moment to consider what I’ve said,” Mr. Chesterfield began, “that you’re now ready to admit we’ve merely suffered from an unfortunate series of misunderstandings and agree to a fresh start between us?”
The doubt that had been worming its way through Camilla intensified, but after the harrowing events of the morning, she wasn’t quite ready to abandon caution just yet. She turned to Lottie. “There’s little point in keeping that weapon aloft, although I suggest you keep hold of it because if we’re mistaken and Mr. Chesterfield does have nefarious plans in mind, you could always drub him over the head with it.”
“I don’t need a drubbing,” Mr. Chesterfield muttered.
“Perhaps not, but until I’m absolutely certain of that . . .” She turned toward the door and whistled, which resulted in the sound of nails clattering down the marble hallway a blink of an eye later. A second after that, Gladys, a poodle that was a disgrace to the breed since she refused to wear bows and loathed any attempt at grooming, bounded into the room, followed by El Cid, a cat who’d been all but foisted on her by her very dear friend Adelaide Duveen, or rather, Mrs. Gideon Abbott these days.
“Gladys, El Cid,” she began, sending a nod Mr. Chesterfield’s way, “guard him.”
It took a great deal of effort to keep her mouth from going slack when Gladys immediately sidled up next to Mr. Chesterfield, where she promptly began, not snarling at him, but nuzzling him, while El Cid moseyed up to Mr. Chesterfield’s other side and promptly rolled on his back, demanding homage in the form of a brisk belly rub.
“Traitors,” she muttered, earning a grin from Mr. Chesterfield before he scooped El Cid from the ground and settled him against his shoulder as Gladys plopped down on his feet, something that didn’t seem to bother the man in the least.
“Don’t take their acceptance of me as a betrayal of their loyalty,” Mr. Chesterfield began. “I simply have a way with animals,as well as with children, the elderly, and the majority of men. It’s mostly members of the feminine persuasion who seem to take issue with me, although...” He shook his head. “I suppose I should revise the statement about animals since I definitely failed to bond with those raccoons earlier and was fortunate to escape with only a tattered sleeve.”
“May I assume you won the battle because you resorted to shooting that leader?” Camilla asked.
“I couldn’t have in good conscience shot any of them since it was hardly their fault their morning nap was disrupted when bullets began flying,” he said, scratching El Cid behind the ears. “This handsome boy was also enjoying a nap when I first arrived, but did I hear you call him El Cid, and if so, may I presume he’s named after Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar?”
“You know El Cid was the nickname of Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar—a Castilian nobleman from medieval Spain?” Camilla asked slowly.
Mr. Chesterfield gave El Cid another scratch. “I should probably be insulted that you apparently take me for an uneducated man, although I understand I haven’t lent you the most favorable of impressions. With that said, though, I minored in history in college, majored in engineering, so yes, I know who El Cid is, and I’m impressed you named your cat after such a fascinating man.”
“I can’t take credit for the name,” Camilla admitted. “My friend, the former Adelaide Duveen, a great lover of cats, is responsible for naming him. She’s an avid reader and chose the name because there’s a poem written about Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar that she particularly enjoys.”
As El Cid began purring rather loudly, the purrs increasing when Mr. Chesterfield gave him a bit of a snuggle, Camilla took to considering the man, the thought springing to mind that there was something to be said about not judging a book by its cover because, clearly, her first impression of Mr. Chesterfield might have been a little off the mark.
Instead of the criminal she’d assumed he was, it appeared he was an educated man, and one who seemed to have a particular way with animals, given the way El Cid, who held the greatest disdain for most humans, was now purring more earnestly than ever.
“If we could return to this Adelaide Duveen,” Mr. Chesterfield said, snapping Camilla from her thoughts. “Walter Townsend mentioned her yesterday, as well as mentioned that you were responsible for convincing the Four Hundred they needed to abandon their quest to give her the cut direct.”
“You’re acquainted with Walter Townsend?” Camilla asked.
“I am, but perhaps I should back up and approach this as if we’re just becoming introduced.” He presented her with a bow, something El Cid apparently took issue with because he gave him a bat of a large paw, although since his claws weren’t extended, it evidently wasn’t meant to harm the man, merely show a touch of displeasure.
Mr. Chesterfield didn’t miss a beat, merely took to cradling El Cid in his large arms before he sent Camilla a smile. “I’m Mr. Owen Chesterfield, of Wheeling, West Virginia, and Walter and I are business associates. To prove that ...” He shot a look at Lottie. “I’m going to retrieve something from my pocket, and no, it’s not my lone remaining weapon. That means there’s no reason for you to consider giving me a drubbing with an inoperable weapon that happens to be my property.”
Lottie didn’t lower the revolver she was still brandishing like a baton, although she did settle a faint smile on Owen. “I’ll be more than happy to return this to you, but only after I’m completely convinced you’re not a threat to Miss Pierpont.”
“If I were a danger to either of you, you’d already be disarmed and Miss Pierpont would be on her way to wherever abductors take their victims,” he returned before he juggled El Cid around, then stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He then apparently decided to err on the side of caution because he handed the paper to Mr. Timken instead of trying to move closer to Camilla.
“If that’s not enough proof for you, I can also provide you with one of my business cards.”
