noticing were incredibly thick beneath his suit coat. He wasn’t big boned like Arch, who certainly had been strong. Instead Mr. Cushman had a different kind of strength and sharpness that was nearly overpowering at times. Like now.
To say that he was handsome was an understatement. Theresa had summed it up well earlier when she’d mumbled under her breath, “He’s gorgeous.” His dark clipped hair, deep murky blue eyes, and chiseled features would have been enough. But there was something about the slant of his eyebrows that gave him a sad, wounded appeal and beckoned a woman to wipe her fingers across his forehead to soothe away his aches.
Except that now, Victoria had no notion to soothe him. Instead she wanted to box his ears. He hadn’t allowed her to get out at Theresa’s house when they’d driven her home. Theresa’s father, Mr. Fontaine, was the only frightening one in the family, with his volatile temper and cold silences. But Victoria had learned to ignore him over the years. Certainly she had nothing to worry about while visiting with the Fontaines.
Victoria sat back against the plush black velvet seat while Mr. Cushman surveyed the street up and down several times through the cloudy coach window. Then he opened the door and scanned the surrounding area.
“Don’t be a goose. It’s perfectly safe,” she said. “I’ve come here every day this week and nothing has happened.”
“Then after today, you won’t be coming back.”
“Of course I will. This is my favorite bakery.”
“Send one of your servants in your stead.”
She crossed her arms with a huff and scowled at his broad back. Not only was he quite possibly the most handsome man she’d met, but he was also the most arrogant. “You’re my bodyguard. Not my father or my jailor.”
Without responding, he stepped outside and tugged on the lapels of his coat while he straightened to his full height. He scanned the bakery and the nearby storefronts, their awnings, the windows on the upper levels of each tall building, even the flat roofs.
She moved to the edge of the seat, anxious to be out of the carriage and draw in a fresh breath.
As though he had eyes on the back of his head, he stuck a hand toward her to prevent her descent.
“Mr. Cushman,” she said in her iciest tone, “I really must insist—”
“If someone is stalking you, he’ll make it his business to know all the places you frequent.”
Mr. Cushman’s logic made such perfect sense that for a moment she was speechless. He was absolutely correct. The man who’d tried to attack her last week could possibly be among the people milling about the street. Maybe he was even now waiting to spring out at her as she made her way from the carriage to the front door of the bakery.
Mr. Cushman glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes were somber and his square jaw set with determination. “I’m sending the coachman inside for you.”
She managed a nod despite the vision that filled her mind of Arch lying in the doorway in a puddle of blood. Without the quick arrival of the doctor, Arch would have died.
“What do you need?” Mr. Cushman asked.
“The baker will have my order ready.”
He nodded curtly before closing the door. She heard him issue brief instructions to the coachman and felt the rocking of the landau as Davis descended.
Although she’d complained about Mr. Cushman’s insistence on dropping Theresa off at her home early, she could see the wisdom in it now. She was putting her friend in danger every time they were together. The next time someone attacked her, what if they got Theresa instead? Or her mother? Or her father? The thought made her shudder. She didn’t want to be the cause of anyone else getting hurt. Arch was already one person too many.
All week she’d tried to make sense of what had happened. Her father and Arch were convinced that someone had purposefully attacked Arch in order to kidnap her. But if that was true, then why now? Was Big Al attempting to garner revenge upon her father again?
By the time the coachman returned and Mr. Cushman opened the door, her thoughts had tangled into an anxious knot. The coachman’s arms were laden with several bundles wrapped in brown paper, which he proceeded to dump on the seat opposite her, giving Mr. Cushman little choice but to sit beside her.
As he lowered himself, Victoria scooted over as much as possible, but still the weight of