Catch Me If You Can Read Free Page A

angular cheekbones.
    “Perhaps we might encourage you to join us in our onward travels, James?” She looked deep into his blue-grey eyes.
    Rivers was about to conjure an excuse to leave them alone when footsteps and voices sounded in the corridor outside.
    James turned toward the door. “Ah, that will be Eleanor.” 
    Rivers’ eyebrows lifted. Surely it wasn’t Miss Craven who he’d spied from his seat by the window? His interest sharpened. Could it be that James Craven’s daughter dressed like a boy and traipsed about like some brazen country wench?
    If so, he would shortly meet her.
    No, he decided, for if it was his employer’s niece he’d seen, she would be both a sweet temptation and a forbidden fruit.
     
    * * *
     
    When Eleanor caught sight of the carriage, she hurried back to the house. The guests had already arrived. Tidying her hair and realigning her ribbon as she went, she chastised herself for letting the time slip by.
    She’d been looking forward to meeting Frieda and hearing about life in America for months, if not years. She’d listened avidly to her father’s stories of his journey across America in the 1870s,  now she wanted to hear Frieda’s tale, a woman’s story, so that she could truly imagine herself heading west on the long adventure.
    As she hastened into the parlor, her father rose from his seat. Frieda Craven was seated nearby. Eleanor beamed at the sight of her. Aunt Frieda was a strong handsome woman, her Germanic blood showing in the strong bone structure of her face, and the fair hair graying on her temples.
    Eleanor gathered Frieda in a warm embrace. “Oh, Frieda, it is good to meet you at last. As I expected, you have the look of a real pioneer.” 
    Frieda chuckled at her remark. “And you are even more beautiful than I expected you would be, is she not, Rivers?”
    Eleanor hadn’t noticed the man in her hurry to meet Frieda. He stood off to one side watching the two women embrace, his brow lifted as if he was amused by something. She walked to him, her hand outstretched in greeting.
    Tall and striking with angular features, he had glossy dark hair that fell to his shoulders in apparent abandon. His eyes verged on black, and they studied her intently as she crossed the room.
    “Mr. Rivers, I presume.”
    He accepted her outreached hand and raised it slowly to his lips.
    The firm touch of his mouth on her skin sent a frisson of delight through her entire body.
    “Please, call me Rivers. It is the name I go by.” He turned briefly to Frieda and added, “Indeed, Miss Craven is a most captivating young lady.” 
    “Call me Eleanor, I insist. And why can’t we call you by your given name? We don’t follow archaic rules nor formal conventions in this house.”  
    An amused smile swept across his face. “So I’ve noticed.”
    Eleanor wondered if she’d embarrassed him by being so forthright.
    “I prefer Rivers. It is merely personal preference,” he added, the smile in his expression lingering.
    His voice was deep and husky, his accent capturing her attention immediately. “Ah, you consider yourself more river than rock, perhaps?”
    His wry smile met her teasing one. “Perhaps.” 
    The way he looked at her, with such direct intimacy, set her pulse racing. He was certainly a handsome man, with his sun-kissed skin and his broad shoulders. She returned his smile and took her seat, joining the housekeeper, Mrs. Bramley, in passing the tea dishes.
    She chatted eagerly with Frieda, all the while aware of the dark and attractive man who looked on. He appeared mysterious and aloof and yet he watched her in a most insistent way. It made her skin tingle.
    Why didn’t he join the conversation? He sat off to one side and watched the three from under hooded eyes. She wondered if he’d been surprised by her appearance. She often roved around in men’s riding breeches. The neighbors and villagers still blanched at the sight of her dressed in such unladylike and outrageous