Lee chuckled. "My sentiments exactly. But I thought you'd be a bit more charitable"—he teased—"you being such a lady and all."
"After what he did to David?" Mary responded indignantly. "Senator Millen ruined David's promising career in Washington with a pack of lies told by his frightened sixteen-year-old daughter! And then, when his daughter needed him most, our noble Senator Millen disowned her and sent her away. And when his only child died in childbirth, did the almighty senator rush to claim his grandchild? No! He abandoned her, his own flesh and blood." Mary turned her fiery gaze on Lee. "Yes, I hope Senator Millen burns in hell for what he did to David, but mostly for what he did to his daughter and granddaughter. A man like that doesn't deserve a family."
Lee couldn't take his gaze off his wife. When riled, Mary displayed all the ferocity of a lioness defending her cubs. He stroked one side of his mustache with the tip of his finger. "Your family means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
"I love them," she said simply. "My family means everything to me."
Lee nodded, becoming more satisfied with his choice and more comfortable with Tabitha's ultimatum with each passing moment.
Mary waited for Lee to say something. But he didn't, so she asked a question of her own. "What about you?"
Lee gifted her with his innocent expression and a lopsided smile. "What about me?"
"Well, I know you met David and Reese during the war, that the three of you became friends and sometimes worked together for Pinkerton. I know you remained with the agency after David and Reese resigned and are still an operative. And I know you've had at least two partners— one was Tessa's brother, Eamon Roarke, and the other was Maddy's father." Mary brushed Madeline's dark curls off the little girl's flushed cheeks as she spoke. "But other than this, I know nothing about you. Where's your family? Where are you from? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Nieces or nephews?" She sighed. "You're my husband and I don't even know your birthday."
"February sixteenth in the year of our lord, eighteen hundred and forty," Lee answered.
"Then you're—"
"I was thirty-three on my last birthday."
"I am a teacher," she reminded him. "I know my arithmetic."
Lee grinned. "It's late, and you've had a rather trying day. I thought I would save you the trouble of calculating my age."
"What about the rest of my questions?" Mary wanted to know.
"I was born and raised in Washington City. My mother died when I was eleven. My father lives in Texas. I have no nieces or nephews because I'm an only child." He shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that there was nothing more to tell.
Mary shuddered. She had grown up with such a large family that she couldn't imagine not having them around her. "What was your mother's name?"
"Jane Maclntyre," Lee told her. "And my father's name is Patrick Kincaid. My mother was Scots and my father is Irish, and I was named after both my grandfathers. Liam Gordon Maclntyre Kincaid."
"Do you see your father often?"
"No," Lee answered abruptly. "I don't."
"You don't take the time to visit him in Texas when you're working out west?" Mary pressed the issue.
"No."
"Ever?"
"Never." Lee closed the subject of Patrick Kincaid. "What about you?" he asked.
"You know my whole family," Mary answered.
"I don't know your birthday," Lee said softly.
"May tenth."
Lee smiled at her reticence to reveal her age. He studied the soft skin on her face and neck and guessed her to be in her early twenties. She need not worry about aging: She had that timeless quality about her. Mary would be as beautiful at eighty as she had been at eighteen. But he couldn't resist the urge to tease her. "What year?"
"None of your business," she replied sharply.
"So you won't tell me your age." He pretended to ponder the topic. "That can only mean one thing."
"What?"