Enemy of Mine (10 page)
T
he two, er, maids—what were they?—hefted Erva on the four-post bed with the ginger and pink floral duvet and smiled down at her. Although it had been dark when they’d entered the room, instantly all the candles and lamps were aflame with warm amber light, making the moment even more nauseatingly surreal. One of the maids raised her hand and snapped. Promptly the door swung closed, shutting Erva in with the two women who’d been in her dream. Or were they a part of her craziness? She tried to repress a scream that bubbled in her throat.
“I’m sorry your knee is injured,” the one with her ruffled cap in place over what appeared to be a huge mess of dark red hair said. “But are you having a good time otherwise?”
The other maid, whose cap was askew and falling over a slender shoulder, arched a brow. “She has swollen, red lips. I think she was having a
very good
time.”
They giggled.
Erva shook her head, wanting to run from the maids, but somehow feeling trapped. “I—I dreamed you.”
“I told you, Erva, it’s not a dream.”
“How do you know my name?” Erva scooted her butt away from the two.
The one with the cap straight on her head sighed. “Well, as creepy as it sounds, I was watching you. I have been for a long, long time. But in my defense, it’s my job to watch you.”
“You are homeland security. Am I tripping out on some drug you gave me?”
The maid softly chuckled. “No, this isn’t a dream; it’s not a hallucination. And I don’t work for your government. I work for myself. Call me self-employed.”
“What do you mean?” Erva’s voice had gone soft and quiet. She kept wiggling to see if there was a way to escape the duo, but she flinched when she bent her knee too much.
“She’s panicking, Sis,” the jaunty cap-wearing maid said. “Tell her who we are, so she won’t hurt herself.”
The other reached out her hands, but didn’t touch Erva. “Sweetie, Minerva Ferguson, child of history, I’ve been watching you since your father passed away. I was there after your father’s funeral when you picked up one of his books about World War II. The book gave you solace, unlike anything else. You learned about the strategy of air defense. Something your father thought much of, even though he was a land-based Marine. In you, he had confided how he’d always wanted to be a pilot, but since he never went to college, he never thought he could do much more than be a jarhead. In you, he placed all his dreams. He begged you to do more than him. He didn’t care what your dreams were, but just that you reach for them. It is the one thing you wouldn’t let your mother control, your desire to become a military historian.”
While the maid spoke, Erva’s heart raced then flew into her throat. Her head throbbed, and she couldn’t breathe. She could only hold very still, worried that if she moved even a miniscule muscle, she might explode from the truth, from this moment.
The askew cap-wearing maid rolled her eyes. “Good job, Sis. She’s freaking out even more.”
“How—how do you know that?” Erva asked, holding her fingers to her mouth.
“You place your fingertips along your lips when you’re anxious. I’m sorry I’m making you nervous. But, you see, Erva, I’m your muse. You, although unintentionally, called me when you read and enjoyed the history of World War II aircraft evolution. I’ve watched you grow into a woman, then a soldier yourself for four years, then, finally an academic, where your heart soars when you’re researching and writing. You’re so good at what you do. You’re inspiring, my dear.”
Erva swallowed, but her throat was too tight. The action hurt rather than calmed her. All those words, spoken in such a soft feminine voice, she’d longed to hear for so long. And, God, how she hated it, but coming from a woman, it meant so much more. She ached to hear her mother say something akin to it. But all she’d ever gotten from her mom was something to the effect that she’d never marry now that she was thoroughly unfeminine and too smart for her own good.
“I’m Clio, Minerva,” the straight cap-wearing muse said. She turned to the other. “And this is my sister, Erato.”
Erva thought back to her Greek history class she took as an undergraduate. Erato was the muse of...oh yeah! The muse of erotic and romance writing.
Erato laughed. “She’s looking at me like I’m Medusa, complete with snakes for hair.”
Clio shrugged. “Well, you are a lot to take in, and what’s with your maid’s cap?”
“What do you mean? What’s with it?”
“It’s falling out, barely pinned in place.”
Erato peeked over her shoulder at her wild red hair. “God, I hate this little cap thing.” She looked at Erva with a wide smile. “I hope you don’t mind...” She snapped, and instantly her maid’s uniform was gone. In its place was a golden toga. Erato’s hair was neatly braided and hung over one shoulder. She drew a huge breath. “Ah, that is so much more comfortable. How on earth did women wear corsets for so long?”
“Some women needed the support.” Clio snorted and arched a brow at her sister’s chest.
Erato cracked yet another smile at Erva. “I think my sister’s trying to cleverly point out that I don’t have much for breasts, but we’re the same size, so she’s really insulting herself as well. By the way, are yours real? Either way, they’re great.”
Erva blinked at the spinning, constant conversation, needing to gulp for air.
Clio growled. “You can’t ask her that! You’re ruining everything!”
“What?” Erato shrugged and climbed on the bed Erva was glued to, transfixed while watching the bickering sisters. Erato sat with her legs bent under her, a couple feet away from Erva. “I’m giving the girl a compliment.”
“Erva’s having a hard enough time believing this is her reality, and you’re asking about her boobs, which are real, yes. They grew almost overnight when she was seventeen. She had thought she’d be flat chested for the rest of her life, but that obviously didn’t happen. So stop talking about her breasts.”
“I think you’re the one going on and on about them.”
Clio growled again and raked a hand through her hair, loosening the maid’s cap. Then she made another strangled, annoyed noise. She pushed her palms out with a huff, and lifted her right hand, snapping her fingers. Instantly she was dressed similarly to Erato. At that, Clio gave a contented sigh. She then turned back to Erva with a maternal smile.
“Anyway, where was I?”
“You were trying to convince me this is reality. I’m not crazy.” Erva’s voice rasped.
“You’re not crazy, Minerva.” Erato patted Erva’s leg. “Oh, wow, you’re a firm one. You work out?”
Erva kept blinking at Erato’s too happy face.
“Oh, I think she’s going to cry,” Erato said.
“Erva, honey, what’s wrong?”
Erva turned from one muse to the other. Her eyes did sting with tears. “What’s wrong is I think I believe you. This is my reality now.”
Clio rushed to the bed and sat opposite her sister, hugging Erva. “No, no, sweet girl, this is a temporary reality. You’ll go back home soon.”
Which would mean...she really had kissed Will. She hadn’t hallucinated it. She hadn’t fantasized about him. He was real. And handsome. Caring. Kind even.
A tear slid down Erva’s cheek as too many emotions swept over her. Quickly Erato wiped it away, wrapping her arms around Erva too.
“Don’t you want to go back home, Erva?” Clio asked.
“That’s not why she’s crying,” Erato said quietly. “Is it?”
Erva sniffed then shrugged.
“You like him, don’t you?” Erato asked.
Erva couldn’t answer. Her throat was too tight.
Clio loosened her grip on Erva then stared down at her sister. “Erato, did you have a hand in this?”
Erva turned to the muse of romance. Oh God, the little trickster had to have had a hand with her too quick emotions and the make out session she’d had in the back of the carriage. Damn, she’d never done anything like that before. She’d never gotten carried away.
Never had felt that kind of passion before.
Erato shook her head with a small smile. “Not even a little bit. What you feel for that man is purely your own emotions...desires.”
“But—” Erva tried to protest.
“I promise you, little Minerva,” Erato widened her smile, “I had nothing to do with the kisses you shared with Will.”
“How did you know we kissed?”
Erato giggled. “I didn’t until now. You, my precious, just told me.”
Erva sighed. She was about to tell where Erato could put her smile, when a rap was heard.
“Lady Ferguson?” Will’s voice rang out through the door. He cleared his throat and said a little softer, “I—I have that ice for you.”
“He’s here,” Erato whispered gleefully. She stood, and while holding a post began to jump on the feather bed. “He’s here. He’s here.”
“Stop it,” Clio demanded. “Go get the door.”
“Spoil sport,” Erato said.
Clio opened her mouth, but then kept it ajar. Finally she huffed. “I am not. Just go get the door.”
Erato flew across the room without so much as a thud against the floor when she landed. She looked back at Erva and lifted her red brows a couple times, then stuck her tongue out at her sister. But while glancing at her sister and she must have realized their outfits. Lifting her hand she snapped twice, and both Erato and Clio were back in their drab maids’ uniforms. Then Erato opened the door.
“Hello, my lord, what a surprise to see you here.”
Will took a tentative step through the threshold, but stopped. He’d taken off his red coat, still dashing with his cravat gone and in his blue waistcoat with a white linen shirt, and wearing those delicious breeches. Yum. He held a tray with a large glass bowl that looked like it was full of ice. Wasn’t he an earl? Yet here he was with a serving tray, looking bashful and completely unsure of himself. Erva’s heart tugged at her ribs, as well as what lay between her legs stirred back to life.
“Yes, well, the doctor recommended ice for Lady Ferguson’s knee. I thought—”
“You thought you’d administer it,” Clio said as she jumped into action. “How kind of you.”
“But—” Will said.
“Yes, yes, come here, let me show you how.” Clio guided Will closer to Erva.
The whole time Erva could hardly keep up with the conversation, but with Will in the room, everything except him seemed to blur. Only he seemed to have any definitive shape, voice, presence. Only him.
Erva had been sitting with her legs stretched before her, yet her still slippered feet dangled off the ledge of the large bed. Clio grabbed Erva’s ankles and pulled her until her bum was hardly on the feather mattress. In so doing, Erva’s dress climbed to her knees. Will took a quick look down, then peeked again at her legs in white stockings. His bright blue eyes darkened.
Clio grabbed the tray from him, then set it beside Erva. She straightened then looked at her sister. “Would you mind fetching a cloth to put the ice in?”
“Um, sure.” Erato nodded, turned around, and wheeled right back where she had been standing with a white piece of fabric in her hands. Erva was sure some part of that had to be magic. Or something she couldn’t quite fathom.
So, she was really back in 1776. She had really kissed Will. She wasn’t going crazy.
She glanced up at him. His eyes were still such a dark blue as he studied her legs. Yet she knew, in a bone-crushing kind of way, in just a few days he would die. Reading about it was one thing, but to look upon the man she had studied most fervently, to see his flesh, the way a muscle bulged along his jaw line, the rise and fall of his chest...He was alive right now. He was real. He was so handsome it made her hurt. No, not hurt. Ache.
Erato had handed Clio the cloth, and the former muse bundled some ice into it, narrating what she was doing. “Now, you don’t want too much ice; otherwise, it’ll chill the lady. But just a few pieces should suffice. Wrap the cloth like so, so the ice doesn’t touch the lady.”
Will nodded and watched Clio as if he were learning Prussian tactics. Erva couldn’t help but smile at his intensity. Then Clio gripped Erva’s skirts and lifted them almost to her hips. Trying to pull them back down, or at least make sure she was properly covered between her legs, Erva hardly caught Will’s reaction to seeing so much of her. But nonetheless she did see it.
His already dark blue eyes turned into cobalt black. His chest rose dramatically, then he held his breath.
“Here, my lord, you need to stand here.” Clio yanked Will between Erva’s legs.
Erato snorted, then coughed.
“Put the ice on her knee like so,” Clio said, while she pulled Erva’s leg up, cradling it dangerously close to Will’s hip.
God, Erva thought, the muse was even more clueless than she. Erva was fairly certain that Clio was awkwardly trying to stir an already buzzing hornet’s nest between Will and her. She peeked up at him who stared down at her leg, nose flaring, jaw squared. His gaze bounced up to meet hers. His tense jaw relaxed minutely. For a split second he seemed to give her a small, almost drunk smile.
“Now you, my lord. Show me how you’re going to take care of your lady. Show me what I taught you,” Clio said, while shoving the icepack into Will’s hands.
