Enemy of Mine (23 page)

“No, that is your home, where you can offer Lady Ferguson—”

“If you and Lydia will be safe there, then please go,” Erva said.

Emma shook her head, but Lydia slowly started talking. “Once we heard of you, Lady Ferguson, Emma wanted to keep our distance, until Will spread news of your coming nuptials. But...a chambermaid caught us—caught us, er—”

“I get it.” Erva nodded.

Lydia smiled shyly, her cheeks blushing. “So we feared...we’re scared of what the maid might do, whom she might talk to. Then I told Emma we should come here to ask Will to help us...We need help.”

“Of course,” Erva said, realizing the desperateness of the situation. They could be put to death with proof of their love. More than likely, they would spend the rest of their days in prison, but that was little better than a death sentence. She turned to Will. “Will they be safe on your estate?”

Will nodded. “I’ve hired few servants, but the ones there would never betray me. They are loyal.”

“I can’t,” Emma objected again. “That is
your
home.” She looked pointedly at Will. “For you and—”

Erva couldn’t let her finish the sentence. Her heart might explode if she did. “Please go.”

“No matter the loyalty of Will’s servants, rumors will abound, my lady, and you can’t—”

Erva interrupted again. “I don’t care if people say we are all four of us lovers. I don’t care. Your safety and life are much more important than anything anyone could say about me.”

“But your reputation—” Emma disagreed.

“Let people think what they will, I don’t care.”

Emma blinked, then blinked again. Tears formed. One softly fell from her cobalt eye. “You—I knew I was right about you.” As more tears fell and Lydia swept them away, Emma turned to Will. “She’s the one.”

“I know,” Will agreed.

The world stopped spinning. Everything halted and all Erva could see was Will, and hear his words echo in her mind. It was then his marriage proposal and those simple words cracked through all her toughened layers around her heart, through her cynicism. Although he’d never admitted that he loved her, Erva wondered if she didn’t feel it radiate off him and into her. It felt warm and brilliant, like lying naked in the sun. It felt deliciously sensual, and the warmth spread through her arms and legs, her chest and pooled in her breasts. Her stomach floated with the luscious feeling, like a rollercoaster, but this was so much more fun.

Will didn’t smile down at Erva. The look he gave her was primal, old as time. It was as if he tattooed his name over her heart with that look. It was possessive and masculine, making her knees weak. So that was what it felt like. To be in love.

Will’s jaw line punched, but then he turned back to his sister. “In light of certain events, I must insist that we send you and Lydia to my estate in England. I will have my man of business, Paul, prepare for everything. I wish you and Erva had more time to get to know each other; I wish
I
had more time to get to know you, Emma. And Lydia too.”

Lydia smiled and bowed her head.

“But we’ll have all the time in the world when I return from this war.”

At that Erva couldn’t help but catch hold of Will’s coat sleeve and cling to him. Oh God, he wouldn't return.

“I’ll ask to retire from the war,” he continued, absent-mindedly adjusting so he held Erva closer. “General Howe owes me, so I will probably be granted early leave. Then Erva and I will come home shortly.”

Emma turned from Erva to Will then back again. “Are you certain you want to do this? Have your...gay sister live with you in England? I do like this double meaning word, by the by, Erva.”

Emma beamed at Erva. And Erva tried to reciprocate, but she gripped even tighter to Will. She couldn’t let him die. She couldn’t let history be written the way it was. Even if it meant she would never see her iPhone with her hundreds of books downloaded on it ever again, she couldn’t let nature—or whatever it might be called—take its course.

Erva shakily smiled back at Emma, realizing that for once she would have a sister in-law who actually liked her. If she stayed, she would have a family with Will and Emma and Lydia. Then and there, she knew that was right.

Will had rocketed through all her defenses. He’d outmaneuvered her because he’d been kind, considerate, and so damned easy to fall in love with. It was done. As Julius Caesar might say, the die was cast, and Erva made up her mind that she would stay in the eighteenth century. When Clio and Erato returned for her, she’d...well, she’d explain it to them. They seemed like reasonable people, er, muses. She’d tell them that she fell in love with Will, and this was where she was meant to be.

With her mind made up, she gazed at Will talking to Emma and Lydia about taking their things on a quick sailboat. God, he was so beautiful, such a beautiful man. She would have never imagined such a man existed. He was handsome, yes, but his heart was—well, angelic. There was no better word for him. He was so pure and good, and he wanted her. Her! He wanted her as his wife. Although, Erva knew that some of his decision must be based on his eighteenth century-ish-ness, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe it was that he’d fallen for her as much as she’d fallen for him.

Soon enough Emma and Lydia hugged Erva tight, promising that they would see her in England. They left the library with the crowd of tea-goers hushing, but Erva’s head was raised high. She gave Lady Anne a huge grin and wink, then a wave goodbye. Briefly, she thought about the piano recital she’d promised the lady. But Erva decided to give the gracious Anne a rain check. After all, she’d made up her mind to stay here, where she could give out rain checks. Further, she was getting a family and a man who made her knees go weak. Not only that, he was really good in bed. Or at least on the couch.

As Will escorted Erva to the carriage, she realized there was so much more to look forward to now that she knew her place. She just had to make sure Will didn’t die. And that the muses didn’t take her away. And—oh, hell with it all! She would hang on to Will for all her might.

Chapter 21

A
s soon as the horses began to trot, Will turned to Erva, trying to be patient. “You haven’t given me your answer yet. I know it was rather assuming to make plans that you will say yes to our getting married, but I—”

She lunged for him, his lips.

He wasn’t at all prepared for the passionate onslaught and was easily pushed back against the bench. Erva followed, kissing him rapturously. He tried to keep up, but then realized she was yet again evading answering him.

Holding onto her arms, he pulled her away enough to say, “Erva—”

She pushed through and kissed him again. Her tongue slid into his mouth with a small, almost animalistic noise. Well, he couldn’t argue with sense like that, so he joined her, and plunged his own tongue into her mouth. She slid her hands up his arms and rested on his shoulders.

Somehow they’d landed in the exact opposite position of the first night he had kissed her. He lay on his back with the lady almost entirely on him. Yet his legs faced forward uncomfortably, and Erva was trying to climb up him as if he were a boulder.

“Erva, may I please—”

“You’re so wonderful,” she whispered in his ear, then suckled his lobe.

He lost the ability to think momentarily with the pull of her mouth against his ear. Growling hungrily, he was surprised he could react like that, forgetting everything. But then he remembered she hadn’t said yes yet.

“You’re such a good man,” she continued.

“Thank you, but I—”

“You’ll really retire from the army?”

“Yes.”

“Immediately?” She undid his cravat in a swift move, then kissed down his neck.

Clutching at her hips, he pulled her near his erection. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Damnation, how many skirts was she wearing? It was much too much, since he couldn’t feel her through the thick layers of silk.

“Will?” Erva whispered a bit more pointedly.

One of his hands had somehow found its way up her skirts to her not-stockinged knee. Oh, the lady was scandalous without her hose, but he loved it. He had to internally shake himself to understand the words Erva formed.

“You’ll retire immediately? You won’t go to battle tomorrow?”

Just as his hand traveled up her thigh, he stopped, staring at her. His heart was already thundering, but now it roared in his ears. Good Lord, how did she know he was to battle tomorrow? No one knew, save his commander in chief and other executive officers.

Realization dawned. It should have made him angry or at the least hurt, but he still clung to hope. “You are a spy then?”

She blinked.

“You’re a spy. You’re letting me know you’re a spy.”

She shook her head, still laying partly on him as the carriage rode through town, making the potholes more erotic then they should have.

He inhaled sharply. “Come now, my lady, how else do you know I am to battle on the morrow?”

It was her turn to take a quick breath. Lord, it was heaven to watch her do so. She grimaced though, which made some blood return to his brain for a bit.

“I—I don’t care that you’re a spy,” he said hastily. “Just please stop and marry me. I know I can’t offer you much. My family is limited to my sister whom you’ve just met, but I believe she would make a loyal and loving sister in-law to you. I can offer you my estate, but as you know my sister and her lover will live there. I—”

“Stop it, please.” Erva rested her forehead on his chest. “I’m not a spy.”

“How else would you know, my darling?”

Her head shot up. “You’d still call me your darling after you think me a spy?”

He nodded.

“You’d still want me to live with you after you think me a spy?”

“Of course, but I’d prefer that you stopped, especially if you are a French spy.”

She smiled. “I’m especially not a French spy. I hardly speak a word of it.”

“Vraiment?”

Erva narrowed her eyes, appearing to think. “That means...truly, right?”

“Oui.”

She suddenly smiled down at him. “You speak French. God, that’s so sexy.” Then she kissed him again, this time with even more force, ending by biting his bottom lip playfully.

He chuckled, and finally found her hip with his one hand under her skirts. Her skin was like silk, and her hip was something to marvel at, the way it flared out and radiated femininity yet at the same time had an agility that many women didn’t possess. Realizing what lay under all the layers of fabric made him even harder. Still, he was curious.

“I’m surprised you weren’t taught French. Isn’t that the one language every lady speaks?”

As if he’d broken a spell, Erva suddenly tensed, then slowly lifted herself off him. Immediately, he wanted to bite off his damned tongue. She had morphed in the matter of a heartbeat into a sad version of herself, looking so far away from him tucked into the corner, crossing her arms around her bosom.

As he straightened, her eyes were wide, her brows furrowed, but not with frustration. He knew that look too well. She was worried.

“No matter what happens to me, to us,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, “you have to promise me you will retire. Immediately. You can’t fight against the Americans anymore.”

He sat up. The affronted feelings he supposed he should have had all along finally surfaced. “What kind of spy are you, my lady? Was your purpose mainly to make me fall in love with you, then force me to retire? Was it not intelligence?”

Her eyes shot poison at him at the accusation. “I’m not a spy.”

“Then how do you know so much? Why force me to retire?”

“You were going to retire anyway.” She threw her hands to the carriage’s roof.

He leaned forward heatedly. “Yes, when I thought you might marry me, which you’ve not answered for as of yet.”

Swiftly her anger evaporated. Her face crumpled into a frown, and tears formed and stormed down her cheeks. She wiped at the moisture with the back of her hand. “It—it’s hard for me to believe you mean it.”

When she started to cry, his own ire dissipated, but it suddenly flared back to life. “Why? Am I not good enough for the lady?” As soon as he’d barked out the words, he wished he could take them back. It was
his
fear that he wasn’t good enough that had made him say such a thing. After all, he hadn’t saved his wife. He hadn’t been a good enough husband to cure her. He hadn’t done enough.

Erva grabbed at his red uniform, suddenly ferocious. She balled her small hands into fists, looking as though she would scream at him as tear after tear fell from her eyes.

But then she turned away, whispering, “No.
I’m
the one who’s not good enough.”

That broke him, seeing her back round, trying to protect herself from him. He reached out for her, embracing her roughly against his chest. Not caring that she struggled in his hold.

“I’m so sorry, my darling. I’m saying words in haste and with anger coloring them, for you are so perfect. I utterly adore you, and I worry I am not good enough for you.”

She turned in his arms, facing him, her face completely wet. Shaking her head, she tried to distance herself from him, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“I—I’m the one not good enough.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” He tried to catch her face, but she shook him off.

“I’m not a lady,” she said it so quickly that at first he didn’t catch what she’d said. But then she swallowed, her hands still on his shoulders, trying to push herself away from him. “I—I’m not a terribly good liar, but I went along with the charade because...because it allowed me to be close to you. I’m nobody.” Her words were particularly bitter as she’d uttered that last phrase. “I’m not a lady; I’m not an aristocrat. My father’s highest rank in the Marines was as a Master Sergeant, which he deserved and better because he was a damned fine soldier.”

Will was touched by her pride for her father, but was still trying to catch up in the conversation.

“Why did you want to be close to me?” he asked, afraid of her answer.

She looked down, her cheeks taking on a slight pink edge. “I—I studied you.” Peeking through her wet, glossy eyelashes, she whispered, “You are my dissertation.”

What did that mean?

“
I
am your dissertation?”

She nodded, looking down again. “I—I read about you for years. In all that time, I think it’s normal to grow affectionate. Maybe even have a little crush...”

“Pardon?”

She winced. “I might have been slightly infatuated with you.” Then she looked up, her dark honey eyes pleading. “But I never thought you’d be so...wonderful.”

Despite being utterly confused, he couldn’t help but still cling to hope that perhaps she did love him in return.

The carriage slowed, and Erva glanced out the window. Damnation, he’d left the curtains up again. If New York didn’t know what Erva and he were doing, they would soon enough, with the way he kept forgetting to protect their privacy. When she turned to look at him again, she took a shaky breath.

“It’s time I explained everything to you,” she said.

Once the carriage door opened, she took his hand and guided him slowly to the house. She walked as if she feared her death. So Will caught up with her on the stairs, trying to squeeze her hand for reassurance. He knew not why. After all, what if she were a spy who didn’t give a damn about him? What if she didn’t love him?

The house staff was silent, and even Paul took only one look at Erva and her somber visage and about faced. Soon enough they were in her chamber, and she latched the door shut. She took off the small red uniform coat she wore, and laid it carefully on a chair, then turned to him.

“You might want to sit down for this.”

Will’s legs did feel weak, too much fear already coursing through his veins, but he shook his head.

Erva nodded and carefully went to the chifferobe. Opening it, Will saw the jewel-toned dresses and white linens and muslins of her undergarments, and wanted nothing more than to see her in her shift at that moment. To hell with all the seriousness and explanations! He just wanted one more moment of time with Erva where all he felt was his heart pounding and his body against hers.

She twirled back to him, holding a small wooden box with an intricate design around the top of it. She put it on the floor before him, unhinged the top, and revealed the small glass box he’d seen this morning. Lifting it from the container, it began to flicker with an image of a castle. Holding it in her palm, she extended it to him.

“You said you listened to music on it earlier?”

He nodded quickly.

“Pull the arrow across the screen please. We can listen to more music.”

Will didn’t budge.

Erva sighed as the castle’s light, she called it a screen, darkened. Pressing another button, Will noticed the box lit up again. “It’s called an iPhone.” She pulled the arrow as she’d instructed him to do.

He knew it wouldn’t hurt him, but there was something so...This moment seemed so final, as if what Erva was about to say would change everything, and he didn’t want anything to change.

The screen though, did transform as he knew it would. Then Erva pressed the music notes as he had done. Her adroit fingers flicked at the screen and more and more boxes of faces or people or odd images appeared. She selected an image of a man, a conductor who was bowing to his orchestra.

“Bernstein.” She looked up at him with a shy smile. “I think you’ll like this.” Tucking the device closer, she pressed the screen again, and emitting from it was the sound of dainty violins, playing so melancholy, yet there was something savagely raw and brave. As the music moved, it turned more and more grand, yet still refined and elegant.

“The composer was a man by the name of Tchaikovsky,” she whispered as the music swept into a more vigorous note.

Will glanced up, amazed. “Was?”

She nodded, then opened her mouth, but then closed her eyes in a tight clench. Taking in a deep breath, she finally looked up at him. “I love this part. It’s so romantic, don’t you think?”

He nodded.

“Tchaikovsky somehow could put into music all human emotions—the pain of not knowing what will happen next, the hope that grows in our hearts, the way defeat can devour us, the way victory can transform us, transform us forever.”

She held her iPhone closer to her flat stomach as if she didn’t want him to see it.

He watched her closely as the violins began again a sweeping romantic tune. Closing her eyes again, she finally released her tight grip on the glass box. That was when he read “1812 Overture.” He sucked in a breath.

“Does that mean in the year of 1812?” he asked wildly, not recognizing his own voice.

The music escalated. It sounded as if cannons fired off. For a long moment she didn’t answer, but stared at him as the music beat with monumental rhythm and the tones vibrated through him. Not because the music was loud, but it resonated with all human emotion, as she had said. Will thought the music especially spoke to him and his sense of accomplishment when on a battlefield. He knew this tune. He knew it innately.