Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (15 page)

His hand molded one breast, and her response, “Oh,” was half moan, half reply.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, licking the tip of the other breast.

“No,” she all but whimpered.

“Forget about them, sweetheart. It's just you and me.”

Millie nodded, but was already so far gone, she wasn't sure what she was nodding about. His hands were like a piano player's and she was the ivory keys he masterfully turned into a song so sweet she became lost in the music. A lullaby created by and for them. He took his time, and needing to smother her uncontrollable moans, she bit his shoulders, or the edge of the blanket, or her own hand, whatever was near. Then, when her time came, the moment his name wildly rumbled from her throat, he smothered her shout with a long and consuming kiss that left her both winded and fulfilled.

Seth eased off her, smiling at how adorable she'd been trying to refrain from being too loud. He'd tried, too, for even though the men surely knew—good men who wouldn't make a comment—he didn't want to do anything that would cause her undo embarrassment. As she nestled in the crook of his arm, he fingered the delicate feathers of her necklace with this other hand.

Guilt was a hell of a thing for a man to feel. It weighed him down worse than boulders tied to his ankles could have. Yet being with her, now and whenever she was near, Seth found other emotions covered the shame, made him forget that what he was doing was wrong. For it certainly felt right to love her. More right than anything he'd ever done.

He never called her Rosemary, nor did he ever admit he knew she was Millie, and that was wrong. There was no future in it. His plan was to come clean. Confess, and give her the opening to admit her true identity. He no longer cared why she was here.

Before they got to Washington, he would tell her, and once there, he'd see that his ties to Rosemary were cleanly severed, giving him and Millie the opportunity to wed. He'd been as strategic in this plan as any other he'd ever created. There had been times when he could have told her, even right now, snuggled together in the darkness, but he hadn't, and he wouldn't. An indescribable knot in his stomach wouldn't let him. His men couldn't know he was living a lie, and he hadn't yet figured out how to correct that part.

He released the necklace and found her hand, lifted it to kiss the knuckles. “Are you sore from riding all day?”

“Not anymore,” she said, somewhere between a giggle and a whisper. “You have a way of making me forget everything.” Planting a kiss on his chest, she added, “Everything.”

He drew air in through his nose, held it. She opened up such deep, incredible things inside him, and he had to wonder if that wasn't a part of it—why he couldn't say anything. Why that knot in his stomach was coated with dread. In his heart, he didn't want things to change. He could live his entire life letting everyone believe she was his wife, letting her think he didn't know who she was. And that wasn't like him. He'd never taken the immoral path, even when it was clearly the easier one, and that, too, made the pit of his stomach burn.

Furthermore, he still had a job to do, and needed all his faculties in order to convince the government the Indians weren't fairing well with what was being provided to them. Having Per-Cum-Ske with him on this trip made it more vital that his thoughts—every last one of them—were in order.

The Indian wasn't a chief, but he was
leading
the band right now. Eight years ago, when Per-Cum-Ske was just nineteen, he'd gone on the warpath against the white man. He'd made a fierce adversary, with followers throughout the Indian nation, and other tribes banding together to copy his actions. Thankfully, for the army, anyway, a year or so later he realized his actions were fruitless. White men were gaining ground and the Comanche barely maintaining, so he'd cut off his braids and enlisted in the Indian Scout Detachment. In that he'd succeeded, had been one of the best scouts ever, and soon became head of the detachment participating in the Kiowa-Comanche-Cheyenne campaign initiated at Fort Sill.

Seth remembered the crusade as if it had been yesterday. Indians had filled the Wichita Mountains, knew every nook, cranny and tree, and the soldiers, including himself, would have been at their mercy if not for Per-Cum-Ske. He'd not only reported where every last brave was located, he'd shown the troops where to camp, giving themselves the best protection for when the battle started.

Start it had, with a volley of gunfire like nothing any of the soldiers had expected. There had been more troops than Indians, and when the gunfire ceased Per-Cum-Ske had rushed forward, turning over the bodies of the fallen to look in their faces.

Seth had recognized a few of them—Per-Cum-Ske's father-in-law, Ter-Ak-A-Nee-Cut. Pah-Po-Ter-A-Pet, his uncle, and the leader of the band, Pe-Ah-Ter-Who-Noovy. But the scout had recognized the face of almost every fallen body he'd came upon. Friends and relatives, comrades that had followed him on his warpath against the white man just a few years prior, before he'd cut off his braids and joined the army.

To this day, Seth wondered how Per-Cum-Ske had accepted the deaths of so many. His eyes had been hollow, his face showing no emotion as he'd stood on the ground stained by blood. Spine straight, with his square chin thrust forward, he'd said, “We cannot help it. I did my duty.”

Seth knew duty—had lived it his entire life—yet in that instance he hadn't understood it. He'd signed Per-Cum-Ske's discharge papers a short time later, one of the first times he'd used “Major” in his signature line. And he'd known then that he'd face the man as an adversary again. It couldn't be helped.

That time was now. The man had become leader of the Comanche, or Komantcia—Anyone Who Wants to Fight All the Time—as other tribes referred to them. A man who knew the life of the Indians, but also the ways of the army, creating a precarious balance that had nerves on end from Indian Territory to Washington, including Seth's. Another reason his mind had to be alert and his instincts intact, and why he couldn't allow issues in his private life to overshadow his duties.

The sound of deep and even breaths had him looking down, and the area around his heart warming as he saw her sleeping. He ran a hand over Millie's hair, pulled the long braid over her shoulder and across his chest.

Once his meeting in Washington was complete and a settlement agreed upon, he could focus on cleaning up the situation between him and Millie. He tilted his head to kiss the top of hers. Something this precious, this beautiful and wonderful, had to be handled gently.

She let out a tiny moan, and the powerful need he had for her, though well-sated a short time ago, sparked low in his belly like the strike of a flintlock. It wasn't unusual; it happened every time he glanced her way. Insatiable, that's what he was when it came to her. Fact was, he didn't even have to look at her; a simple thought caused that reaction inside him. And all day, while riding next to her, he'd practically counted the minutes until sunset.

Running a hand down her arm, he paused when his palm encountered chilled skin, and probing the covers, he found the reason: the wind sneaking under the tent. He bunched up the blankets beneath them, plugging the space as best he could.

“What's wrong?” she murmured.

“Nothing, sweetheart, just the wind sneaking in below the tent.”

“Yes,” she said groggily, while shifting to burrow against him. “It's cold.”

Her entire side was chilled, felt like frost when it met his heated skin. He pulled the top blanket up to her shoulders and then reached below, grasping her waist. “Here, I'll switch sides with you.”

When he lifted her, intent on rolling beneath, she grasped his shoulders, nestled her entire length on top of him. “Mmm,” she said. “You're always so warm.”

Passion flared, readying him in every way to once again sample all her wares. Rubbing his palms along her silky, chilly skin, he asked, “Would you like me to warm you?”

“Um-hmm,” she mumbled, her knees parting his legs.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, pressing her hips to his, with both hands on the round, plump curves of her very delectable hind end.

She giggled, and then suckled his neck before asking, “What do you think, Major?”

Chapter Twelve

H
ad he known how wonderful the trip would be with her at his side, Seth wouldn't have strived to shorten it. But as it was, four days and three nights after setting out, they were on the outskirts of Tulsa. Then again, as he looked over his shoulder to a sky turning blacker by the moment, he was glad the town was only a few miles ahead. The storm that was brewing was sure to be a doozy.

The wind had picked up throughout the day, and by the looks of those clouds, rain would soon be striking the red dirt with all the gusto of an inland hurricane. His instincts were kicking in, as well as an internal conflict. He'd never left his men before, but he'd never had a wife to protect, either.

Riding the buckskin next to him, she had on her army-issue hat, a fashion clash with her dress if there ever was one. But the smile she flashed him said her attire was no concern. It also resolved the issues he'd been mulling over.

“I'll be right back,” he said over the whistle of the wind.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just want to talk to the drivers, see how the wagons are faring in the wind.”

She nodded, and he spun his mount around, trotted back and steered the animal to ride next to the first wagon.

“Storm's brewing, aye, Major?” Sergeant Moore said in greeting.

“Yes, I'm afraid it's going to hit soon,” Seth admitted, unable to keep his eyes from going back to the head of the line, where his wife rode.

“Roberts and I have the wagons under control. Nothing's going to happen between here and Tulsa. I know the trail. It's clear sailing from here on in.” Rex Moore then gestured with his chin. “I'd be obliged, though, if you and your wife were to ride ahead, have warm, dry beds waiting on us.”

Seth had to laugh and shake his head. “You would, huh?”

“Yep, bet the entire lot of us would,” the man said, grinning. “I reckon we'll look close to drowned rats by the time we get these mules to town. Those horses of yours, though, they might make it before the rain hits too hard.”

“Well, then, Sergeant,” Seth said, once again thankful for the capable men in his unit, “I'm leaving you in charge while I find shelter for my wife. Rooms are waiting for everyone at Brewster's. I'll see you there.”

“Aye, aye, Major, you'll see us there.”

Seth rode back then to the other wagon, where the conversation was relatively the same. Jack Roberts made the same suggestion Rex had before Seth could open his mouth, and the four lieutenants riding flank had the same sentiments.

Farther back, Per-Cum-Ske gestured before Seth made it far enough to turn his horse around. “Go. Take woman. Storm coming.”

Seth waved, then kneed his mount, galloping back to the front. Reining in next to her, he asked, “Feel like a race?”

She frowned, but there was a flash of excitement in her eyes. “A race?”

“Yup, to town. It's about five miles.”

Lifting a trim eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth into a smirk, she asked, “What do I get if I win?”

“Anything you want,” he said.

Her smoldering gaze roaming him from boots to hat lit a fire in him not even the rain would be able to dowse. “Anything?” she asked in a sultry tone.

“Anything,” he repeated, with a glance that somehow landed on her breasts before her face.

“Ready, set, go,” she shouted in a single breath, already slapping her reins against the buckskin's rump.

Seth set his horse into a plunge and then a full gallop, catching her within no time. The animals couldn't run the entire way to town, but they could put some distance between them and the storm. Glancing over, seeing the determined way she lay low over the animal's neck, he settled himself more firmly in the saddle.

Side by side, they soared over the land, and even with the storm fusing the air, he felt the connection of their hearts as they rode in tandem.

* * *

Millie was filled with glee, a bright, brilliant joy that not even the rain, plastering her hair to her head and her dress to her skin, could dampen. “I won,” she insisted as Seth pulled her out of the saddle.

“Only because you shot in front of that wagon,” he said, rushing her under the awning of the hotel. Once there he took her face between his hands. “You scared the life out of me! Don't ever do that again.”

His growl didn't scare her. There was too much love in his eyes for that. “I had plenty of room.”

“That wagon almost crashed, careening out of your way.”

“Oh, it did not,” she insisted, wiping at the water dripping into her eyes. Her hat had flipped off her head and now hung between her shoulder blades by the strap. “Did it?” She attempted to turn, glance through the pouring rain to see if there was a wreck down the road they'd just traversed.

“Come on,” he said, “I gotta get you inside before you float away.”

“You're always saying that,” she said.

“I was raised in Boston. My mother always thought we'd float away if we swam in the bay,” he said, leading Millie to the door.

At night, while snuggled together inside the tent or back home in their bed at the fort, he'd told her about his childhood, his mother and brother, father and uncles. She loved every tale, but always sensed he wanted her to tell him more than the few clipped answers she'd shared about her own childhood. She was walking a more dangerous path than ever, for he really did make her forget she was living a lie.

Digging her heels in the wood beneath them, she spun around. “The horses.”

“Someone inside will see to them,” he said, tugging her forward.

In no time, he was leading her up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a door that the key in his hand unlocked. Then he scooped her into his arms, and she laughed out loud as he carried her into the room.

“Put me down, silly. I'm dripping wet.” However, she held on tighter, hoping he wouldn't, as he kicked the door shut.

He didn't, but instead captured her mouth. The kiss was the kind she loved, deep and penetrating, warming her from tip to toe. His mouth continued to hold her attention as he slowly let her legs loose. With her arms locked around his neck, she didn't know when her feet touched the floor until she wobbled on them.

A knock on the door had him lifting his face, separating his lips from hers. Millie swayed as his hands slipped away, and they were instantly back, stabilizing her, while silently asking if she was able to stand on her own. Smiling, for his concern was so endearing, she nodded.

Watching her closely, he eased his hands away, and only when she proved she was stable did he move to the door and pull it open.

“Here, Major.” A gray-haired woman with a broad smile said, while handing him a wicker basket. “Towels and dry clothes for each of you until your men arrive.” She turned then, still smiling. “The bathing room is at the end of the hall, Mrs. Parker. Just put your wet clothes in the basket and leave it outside the door. I'll have them laundered and ready for you first thing in the morning.” Once again addressing Seth, the woman continued, “Yours, too, Major. And the meal you ordered will be up promptly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brewster,” he said, setting the basket on the foot of the bed. “We appreciate your efficiency.”

“The army keeps us in business, Major. I'm happy to see to whatever needs you have. And your wife.” The women then held out a hand. “It's such a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. A real treat.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brewster,” Millie said, shaking the older woman's hand. “We do appreciate your kindness, and I'm honored to make your acquaintance.”

The woman's smile grew yet again as she turned to Seth. “The heater's been lit, so the water will be hot in no time. I'm sure you'll show your wife how it all works.”

“I will. Thank you again, Mrs. Brewster.”

Millie waited until the woman had walked out and Seth pushed the door closed before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind him. “Heater?” she asked, nuzzling his back with her cheek. “As in hot water?”

His hands settled atop hers as her fingers found the brass buttons on his jacket. “Yes,” he replied. “As much as you need.”

She undid the buttons and then lifted the lapels, helping him shrug his arms out of the sleeves. “Enough for two?” She held the coat as he slipped it off, loving being able to assist him so intimately. Being a major's wife had so many wonderful benefits.

He turned, took the jacket, tossed it on the bed and spanned his hands around her waist. “Yes, enough for two.”

Excitement blazed inside her. “I believe,” she said, starting on his shirt buttons, “I know what I want my prize to be.”

“Prize?”

She nodded. “For winning the race.”

“Aw, yes, the race.”

Tugging his shirttail from his britches, she reminded him, “You said I could have anything I want.”

“Yes, I did.”

She slid both hands into the opening of his shirt. His skin was always so warm and captivating, and though she'd been somewhat unsure the first time he'd asked her to wash his back, now she adored the chore. As much as she loved having him wash hers. “I want you to wash my hair.”

“Just your hair?” he asked, finding the buttons on her suit jacket.

“We'll see,” she answered, no longer chilled by her wet clothing. Then again, she never really was chilled when he was around.

Except at times when, like hours later—after they'd shared a steamy bath, a delicious meal, and had warmed up the sheets of the bed—a reoccurring dream ripped her from a deep sleep, leaving her trembling and ice-cold.

Gasping, beseeching her racing heart to slow, Millie squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed her face into the pillow, letting it absorb the moisture of her tears.

“Sweetheart?” Seth was curled against her back, and his arms, one around her waist, the other below her neck, tightened to pull her closer. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, grasping his arms, silently begging him to save her from the torment still raging inside.

“Did you have another bad dream?” His lips were against the skin on her neck.

She nodded.

“Aw, sweetie, you're safe with me,” he whispered. “Besides, we aren't in the tent.”

“I know,” she mumbled. “It was just a dream. A silly dream.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

A new chill hit her, all the way to the center of her bones. “No,” she whispered. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

“All right,” he whispered, kissing her neck and cuddling her close. “I'm here. You're safe.”

She nodded again and pressed as much of her face as possible into the pillow, trying to wipe away the tears before they rolled down her cheeks, onto his arm. The nightmare had come the first night they'd slept in the tent, and had appeared every night since, stronger each time. It was her conscience, telling her that what she was doing was wrong. So very wrong. She knew that, but in the light of day, looking upon his handsome, loving face, her heart took over again, pushed the deceit so far away it only had a chance to come forward in her sleep. Where it tormented her.

The dream was the same each time, and she awoke at the same point. They were in Washington, or a place she assumed was Washington, since she'd never been there, and Seth was talking to a faceless man. Yet she knew the man, and knew he was telling Seth the truth. She was running in the dream, screaming at Seth not to listen, but she was too late. The way he looked at her, the hate and hurt in his eyes... Rosemary was there, too, in her dream.

Another tremble assaulted Millie's body.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It was just a dream.” He shifted then, rolled her onto her back as he leaned over her. “Honey.” He wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Don't cry.”

The tenderness in his voice and touch had a piercing pain ripping at her heart. She had to find a way to tell him, thought of it day after day. But one look into those eyes that held such love, that showered her with a devotion she'd never known existed, and words refused to form. Truth was, it was no longer her deceit that filled her with fear. It was living without him. She not only loved him, she liked herself when she was with him. That was new. In the past, she'd often loathed herself. Loathed her life. A life she had to go back to.

“I think,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers, “I know a way to make you forget.” His hand roamed down, settled on her breast. “Forget all about a silly old dream.”

The ache inside her increased. She'd tried over and over to come up with a way to tell him everything. Her own selfishness was what stopped her time and time again. She'd discovered a love so strong she just might die without it, and ultimately, she didn't want to give it up. Would spend the rest of her life pretending to be her sister if that was what it took.

Shame, growing stronger, lurched inside her. He was so honorable, so righteous and admirable, he'd never understand why she'd done what she had. Neither would her sister.

“Honey?” He tenderly cupped her face, his eyes searching hers. “Oh, sweetheart. It really was a bad dream, wasn't it?”

She nodded.

Combing her hair away from her face, he settled down beside her. “Come here, I'll just hold you until you go back to sleep.”

A desperation sprang forth inside her, and she rolled on top of him, grabbed his shoulders. “No. No, Seth, please, please love me.”

She took his mouth fiercely, almost violently, as a raw panic gripped her heart.

Their union was a hot, wild exchange that tore the bedding from the mattress and left her gasping, her lungs burning. Satisfaction was there, too, but this time, for the first time, disgrace came with it.

Unable to face him, she rolled on her side, dug her hands beneath the pillow. He covered her, first with the sheet and then the blanket, and then stationed himself behind her, holding her.