Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (6 page)

A tiny gasp escaped her lips when he pulled his away, and a bashful smile covered her face. Oh, yes, soon she'd be telling him everything he wanted to know.

Folding his other arm around her, he eased her closer, and this time, when their mouths met, he explored every sweet inch of her lips.

Her hands were pressed against his chest, and the collar of his coat tugged downward as her fingers curled, clutching the material.

He kissed her again, and again, long and hard, short and sweet, delighting in the way her lips moved to meet his, until his lungs screamed for a full breath of air. It would be so easy to forget the past, focus on the future. A chill rippled over him at that contradiction. His past held no women, and his future wouldn't, either, once he'd found out what she wanted. He needed to remember that. And that this was a game.

“Aw, Rosemary,” he whispered, purposely calling her that. Just as he expected, her entire body went as stiff as a rifle barrel.

She pushed on his chest and spun around before he could glimpse her expression. It didn't matter. He knew this was Millie, and he needed to find out why she was here.

He caught her hand and tugged her back around. The fingers beneath his trembled, and her cheeks were red. When she attempted to step past him, he blocked her path. “Where are you going?”

“I—I...” She took a breath. “I must pack. My clothes. My trunks. They're at the cabin.”

The rise and fall of her breasts as she gasped drew his eyes. The low neckline of the yellow-and-brown dress showed just enough skin to taunt his heightened senses. He fought to remind himself that this was all part of a plan. “Your trunks are already here,” he said. “Come on, I'll show you around.”

Stepping into the closest room, he stated, “This is the kitchen, obviously. It's up to you if you want to prepare our meals, or continue to...”

By the time the tour ended in the last room upstairs, where her four trunks lined the walls, tension no longer snapped inside him and her easy conversation said the kisses downstairs hadn't had any lasting side effects in her. They had in him. The pleasure of the connection had him wanting to do it over and over again. And then some. Which would be overplaying his hand, but he couldn't seem to stop the visions when they started forming.

“I thought this was the storage house,” she said, running a hand over the quilt covering the bed.

“It was,” he admitted. “Until I ordered it cleaned and made ready.”

“When did you do that?”

She was shy and skittish. He had to remember to take it slow. “Several days ago.” Leaning against the door frame, he gestured about the room. “What do you think?”

She glanced at the windows, the walls, the furniture, and then quite nonchalantly, but grinning mischievously, said, “It's certainly larger than the cabin. I suppose I could get used to it if I had to.”

He chuckled. Her mocking banter never failed to delight him. Hoping she sincerely was pleased, he asked, “So do you like your surprise?”

The way she smiled and kept her gaze locked with his as she walked toward him, led him to believe she did. Charm practically floated in the air around her, a magical essence no one at the fort was immune to. In a sense, Jasper had been right. She was what the place needed. In the short time she'd been here, there'd been changes. The men were showing up at mealtimes with their hair combed and their uniforms brushed, and they'd been watching their language. Their manners had improved, too, as had the overall mood of just about everyone. Seth couldn't attribute it to anything but her.

“Well,” she said, ducking around him and heading down the hallway, “I was hoping for a cup of tea.”

It had been years since he'd laughed as much as he had over the past few days, and chuckling now, he snagged her arm. The desire to pull her against him and kiss her again was tempting, but he quelled it. Holding her in place, he pivoted and then walked down the hallway beside her.

“I'm sure Briggs stocked tea in the kitchen.”

A coy little smirk sat on her lips as she glanced his way. “You specifically requested it, didn't you?”

His ears heated up, but he admitted, “Yes, I did.”

Her eyes dimmed and a flash of sadness crossed her face, but then her smile returned and she reached over to rub his hand. “Thank you.”

There were times when the sincerity of her appreciation had him questioning his deceit. Pretending not to know who she was. The more he got to know her, the more things he found to like. Seth hadn't expected that. He'd seen how the general had doted on his daughters, and knew full well the man's death had left them very wealthy women. Yet she acted as if no one had ever given her anything, had ever taken an interest in her or truly cared for her.

Something opened within him, as if someone had just pulled aside a shutter to reveal a window glowing with light. Caring for her, about her, was so easy, and gave him a pleasure he'd never quite experienced before. It was a little worrisome, but nothing he couldn't deal with. Letting go of her elbow, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and brushed her hair with his lips. “You're welcome.”

Millie wanted to close her eyes, but his comforting touch made the chance of tripping and tumbling down the stairs a real possibility. She chose instead to hold her breath and try not to focus on how he kissed her hair, or how his hand tightened on her upper arm, holding her close to his side. It was so wonderful, yet so painful that the tears behind her eyes grew hotter, sharper.

Being Rosemary had become agonizing. No, that wasn't it. Not being Rosemary was what had become agonizing. His kiss had been all Millie had dreamed it would be and more, but unbearable pain had sliced through her the moment he'd whispered her sister's name.

He'd been kissing Rosemary, not her. The lump that formed inside her was massive and sore, and try as she might, she couldn't think beyond it.

“Hey,” he said. “You don't seem very excited about your tea.”

She stopped next to him at the bottom of the stairs—had no choice, with his arm around her. And digging deeper than ever, she searched for the ability to pull up yet another smile. The past hour had been grueling, pretending nothing had happened, trying to be excited about the house—a beautiful home indeed—all the while knowing it was a sham. A farce.

No, she was the farce, and that wasn't new. Her entire life had been a charade, at least as long as she could remember. She'd always had to pretend to be someone she wasn't. Had to pretend she wasn't the reason her mother took her own life—that an innocent baby couldn't be to blame. Yet inside, Millie knew it was true, and knew she was as selfish as Rosemary always claimed.

Maybe that's what hurt so badly this time. All these years she'd wished for a way to prove otherwise, but Rosemary didn't want to have anything to do with Seth. She didn't want his attention—didn't want him to kiss her. But Millie did, and here she was, focusing on that instead of the reason she was here. To save her sister's life, and the baby's.

A sob bubbled in her throat even as she tried to pull up an ounce of fortitude. The baby depended on her and she couldn't forget that. She'd just have to stop thinking about other things, and make sure kissing Seth never happened again. No matter how badly she wanted it.

Resolve came—at least that's what she told herself—but a smile couldn't be found. So instead, she just shook her head. “I'm afraid I'll never be able to steep a pot of tea as well as Mr. Ryan.”

The tenderness in Seth's face stabbed her already breaking heart, and when he leaned forward, pressed his forehead against hers, an ache shrouded her entire body.

“Then,” he whispered, “I'll go have Briggs steep you a pot and have it delivered.”

“Major.”

Millie didn't turn at the sound of Russ's voice. Tears were pressing too firmly against the backs of her eyes. Crying wouldn't help, and it wouldn't stop the urge to fall into Seth's arms and tell him the truth. He'd be furious and hate her, and that would be worse than having him believe she was Rosemary.

“Yes, Corporal Kemper?” Seth answered, lifting his head.

“I'm sorry to intrude, sir,” Russ said. “But riders are coming in. It's Per-Cum-Ske.”

Seth's hands continued to tenderly rub Millie's upper arms, and his affection had her insides twisting into knots.

“I'll be right there,” he answered.

She kept her eyes closed for as long as possible, until one of his hands lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. The breath she was pulling in snagged in her throat at the solemn expression on his face. Concern set her heart throbbing. “Who is Per-Cum-Ske?”

His sober gaze went to the door behind her. “He's the current leader of the Comanche.”

All her self-pity and sorrows vanished, while fear gripped her insides like a huge fist at the seriousness of his tone. She latched on to his shoulders, grasping the material of his jacket. “Seth—”

“There's nothing to fear,” he said. “I've known Per-Cum-Ske for years.”

“Why then do I see worry in your eyes?” The question surprised her, for she hadn't realized that was what she'd say. But his troubled look sent a chill clear to her toes.

He smiled, though it was as false as some of the ones she forced upon her own lips. She'd created so many, they were easy to spot. Yet this was the first one she'd seen him display.

“I,” he said, brushing her forehead with his lips, “am worried about your tea.” He took one of her hands, led her to the table by the door. “I'll have Briggs send over a pot. You stay here. Acclimate yourself to your new home.”

Her mind insisted she didn't need tea, but her voice refused to comply, so she simply nodded.

“Good girl,” he said, squeezing her hand before letting go. Then he put his hat on and walked out the door.

The tremors in her knees kept her legs from moving. It was several moments before the ability returned and she followed his footsteps. On the front porch, she grasped one of the porch pillars to hold her up. The Indians on horseback, the ones slowly riding toward Seth as he stood in the center of the courtyard, were not like the ones in Tulsa, nor the ones she'd encountered here at the fort. Dressed in animal skins, with feathers in their hair and on their horses, they rode through the wide gate with guns in their hands and scowls on their faces. These were the ones that lived in Indian Territory. The ones her father had spoken about behind closed doors.

Seth spoke to the man in front, the one with a large amount of feathers sticking out of the hat on his head. Though no words carried all the way to the house on the breeze, Millie could tell by his gestures that Seth was welcoming them to the fort. The Indian nodded while turning his head, scanning his surroundings, and when his gaze stopped on her, it was as if his eyes bore right into her skin, leaving it burning.

“Come, dear, we mustn't stare at them.”

“Mrs. Ketchum...” Unaware that anyone had joined her, Millie found a touch of comfort in the older woman's presence. She wanted to ask about the Indians, but the pull to turn back to the gathering in the courtyard was too strong.

Seth's gaze was what held her attention, and though he was a distance away, she clearly understood his request. Still fearing for him, she comprehended he had a job to do, and so did she. Being a major's wife included allowing him to complete his duties without interference. Her father had instilled in her years ago the importance of not interfering in army business.

“Come along, dear,” Mrs. Ketchum repeated.

Millie turned, and remembering her manners, waved a hand for the other woman to cross the threshold first.

“I know they're frightening at first, dear, but your husband is an excellent commander. One of the best, and you have nothing to fear.” Ilene Ketchum closed the door. “Now, why don't I take this opportunity to show you where everything is? I was so excited when I heard you and Seth were moving into the major's house. I stocked the kitchen for the two of you myself.”

“You did?” Millie bit her tongue and quickly added, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Seth was adamant that you not learn about what we were doing. He said everything had to be in order the first time he showed it to you. He wanted it to be a surprise. It was, wasn't it?”

The other's woman's features were angular and stern upon first glance, but Millie saw beyond that, especially after the meal she and Seth had shared with Jasper and Ilene upon her arrival. The woman's kindness seemed to have no bounds, and Millie found herself looking up to her, wishing she could be more like her. Ilene had such confidence and poise, and Millie couldn't help but wonder if her mother had been like that at one time.

“I was surprised,” she answered. “Still am.”

“Good.” The woman smiled brightly. “I'm glad. Now, as I said, I put the kitchen in order and I'll show you where everything is. Jasper and I usually have our meals brought over by one of Mr. Ryan's maidens, especially in the summer months. Even the smallest fire in the stove heats up the house and there really is no sense in wasting the wood. It's so precious out here.”

They'd crossed the room, and stood near the long wall adorned with cupboards. Gesturing toward the back door with one hand, Ilene continued, “You'll see the woodshed out by the facilities. All of the officers' homes share it. I will caution you to watch for snakes.”

“Snakes?” Millie tried to keep the quiver out of her voice, but didn't succeed.

“Don't worry. They're just bull snakes. They keep the mice population down and the rattlesnakes away. But they do like to hide in the woodpile, and have startled me a time or two.” Ilene gave a carefree giggle. “Now, this is where I put the dishes, plates and bowls. Cups are over here....”

The woman's voice seemed to fade away. Mr. Cutter and Mr. Winston had warned of snakes while traveling, but Millie hadn't thought of them inside the stockade walls. Of course, there were snakes in Virginia, but not in town. She'd never seen one in person and would be happy to keep it that way.