Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (5 page)

“Yes,” she answered quietly, “he was.”

That despondent little whisper did more to his insides than it should have. So did the way she gathered up several pots of flowers and set them outside the door.

“Why are you here?” he asked as she propped the door open.

“Because of your letter,” she said.

“Which one?”

She frowned slightly. “The one asking for a divorce.”

“Which one?” he repeated.

Her frown deepened.

“I've sent you five sets of divorce papers.”

“You have?” Shaking her head, she said, “I—I, um, I only saw this last set. The ones that arrived last month.”

“How can that be?” he asked. “I know they were delivered.” After hearing no response to his first requests he'd insisted upon and received confirmation that the papers had been delivered to the house.

He saw how wide her eyes grew before she turned and headed into his office. “M-my sister, M-Millie, always accepts the correspondence that arrives at the house.”

Following, watching her pull dried bundles of flowers from the rope stretched from corner to corner, he sneezed before asking, “And she withholds mail from you?”

“No...” Millie was searching for an explanation. She'd wondered if that had been the first time Seth had sent papers, yet had believed Rosemary when she'd assured her it was. The fact that Papa had promised a divorce was a surprise. He'd never mentioned that, but she had to believe Rosemary knew about it.

The way Seth sneezed several more times had guilt and concern rippling through her.

“Then why didn't you get my other requests?” he asked, somewhat winded.

“There was a lot of mail after Papa died.” Millie continued to pull down the flowers. It had been fun, irritating him, but his puffy, bloodshot eyes said this had gone far enough. “Anything to do with the army, anything official looking, was forwarded on. I must assume that's what happened to your previous letters.”

He gave a nod that didn't really say if he believed her or not. She, on the other hand, had no doubt that Rosemary had received every set. Squeezing past him, flinching at another of his sneezing bouts, she carried the flowers she'd gathered out the front door.

A fortifying breath helped, as did the memory of comforting Rosemary on her wedding night—after Seth had left for Indian Territory again. “I was distraught the—the night we met. When I crawled into your bed.” Mortification had her neck on fire, having him think she'd behave so, but she had to press on. “My father had forbidden me to see the man I thought I loved. I hadn't known Clifton was married, and I thought...” She had no idea what Rosemary had been thinking when she'd acted so. Back in the office, Millie pulled down the rope. “I guess I hoped the action might make him change his mind.”

“How was that going to help?”

“I don't know,” she growled. The answers weren't coming to her, and him sounding so plugged and miserable didn't help. “I told you, I was distraught and not thinking straight.”

He sneezed again and Millie speeded up her gathering. Word had gotten out that Mrs. Ketchum had given her permission to pick a few flowers from the garden in the center of the fort, and the soldiers started bringing her wild ones by the dozens. It had been kind of them, and the flowers had worked to combat the foul-smelling concoctions Seth kept bringing in—including the cigar he'd puffed on until the entire cabin was full of blue smoke. But making him ill was not in Millie's plan. The cabin had shaken with his sneezes last night. She'd grinned then, but this morning guilt had hit her when she saw how wretched he looked. Rosemary or not, it had gone too far.

Millie had known a few things about Seth before arriving, such as how his work was revered from here to Washington. But it was the respect the others had for him that told her more. Even while traveling over the barren land, Mr. Winston and Mr. Cutter had nothing but admiration for the man they assumed was her husband. An individual didn't earn that type of esteem by chance.

“Whatever happened to him?”

Drawing a blank, Millie asked, “Who?”

“The man you thought you loved. The one that was married.”

“I don't know.” Rosemary had never mentioned Clifton again. “He left town, I guess.”

“You guess?”

She nodded and carried the last of the flowers out the door. After the wedding, Rosemary had been forbidden to leave the house. There had been a few months where life had been relatively calm. Then Papa had died and things had changed all over again. Especially when Rosemary had discovered the clout that came with being a major's wife. She used that to open doors regularly. Special events and ceremonies she insisted she needed to attend—escorted by many different men.

“You guess?” Seth repeated.

Sighing heavily, Millie reentered the cabin as a new bout of guilt turned into a hard knot in her stomach. “Yeah, I guess. I guess we all do things from time to time without knowing why we do them.” She was speaking about herself, and crossed the room to wet a towel in the basin. “Here, wash your face to get rid of the pollen.”

He eyed her warily.

“It'll help. Honest.” As he followed her directions, she said, “I'm sorry, too. I'll put everything back the way it was tomorrow, and ask To-She-Wi if she knows how to eliminate the rose oil smell.”

Seth folded the towel and hung it on the washstand. “I'm sorry, as well, for the saddle soap and stuff.”

When the silence grew into a lingering stillness that had her nerves ticking, Millie inched her skirt up to show the tips of her boots. “I no longer need new boots. I'll cancel the order first thing in the morning.”

His gaze stayed on her boots. “No. It's too late. Besides, it won't hurt to have a spare pair.”

There'd been a time when she'd had several pairs of boots, when Papa was alive. But like everything else, that too had changed. “All right, but I do have money. I'll pay for them.”

“Have you been short of money lately?”

He'd stopped sneezing and was no longer wheezing. That alone allowed her to sigh with relief.

“Have you been short of money lately?” he repeated.

“No,” she answered, for Rosemary hadn't been short of money. And that's who she was. Rosemary. Flowers or not.

Her gaze caught his then, and the way he squinted had her all but choking on the lump that bubbled up the back of her throat. Faltering, inside and out, she gestured toward her room. “I think I'll turn in now. It's been a long day.”

He nodded and she hurried toward the door, but was turning the knob when he asked, “Why didn't you just sign the divorce papers? There was no reason for you to travel out here.”

A chill flowed over her, but she ignored it as best she could. “This way you won't need to travel to Richmond.”

“It's only a short distance to there from Washington.”

She turned, gave him a smile that wobbled on her lips. “Now you won't need to go there, either.”

“Yes, I will. I have to appear before Congress. Explain in person how important it is to increase the provisions sent to the tribes out here.”

Millie felt like a mouse in the corner, trapped, with Lola's whisk broom about to fall on top of her. Rosemary's pregnancy wasn't known outside the family, and before leaving for the fort Millie had taken precautions, told several people that both she and her sister were traveling out of town. But nothing was foolproof, and the news could spread to Washington. Rosemary did have a few enemies who would like nothing more than to be the one to tell Seth about his wife's behavior over the past five years.

“Perhaps you can send someone else,” Millie said hopefully.

“No. It's my job, and I'll see to it.”

“Oh.”

Finally able to breathe without sneezing, Seth gulped in air. His eyes no longer burned and he could actually see how the lamplight reflected in the depths of her eyes and highlighted the flawless perfection of her skin, the shine of her hair. She was a beauty, but what he found more enchanting was her tender presence. There was sweetness in her voice and movements, even during those times when she reminded him of Rosemary. Which only proved she was Millie. Rosemary was about as gentle as a water moccasin. She would never have fought him with flowers. If they hadn't made him as miserable as a kid with a runny nose, he'd have kept up the game. He'd run out of ammunition, though. His next choice would have been a bucket from the barn, and he wasn't willing to do that.

“Why is it your job?” she asked.

His mind was circling like a wagon train in fear of attack, and before he remembered anything beyond their game, she was speaking again.

“Surely they're other army men that could relay the message.”

Oh, yes, his trip to Washington.

“I—I was hoping to stay out here until December,” she said, stammering slightly. “Maybe you could postpone your trip until then.”

December? That was impossible. Yet, needing time to think why, he said, “We'll talk about it tomorrow. You look tired.”

She bowed her head bashfully. “I'll remove everything in the morning. Including the curtains.”

He'd won their game, so why didn't it feel that way? “Good night.”

She turned and pushed open the door to her room before saying, “Good night, Seth.”

Something, maybe the sadness, or it might have been the softness of her voice and how sweet his name sounded when she said it, pinched him deep inside. Seth turned and, after glancing into his office, climbed the ladder to the loft, careful of the bows. Once there, laid out on his bed, he wondered if the open window let in that much fresh air or if he'd just got used to the smell of the rose oil. It hadn't made him sneeze, not like those crazy weeds. Wild lavender, she'd called it.

The next morning Russ woke him with the news that someone was requesting a meeting. A scout demanding army escorts for a wild-game hunting party coming down from Kansas. While walking across the compound to where the man waited, Russ said Seth smelled like the tents of the soiled doves that camped nearby a couple times a year.

Seth held his tongue and his temper while talking with Otis Field, a scout known for finding buffalo for rich men to shoot. Not only was the man sniffing the air like a wolf picking up a scent, he was demanding three dozen men—which Seth wasn't about to give out.

In the end, he agreed to provide four soldiers, and he dictated the amount of days they could be gone, exactly where the hunting party could travel and what specifically could be hunted. Otis tried haggling, but Seth didn't give an inch, and the scout was the one to accept defeat, or at least he claimed he'd accept the conditions. Long ago Seth had figured out who to trust and who not to, and the scout was not trustworthy.

As Otis and four privates left, Seth made his way back to his cabin, where he planned on retrieving a fresh shirt and coat before riding out to find one of his Indian scouts. White Bird was never too far away, and he'd spread the word of the hunting party, letting all the tribes know to stay clear. For their safety, not the hunters'.

When Seth opened the door, a sound had him walking directly into his office, where his heart did a somersault. Single-handedly she was dragging his desk across the room—or attempting to. The exertion had her face red and her chest heaving, even though the desk had been moved only a few feet.

The room had been cleared out, including the curtains, cushions and rug, but it was the impish grimace on her face he reacted to.

Without a word, he pulled the desk across the room. She pushed, and he hadn't yet found his tongue, so he didn't tell her not to.

Once the desk was in place, along with his chair, he told her, “I'll be gone all of today and probably most of tomorrow.”

She frowned, which on her was cute. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go find someone.” He chose not to say more, regretting the way he'd attempted to scare her about the Indians.

“Who?” she asked, following him out of the office.

“Just a man.” He climbed the bowless ladder, and pulling down his spare jacket from its hook, figured it probably smelled more like roses than the one he was wearing. That didn't infuriate him. Perhaps because he now knew for certain that the woman downstairs was not his wife. Rosemary must have put her up to it, and the only way he was going to find out why was to gain Millie's trust. She was a worthy opponent, and might have won their skirmish if the wildflowers hadn't gotten to him—he'd seen how bad she felt about that. Fighting on someone else's terms was the best way to lose; he'd learned that years ago. He would set the terms this round, and the battlefield. This time he would win.

She was waiting at the bottom of the ladder and he couldn't help but respond to the worry in her eyes. “Don't fret. No one's going to turn you over to the Indians, whether they attack or not.”

A tiny grin formed, then she gave him an impudent stare. “I know that.”

“Do you?” he asked, touching the end of her nose with the tip of one finger.

“Yes, I do.” She spun, watched him shrug on and button his coat. “And I know there is a fort full of men who could ride out to find someone, so why you?”

“Because I'm in charge.” He caught her beneath the chin with the same fingertip. “No harm will come to you while you're here. I'll personally see to that.”

The trepidation in her eyes grew. “But who protects you?”

He chuckled, already enjoying the second battle of their war. His finger trailed down her neck before he lifted it to tap her nose yet again. “Never fear, I won't make you a widow before I truly make you a wife.”

Chapter Five

“I
swear, Seth, the harder I look, the less I see,” Millie declared, pulling the horse to a stop to study the land. It was like looking at the sea, except instead of rolling waves of water, there was flat ground covered with brown grass that didn't end until it met the sky at the ridge of the horizon.

His baritone laugh, a sound she'd heard more and more over the past week, had her insides doing somersaults. Fun ones, the kind that made her smile. There hadn't been any more flower or saddle soap incidents, and a unique kind of truce had formed between them. One she could definitely live with. Seth was by far the most charming and attentive husband imaginable.

He was resting one arm across his saddle horn, and his hat shadowed the upper part of his face as he studied her directly. “That, I think, is the best description of Indian Territory I've ever heard.”

The grin on his face made hers increase. She turned back to the empty scene that in an odd way was quite magnificent. “There's barely a tree.”

“There are trees north of the fort. In the Wichita Mountains.”

“Mountains?” This had been her first excursion outside the tall walls since her arrival, but from what she'd seen during the wagon ride, and from what spread out before her, she couldn't imagine the flatness becoming mountainous.

“Well, they're more like foothills,” he said. “It's a full day's ride, though, and not a trip I'm willing to let you attempt.”

The hammering of her heart told her what she thought about that even before her mind kicked in. His protectiveness was uncanny, and wonderful. “Oh, you let me travel two hundred miles with two men in a wagon with no canopy, for five days, seeing nothing but prairie grass and red dirt, yet you won't let me ride for a day to see mountains?”

Not even the sky overhead was as blue as his eyes when he removed his hat. The smile on his face grew, revealing the dimple in his cheek. He winked, and her insides jolted and fluttered so fast and hard her breath locked in her lungs.

“That,” he said, “was before I knew you.”

A heated sensation engulfed her chest, and went lower, all the way past her stomach. Bowing her head, for her face was on fire, she pressed her bottom against the saddle. Goodness, but he had an effect on her. His kindness and generosity had her thinking about things she'd never thought of before. Ridiculous things. Like kissing.

Especially at bedtime, when he'd wish her good-night from her bedroom doorway, the desire inside her grew so strong it was troubling. Pretty much like it was right now.

“Come on,” he said. “It's time we headed back. I have a surprise for you.”

Her head snapped up so fast her hat jostled. “A surprise?”

She turned the horse around, kept it even with his. The happiness she'd experienced the past week was amazing, and it just kept increasing. Every day she awoke with a newfound freedom. Never before had she been able to climb out of bed knowing there was no merchant she had to confront, no “friend” she had to assure had misheard something her sister supposedly said, and no fear she might accidently say the wrong thing and have her sister as furious with her as she was with the rest of the world. Lately all Millie had to wonder about was how bright the sun would shine. There was still the pretense of her being here, but Seth never brought it up, and that was utterly liberating.

Glowing inside and out, she asked, “What kind of surprise?”

He reached over and tipped the brim of her hat lower. It was dark blue with a flat brim, an army-issued one just like his, but smaller, and he'd fastened a string through the felt to tie beneath her chin.

“If I tell you, it won't be a surprise.”

“I can keep a secret,” she insisted.

His laughter was like a song that made her want to dance with all the joy it inspired.

“Is it a pot of tea?” she asked. That wouldn't necessarily be a surprise. Even when he was busy over at the headquarters in a meeting, or out with a troop, one of Briggs Ryan's maidens would unexpectedly bring a pot to the cabin, saying the major had requested it be delivered to her.

He made a point of showing her how tightly his lips were clasped together, teasingly illustrating he wasn't about to tell her anything. She laughed, but her mind went back to kissing, and she pulled her gaze away. He didn't kiss her. Hadn't, not once. But there were so many times he acted as if he was going to that she was going mad. It didn't even help to pull up images of Rosemary. Matter of fact, it was becoming difficult to think like her sister most times.

A twinge of guilt made Millie take a moment to silently chide herself. Seth Parker wasn't her husband, and kissing him should never, ever enter her thoughts.

Telling herself that was like telling the sun not to shine. It was a good thing he was a gentleman. She liked that about him. His manners and honor, and overall charisma. Truth be told, there wasn't much she didn't like about him. Perhaps that was why there were all these thoughts about kissing. A person should want to kiss someone they liked—shouldn't they? Another type of guilt spilled inside her. She'd never thought about kissing Martin like this. Had never even wondered about it. All these other things had never surfaced when he'd taken her arm or aided her in some way, either. Then again, she'd never thought of Martin as anything more than a friend.

The pressure in her lungs released slowly as she huffed out a long sigh. Millie didn't know what she thought of Seth, as he seemed more than a friend. He was her husband, or at least her pretend husband. The stirring warmth in the depths of her body throbbed when she thought of him, and there was nothing she could do about it. Truth was, she loved being called the major's wife.

Seth turned her way, and she almost gulped at the heat that flared.

“No, it's not tea,” he said, “but I'm sure Briggs will have a pot brewing.”

“Steeping,” she corrected, attempting to reroute her thoughts.

He gave her a somewhat puzzled look. “Steeping?”

“Yes, one brews coffee, but steeps tea.”

His chuckle was accompanied by a head shake. “I'll remember that.”

“Good, you do that.” He had her insides bubbling, but there was also a carefree feeling she'd never experienced. “Want to race to that rock?”

“You'll be careful?” he asked.

“I always am.”

He stretched his long legs by standing in the stirrups for a moment as he took a look around the area. When he sat back down, he nodded. “All right, but just to the rock.”

Excitement zipped under her skin. “On the count of three?”

He nodded again.

“One,” she said, hunching down. Riding always lifted her spirits. It was the one thing she'd always done just for her, and she missed it so much. It had been years since she'd gone riding just for the pleasure of it. Watching Seth out of the corner of her eye, she said, “Two...”

Then, whipping the reins across the horse's rump, she sent the animal into a full gallop before yelling, “Three!”

He was at her side in no time, and remained there, his horse neck and neck with hers the entire race. The wind, the air, the dirt churning beneath the animals' hooves, it was all so wonderful she was sorry when they passed the rock. But true to her word, she reined the horse in and glanced to her side.

“You cheated,” Seth said, grinning.

A giggle tickled her throat. “I thought I'd need a head start.”

His laugh had her floating on a cloud, and she still felt that way a short time later, when he lifted her from the saddle as Russ appeared to lead the horses into the stable.

“Thank you, Corporal Kemper,” she said, while wrapping a hand around Seth's proffered elbow. The simple action never failed to make her heart swell.

“You're welcome, ma'am. Did you enjoy the ride?”

She smiled at the tall young man, but something tugging at her heart had her turning to Seth as she answered, “Yes, thank you very much.”

His smile was like the sun, with the ability to make amazing sensations grow inside her, as high and thick as morning glories on a trellis.

“This way,” he said, pivoting about.

“Our cabin is that way.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the little rooms that no longer smelled like roses. To-She-Wi had helped her scrub the place with water boiled with a minty-scented plant, while Seth had been gone that day and a half. That's when things had changed between them. Ever since his return, he hadn't questioned who she was. Instead he treated her with the utmost respect, and actually seemed to enjoy her company as much as she did his.

“I know,” he said, with a noteworthy twinkle in his eyes. “But your surprise is this way.”

Butterflies once again inhabited her insides, too strong to ignore even if she wanted to. “Ah, yes, my tea.”

Several steps later, as they walked toward the officers' quarters, she asked, “Are we visiting the Ketchums?”

“No.”

He angled their path toward the last house on the left, the big one she'd learned was a storage building. A sad thing for sure. The inside of the Ketchums' home was roomy, not at all like their tiny cabin, and she assumed this one must be, as well. Identical in size and shape, it was made of thick round rocks and mortar, like most of the rest of the fort, including sections of the tall wall.

During the past week, Seth had given her tours of every building on the property except this one. He'd said there might be mice in there, with all the boxes and crates. Hard to believe, with all the people scurrying in and out of it every day. The activity would surely scare away the varmints.

Perhaps that was her surprise—a tour of what was kept in the building. Not that it mattered. The ride he'd already taken her on had been a wonderful gesture, and just being with him had made the world seem brighter and her steps lighter. He was a busy man and she couldn't expect him to keep her entertained when there was work to be done. Yet she didn't have the wherewithal not to want him near whenever possible.

He escorted her up the short set of stairs, onto a porch where two high-back rocking chairs swayed in the wind. A day didn't go by when the steady gusts weren't stirring up dust, leaving no choice but to accept it. Therefore, in her mind, the breezes were no longer a bother.

The contemplative look on Seth's face as he paused near the doorway made Millie's stomach flip. “What?” The moment that followed had her brows twitching and pulling downward.

With a bow of his head, he opened the door. “After you.”

The smell of beeswax reminded her of the hours she'd spent coating the banister, floors and furniture back in Richmond. She'd never minded the work, for afterward the house had shone. Taking a step forward, she removed her hat to get a better look while glancing around. The house back in Richmond gleamed as brightly as this one did right now.

The left side boasted a large front parlor and the right held an arched doorway that led to a kitchen. Both rooms were fully furnished with pieces as finely crafted as those in her father's home. A staircase straight ahead created a wall that led toward the back of the house, and the sun shining into the hallway proved there were more rooms with their doors open.

She spun all the way around. There wasn't a box, crate or barrel anywhere to be seen. Her gaze stopped on Seth, who wore an endearing, secretive grin. A chill not of fear or apprehension, but of anticipation zipped up her arms.

He took her hat, and removing his, placed them both on a nearby table. When he turned, he held out his hands.

Curious and delighted, she laid her fingertips in his palms, and drew a breath at how tenderly his hands folded around hers.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

She tilted her head, to make sure she'd heard what he said, and to quickly scan the area again. His touch created a unique craving inside her that had her pulse racing and blood pounding in her ears. “Home?”

“Yes, I decided it was time for the major to start living in the major's house.”

“Oh.” A nervous quiver made her ask, “But what about the cabin? Who'll live...?” She swallowed, stopping the question as she suddenly remembered they weren't married and truly shouldn't be living as such. A shower of sadness rained inside her.

“Russ will move back in there.”

“Oh,” she repeated, glancing to where her feet had glued themselves to the polished floor. Just this morning he'd compared the quiet nights they'd shared to the ones where Russ had filled the cabin with snores. “I guess I'll get used to his snoring,” she mumbled.

Seth had wondered how this moment would go, and now that it was upon him, anticipation had his insides kicking like a lassoed pronghorn. He let loose one of her hands to lift her chin with his knuckle. The forlorn look in her eyes only heightened his excitement. His plan was working, almost too well. He found himself looking forward to spending every waking moment in her company, but he was still in control. Was always in control. “No, you won't get used to Russ's snoring,” he assured her, “because you'll be living here. With me.”

Her little gasp was accompanied by another flash of those big doe eyes, and Seth couldn't help but grin at the sight.

“Had you really thought I'd move in here without you?” he asked, keeping her chin up with his knuckle.

The flush that appeared on her cheeks sent a jolt through his system. The desire to kiss her, taste those sweet lips, feel the way they curved, had been building over the past few days to the point where he thought of little else. It was tough at times, remembering just who she was, or rather, who she wasn't. He uncurled his finger, ran the tip of it along the graceful curve of her chin.

“This house,” he said, “is for the commander of the fort and his wife.”

A tiny smile pulled at the sides of her lips. He knew this wasn't Rosemary, but playing along with the game the two sisters had concocted did have its rewards. No harm could come from a simple kiss. Seth slid his hand along the softness of her neck and held her head in place as he lowered his lips to hers, slowly, giving her time to step back if she chose. His entire body sighed with pleasure when his mouth met hers. Soft and precious, the touch was perfect, just as he'd known it would be.