Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (9 page)

“Wind likes doing it,” Mr. Jenkins said as a young boy, no more than ten or so, came running through a blanket-draped doorway next to the long set of shelves behind the counter. “Don't you, boy?”

“Haa.”
The child nodded. “Yes.”

“Here then, follow the major's wife to her place. But come back, and no dillydallying. We've got a lot of freight to put away.”

The boy grabbed the crate off the counter, looking at her expectantly with big brown eyes. His black hair hung to his shoulders, which were thin and bare, showing the sharp edges of his collarbones. The only clothing he wore was a pair of brown leather pants that stopped near his knees.

Smiling, Millie said, “Hello, Wind.”

“
Maruawe,
hello, Major's wife.” Turning to the shopkeeper, Wind tipped his head toward the parasol. “That, too?”

Mr. Jenkins nodded.

“I can carry it.” She lifted the parasol off the counter. “Good day, Mr. Jenkins. Thank you for all your assistance.”

With a nod and a smile that was hard to see with all his facial hair, he said, “My pleasure.”

The day was warm, as most every day since she'd arrived had been, yet winter was around the corner. Popping open the parasol, she shielded both herself and the boy from the bright sunlight. “Do you live here, Wind, at the fort?” she asked, already thinking of the material in Mr. Jenkins's shop, and wondering if the boy would let her sew clothes for him. Not that she knew how, but she could learn.

“
Kee,
no. We came for Per-Cum-Ske to talk to Major.”

“Per-Cum-Ske? Is he your father?”

“No. He Comanche leader.”

“A chief?

“
Kee,
no. A leader.” The boy hoisted the crate higher in his arms. “He go talk to Wash-ing-ton man. Tell him we need buffalo.”

“Washington man? Do you mean the president?”

“
Haa.
Yes.”

Sadness welled inside her. Congress couldn't know there were children out here, hungry and without clothes. Surely they would have done something more if they did. Wouldn't they? It would be nice to believe they would have, but deep down, she had an inclination they knew. The army had been out here for years. They would have reported such things. Another welling happened, one that filled her with warmth and pride. Seth would make them listen. He'd make things better.

Smiling at the boy, she asked, “Mr. Jenkins hired you to help him?”

The child spoke well, better than some of the older Indians she'd encountered, yet a frown rippled his forehead as he asked, “Hired?”

“Yes, he pays you to help him. Gives you money?”

“
Haa,
yes. Trade. Gives sweet stick.”

“Sweet stick?”

A smile took up his entire face. “
Haa.
Good. Much good.”

“Candy?” she asked. “He pays you with candy?”

“
Haa.
Much good. My...my, uh, seester, she like.”

“You share it with your sister?” Imagining a little girl as adorable as Wind was easy, yet a candy stick wasn't an appropriate payment. Though Millie had come to understand money meant nothing to the tribes. They bartered for everything.

“Haa,”
he answered, still grinning.

They were approaching the house, where Russ stood near the corner talking with the three men who had been looking for snakes. “Corporal Kemper, may I speak with you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered, and after nodding to the men, turned and met her on the short walkway leading to the porch. Standing stiff and straight, with his hands behind his back, he asked, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Parker?”

Already digging in her bag, she pulled out several coins. “Would you please escort Wind back to the trading post and purchase as much candy as this will buy for him?”

Russ's green eyes went from sparkling to dull and filled with unease. “Ma'am, I don't—”

“Corporal Kemper,” she interrupted, and though it felt wrong to use her status so, in this instance she would, and be glad of the power being a major's wife allowed. “I wouldn't want to tell my husband you've disappointed me.”

“No, ma'am.” Blushing red, the corporal took the coins.

“Just put the box right there, Wind.” She collapsed the parasol while waiting for the boy to set the crate on the bottom step, and then bent down in front of him. “Thank you very much for helping me. You follow Corporal Kemper back to Mr. Jenkins's store and take what he gives you. It's for you and your sister. It's my trade for your assistance. For carrying the crate for me.”

His little shoulders squared with what she assumed to be dignity.
“Haa. Ura.”

“Ura,”
she repeated, watching the boy walk away. Pins seemed to prickle her skin. Wind had nothing, yet what he did have, he shared with his sister, whereas she and Rosemary, having whatever they'd wanted when they were his age, had rarely shared anything. Well, Millie had, but she'd always felt resentful. Another shameful thing to admit, even to herself. But it was the truth. She'd resented the fact that she owed her sister, and right now she resented what she was doing for payment of that debt.

Millie walked up the steps toward one of the high-back chairs. This trip had her thinking about things she'd never thought of before, seeing a side of herself she'd never admitted to having. Plopping into the chair and sending it rocking back and forth, she thought of the reason she was here. A baby, who someday would be a boy not so unlike Wind, or a girl, like his sister. A child who would need love and care, food and clothing, and a candy stick every now and again. A child who was depending on Millie this very moment.

“This just ain't right,” Lola had said in the early morning dawn weeks ago, yet the words echoed in Millie's mind as clearly as if the woman was standing beside her right now. “Your Papa wouldn't like this, not at all.”

“I know,” Millie whispered, just as she had that morning—the day she'd left.

“That girl ain't never gonna learn if you keep stepping in, righting her wrongs,” Lola had added.

A long sigh escaped as Millie continued to rock. Lola didn't understand Rosemary's need for affection. Never had, but Millie did. Not so unlike Rosemary, she'd always longed for their mother, too.

Big tears had cascaded down Lola's coffee-hued cheeks when they'd hugged goodbye, and Millie had cried, too. She hadn't wanted to go, but there had been no choice.

Rosemary had said she didn't want Seth disgraced, which he certainly would be if others learned of her pregnancy, and now that Millie knew Seth, she felt even more strongly about that. He was such an honorable man, and truly didn't deserve the way his wife had carried on with other men.

“I'll wire you as soon as the child's born,” Lola had said. “But once you get those papers signed, don't you bring them back here. You mail them, and then go to Texas, tell that young Martin you'll be the best wife he ever hoped to have.”

Lola hadn't given her time to answer before continuing, “I'll take care of everything here. No harm will come to that baby, not before it arrives or after.”

Tears pressed on Millie's eyes now, just as they had that morning. Although she believed Lola would see to the baby's safety, she wouldn't be going to Texas. She'd known that then, but hadn't told Lola. During the train and wagon rides, Millie had tried to convince herself she could go to Texas when this was all over, but knew the entire time she wouldn't. That would be as big a sham as this one. She and Martin didn't love each other—not like that. Not as a husband and wife should.

Flinching inside, she rerouted her thoughts.

Weeks before the morning of her departure, she'd told Rosemary she would help, had even offered to claim the child as hers. But her sister would hear nothing of that. She'd announced that as soon as the child was born, and her divorce settled, she and the baby's father would marry. Lola insisted the baby's father was already married, and Millie believed that to be true. Most of the men that “frequented” the house were married. Millie had tried to talk to Rosemary about it over the years, only to have her insist that Millie knew nothing about the needs a woman had. She couldn't argue with that, but she did know right from wrong.

Shortly after Papa had died, Martin had told her about her sister's trysts. He'd been over in Charlottesville and seen Rosemary, who'd pretended not to know him.

Millie's stomach started churning again. Martin had been disgusted by her sister's behavior, and he'd feel the same way about what Millie was doing. Though he'd been her best friend for as long as she could remember, he'd never understood the guilt that churned inside her. She'd never told him about it, either. That she was the reason Rosemary was the way she was. As an infant, Millie had been too young to remember their mother, but Rosemary had been older, and the loss had scarred her—forever.

Quiet, thoughtful, Millie sat for several minutes. She'd have to return to Richmond when this was all over. Rosemary would need her more than ever.

Eventually, she pushed herself out of the chair and walked down the steps, to carry the box onto the porch. Digging out the pad and pencil, she sat back down, and after loading the lead in the holder, flipped open the cover on the tablet.

Despite starting over several times, she found Seth's features appearing on the paper again and again. It was the only image her fingers wanted to draw. After the seventh or eighth picture, she gave up, though her eyes remained on the tablet. How had the plan suddenly become so complicated? First, she hadn't known how to delay him in demanding a divorce, and now she didn't know how to convince him that she wanted one, after all. No, that Rosemary wanted one. But she was supposed to be Rosemary. Oh, how had it come to this? Millie pressed her fingers to her temples to try to ward off what was building into a fearsome headache. The thought of leaving Seth tugged at her heart as fiercely as if they truly were married.

A heavy lump formed in her throat. She was being selfish again, thinking about herself and not her sister.

Flipping to a new page, she found her pencil strokes flowed easily, quickly. From practice. Rosemary loved to have her likeness sketched, until a few years ago, when out of frustration at her sister's latest antics, Millie had drawn Rosemary a bit chunkier than she was. That, too, had been selfish. Other than in the secrecy of her room, Millie hadn't drawn since then.

Her heartbeat quickened, and she didn't understand why until she lifted her head.

Seth stood at the bottom of the steps, more handsome than when he'd left this morning. But it was the smile on his face that was almost her undoing.

The tip of the lead snapped against the paper.

“Hi,” he said, walking forward.

Wiping away the chunk of lead, which left a smear across the bottom of the page, Millie answered, “Hello.” Thank goodness her voice wasn't as out of control as the flock of butterflies dancing a cotillion in her stomach. Ignoring them was next to impossible. So was finding where she'd buried her sister inside her.

“What are you doing?”

“Just drawing,” she answered, making a few more strokes.

“May I?” He held a hand toward the pad of paper.

Shrugging, she passed it over. He'd already seen the picture, so there was no use attempting to hide it.

His gaze made several trips from the paper to her face, until her cheeks were burning.

“This isn't you.”

Gulping inwardly, she searched for an answer that would make him believe it was a self-portrait and not a picture of Rosemary. “My hair is styled differently.”

He studied the paper again. “No, that's not it. It's a good likeness, but it's not you.”

Why had she been so foolish as to draw Rosemary? It was as if her very spirit wanted the truth out and was scheming against her. “Actually, it's my sister. Millie.”

He pointed to the paper. “This is Millie?”

“Yes. That's her.”

Seth studied her face for a moment more before gazing back at the pad. “Do you miss her?” he asked, before flipping through the other pages.

Her heart started hammering. He'd have to notice the drawings were all of him. “Doesn't everyone miss those left behind?” she asked, hoping to distract him from looking too closely at the pictures.

“Yes, we do,” he answered, without looking up.

Folding her trembling hands in her lap, she asked, “Where's your family?”

“My brother is in Montana, my mother in Boston.”

“You never mention them.”

He shrugged. “I haven't seen them for years. Sam is in the army, too, and my mother writes to both of us regularly. She's remarried, to Ralph Wadsworth. They have three children together. They're all doing well.” He flipped through a few more pages. “These are good. I didn't know you liked to draw.”

“I guess there are a lot of things we don't know about each other.”

His eyes were back on her, staring thoughtfully. The longing inside her, to kiss him again and have him hold her in his arms as he had last night in bed, stole her ability to think. The swirling in her stomach went lower, to the very spot it had been last night, and stirred up a tremendous heat and ache.

Still watching her, he leaned down, and it was as if a fire had been lit between them. She couldn't breathe, had never felt such intensity inside her. It was chaotic and exciting at the same time.

He took the pencil from her fingers and, barely moving, set both it and the tablet in the crate near his feet.

Millie was still holding her breath. Her lips were now trembling and the heat between them was growing. His eyes were watching hers and she didn't dare so much as blink for fear she'd miss something. She wasn't exactly sure what, but anticipation said it would be wonderful.