Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (16 page)

“I love you,” he whispered tenderly.

Drawing a breath that had the air wheezing into her burdened chest, she answered, “I love you, too.”

She was afraid to close her eyes, and the sky outside the window was turning gray when sleep finally overcame her.

Seth folded the covers back and, fighting the urge to kiss her cheek, eased off the bed. She was finally sleeping, had rolled over and snuggled close to his side just a short time ago. He crossed the room and pulled the curtain, blocking the rising sun from disturbing her, and then, assuming the thud outside the door was the basket containing their clothes, he donned the pants Mrs. Brewster had loaned him last night and sneaked out of the room as quietly as one of Per-Cum-Ske's braves.

In the washroom, pulling on his stiffly starched uniform, he couldn't help but wonder if he was the cause of Millie's fear. The way it had contorted each of her lovely features last night, from her doe eyes to her petal mouth, had torn at his heart, and left it sore and bruised this morning. She hadn't wanted to come with him to Washington. Had said she'd stay at the fort, wait for him there. He'd refused, said he wanted her with him. He did. Always would, and her pain was his. In an unparalleled way, it hurt worse than any injury he'd ever acquired.

It wasn't until after Seth quietly returned the basket to their room, resisted yet another urge to kiss her, and made his way downstairs, that another possibility entered his mind. He was penning a brief message Mrs. Brewster promised to slide under the door for his wife when the thought hit.

His wife. That had to be it. Millie was fearful of facing Rosemary. He thanked the hotel owner and left, mulling things over more deeply. Lately, he'd forgotten about Rosemary's part in all this. If she'd behaved the way she had toward him, how had she treated her sister over the years? Millie had such a kind and gentle soul, and he'd bet his best horse that Rosemary had taken advantage of that.

Anger twisted inside him. He'd wanted to wait until after the meeting in Washington to tell Millie the truth, but he couldn't let her fear grow. He'd have to tell her, let her know he was there to protect her. That she hadn't done anything wrong.

He had, though. This was all his fault. Whether his marriage to Rosemary was real or not, he had said the vows and should never have pursued another woman. The fact that he'd fallen in love, had been willing to do whatever it took for her to return his affection, didn't make it right.

Pressing a hand to his aching forehead, Seth made his way to the stables.

From there he went to the train station to oversee the unloading of the items they needed from the wagons, and to ensure that the private sleeping car he'd requested was part of the long, eastbound train.

Normally, he'd have traveled with the rest of his unit and Per-Cum-Ske and his braves, in one of the cars that sported built-in berths. But a major's wife needed more privacy than that. If one of Pullman's hotel railroad cars had been available, he'd have rented that. Men with enough money shot buffalo out windows of those cars, while singing along to an organ, dining on delicacies and drinking wine. A true tale Seth had witnessed and a remembrance that never failed to irk him.

As it was, a smaller, not as lavish private car—with a bed large enough for two, he noted, while touring the accommodations—would suit their purposes. After approving the loading of supplies and the car, he started back for the hotel, but along the way a window display caught his eye.

It was still early and the door securely latched, but he noticed movement beyond the merchandise, and knocked on the glass.

When a woman opened the door, he asked, “That dress in the window, is it for sale?”

“Well, of course—” she pointedly noticed the emblems on his sleeves “—Major.” Stepping aside, gesturing for him to enter, she added, “But it's not a dress, it's a traveling suit.”

“All the better,” he said, moving forward to examine the ensemble. “I'd like to purchase it for my wife.”

“Oh, would she be available to try it on? I could make any alterations needed,” the woman said.

He hadn't thought about size. Stepping closer, he placed his hands around the waistline and the tailor's form beneath it, and then noted the length, compared to his height. “We're leaving on the morning train, and I believe this size will be about perfect.”

“I do have an adjustment string sewn inside the skirt,” the woman explained. She unbuttoned the jacket, to expose a white blouse tucked inside a wide waistband made of contrasting black velvet, with a large diamond shape in front, and she pointed out the drawstring.

He nodded, and fingering the soft velvet of the skirt, said, “This color is almost the shade of my wife's eyes.” Her hair, as well, and the style would highlight her flawless figure.

“They must be beautiful.”

“They are,” he answered. “She is.”

“She's a lucky woman, Major.”

“No. I'm a lucky man.” Turning to the woman, he said, “I'd like to take it with me now, please.” He'd tell Millie everything as soon as the train started to roll. They'd have plenty of time to talk it through. Have things settled before they arrived in Washington.

“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else? A new slip, petticoat or underskirt?”

He grinned, thinking of his return to the hotel. “Yes, all the under things needed to make a complete new outfit.”

Ten minutes later, as the woman piled package upon package in his arms, she said, “I can help you carry this to the hotel, Major.”

“No, I've got it,” he insisted, as she set the last packet on top of the pile and he held it in place with his chin. “But could you get the door for me?”

“Certainly,” the shopkeeper replied.

Mr. Brewster came running to open the hotel door as he spied Seth walking past the front window. The man also opened the door to the room upstairs, and shut it as Seth cautiously tiptoed to the bed.

Careful to keep the crinkling paper from waking her, he set everything down and then moved to other side of the bed, where he eased his weight onto the mattress. A part of him hated to wake her, yet there wasn't much time before they'd have to board the train.

He smoothed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind one ear as she lay on her side, and then he kissed the cheek he'd just uncovered. Her sleepy, sweet moan had him kissing it again.

She rolled then, onto her back, and blinked several times.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Stretching one arm overhead, she answered, “Good morning,” as a wistful smile appeared on her lips.

He captured her wrist, kept the arm up to run his tongue down its length, stopping when encountering the edge of the blanket laid across her breastbone. “We have to leave soon,” he said, though the desire to crawl under the covers beside her had his blood ticking in his veins.

“Oh,” she said, popping open her eyes. She grasped the blanket with the hand he let loose and then scooted to sit up. “You should have—” The crackle of paper had her gaze going to the other side of the bed. “What's all that?”

“That,” he said, touching the end of her nose with a fingertip, “is a present I bought you.”

The tenderness of her sweet sigh floated around his heart. Smiling as she shook her head, she asked, “All that is one present?”

He nodded.

“Why? It's not my birthday or Christmas.”

“When is your birthday?” he asked, sincerely wanting to know, so he could nail it into his memory.

“Janu—J-June.” Her cheeks were flushed as she shook her head. “You make me fuddle-headed,” she said. “When's yours?”

“August 18,” he said. “When is yours? January or June?”

“June 12.” She glanced his way briefly, before turning back to the packages, but he'd caught the unease in her eyes.

He took her chin, pulled her face toward his and he leaned down to kiss her, until they were both unable to think of anything else. Which didn't work, because he
was
thinking—about things they didn't have time for right now.

Reaching across the blanket, he grabbed a package, having no idea what it held. “Here, start opening.”

She glanced at the parcel, ran a hand over the paper gently.

“Sweetheart.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. “If you don't start opening, we're going to be late. I have some pull, but I can't hold a train for you.”

The first package—containing a white undergarment of some kind—was opened slowly, but by the time she got to the fourth, or maybe it was the fifth, paper was flying. He really had to learn the names of all these ladies' undergarments. They seemed to delight her to no end. as did the dress, or traveling suit, as he was again informed.

After a quick dash down the hall in the dress Mrs. Brewster had loaned her last night, Millie was back in the room, and as he helped her into each garment, Seth was told its names. Not one of which he remembered. As soon as she was dressed, he longed to undress her again, layer by layer. He couldn't wait to get to the privacy of their railway car. She was beautiful. Stunning.

“Perfect,” he said, watching as she twirled before him, flaring the luminous brown skirt. “A perfect fit.”

Keeping her eyes locked with his, she sashayed toward him. “How did you know my size?”

“By doing this,” he said, spanning her waist with both hands. “You fit perfectly into my hands.”

A whimsical smile, coupled with the way she slowly blinked those long lashes, had him tightening his hold, pulling her closer.

“You,” she said quietly as their faces grew nearer, “fit perfectly into my heart.”

Air snagged in his throat, like that of a man falling out of a tree, catching on each branch, and that made their kiss begin as a mere mingling of breath. It grew into several small kisses, openmouthed so he could catch one of her lips for a second, and then it turned into a passionate exploration that had him wondering how late they could be before the train left without them.

It was the fact they had to talk—today—that made him finally pull the door open.

Chapter Thirteen

P
erhaps because an inner part of her was tight with tension that had the rest of her wanting to delay their arrival—forever—time decided to speed past, as if to prove a point, or break her heart, or both.

The sky was starless, a never ending black void that could have overwhelmed her, feeling the way she did. Then again, in order for the sky to overwhelm her, nothing else could be, and something certainly was. Millie pressed her head against the window of the train, which had blown its whistle moments before to signal they were on the outskirts of Washington. Her thoughts were so jumbled nothing made sense.

She folded her hands across her stomach, hugging herself against the dull pain that now throbbed in every part of her being. Even hurting as she was, the soft velvet beneath her fingers made her smile. The traveling suit Seth had bought for her was the most beautiful outfit she'd ever owned. Ever seen. Made of thick velvet, it kept her warm as the climate outside the train dropped lower, and the gorgeous shade of brown—a color she'd never have imagined using for a gown—was perfect for traveling. It seemed to repel even the coal dust that somehow found its way inside the private sleeping car.

They'd left it for meals, gone to the dining car, and a couple of times she'd joined Seth in short visits with the men. Usually, though, she stayed behind. Stepping between cars frightened her, even with him at her side. He was never gone long, yet she missed him terribly every moment.

The whistle sounded again, reverberating up her spine and over her skin until her insides were quaking. The dream had continued, and Seth, dear sweet Seth, was constant in his attempts to calm her, chase away her fears. He kept trying to draw her into conversation, tell him what was wrong, but it wouldn't come out. Instead she did the only thing she could: beg him to love her. And though he did—he loved her thoroughly—the worry she now saw in his eyes increased her cowardice. Not only was she unable to tell him the truth, she was terrified of sleeping. Had barely closed her eyes for days, yet had pretended to be asleep whenever he wanted to talk.

A clang followed by a jolt had her reaching for something to grasp. If only she'd stayed behind! At the fort she might have been able to build up the gumption to tell him the truth upon his return.

The starch left her knees and she sank into a red folding chair. She wouldn't have found the courage there, either. Someone this spineless didn't have the ability to all of a sudden become brave. If so, she'd have done so years ago. Told Rosemary to handle her own problems. Stood up for herself, as Lola and Martin, and even at times, her father, had told her to do.

Now she was in so deep, nothing could save her.

With a screech she'd come to know, the door opened and Seth walked in. Her heart knocked, as if excitedly announcing “he's back!” and the butterflies his smile always awoke started batting their wings against the walls of her stomach.

Returning his grin, she realized that though she was a coward, she was also glad there had been one time in her life she'd been brave. Back at the fort, when she'd told him she loved him for the first time. For she did, and the past weeks had been the most wonderful time of her life. Seth loved her in return. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, and what cut her to the quick was understanding the severe pain of being betrayed by someone you love.

He was standing in front of her, holding out his hands. She laid hers in them and stood, willingly met his lips for an elevating little kiss.

“I'm hoping you'll sleep better at the hotel,” he said, caressing her cheek with the pads of his fingers. “I don't like seeing you so tired.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” he said.

Millie pressed two fingers to his lips, sensing he was about to say more. As far as hardships, this trip had been a simple undertaking compared to the journey west, where she'd slept sitting up on one of the hard seats in the passenger car, and had had layovers of up to eight hours at different stations, not to mention the wagon ride, which had been something else entirely.

“No,” she said, “you have no fault in any of this.” Realizing how much she'd just said, she pressed her lips to his, afraid he might understand more than she wanted him to, and right now, that might be enough to make her keel over.

* * *

A week later, Millie did keel over, right there at the counter in the little bookstore where she was filling the last items on Ilene Ketchum's list.

When she opened her eyes, lying on some little sofa, the man crouched next to her shoulder made her wish she could faint again. Though she loved him for who he was—her oldest and dearest friend—he was the last person she wanted to see: the faceless man in her dream.

“Millie?” he said as she closed her eyes. “Millie, it's me, Martin.”

“I know who you are.”

“And you're so shocked to see me you fainted?”

She opened her eyes again, glanced around long enough to realize they must be in the living quarters attached to the bookstore. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Texas.”

“That's a mighty fine welcome.”

Flipping her legs over the edge of the sofa, she pulled herself up, taking a deep breath and wishing she was dreaming. But she wasn't. “Hello, Martin.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “In Washington.”

Pressing a hand to the pain in her forehead, she said, “I asked you first.”

He took her face between his hands. His hold wasn't hard or distressing, just so different from Seth's, so different from how he made her feel, that she wanted to cry.

“What kind of mission does Rosemary have you on now?” Martin asked in a firm and somewhat disgusted tone. “You look terrible. I've never seen you with bags under your eyes.”

It was another voice that turned her spine to ice. The one filtering through the curtain hanging behind Martin. “Hide,” she insisted, pushing at her friend. “Hide now!”

“Millie—”

“Now!” She leaped to her feet so fast her head spun. Fighting the dizziness, she hurried to the curtain, arriving as it parted. Seeing his face, she felt her heart exploding with a mixture of grief and joy. “Seth.”

He grabbed her, held her close. “I was told you fainted.”

“I thought you were in a meeting,” she said, her heart pounding so hard she couldn't think.

“I was.” He leaned back to examine her with scrutinizing eyes. “But we're meeting for lunch, just half a block from here. We decided that this morning. Don't you remember?”

It had been all she'd thought of until a few minutes ago. They'd barely seen each other the past few days, with the way he'd been in meetings from morning to night, and when they were together, neither wasted time talking. “Yes, yes, I do.” She tried to push him backward, away from the curtain.

He studied her thoroughly before his gaze lifted. “You there, are you the man who assisted my wife?”

At the sound of Martin's voice saying, “Yes, sir,” Millie's world went black again.

Seth's heart—still inhabiting his throat from when he'd seen commotion outside the bookstore, passersby stopping to gawk through the open doorway—threatened to strangle him as he lifted her into his arms. Her body was limp, and reminded him too much of the remains of fallen soldiers he'd carried off battlefields.

“Sergeant,” he yelled, noting the stripes on the sleeves of the man standing on the other side of the curtain. “Get me a carriage and a doctor. Room 218 at the Wormley Hotel.”

Shifting her weight, so her head rested against his shoulder and her arms no longer hung at her sides, Seth had one thing to compare to the fear and pain charging through him. His throat was on fire and he knew why, even as a hundred scenarios, a thousand why-didn't-I's, and a million if-onlys plagued his mind while he carried her out of the bookstore and into the buggy rolling to a stop. All his proclamations of not wanting to marry because he hadn't wanted to leave anyone behind when he perished were a lie. The truth was
this
was what he didn't want. To again lose someone he loved. Not knowing how to deal with his father's death, how to grieve, Seth had hidden all the pain, focused on others'. His mother's pain. The needs of his family. Eventually, he'd convinced himself that was what he didn't want again.

And that was also why he hadn't told this woman the truth. That he knew she was Millie. He was afraid she'd leave him. He'd wronged her in so many ways, she was sure never to believe him again, or trust him. He wouldn't ride with men he didn't trust, and he couldn't expect her to, either.

Whether it was Millie's body shifting as she regained consciousness or her tiny moan that sent his heart leaping, Seth didn't know or care. He tightened his hold, cradling her on his lap, and kissed her forehead several times before whispering, “Shh, darling, just rest. Just rest.”

He was lowering her onto their bed, kissing her closed eyelids, when the doctor entered the hotel room and told him to leave so he could examine her.

Seth refused.

After an exam, in which she responded to all the medical questions, often with sorrow-filled eyes, the doctor pulled Seth to the door. “I can't find anything wrong, Major, other than exhaustion.”

Unable to drag his eyes off her, Seth watched as she rolled over, faced the wall and curled into a ball upon the bed.

“Did the two of you have an argument?” the physician asked.

“No,” Seth answered, his stomach curdling.

“Something's troubling her.” The man opened the door. “Find out what that is, let her get some rest, and she'll be fine.”

Seth closed the door after the doctor left. There'd been a hundred times he could have talked to her on the train, told her everything, yet when it came to her, he was as spineless as a dandelion. It had taken little more than one of her soft kisses and he'd given in, told himself they could talk later. And now worry had her physically ill.

At a loss, for he truly had no idea what to do, he crossed the room to lie down on the bed beside her. She started crying when he slid an arm under her, and his feeling of incompetency increased. Rolling her over, he pulled her close. “Shh. It's all right. You're all right.”

Shaking her head, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, she whimpered, “I'm sorry, so sorry.”

“Shh,” he repeated.

She lay still for several moments, and then quietly said, “I left Mrs. Ketchum's books at the bookstore.”

A smile tugged at his lips, and he kissed the top of her head. “No, the owner said she'd have them sent to the hotel.” He recalled the woman's words as he'd left the shop with his wife cradled in his arms. An amazing feat, for his mind hadn't been his own right then. “You've spent the entire last week searching for things on that list.”

Sniffling, she nodded.

“Well, no more. Today you're not allowed to leave this room. I want you to rest.” Holding her as close as possible, he repeated, “Just rest.”

She'd relaxed, was no longer trembling, and the hand that had been resting on his chest was now beneath his collar, rubbing the side of his neck in a way that always released the tension that settled there.

“I need to tell you something,” she said softly.

His spine could have snapped, it stiffened so hard and fast. “I have to tell you something, too,” he said. “But not now. You're exhausted and I...” A lump plugged his throat.

“Need to go back to your meeting.”

“Yes.” He hated to admit it. “I do.” Silently, he cursed. The meetings were not going well. Per-Cum-Ske was getting more agitated every day. As was Seth, listening to the accusations the men in Washington, who rarely left their offices and had no idea what really took place out on the plains, seemed to conjure up out of nowhere. His temper had almost got the best of him more than once, and in reality, it was knowing Millie waited for him back at the hotel every evening that had Seth holding it in. He wasn't about to spend a night in a holding cell, being penalized for actions that might happen if he let his frustration loose, when he could be with her. Which could also happen if he didn't head back to the meeting hall soon.

Perhaps he should just let it all go. Walk away. Let someone else be in charge of Fort Sill and all the troubles that came along with it. But that wouldn't solve this problem. The one he'd created all on his own. They did need to talk, but she was overwrought right now.

“You're going to be late,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he answered, his shoulders heavy.

“Then you'd better go.”

That, too, tore at him. How she understood his duties, and didn't begrudge them or him for completing them. She was the perfect army wife. He gave her a long hug before pulling away, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Twisting to rub a hand along her arm, he asked, “You'll stay right here? Take a nap, get some rest?”

She scooted around to sit beside him. “Yes.”

He nodded toward the bedside table. “The doctor left some medicine. Said it will help you sleep.”

“I know.”

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

Her smile was about the saddest one he'd ever seen.

Cupping her cheek, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you.” The first time he'd said those words they'd just tumbled out, but now when he said them, emotions filled the statement, and him.

Tears glistened in her eyes and she pinched her lips together as she nodded again.

“I'll be back,” he said, too choked up to say more.

Millie watched him leave through a blinding haze of tears. She couldn't find the strength to say goodbye, or raise a hand. Instead, she sat there, as lifeless as the pillow behind her. She should have told him.

It could have been hours or minutes, she had no way of knowing, but she was still sitting there, not really thinking, not really seeing, when the door opened again. Too raw, too spent to react, she simply asked, “What are you doing here?”