Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (18 page)

Clark flinched, but held his gaze. “I told her I'd take her away. Desert the army. Hide. But she refused.” The man stood then. “She's in your room. Waiting for you.”

Seth didn't move a muscle, just sat there, knowing the man had something else he wanted to say. Seth didn't want to listen to anything more. He didn't like being ambushed. Not by anyone. And Millie, the woman he loved, had ambushed him.

“I know your reputation, sir,” Clark said, “and I hope I'm correct in my belief that you won't harm her.”

Once again Seth remained still, quiet.

“I'd appreciate it if you'd let her know I'll be in the lobby if she needs me.”

That was more than he could take. Snapped the last thread of his patience. “She won't need you tonight, Sergeant.”

The man left, and Seth remained sitting in the corner of the dining room until the rest of the hotel was sound asleep, and the black man who operated the Wormley Hotel finally approached the table, asking about his accommodations.

Seth assured him the
accommodations
were fine, it was the rest of the world that wasn't. He could have sat there for a year and still not known what to do about any of it. The emotions filling him as he climbed the stairs were unfamiliar and unidentifiable. Some at least. Others he knew. Anger. Rage. Resentment. Humiliation. Dishonor. Shame.

Separating them was impossible; all he knew was he'd been duped again.

Martin Clark hadn't given him any answers, but Seth now knew more than he wanted to. The man did love Millie. He'd not only said it, it had shone in his eyes as he spoke of her, and by that Seth knew Clark would still marry her, even knowing she'd pretended to be another man's wife. Seth's. Tempted him with that body, whispering words of love. She'd played him well, and in all actuality, she was more dangerous than her sister.

Seth waved the sentry away from the door before he entered, pulling in a deep breath in order to gain the ability to even turn the knob.

She rose as he entered, from the chair near the table on the far side of the room. Her chestnut hair had been recently brushed. It glistened in the glow of the lamp and splayed over her shoulders, except for a few strands that had caught on the three big buttons on her housecoat when she stood up. His throat swelled and he begged for the ability to keep all the anger from seeping away. He'd need it tonight, tomorrow, the next day, the day after....

It had been years, but the sting and pain was as strong as he remembered—that gut wrenching rip at losing someone you loved. No, it wasn't the same. It was worse this time, because she was still alive. Standing right before him.

Seth took off his hat, mainly to give himself something to do, and kept his back to her well after he'd laid the headwear on the chair by the door. She'd set it there, so he'd have a place for his hat and coat, just like at home. That's what she'd said, anyway, when he'd come in after a meeting the first night they'd been here.

“Seth?”

Quivers shot down his spine. “Say what you have to say,” he said, fidgeting with his coat buttons, already knowing he wouldn't be taking it off. Not in this room.

She was crying. He hadn't turned, couldn't see the tears, but heard them, felt them. He closed his eyes. Waited.

“I'm not Rosemary,” she said, sounding stronger than he felt. “I'm her sister, Millie.”

For an unknown reason, he noted how she said that. Tagging herself as Rosemary's sister before saying her name, almost as if the sister part was more important. It wasn't, and it shouldn't goad him the way it did.

“I know,” he finally said.

“You know?”

He turned, which was a mistake. She wasn't sobbing, but the tears glistening on her long lashes hurt worse than if she had been. He couldn't focus on that. Wouldn't. “Did you really think you had me fooled? I told you when you first arrived at the fort that I knew you were Millie.”

Her chin quivered as she nodded. “Yes, you did.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you everything. Explain...”

She was struggling against her tears, and his hands were balling into fists, wanting to comfort her.

“I never meant to hurt you. I'm so sorry, so very sorry.” Her sigh sounded laborious. “I know Rosemary is, too. She was lonely and she's always needed more attention than others. I was just supposed to...” Millie shook her head and sniffled. “Papa's money is all gone and—”

“That's what this is all about?” His blood turned cold. “Money?” He should have known. Rosemary was the one who'd brought it up in the “marriage negotiations” all those years ago.

“No.”

Her eyes were begging him to listen, and damn if he didn't want to.

“No,” Millie repeated, pointing toward the table, where several papers lay. “I scratched out the part about the money. I'll find another way to get it.” She took a step forward. “You have to understand, our mother—”

“Your mother?” He took a step back, not able to be any closer. “This has nothing to do with your mother. She's been dead for years.”

“Yes, she has been, and Rosemary's baby...”

His hearing failed as the pieces slammed together in his head. Even McPhalen made sense now. “Rosemary's baby,” Seth growled. His insides grew uglier by the moment. He'd nursed a futile hope that Millie hadn't been involved in whatever games Rosemary had been playing. That she'd been an innocent bystander. In reality, he'd been duped by not one, but two sisters. One cuckolding him and the other seducing him so he'd never learn about it. “Has already arrived, Millie,” he finished, with all the bitterness inside him. “She gave birth to Senator McPhalen's baby well over a week ago.”

Millie's face turned ghostly and she wobbled, and he cursed his feet. Told them he'd cut them off if they took a step toward her.

Millie stared at him blankly for several long moments with a hand pressed to her chest, as if it hurt to breathe. “But his wife, Nadine, is Rosemary's best friend.”

“And you're her sister,” he said.

Chapter Fourteen

S
pinning, before he lost his courage, Seth picked up his hat. He'd never walked away from a battle before, never even shied away from marching head-on into whatever came his way, but this time he didn't have the fight in him. Retreat was all he could manage.

Seth was still running the next morning, from himself, anyway.

After he'd seen to errands, which included telling the council members they could court-martial him for desertion, he truly didn't care—in the end they chose to cancel meetings for the day—he made his way back to the hotel, set on completing the plan he'd put in place.

One look at her, wearing the dress he'd bought her, almost made him change his mind. But that couldn't happen.

Rising from her chair, she smoothed the material over her stomach. “Sergeant Moore said you asked me to be ready by ten.”

The habit of kissing her every time they met had him clenching his hands into fists. Not trusting his voice, he gestured toward the door, and didn't offer his arm. Couldn't. Her touch would open a vulnerable spot in him, one he couldn't afford to have exposed right now. He'd never known how empty a bed could be until he'd lain in the one across the hall, and the longing it had left in him had him wanting to ask her why. That would be useless. Talking at all would be useless. Besides, he knew. Knew everything now.

Her somber silence helped. Gave him time to let his anger renew itself. In reality what waited at their destination did all that. He led her to the train station and noted her surprise when he boarded beside her and settled in for the ride.

Later, when the train whistle blew, announcing they'd arrived in Richmond, Seth held strong. An army major was used to being ruthless and unsympathetic. Meeting her gaze with one as cold as he felt, he said, “Welcome home, Millie.”

One attempt was all she made, asked if she could explain things again. Seth told her there was nothing she could say that he wanted to hear.

Her stiff stance and cold silence when he knocked on the door of her father's house had him keeping his hand balled into a fist, and he forced his mind to remain set on facing her sister. Rosemary. His wife. The thought was enough to make his anger simmer.

The woman who pulled the door open had him wondering how he'd ever, for even a moment, confused the two sisters. Rosemary was just as he remembered. There was a touch of beauty there, but it was hidden beneath an aura of self-importance so sinister and thick it couldn't be cut with a sword. She frowned, pulling dark brows over her frigid eyes as she glanced from him to Millie.

“It's about time you got home,” she snapped, before turning to him with eyelashes batting and a slight curtsy. “Thank you, sir, for seeing my sister home.”

Millie let out a groan like he'd never heard as she stepped across the threshold. “You must have forgotten what he looks like, Rosemary,” she said. “This is your husband, Major Seth Parker.”

“My hus—” The glare Rosemary cast Millie hadn't completely left her face when she turned back to him, but she soon concealed it. “Of course I remember. Seth, do come in. I'm assuming you discovered how Millie ran off. Pretending to be me.” She pulled her hand from where she'd flattened it near her throat and fluttered it toward her sister. “Millie, get us a drink. Some bourbon perhaps?” she asked him with an expectant gaze.

“Get it yourself,” Millie answered, walking toward a black woman who'd appeared on the far side of the entranceway.

“Why, you little...” Rosemary seethed, spinning around as if to chase her sister.

Seth grabbed her arm. He had nothing to say to her, yet had to speak in order to complete the mission. “I have papers for you to sign.”

Chin up, nose in the air, Rosemary said, “Oh, yes, our divorce. I've been reconsidering that.”

She looked nothing like her sister. Not even their voices sounded alike. “I haven't.” Still holding her arm with one hand, he used the other to reach beneath his jacket and pull the envelope out of his shirt pocket. “Matter of fact, I had a new set of papers drawn up this morning.”

Batting her lashes again, as if that was supposed to make her look more attractive, which it didn't, she let out a long sigh. “Do come in, Seth,” she said. “So we can talk.”

“No.” He pulled her onto the porch. “There's a table right here you can use to pen your name.”

“I'm not sign—”

“Yes, you are,” he said. “Or I'll take you to court. Pull in every man you've been with since you were thirteen.”

“Thirteen!”

“Yes, behind the carriage house. I believe his name—”

“Shut up,” she seethed. “How dare you...”

“Oh, I dare,” he insisted.

“I'll have you know I have money. I could take you to court and—”

“And what? Explain you had another man's baby while married to me?”

Her features contorted. “Why, that little snit. How dare she tell you my private business.”

“Who? Millie? She didn't tell me.” Gritting his teeth, Seth added, “She didn't tell me anything.” He pulled the papers out of the envelope and flattened them on the table next to a rocking chair.

“Oh, you just magically know everything about my life?”

“You're a general's daughter. The army knows everything about you,” he said, not wanting to implicate Martin Clark, for a reason Seth had yet to discern. Maybe because the man had told him everything he wanted to know about Rosemary when he'd found him sitting in the foyer of the hotel last night—though Clark had refused to utter a word about Millie.

Pulling out a pen, Seth handed it to Rosemary. “Sign.”

She glared at him, lips pouted and arms folded across her chest. “No.”

The disgust, ire and revulsion he'd acquired upon their first meeting was just as strong now, making him wonder how he'd ever buried them. “Trust me, Rosemary,” he growled. “You don't want to spar with me on this.” Leaning close so she could feel the loathing he felt, he glowered directly into her eyes. “If you do, I won't stop until you're ruined from here to England. I have the means, and the ways, and would be more than happy to see you groveling.” For added assurance, he said, “I'm sure Senator McPhalen, or his wife, won't take kindly to being dragged through the mud beside you.”

Huffing, with steam practically coming out her nose, she glared at him as if she could win the standoff. In the end, she grabbed the pen from his hand. “Fine.”

Just as she was about to touch the pen to the paper, he clutched her wrist and nodded toward the open doorway. “What's the Negro woman's name?”

“Lola Burnett, why? She's just the maid.”

“Miss Burnett,” he called into the house. “Could you step out here, please?” The woman appeared seconds later, and he nodded a greeting. “I need someone to witness Rosemary signing this document. Would you mind?”

“No...yes, sir. I'll watch.”

He let loose Rosemary's hand, and after she'd scrawled her name, he took the pen and handed it to the maid. “Could you sign it, as well, please?”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the paper was back in the envelope, and the maid had returned inside, Seth smiled, feeling an ounce of victory. “By the way, Rosemary, those weren't divorce papers.”

A spark glistened in her eye, one that galled him to no end. “They weren't?”

“No, they were annulment papers. You and I were never married.” He turned then, walked down the steps, while her growling scream echoed in the air and the slam of the door ricocheted against the porch roof.

From the upstairs window, Millie watched Seth climb into the buggy that had brought them from the rail station. Numb beyond feeling, she remained standing at the window until the road was empty and there was nothing left to prove he'd ever been there. Nothing to prove he'd ever been a part of her life.

It was over. Something she'd wished for not so long ago. Well, now she had it. None of it came as a surprise. Her dream had forewarned her, yet the ache, the pain, felt as if something treasured had just been unexpectedly stolen from her.

In some ways, it had been.

The one thing that didn't surprise her was that he'd known she wasn't Rosemary. She'd tried to analyze that, both last night and this morning, but her pain was too strong for rational thought. Somewhere deep inside she just knew. Had always known.

Eventually she moved across the room, climbed onto the bed and, exhausted inside and out, simply lay there. Not thinking. Not seeing. Not living.

Lola came in sometime later, with tea. Millie sat up, took the cup handed to her. Feeling returned to her body, like stinging needles, and she set the cup down. “Where's the baby?”

Lola patted her knee gently. “With his father. He's just fine, so don't worry about that.”

Senator McPhalen. That had shocked her. It shouldn't have. Rosemary never cared who she hurt. “A boy,” Millie said, with longing tugging at her heart.

“Yes. Good size and healthy.”

“He came earlier than I expected.”

“Does that surprise you?” Lola asked, her brown eyes full of sympathy.

“No,” Millie had to admit.

The housekeeper sighed heavily. “She wants to see you downstairs.”

“What for?”

“I could guess, but I won't.” Lola patted Millie's knee again. “I'll tell her you're tired.”

“No,” she said, standing up. “What good will that do?”

“I'm glad you're home, Millie,” the woman said sadly. “I'm happy to see you, but I wish you'd never come back.”

“Where else was I supposed to go?”

“Martin—”

Millie shook her head. “Is a good friend, but...” Memories were trying to come forward, and she couldn't deal with them just yet. “I'm going to go see what Rosemary wants.”

Lola snatched up the tray, rattling cups in her hurry. “Wait, I'm coming with you.”

They stopped in the kitchen and then made their way through the parlor into what used to be Papa's office. Rosemary claimed it as hers, but Millie still imagined her father sitting there, and would always think of it as his. Her sister was pacing the floor in front of the massive stone fireplace, and other than a flashing glare, she didn't acknowledge that anyone had entered the room.

Several minutes later, after Millie and Lola had sat down on the cream-colored sofa with wooden arms, which Millie remembered being in the parlor, not in here, her sister stopped.

“Lola, leave us.”

Millie laid a hand on the woman's knee. “No, Lola is staying,” she said. “What did you want?”

“I said—” Rosemary started.

“What did you want, Rosemary?” Millie interrupted. It was as if a fist gripped her spine, filled her very bones with ire, reinforcing the fact that she was done playing her sister's games.

“Fine, she can be the witness,” Rosemary said, flipping her nose in the air. “I have some papers I need you to sign, and Mr. Wells said someone had to prove it was you that signed them.”

“Why? Because you already tried to forge my name?” Millie asked, and answered her own question.

Rosemary didn't reply, just handed over a stack of papers. “You have to initial by each paragraph, to prove you read them.”

Too fuddle-headed, still thinking of all she'd lost, Millie didn't understand what she was reading until the third or fourth paragraph, at which point she started over. Needles were stabbing her again, especially when she read the last page. Disgusted, she looked up at her sister. “I'm not signing this.”

“And why not?”

“Because it says here that Papa didn't leave everything to you. Money was split fifty-fifty and the house, this house, is in my name. I'm not giving all that to you.”

“Yes, you are,” Rosemary insisted. “I shared my half with you. Now you need to share your half with me.”

“When?”

“All the money and things you needed to travel to Indian Territory.” Pulling her face into a nasty scowl, Rosemary added, “And then you stab me in the back by telling Seth everything.”

“I didn't tell him anything,” Millie answered. Nothing he hadn't known, anyway, and thinking of him had her spine stiffening. Living with him the past weeks had left many lasting impressions on her, and the one she recalled right now was how he dealt with people. His self-assuredness and inner power. “The amount of money I took is a mere pittance compared with what this says.”

“I've kept you fed and clothed since Father died,” Rosemary said.

“No, you haven't,” Millie said, completely sickened that she'd let all this escape her before. “It states a third account was created for household needs. If you've spent all your money, that's your problem, not mine.”

“You either sign those papers or—”

“Or what?” Millie stood, gestured toward Lola. “I think I need some more tea. Would you care to join me?”

Looking somewhat startled, the housekeeper stood, and then after a long hard stare, she started to smile. “Tea?” She nodded, smiling more broadly.

They were almost to the door when Rosemary shouted, “If you don't sign those papers I'll kill myself.”

The statement stabbed Millie between the shoulder blades. Spinning to look at her sister—a long examination of just who Rosemary St. Clair was—Millie was saddened by what she saw. “Well, clean up any mess you make. Lola and I will be having tea.”

Lola made a choking noise as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Whereas Rosemary started screaming, “I'll do it. I'll do it. I'm not kidding.”

Millie stepped closer, challenged her sister with a stare she'd seen Seth use, and was amazed at how strong it made her. “No, you won't. You don't have the courage. You've never had the courage to face anything you've done. You've just used a tragic act—what our mother did—to get what you want.”