Lamplight reflected on his thick black hair and again the insane impulse to run her fingers through the silky strands overwhelmed her. Her voice stuck in her throat, she simply nodded.
“Please thank your mother for a lovely supper. I’ve not had such fine cooking in a very long time.”
Shaelyn swallowed hard. “I’ll tell her.”
“There is one more thing.” He withdrew a folded paper from his pocket. For a moment, she thought he might have changed his mind about letting them stay. Her heart began to pound in her chest, and she twisted her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.
“This is a list of instructions I expect to be followed for as long as we are here,” he said, his voice lowering, sending chills up her spine. He unfolded the paper and handed it to her. Their fingers touched. Shaelyn sucked in her breath as a heat rushed up her arm and the vision she’d had earlier returned, clearer and more vivid.
“Good night, Shae.” As before, when he spoke her name, liquid honey pooled in the pit of her stomach. She willed the feeling away, but it remained even after he left the room, and she reminded herself that she hated his intrusion into her home.
Chapter 4
A sharp knock on the door woke Shaelyn with a start. Her eyes flew open. With a groan borne of a lack of sleep, she rolled from the narrow bed in the servants’ quarters.
Though she’d been exhausted, her rest had been fitful at best. She’d spent most of the night listening to the clock on the bedside table tick away the hours, her mind filled with thoughts of mere survival in a house full of strangers—strangers she now labored for. Even though keeping house for the officers had been her suggestion, it did not sit well with her.
She lit the candle on the bedside table with trembling fingers. The fury of yesterday had not lessened with the dawn of a new day. Her heart pulsed with anger and revenge—and something else she couldn’t define. The vivid images she saw in her head each time Major Harte touched her haunted her dreams when she did sleep, leaving her confused and mystified.
The war wouldn’t last forever. Major Harte would someday leave Magnolia House. She’d have her life back, with her home and her business intact because of the sacrifices she and her mother made. In the meantime, Major Harte would come to regret his decision to confiscate her home and her riverboats.
Her gaze found the list the major had given her last night after supper. Bold yet neat handwriting filled the page, his instructions explicit. He expected breakfast promptly at seven, a small repast at one, and supper at six thirty. Prior to breakfast, he required a cup of coffee, black. Per his instructions, the coffee should be brought to him at six.
In addition, she would prepare his bath, sharpen his razor, and mix his shaving soap into a rich lather.
He wanted his uniform neatly pressed and his boots shined to a high gloss. The bed sheets were to be changed, dirty laundry would be gathered, washed, dried, ironed, and put away before the end of the day, and the room he occupied—her room—would be cleaned. She would do the same for the other officers, except for the personal attention he required.
Shaelyn grit her teeth as she read over the list once more. In truth, she had asked for this, made this bargain that would allow her and her mother to stay, but she didn’t have to like it.
In the few hours he’d been at Magnolia House, Shaelyn saw Remington Harte, like his list, to be a highly regimented man, rigid not only in his posture, but in his command as well. His men followed his orders to the letter and without the slightest hesitation. Even Jock MacPhee deferred to his wishes, and that particular Scotsman didn’t take orders lightly.
In Major Harte’s world, his word was law. No one dared to contradict or question him, and yet he tempered his orders with kindness. Always, he said “please” and “thank you” and treated everyone with the utmost consideration. Even her.
His officers respected him; that much Shaelyn saw for herself. The respect seemed to be mutual, and that was a good sign. It meant he would keep his word as best he was able.
Another sharp rap on the door startled her. “Yes, Mama,” she called out, her voice still groggy. “I’m coming.”
A sudden smile curved her lips. If Major Harte expected complete compliance from her, he’d be woefully disappointed. She was not military. She did not belong to his contingent of men. She did not have to follow his orders.
But she did. If she wanted to stay in her home…
The clock in the hallway chimed five times. Shaelyn shook herself out of her musings, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and dressed quickly in a simple skirt and blouse, though both were a bit frayed and well-worn. She twisted her hair into a loose knot atop her head and left the room to find her mother in the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist.
“Good morning,” Brenna greeted her, her lovely face a beacon of sanity in an otherwise insane situation. “I trust you slept well.”
“No, Mama. I did not sleep well at all.”
Brenna reached out and caressed Shaelyn’s cheek. “Try not to be too angry, dear.”
“Anger doesn’t even begin to touch the surface of what I feel.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Her mother sighed, her eyes conveying her understanding. “Sometimes, we must accept what we cannot change.”
Brenna might have been naive in many ways, but in this she couldn’t have been more right. Shaelyn heard the wisdom in her mother’s words, yet still railed against acceptance. But after yesterday’s tears, she didn’t want to upset Brenna again. Her voice softened. “I may have no choice, but I don’t have to like it.”
“No,” Brenna conceded. “You don’t have to like it. Just try to make the best of it.”
“Yes, Mama.” She met her mother’s direct gaze, but said nothing more.
After a moment, Brenna sighed and turned away to make coffee. Over her shoulder, she said, “Please set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It didn’t take long for her to prepare the dining room and rejoin her mother in the kitchen.
Brenna cracked eggs into a large bowl, added milk, and beat the concoction until it frothed. Slices of ham, left over from last night’s impromptu dinner, were crammed into a skillet on the stove. They began to sizzle in the pan. The aroma of real coffee scented the air.
“What can I do, Mama?”
“Peel some potatoes,” Brenna replied as she added butter, a staple neither one had seen for a long time, to the skillet for the eggs.
Dutifully, Shaelyn peeled and shredded potatoes without saying a word, leaving a pile in a bowl, waiting to be fried.
At five fifty-five exactly, Shaelyn made her way upstairs to the room Remy now occupied, carrying his cup of coffee on a tray. She hoped he’d enjoy the generous dollop of vinegar she’d added to the hot brew behind her mother’s back.
She didn’t knock, just opened the door and walked in, fully expecting him to be lazing about in bed, waiting for his coffee. She stopped, the door wide open, her hand still on the knob, and sucked in her breath. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped the tray.
Sweet merciful heaven! She’d never, ever seen anything quite like Major Harte. He stood beside the bed with his back toward her, completely and unabashedly naked. His broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist and firm, rounded behind, his legs were long and tightly muscled. Sinews rippled in his back as he reached for his robe. He didn’t seem concerned with her presence as he slid his arms into the sleeves.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, quickly averting her gaze to stare at the floor.
“Good morning, Shae.” He turned as he tied the sash around his middle. “Perhaps, in the future, you should knock before you enter a gentleman’s room.” He grabbed his cane and came forward to meet her. His robe flared open and she caught another glimpse of his muscular legs before her eyes were drawn to the long, jagged scar on his thigh. The wound did not look good at all. It was red and swollen; no wonder he limped. She could almost
feel his pain.
She said nothing as she raised her gaze to his face. Yesterday, when she’d first met him, she’d been struck by his handsome visage. This morning, with his dark hair sleep tousled and his face scruffy with whiskers, he was even more so.
The warmth of his gaze touched her in ways she didn’t comprehend. Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest and a queer quiver settled in her stomach as he advanced on her. She took a hesitant step back then stopped and drew in a deep breath. Silently, she handed him the coffee. Her hand trembled and she quickly hid it behind her back after he took the cup.
“Thank you.”
Anticipation and a touch of fear coursed through her as he raised the cup to his lips and swallowed. His eyes widened in surprise. His throat moved convulsively as his mouth pursed and an eyebrow rose in question, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all, and yet he didn’t seem angry. Not one bit.
He might not show anger, but that might not mean he wasn’t angry. Wishing she hadn’t doctored his coffee with vinegar, Shaelyn took another step back, placed the tray on the bureau, and fled the room without saying a word.
She stood in the hall, trying to catch her breath and still the painful pounding of her heart. Once she calmed herself, she rushed to the bathroom to start his bath and mix his shaving soap. How far could she push him before he retaliated? How much would he take before he said “no more”?
Her stomach clenched. Had she already gone too far? He didn’t seem angry, yet she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know him well, didn’t know what kind of man he was beneath the veneer of civility she’d seen so far, but if it would help to make him leave Magnolia House, she’d do whatever it took.
She mixed his shaving soap into thick, rich foam then started the bath water, running her hand beneath the spigot to test for temperature. Despite her fear of retaliation, the water splashing from the spigot remained cold.
That’ll teach him to invade my home!
“In medieval times, it was customary for the women of the house to help a guest bathe.” He stood behind her. She hadn’t heard him enter the room over the sound of the rushing water. “They considered it an honor.” Humor tinged his voice.
Shaelyn straightened and whirled to face him. His smile could have charmed the drawers from an old woman, much less what it did to this young woman. Her palms grew damp. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take her eyes off the crooked grin on his face. “You are not a guest,” she managed, although her mouth had gone dry.
“Be that as it may, the offer still stands.” He untied the sash holding his robe closed.
Shaelyn heard his laughter as she fled the room. Her face burned even hotter.
Off balance. Confused. Not in control of herself. Angry. The variable mix of emotions frightened her. She’d never felt this way before, which made her angrier and more befuddled. From the moment he’d walked through her door, the world she knew ceased to exist. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then entered her old room.
Well, he’s certainly made himself at home. His brush and comb were neatly aligned on the bureau alongside a bottle of cologne, a small knife, a pocket watch, and a gold coin. Shaelyn picked up the bottle and smelled the cap. A fresh, clean scent with a hint of citrus assailed her nose. The memory of pressing her face into his chest when they first met flitted through her mind. She put the bottle down then turned toward the bed. A book lay on the bedside table, a red ribbon marking his place. She glanced at the title and tried not to smile as she recognized one of her father’s favorites, The Last of the Mohicans.
The bedclothes were half on the bed, half dragging on the floor—as if he hadn’t been able to find a comfortable position and instead tossed and turned all night, as she had done—but the pillow retained the indentation of his head. She smoothed the pillowcase and the scent she now identified as his rose to her nose.
“Nice,” she murmured and pulled the sheets from the bed, tossing them in a pile on the floor.
His uniform jacket hung on the doorknob of the armoire. She smoothed the collar, releasing the smell of sun-warmed citrus and soap, then retrieved the pile of dirty laundry from a chair. A pair of soft woolen undergarments fell from her hand and she picked them up. Not the typical drawers that went down to mid-calf like most men wore, these, she assumed, had been specially made for Major Harte. Made of the finest wool, they stopped at the thigh, allowing the rest of his legs to be uncovered beneath his trousers. She wondered if he’d had them made to accommodate the ugly scar on his thigh.
An idea popped into her head and made her chuckle before she dropped the pile of dirty laundry in the hallway and grabbed clean sheets from the linen closet. She could hear him humming in the bathroom amid the sound of splashing water as he shaved. He wouldn’t be humming for long. She finished making the bed and made a hasty exit before he stepped into his cold bath.
• • •
Remy watched Shaelyn come through the swinging door for the fourth time. Using a dishtowel to protect her hands from the oven-hot plate, she carried a platter heaped with johnnycakes and started making her way around the table. She had already dished out eggs, ham, and fried potatoes on her previous trips before placing the leftover food in chafing dishes on the sideboard.
Remy rose from his seat. “I’d like it if you and your mother would join us for breakfast.”
She stopped and looked at him, the hot plate in her hands coming perilously close to Captain Ames’s head. “I’d rather not.”
He tilted his head slightly. “That was not a request. It was an order.” He took the platter as well as the dishtowel from her hands, setting it on the sideboard with the other food, then grasped her elbow and guided her to the table, where he pulled out the chair next to his. “Please.”
Shaelyn sat. Remy pushed in her chair. He recognized the defiance in her eyes as she stared at him, and he hid the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth.
He felt her gaze as he limped over to the swinging door and pushed it open. “Brenna, would you please join us?”
“Of course, Major. Thank you.” Brenna smiled as she untied her apron and tossed it over a chair back. She entered the dining room and went directly to the sideboard where she helped herself to breakfast then took the seat opposite Shaelyn, next to Jock.
“You must be hungry,” Remy commented to Shaelyn as he moved to the sideboard. He spooned scrambled eggs onto her plate and added a slice of ham and a spoonful of potatoes. He placed the dish on the table in front of her then went back to the sideboard and poured coffee. He held out the cup, forcing her to take it from him. With a flourish, he grabbed the napkin from her place setting, snapped it open, and draped it across her lap.
He took his seat next to her, picked up his napkin and placed it on his lap, then folded his hands and watched her. And waited. He could be patient when the moment demanded it and as he gazed into her lovely face, he felt like he had all the time in the world.
“You’re not eating,” he said after a while.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You must eat, if for no other reason than to keep up your strength. You have a lot of work to do.”
The hatred in her eyes almost singed him. He watched her gaze sweep the table. All eyes were focused on them, including Brenna’s. Amusement made the corners of his mouth twitch as her gaze slid back to him. She raised an eyebrow. “Afraid the food is poisoned, Major?”
All motion ceased. Cups stopped halfway to lips. Forks, full of food, hovered in mid-air.
“The thought had crossed my mind.” His lips parted in a generous grin. “Have some coffee.”
Her eyes still filled with defiance, Shaelyn did as she was told and brought the cup to her lips. She took a sip.
“More.”
He touched the bottom of her cup with his index finger, easing it to her lips. Obediently, Shaelyn swallowed, but her gaze remained on him over the rim. She put the cup down.
“Happy?”
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“Not quite.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. His smile widened. “Eat.”
“As you wish.” She picked up her fork, speared a mound of fluffy eggs, and took a bite.
“Swallow.”
Obediently, Shaelyn swallowed.
Remy nodded, glanced at Brenna briefly, then brought his attention back to Shaelyn. “You and your mother will continue to eat all meals with me and my men.” Feeling mischievous, he added for her ears only, “Coffee tastes much better without the vinegar. And I don’t appreciate cold baths, either. Don’t do it again, Shae. I can guarantee you won’t like the consequences.”
Shaelyn’s eyes widened. She almost choked on her eggs. Remy watched in fascination as she blushed becomingly and ate the rest of her meal in silence.
Perhaps I am up to the challenge, Remy mused as he watched a vein pulse in her neck. His gaze drifted to her eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He’d angered her. He could tell because the color of her eyes had changed from vibrant cobalt blue to nearly violet.
Amused, he dug into his meal.
Between bites of scrambled eggs and ham, he addressed his officers. “Today, gentlemen, we’ll inspect the Cavanaugh steamboats. I don’t know when our first shipment of supplies will be here, but I’d like to be prepared. I expect everyone to be ready by eight thirty.”
“I’d like to go with you.” She spoke so quietly, he wasn’t certain he’d heard her. He turned slightly and gave her his full attention. Again, her face colored, the flush rising up from her neck to stain her lovely features. Her beautiful eyes were wide, glowing with…what? Warmth? Determination? Her small pink tongue darted out to lick her lips.
Remy’s inclination was to deny her request outright, but what better way to keep an eye on her? What better way to make sure she didn’t put nettles in his bed? Or do something else to him?
Aware his officers watched him, he nodded slightly. “You may join us, but I will not wait for you. We leave at eight thirty sharp, whether you’re with us or not.”
Shaelyn gave a slight nod then pushed her empty plate away. She rose from the table and started collecting the dirty dishes. He saw her glance at the clock against the wall, perhaps judging her time, and move a little faster.
Mischief and Magnolias Page 5