Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  She heated water and took it to her tent to wash her hair and bathe. The day was already hot, and she wished for

  one of the pretty summer gowns she had at home. Her aunt's dress was worn, if not yet threadbare, and she was sick of wearing it. Having no choice, she pulled it on over clean lingerie and stepped outside the tent to dry her hair in the sun. Before long, Sergeant Danby appeared. They had exchanged a wave a time or two in passing, but Dominique had not spoken with the earnest young man since their arrival in Camden.

  "We'll be moving out in a day or two," he said, as he walked up to her. "Not that you and your sister will miss us much, but, well, I will miss you."

  "Why, Sergeant, what a sweet thing to say. Do you expect another battle soon?" Too late, Dominique realized she ought not to have asked. Lord knew, she and Belle had no way to pass on any vital information that might come their way, but she did not want to be accused of collecting it.

  Danby scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. "We're going up the Wateree River to invade North Carolina, but so many men are down with the fever I doubt we'll be ready to fight any time soon."

  Dominique felt her heart lurch, for if Cornwallis's troops were victorious in North Carolina, they would surely march right on into Virginia. She shook her head and pretended to have more interest in her damp curls than his announcement. "Both my sister and I have appreciated your kindness, Sergeant. We'll pray for your safety."

  Never having dreamed she would include him in her prayers, Thomas Danby's smile spread over his face with the ease of butter on a hot muffin. "Thank you. I sure wouldn't mind getting wounded if I could have you for a nurse."

  Dominique startled the young man with a quick kiss on the cheek. "You just concentrate on staying healthy, Sergeant."

  Thomas began to shuffle backwards, his whole face lit

  with a scarlet blush. "I'll pray for you, too, Miss Scott, and maybe we'll see each other again."

  Dominique smiled and waved, then rushed back into her tent. She had not come to Camden to spy. She and Belle had not even wanted to visit the town, let alone care for British wounded there. Falcon wouldn't be back for three days, but when he did arrive, she would insist Belle relay Sergeant Danby's news. The Colonial militia might already have deduced Cornwallis's plans, and it might be too late to warn them if they were unaware of them, but she could not simply pretend she had not heard what she had.

  Afraid she had left Sean unattended for too long, she coiled her curls atop her head and covered them with her kerchief. She knotted her apron at her waist, and ready for work, reentered the farmhouse. She did not dare tell Belle what she had learned while anyone else could overhear her reaction, but holding in another secret merely added an additional layer to her terror.

  Sean was still asleep, and she sat down to write a letter for one of the young men who had been wounded in the chest. If not showing rapid improvement, he was at least holding his own; she was pleased to be able to help him describe his injuries for his family, but refused to allow him to discount them as minor. He was too weak to argue, but as they discussed how best to reveal the truth, she noticed Sean was awake and watching them. Ignoring his silent summons, she did not rush the dictation but completed it at a leisurely pace, then handed the letter to one of the surgeon's mates to include with those being sent home to England. Only then did she swing by Sean's cot with a cup of willow bark tea.

  Shoving her cot aside, she pulled up a chair and continued in the same bold tone as she had used when she'd left him. "You've lost weight, and I'm afraid food is in such short supply here that I won't be able to find you more

  beef. There's some bean soup simmering on the stove, though. Do you feel hungry again?"

  She kept her attention focused on the cup rather than Sean's face as she gave him the tea, but he wasn't as docile as the other patients. They would swallow whatever she brought them, while he might easily take a perverse delight in spitting everything she served him right back out into her apron. She held her breath until he sipped the drink without protest.

  "I want out of here," he murmured.

  "Nothing would please me more than to see you leave," Dominique assured him, "but you're far too weak to make any travel plans."

  "Yes. I know. That's why you're going to make them for me.

  Dominique sat back and gripped the tin cup with both hands. "I'm sure Dr. Perry would be far more helpful in that regard."

  Sean tried to flex his left arm and winced when the pain tore all the way to his toes. He needed a long moment to catch his breath. "My arm's useless, and I'm no good to anyone like this."

  "You weren't expected to live," Dominique confided softly. "Give your body time to heal. It's much too soon to regard yourself as an invalid. Would you like to send a letter to your family, or perhaps you now have a wife?"

  Sean's gaze darkened slightly, but he responded, if reluctantly. "I've no family, nor a wife, but there is a woman I've missed."

  Willing to take dictation for an entire novel if it would distract him from issuing vile threats, Dominique excused herself to fetch more paper, pen, and ink. When she returned to her chair at his bedside, she crossed her legs and propped a Bible, the only book handy, on her lap. It made a convenient, if unconventional, desk, and she set the small jar of ink on the windowsill.

  Even seated right beside the window, she didn't feel a hint of breeze, but it was her companion, not the heat, which was the main source of her discomfort. The sheet covering Sean had slipped nearly to his waist, but she had seen so many bare chests of late, it didn't strike her as immodest. Dark curls spread over his chest and nipples, but narrowed to a thin line as they reached his flat belly. The folds in the wrinkled sheet hid his navel, but she had seen him nude the night he had been brought to the hospital, and several times since. She had not forgotten a single detail of his well-muscled frame, either.

  Believing the fact that Sean was such a handsome man had gotten her into her current predicament was enough to still her thoughts before they turned erotic, but when she finally met Sean's gaze, his sly smile made her wonder what he had been thinking. His beard grew low on his cheeks, and she no longer found it unattractive despite his lack of humanity.

  "Well, what's her name?" she asked, and dipped her pen into the ink.

  "Just begin with, My darling."

  Dominique nodded, then paused with her pen in midair. "First, I need to say you're dictating the letter as I'm assuming she'll immediately know the handwriting isn't yours."

  Sean frowned slightly. "No. I'm afraid I've been rather lax in my correspondence, and I've never written to her." When Dominique shot him a disapproving glance, he turned surly. "I've been occupied with fighting a war. Not that I need to excuse my behavior to you. Now just write and don't criticize a single word."

  Dominique raised her brows. "I haven't said a thing."

  "Well, don't give me that look again. I feel guilty enough without your adding to it."

  "That's difficult to imagine." Still believing an explanation was necessary, Dominique began by identifying herself

  as a field hospital volunteer, and then on the next line, wrote his salutation. "Then what?"

  "Will she believe me if I say I've been thinking of her, even if I haven't written?"

  While Dominique had offered to transcribe his letter, she had not expected to have to help him compose it and the hint of doubt in his voice prompted a shrug. "Probably. If she loves you, she'll be inclined to believe anything you say."

  "How can you be so certain?"

  Dominique knew he was far too clever a man to ask such a foolish question, but gave him an answer anyway. "Perhaps you've forgotten, but I'm also a woman, and I know just how easily we can be misled." She smiled knowingly and hoped he would take her remark as a not-at-all-subtle reminder of just how blatantly he had lied to her. "I'd suggest that you speak from the heart, but I doubt that you have one."

  Sean reached over and laid his hand on her knee.

&nb
sp; Dominique pushed it away, but he put it right back. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Whatever I please," he cautioned. "Should I call Lieutenant Beck to help me?"

  Sean was much too weak to demand more than a feeble grasp of her thigh, but Dominique could very easily imagine him sending that same wandering hand up under her skirt, or down her bodice. Worse yet, he might insist she perform intimate favors for him. Sickened, she had difficulty catching her breath, but her choices were clear. She could either stop him now and accept the consequences, or give in inch by inch until there was nothing left of her soul.

  "Take your hand off me," she ordered so softly only Sean could hear.

  Defying her, Sean dug his fingers into her thigh, but then just as quickly he released her and laid his hand on his chest. He stared up at her, his glance hard and the curve

  of his well-shaped lips turning cruel. "Tonight," he promised, "and don't try and give me laudanum to make me forget."

  Dominique decided right then that no matter how adoring he made his letter sound, she would add a footnote to alert the poor object of his fickle affections to the fact that he was a thoroughly unprincipled rogue. "I can scarcely wait," she replied, clearly unenthused. "Now let's finish this up. Your bandage needs to be changed."

  "Do you provide all the men with such affectionate care?"

  "Every last one. Now what is it you want to say?"

  "Hmm. It's difficult to think about her when your beauty is so distracting."

  Dominique knew she was too thin, and her once-beautiful complexion was splashed with freckles. Beauty, indeed! She sat back in her chair. "I had this absurd notion that you would have changed—for the better, of course. If this unfortunate woman knows you're a rake, then say anything to fill the page. If, by some remarkable happenstance, she believes you to be an honorable man, then you would do her a great service by not writing to her at all."

  Sean slid his hand down under his sheet. "She knows me exceedingly well."

  "Ah, she's your mistress. Why didn't you say so?"

  "Would it matter?"

  "Of course. You should be completely honest with her."

  Sean almost laughed, but caught himself before he took too deep a breath and caused himself more pain. "It would be a novel approach. She should enjoy that for a change. All right. Let's say that I've been shot, and may become a hopeless cripple."

  Exasperated with him, Dominique sighed deeply. "Can't you even approach the truth at a closer range?"

  "Can't you?" Sean challenged. "Look at me! I'm too weak to leave this cot. There's not much I can do, except—"

  He closed his eyes and left the sentence hanging. It took a moment, but Dominique finally noticed he was moving his hand beneath the sheet. "What is it you're doing?" she hissed.

  Sean's expression had turned dreamy as he looked up. "I want to be certain I can still please her."

  "This is no time for such an experiment!" Dominique was smart enough not to slide her hand down his arm to his hand where he would undoubtedly catch hold of her fingers and make her finish the job. Instead she grabbed his elbow to bring his hand back to her thigh. "There. Hold onto me if you must grab something. Now we've got to have more than, 'My darling'."

  "I was so close," Sean complained sadly, but then he began to knead her thigh. "God, you feel so good."

  Dominique looked around quickly to make certain the other patients in the room hadn't caught the husky note of desire in Sean's voice. Fortunately, the afternoon was so warm they were all dozing. "I don't believe you really want to write to this woman."

  "Oh, but I do. Let's just say that I've been shot, but not even the specter of death could erase her lovely face from my memory."

  "Really? That's rather good, Sean. She should be deeply flattered." Dominique's handwriting was replete with graceful feminine swirls, but she took special care to make each word flow with gently curving strokes. "That's a promising beginning," she added, then cautioned herself to remember not a single word would be sincere.

  "Good." Sean rubbed his thumb in a small circle on her thigh. "We've been apart far too long, but I've not forgotten the honeyed-sweetness of her kiss, nor—"

  "Just a minute, don't get ahead of me." At first outraged by his possessive hold on her leg, Dominique was finding his more gentle touch increasingly difficult to ignore. She

  doubled her efforts to produce beautiful writing, and completed his second sentence. "Yes, and . . . ?"

  Sean's voice was still seductive. "How the sunlight gifts her fair curls with a silvery glow."

  "She's blond? I thought you preferred redheads," Dominique remarked without glancing his way.

  "That was a long time ago, Dominique. A great deal has happened since then."

  "None of it good, I imagine." Dominique reviewed what he had dictated thus far. "You've praised her lovely face, honeyed kiss, and fair curls. What about her figure? Is she such a voluptuous woman you dare not refer to it?"

  "No. She's as slender as a moonbeam."

  "Why, Sean, that's truly poetic." Dominique added the phrase to the letter. His hand was still now, merely resting on her thigh, but she felt the heat of his touch all the way through her faded gown and layers of petticoats. It was an effort not to squirm out of his reach, but she did not want him pleasuring himself again, which she was certain he had done merely to embarrass her. Her emotions in a riotous jumble, she had to force herself to meet his glance.

  "If you're tired, we can finish this later," she offered.

  "No. I want to complete it now. Just tell her how sorry I am that we met at such an inopportune time, but now I hope love can be our only concern."

  His tone was surprisingly gentle, and for a brief instant Dominique wondered if perhaps he had truly fallen in love. Just as quickly, she reminded herself that he was undoubtedly manipulating the poor woman's feelings as blatantly as he had her own. "Do you feel up to signing it?" she asked.

  "I can try."

  Dominique was glad to have an excuse to shift her position, and give him something else to do with his hand. She dipped the pen in the ink, handed it to him, and turned the Bible and sheet of stationery toward him. "Hurry, before the ink begins to drip."

  "Don't be so impatient. First I want to read what you've written."

  "You don't trust me to write exactly what you said?" Dominique easily conveyed her shock, although she had not forgotten the footnote she intended to add.

  Sean swore softly, then shot her a skeptical glance. He read the note through quickly, then signed his first name with deliberate care. Worn out by the effort, he closed his eyes as soon as he had handed her back the pen. "There's no need to address an envelope. I meant it for you."

  Unable to decide if she was flattered or appalled, Dominique sat back in her chair and simply stared at him. She had transcribed the love letter without letting herself really feel the words. Not that she would have been jealous of his tender thoughts for another woman, but simply because he infuriated her so. Now she did not know what to believe. She was sorely tempted to tear up the letter and throw it at him, but something stayed her hand.

  "You mentioned travel plans?" she asked hesitantly.

  Sean opened his eyes and smiled. "Yes. With only one good arm, I'm no use to the army, so you're going to invite me to go home with you. It will be good to see Ian again."

  "Take you home!" Dominique shouted so loudly she woke half the room. "No. That's too much to ask."

  Sean cocked a brow. "You know better than to cross me, Dominique." He dropped his voice so the other patients could not overhear. "Either you take me home, or Belle is going to spend a very ugly afternoon with Lieutenant Beck."

  Not daring to doubt him, a wave of revulsion washed through Dominique, but as she nodded, she wondered if there were a name foul enough to describe a man who would offer a love letter in one breath and such a vile threat in the next.

  While her sister appeared to be sincerely pained by the memory of the attention s
he had received, Belle thought she was overlooking an important factor. She sat down opposite her on her own cot. "You flirted outrageously, Dominique, so you ought not to complain when your ploys were effective. What did you expect? If you throw a baited hook into the river, you'll surely catch a fish."

  Dominique could not argue with Belle's perceptive comment. As soon as her figure had taken on womanly curves, she had been shamelessly eager for attention from men. She had gotten it, too. It had been thrilling at first, but eventually she had grown hungry for something more than sloppy kisses and halting declarations of love.

  "Yes," she admitted softly. "I know I have only myself to blame, but still—"

  Belle waited, and when Dominique was too troubled to continue, she prompted her. "You were attracted to Sean because he was a challenge. But that was years ago. Now he's the enemy, and a dangerous one at that. Don't tell me you still want him."

  Dominique looked up, her glance filled with pain. "That would be stupid, wouldn't it? It's so easy to despise what he is, or his damnable threats, but there's something so compelling about him that I can't help but wish he were a gentleman instead of the loathsome rogue he is."

  Belle thought of the way Falcon's thick, ebony hair streamed out in the wind when he urged Nails into a gallop. She was positive she would love Falcon even if he were bald, but she could not deny how much she loved his hair. "It's very difficult to separate a man's personality from his looks, isn't it? Even when Falcon is at his worst, I can't help but think how handsome he is. Wild and stubborn, he is so much a part of me there are times I feel as though there is only one of us, living in two bodies. Do you feel that way about Sean?"

  Dominique shook her head, for she was exquisitely aware

  of the important differences that separated them. "Perhaps we were simply born at the wrong time," she mused sadly. "If the colonies had not wanted to be independent, no, needed to be free, then perhaps we could have met and fallen in love without either of us having to compromise our ideals."