They feasted from each other’s lips with abandon, as if the sweetness found there was the cure for their every loneliness. Juliet was gasping by the time Noble lifted his head only far enough to breathe, then to say, “This is a mighty wide-open place for such a personal conversation.”
Giddy with anticipation, she whispered, “The infirmary is empty.”
He started toward it in an almost angry stride. Juliet had to run to catch up to him. He didn’t pause or slow, even when she took hold of his arm and trotted anxiously at his side toward whatever a fickle fate had in store.
The fort hospital was dark, empty, as Juliet had known it would be. They slipped in at the side door. Medicinal odors and the bite of pure alcohol were quickly replaced by the rugged scent of wool and clean-shaven man as Noble turned her into his arms and shut the door with his boot heel. Juliet began thinking nervously of the cots lining the opposite side of the room. Would Noble take her there upon one of them? Excitement battled with inexperience. Perhaps she should insist they return to the party …
Then he kissed her and she stopped thinking altogether.
If there was persuasion in the shifting pressure of his mouth, the movement of his palms upon her bare shoulders was wild encouragement. His skin was rough and warm, the friction intentionally seducing. Her will pooled like hot wax. She savored his kisses and encouraged him with teasing nibbles and some very serious suction to his lower lip and tongue. His hands shifted lower, curving about the shape of her breasts while his thumbs rode the rapid rise and fall of creamy flesh swelling above the lacy neckline of her gown. When he lowered his head to trail damp kisses over that same soft territory, her bones seemed to go to liquid.
When his name moaned from her in helpless wonder, he paused, then straightened, his icy hot stare probing hers.
He’d never been so eager and anxious to have a woman. Staring down into her flushed face, into eyes so inviting and at the same time vulnerable, he knew it was more than just the wanting. The wanting was a powerful force in itself, a constant throbbing reminder of how she’d looked in damp lace and linen as she teased him into the water—of how she’d tasted during that initial exploration—of how the scent of lavender aroused him into a painful hurry. But it was more than the wanting. It was the having, the holding, the right to claim her as his own, to put her forever out of Miles Dougherty’s reach. It wasn’t competitive male drive goading him to stake that claim. It was an odd twist of possessive need that scared and surprised him, because he was powerless to resist.
But Juliet had rejected him bluntly, bruisingly. Dare he risk more than a moment of passion? Could he settle for that and no more? Staring down into her star-kissed eyes, the answer made him tremble.
“Juliet, are you sure this is how you want this to happen? Without commitment or ties of any kind?”
“Yes,” she told him fiercely, not wanting to be distracted from the raw pleasures, not wanting her practical sense to overcome her sensory self to begin asking those same questions.
Was she ready to take this irreversible step with this man she couldn’t marry?
To drive away those doubts, she clasped his handsome face between the press of her palms, kissing him with open-mouthed fervor. It took him a moment to respond, almost as if her answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear. And then he swept her up and away with an aggressive assault on her senses.
He bent briefly to catch the bottom of her voluminous skirts, reaching up underneath them with a dexterity she didn’t possess to release the tapes holding her hoops in place. They collapsed as easily as her inhibitions. Without the steel circles to hold him at bay, Noble leaned into her, pushing her back against the wall, letting her feel his weight and strength and heat. And his urgency. His breathing sounded harsh and fast in the surrounding darkness, her own playing fast and light against it. He kissed her hard, then deep, then with a searing sweetness that shook loose the last of her moral resistance. When he started to ruck up her skirt, she helped him, her own efforts much less efficient.
Mindless with the need he’d created, Juliet made no protest as he bared her legs and scooped his palms beneath her naked bottom to lift her off the floor. Instinctively, she wound both arms and legs about him. His mouth slanted across hers, his tongue plunging so deep that she nearly swooned with untested desire. Then with one piercing move, he was hard and fast inside her.
Juliet gasped against his mouth as her mind registered the splintering pain, but almost as quickly her body realized a new, intensely private pleasure: the pleasure of having him a part of her, streaking her inner walls with fire and shivery delight, a sense of oneness that went beyond any simple words.
And just as he began to move, awakening her to sensations her female self was crafted to enjoy, a different sound intruded, one that gradually surpassed their labored breathing to become …
Footsteps.
The door to the main infirmary flew open, and the heavy steps of at least a half-dozen booted men pounded across the floorboards.
“Lay him down there,” came an anxious voice, drowning out Juliet’s soft cry in the adjoining room as Noble pulled himself from her. Her feet hit the floor with a jarring thud of reality as he bent to yank up her hoops and reattached them without a word.
The commotion in the examination room increased.
“How the hell did this happen? Press that here. We’ve got to get this bleeding stopped. Hurry. Does anyone know where his daughter is?”
Juliet’s cry of realization was muffled by the clamp of Noble’s hand. Her father. It was her father they’d borne in senseless and bleeding.
Wide, frightened eyes glittered in the darkness as she looked up at Noble. He motioned for her to be silent and removed his hand.
“Shhh. Easy. We’ve got to get out of here,” he whispered close to her ear. She swallowed jerkily and nodded, blond hair brushing his lips. “Follow me out the side door, straighten yourself up, then come in the front. I’ll go to the mess hall to see if I can find out what happened. All right? Juliet, are you all right?”
She closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on the panic, the fear. The shame. Finally, she nodded. Noble stepped back, gripping her arm to guide her out the side door. Once in the deep night shadows, he pulled her tightly to him for a brief, bracing hug of support, then he was gone, leaving her on wobbly legs, her face tear-streaked, her gown hopelessly rumpled. Leaving her alone to discover what horrible thing had befallen her father while she indulged in a passionate frenzy.
How could she explain where she was when she should have been watching her father’s back for the attack she knew to be coming?
How could she ever begin to forgive herself for not being there when she was needed?
To John Crowley the evening was perfect. He hadn’t failed to notice that both his daughter and Noble Banning were missing from the festivities. The significance of those absences gratified him. He figured he’d have a son-in-law long before it came time to release the Confederates-cum-Federals at the war’s end. Losing his Juliet to Banning would be a small price to pay for her safety.
So he drank champagne and intercepted Dougherty with small talk to keep him from an inopportune search. And he frowned as he watched the Southerners grow more obnoxious in the absence of their leader. He didn’t trust Bartholomew for a minute. The man was as mutinous as he was proud. It took no great imagination to guess what the batch of them were discussing in the corner as they shot sullen looks his way. Banning was a man of his word. Bartholomew … He wasn’t sure, and when he wasn’t sure, he was cautious.
“Should I put a cork in the champagne, Colonel, before some of the men get out of line?” Miles glared across the room, his meaning clear.
“Subtly, Miles. Subtly. And keep the men separated. No sense in causing a commotion. This is supposed to be a festive occasion, and I’d dislike seeing it turn into a brawl.”
“Perhaps you should have Juliet speak to the Reb captain’s wife, then. She seems to be causing
the most trouble.”
It was true. Maisy had pulled her husband away from the others and was lashing him with her caustic tongue. Ordinarily, Crowley would have ignored it, with a gentleman’s disdain for getting involved in private matters, and let the captain handle it himself. But in his cups, in front of his grinning men, Donald Bartholomew forgot himself. He gripped Maisy by the arm, the cruelty of the gesture clear in her pained expression. With a few harsh words, he pushed her away from him, then turned his back, reaching for another drink from his companions.
Maisy stood, stunned then furious. Drawing back her shoulders in a posture of dignity, she left the gathering, head held high. After staying a few minutes to reestablish his superiority, Bartholomew excused himself from his drinking companions and slipped out after her—to make apologies or to seek retribution?
“Miles, would you mind keeping a judicious eye on those two. I would hate to learn that the captain grew churlish, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll keep a discreet distance, sir.”
With Bartholomew gone and the champagne ebbing dry, the tensions eased within the room and the men turned toward dancing instead of drinking, waiting for their chances with the vivacious Jane, the modest Pauline, or the pert Colleen.
Content to leave the situation alone, Crowley stepped outside, planning to enjoy a leisurely smoke before seeking out his daughter. Though anxious for a son-in-law, he was a father first and unwilling to give the major too much leeway where his daughter’s virtue was concerned.
Of course, if he came upon them in a compromising circumstance, no amount of objection from Juliet would keep her from standing before a Bible the following day this time. He knew his daughter wasn’t as opposed to the man as she was to the match. Once he got her over the idea of setting up her own house, he didn’t think she’d mind his choice of housemate. No matter how great his haste to have her safely wed and producing grandchildren away from the dangers of the West, he would never force his will upon her. It would be her choice, of course. But he wasn’t above helping her make it.
Banning was a good man. Smart, ambitious, strong-minded, just what his willful daughter needed. She’d never tire of him and regret her choice. Though that might not have mattered to many fathers, it mattered greatly to him. He’d had far too few years with a wonderful woman who’d been a constant delight and challenge. He wanted no less for Juliet.
He lit his cigar and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke out upon an appreciative sigh. The parade ground was still, no sign of the Bartholomews or Miles. The musicians played a jolly holiday tune inside. Time to go find Juliet.
But as soon as he walked the length of the porch, stepping into the darker shadows, a prickle of warning stirred at the back of his neck. And his first thought was of Juliet’s cautionings. He started to turn.
Pain scissored along his ribs. The shock of it kept him from striking out at the coward who attacked from behind. Instead, he stumbled off the edge of the boardwalk, dropping hard to his hands and knees in a whirl of agony, waiting for his assailant to jump down and finish him. No attack came. A weakening blackness swirled up around him. Seconds or minutes later, he heard a shout of alarm. Then nothing until he opened his eyes to see his daughter’s face above him. Miles Dougherty stood behind her.
“Papa? Oh, thank God.” She kneaded his hand in anguished spasms, unaware of the strength of her grip. “I was so afraid …” The rest trailed off, but her features said it plain. She was terrified and worried—and something more. Something else shadowed her tear-brightened gaze, but he was too weak to analyze it.
He patted her clutching hand with his free one, then tried to pry her fingers loose before she cut off his circulation. “I’m fine, Jules. Just a scratch. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”
Robert Penny, the post surgeon, failed to concur. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Colonel. I wouldn’t brush this off so lightly. Plan on staying in this bed for the next few days.” He held up his hand to ward off protest. “Just to be on the safe side. You don’t want your daughter to worry, do you?” He winked at Juliet, and she seemed to relax a bit.
She leaned closer to ask, “Papa, who did this to you? Did you see?”
He shook his head in aggravation. “The sneaking bastard came up behind me—pardon my language, dear.”
“My language will be stronger than that unless we discover who attacked you and soon.”
Strength ebbing, Crowley’s eyes began to sag shut. It was a struggle to focus on what needed to be done. “Banning, he’s in charge. Miles, you support him. And see Juliet safely to our quarters. Don’t argue, girl. You can do me no good here. I’m in fine hands. Take her home, Miles.”
“Yes, sir.” He took Juliet’s elbow and lifted her away from the bedside of the now unconscious man. Juliet didn’t fight him.
Once outside, she paused to draw a breath, trying to control a fresh bout of weeping. Beside her, Miles was a study in outrage. Her heart warmed toward him until he spoke.
“Damn that Banning. Putting him in charge. It was probably his blade that laid the colonel low. Let’s see if he can account for his whereabouts.”
Juliet stared at him, shocked and dismayed. His anger wasn’t over her father’s injury; it was at having his authority usurped by Noble. Her cold tone reflected her disappointment in him.
“The major was with me.”
Miles’s jaw unhinged slightly, then snapped shut, his teeth grinding together. Through them he said, “You and … Banning?” Saying nothing more but meaning everything.
“Yes,” she told him with a proud tip of her head that dared him to make something of it. “I don’t need you to show me to my quarters. I know the way. Perhaps you should be helping Major Banning in his attempt to find out the truth instead of making slanderous accusations.”
“Jules—”
But she wasn’t interested in hearing anymore he had to say. She started across the drill ground, not looking toward the mess hall, where the music had stopped and confusion now reigned. It took all her energy just to focus her tear-skewed vision on where she was going.
Then a cry came from the man on watch.
“Riders coming in fast. It looks like the boys from H Troop.”
The soldiers who’d ridden escort for Jane Howell. What would they be returning for?
Dashing the back of her hand across her eyes, Juliet stood firm as the disorganized group of riders poured into the confines of the fort. It took only a moment to realize the cause of their haste.
The first man she saw was slumped over his mount’s neck, an Apache arrow jutting from his shoulder.
Chapter 16
Juliet had no idea what time of day it was when she wobbled out of the infirmary. Every bed and most of the floor inside was covered with wounded. She and Colleen had been at the doctor’s side for hours, assisting him however they could, bandaging limbs and brows, measuring out doses of morphine, holding basins to receive bloody arrow tips and misshapen bits of lead that the doctor carved out of the injured.
Juliet’s back ached from constant bending to wipe fevered foreheads and dip out water. Fatigue burned her eyes. Her soul was weary from holding in her emotions while men screamed in agony. Finally, when Jane arrived to relieve her, Dr. Penny had steered her to the door with orders not to return until she’d had at least eight hours of sleep.
She lingered just long enough to check on her father’s progress. He was still unconscious, but his color was good and he seemed to be resting easy. She hoped her own rest would be as undisturbed, but knew that was unlikely.
“Juliet?”
Her system registered the shock of hearing his voice, but she didn’t stop. The last person she wanted to see was Noble Banning. Her heart was too raw, her mind too blunted by exhaustion for a confrontation that would stir up the guilt she held inside. She heard the rattle of his saber as he jogged to catch up.
“How’s your father?”
Instead of answering, she demanded, “Who tried
to kill him?”
“I don’t know that yet. But I’ll find out.”
“Good. Talk to me when you know.” She tried to alter course away from him, but tired legs wouldn’t support the sudden movement. She stumbled, and his arm provided an immediate bolster. She attempted to pull free, her emotions rising in a panicky crescendo, but he wouldn’t release her.
“Let go. Please.”
“I’ll see you to your door.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Juliet. Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help. I want you to leave me alone. Just leave me alone.” She swiped at her eyes in angry embarrassment, too upset to recognize that without his guidance, she would have been wandering blindly.
“Juliet, what’s wrong? Is it your father?”
His concern only made things worse. Nearly choking on her grief and guilt, she cried in a low anguished voice, “It’s your fault, don’t you see? It’s our fault. If we hadn’t been—If I’d been where I belonged instead of with—He could have been killed, Noble. He could have died.”
Understanding dawned with that wretched confession. By that time, they’d reached the shelter of her porch. Noble stopped her outside the door and forced her to look at him. She had no knack for pretense. Everything she felt was etched starkly into her pale features. And Noble didn’t like what he saw—the condemnation, the awful self-blame.
“Juliet, darlin’, you had nothing to do with what happened to your father. Nothing.” He cupped her damp cheek with his palm, brushing away the tears with a gentle rub of his thumb. “And it had nothing at all to do with us. I won’t let you believe that.”
But her tragic eyes said she did and she would go on believing it until he could prove otherwise. That would have to wait. For the moment, she was as fragile as dandelion fluff. The slightest wind would have scattered her in indiscriminate directions. He pushed open the door and angled her inside.
The Men of Pride County: The Rebel Page 17