“We call it a rain bath.” Shaelyn moved into the room, opened the wooden door, and pulled the lever connected to the pipe leading up to a wide, round brass . . . thing. Water flowed onto the tile floor, like it sprinkled from the sky during a rainstorm, before she turned it off. “Instead of taking a bath, you can stand in here and let the water flow over you to get clean.”
He’d heard about them, but had never seen one. And couldn’t wait to try it. The structure gave a completely new way to keep clean, and after what he’d been through, cleanliness was something he valued. He said nothing more as she moved past him and stood by the door to the last room, her arms folded against her chest as she waited for him.
Remy poked his head through the doorway. He liked the stark simplicity of this room. The walls were papered in a soft white with sprigs of purple violets and green leaves. The draperies repeated the pattern. An intricately carved four-poster bed took up space between the French doors leading to the gallery. The bed looked inviting with its plump pillows slanting against the headboard.
“This will be my room.”
“But . . . but this is mine,” Shaelyn sputtered.
“No longer,” he said as he made his way down the hallway. “Have your possessions removed before dinner. Your mother’s also.”
“And where am I supposed to sleep?”
He turned and grinned at her, couldn’t help it. “You could stay with me.”
Her eyes widened and color stained her cheeks. She drew in her breath sharply. “How dare you even . . . suggest . . . such a thing!”
Remy shrugged. “It’s your choice.” The idea of her warming his bed brought a vivid image to his mind.
“I am not that sort of woman!” Her eyes flashed with pride.
He took pity on her and relented. She didn’t know him, didn’t know his sense of humor. She couldn’t have known he wasn’t like most men, who would have taken advantage of this kind of situation. “You may move into the servants’ quarters for the duration,” he said over his shoulder as he continued down the hall.
“I thought we had an agreement, Major. You said you’d try to make your stay as pleasant as possible.” She caught up with him and grabbed his arm, stopping his progress. Her eyes narrowed. “You said—”
“I know what I said, Miss Cavanaugh.” He looked at her small white hand on his arm and felt an infusion of warmth seep through his sleeve. Her touch ignited a fierce yearning in him. In another time and place—he didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. “I am allowing you and your mother to remain here, but make no mistake. I am in command. My orders will not be questioned. I don’t accept it from my men and I won’t accept it from you. Do I make myself clear?”
Shaelyn nodded and stepped back, releasing her grip on his arm.
“I’m glad we understand each other. We are in the middle of a war. We all must make sacrifices.”
“Yes, Major, we are in the middle of a war,” Shaelyn said, her voice strong with defiance, her body stiff and unyielding. “But your battle has just begun.”
She spun on her heel and sashayed down the stairs. Remy watched her, fascinated. “If it’s a battle you want, Miss Cavanaugh, it’s a battle you shall have.”
About the Author
Marie Patrick has always had a love affair with words and books, but it wasn’t until a trip to Arizona, where she now makes her home with her husband and her furry, four-legged “girls,” that she became inspired to write about the sometimes desolate, yet beautiful landscape. Her inspiration doesn’t just come from the Wild West, though. It comes from history itself. She is fascinated with pirates and men in uniform and lawmen with shiny badges. When not writing or researching her favorite topics, she can usually be found curled up with a good book. Marie loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a note at [email protected] or visit her website at www.mariepatrick.com.
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Crimson Romance
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Copyright © 2018 by Donna Warner.
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First Crimson Romance ebook edition FEBRUARY 2018.
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ISBN 978-1-5072-0831-1 (ebook)
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