The Men of Pride County: The Pretender

by West, Rosalyn

  “We can stop now,” he told her. “We should stop now.”

  But his eyes said different, and so did her quivering soul.

  “No, we can’t. It’s too late, isn’t it?”

  The storm brewing in his gaze broke with lightning intensity. “It was too late the first time I saw you and thought I’d gone to heaven.” Then he concluded with a husky, “I was right. You’re my angel, and this is the only heaven I’m ever going to know.”

  She pulled him to her, into her urgent kiss.

  It was too late. Deacon surrendered to that fact with both reluctance and relief. He shut his mind to circumstance and consequence and opened his heart to this woman who deserved no less from him. He’d never wanted anything quite so badly as this brief chance to explore happiness in her arms, to have his sense of wonder reborn each time she gasped in discovery.

  Awash in the first pink of dawn, he undressed them both. To overcome her awkwardness, he murmured whatever came to mind, praising her beauty, her femininity, her softness, her desirability in words that made her quake and all wooingly warm—because she’d never heard those things before, had never truly believed them until he’d made them so. She opened to him without hesitation, opened her heart, her eyes, her inhibitions, and then her knees, so he could settle between them.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he crooned in a tight-throated voice, struggling to slow and control the moment so she’d have no reason for fear.

  “I’m not,” she assured him with a shaky bravado, then confessed, “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

  Charmed by her naïveté, Deacon pressed kisses to her palms, then fit them over the swells of his shoulders. She grabbed on tight, sensing the moment was at hand when mystery would be replaced by knowledge. Then there’d be no going back.

  She felt him push hard and alarmingly huge against her. Modesty bade her to recoil, but instinct whispered for her to relax and trust him. The instant she let down her anxious guard, he breeched the last secret of womanhood with one swift, sure stroke. Innocence and her sense of isolation were both torn away at the same time. This was belonging, this wonderful, foreign fullness that spread all the way to her soul.

  “Oh, Deacon,” she sighed, her eyes going misty with emotion. “Surely this must be heaven.”

  He dropped a fierce kiss of agreement upon her lips and began to move within her. Slow and easy, with regard to her inexperience and his own healing injury. Slow and easy, to contain his raging passions. The degree of effort shook along his limbs but rewarded him at last with her sudden explosive cry of revelation. He drank up the sound and let himself go, riding out the same satisfying spasms that left her limp and smiling in sated lethargy beneath him.

  Breathing hard and drained of all vitality, he rolled onto his side and continued to cuddle her close. And somehow that was as fulfilling as the act itself. He’d never lingered after the fact before, seeing no reason to remain nor feeling the desire. But this was a moment he never wished to end. He wanted to bask in the thrall of passions well met. He wanted to preen with accomplishment and hear flattering claims of his prowess. He wanted to hold her tight and love her all over again, in case there was some small delight he might have missed during their first humbling encounter.

  Lord, she was a treasure, a heaven-sent, earthy dream.

  And he could enjoy her every night for the rest of his life if he made her his bride.

  But even as that notion staggered him with awesome potential, the remaining truth hit and hit squarely.

  He could have her only if he relinquished the duty that had brought him to her door.

  Garnet watched the frown lines gather on Deacon’s brow, and because of her inexperience, guessed that the event that had shaken her spiritual foundation had somehow disappointed him. At a loss, she shyly traced her fingertips along the hard contour of his upper arm and waited for him to reveal the source of his displeasure. Instead, he captured her wandering hand and held it curled within his own above the relentless thunder of his heartbeats.

  “Have I done something wrong?” she ventured with a wavering bravery.

  He shook his head, then glanced at her. His gaze was convincingly tender. “No. You’ve done everything right.”

  Then she saw the truth. It was regret coloring his mood.

  “I know you have to leave. It’s all right. I understand.”

  He smiled somewhat wryly at her heroic claim. “No, you don’t, angel. You don’t understand anything about it at all. Or about me.”

  “I know that you are courageous and kind.” His soft snort of disagreement interrupted but did end her statement. She concluded with a quiet dignity. “And I know I’m not the type of woman your family would approve of, either.”

  His gaze jumped to hers, all stark misery. “This isn’t about you, Garnet. It’s me.”

  Of course. He didn’t care for her. That was it. She lowered her eyes and took a stabilizing breath. She would pretend that knowledge didn’t devastate her.

  His kisses started at her brow and worked their way down to her pursed lips. Once there, she allowed him to convince her that she was wrong in that belief, too. When he lifted away at last, she regarded him through a teary, adoring gaze that proved a killing stroke to his conscience.

  How could he intentionally shatter the guileless illusions held in those lovely dark eyes? She saw him as both saint and savior, and he found he wanted to be those things for her. He’d surrendered up every good thing in his life in the name of duty, in the cause of loyalty to the land, and what had it gotten him? A lifetime of loneliness, a future void of happiness. Endless servitude to someone else’s ideals. He’d been taught all his life that that was the best he could strive for, but in these past few days, with this honest, endearing young woman, those rigid tenets had been proven false.

  Here was his ideal, a woman who demanded nothing and made him want to surrender all. A connection so basic, so pure, it surpassed anything he’d known and everything he could have hoped for. In the past hours, he’d seen another future for himself, one stripped of regiment and lies, one borne of simple passions and no regrets.

  This was what he wanted, this woman, this feeling of satisfaction, this sense of contentment. What else could possibly be waiting outside this valley to equal what he’d discovered about himself in Garnet’s reflective gaze?

  He wanted to be what she saw in him.

  Her mouth opened sweetly beneath his, accepting him without reservation. A clever girl, she’d figured out what to do with her hands and used them to coax him to new heights of urgency. Her shyness gave way to a healthy curiosity about all things involved in what made man and woman different. Her discoveries were his delights, delights shared equally and abundantly as he moved above her, inside her, to the brink of paradise and beyond. Delights shared quietly as they lay curled together afterward in exhausted bliss.

  About then Boone began to whine, his whip tail thumping the floorboards.

  “I think somebody wants out,” Deacon murmured sleepily.

  Garnet pressed a kiss on his mouth as she levered up off the bed. “Don’t go away.”

  His laugh was a low rumble. “Don’t worry.”

  He closed his eyes, giving her the opportunity to observe him unnoticed while she slipped into her clothes. He was glorious: sleek, naked, and unashamed. And in her bed, filling it from end to end with his long form, from side to side with the outflung reach of his arms.

  And for the moment, he was hers.

  It took the cold air of the new day to wake Garnet to the realities of what had occurred.

  As she stood shivering in the doorway while Boone sniffed his rounds, consequence sank deep.

  She’d given herself to a man without the benefit of marriage. A terrible sin. Perhaps an unforgivable one. Unless that man became her husband. But there had been no commitments spoken between their hurried kisses. Was she a fool for not waiting to hear them?

  Or was she twice the fool for thinking h
e meant to say them at all?

  No matter what he said within the next few minutes, she had a picture to hold close in her dreams, the glorious picture he made all tall and lean in Union blue, every inch the handsome hero.

  Her throat tightened as she made herself smile. His parting impression of her was not going to be one of a petulant little girl weeping for what was never offered.

  “How far do you have to travel?” she asked, as she shut the door.

  “Pride County. A day’s ride, if I leave now.”

  She nodded at that wisdom. “There’s the look of some serious weather coming in. You probably shouldn’t waste too much time.”

  She tried to read his expression but found she couldn’t. It was closed down tight around an impassive stare as he watched her pretend to be unconcerned. As if they’d spent the night reading scripture, rather than violating it.

  “I’ll make you breakfast—”

  “No.”

  She paused with a smile. “It’s no trouble.”

  “It’s better that I go now. Sharing breakfast won’t make our good-byes any easier.”

  Hope leapt in her heart. Did that mean he was finding it difficult to walk away? She turned toward the stove, afraid of what he might see in her naked gaze.

  “I won’t send you off without some coffee. Beans are hard to come by, but I’ve been hoarding them for … special occasions.”

  She caught her breath as his hands skimmed up from elbows to shoulders where they rested with a welcomed weight. She couldn’t help leaning back against him as his mouth lightly brushed her temple. She held herself still. If she turned toward him, it would be to drag him off to bed again. And that wouldn’t make things any easier, either.

  “What unit is your father with? I’d enjoy meeting up with him if we’re in the same neck of the woods. I can tell him that I’ve seen you and that you’re all right. He’d probably like to hear that.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he would.” Garnet thought nothing of relaying the information.

  “Anything you’d like me to tell him?”

  “Just that I miss him and to hurry home.”

  Thinking of his long absence brought a burning to her eyes. Instead of giving way to the welling tears, she continued to put the water on to boil, trying to ignore the way Deacon’s nearness similarly heated her blood. To distract herself, she spoke of a neutral topic.

  “What’s your family like, Sergeant?” She chose to call him by his rank to keep the suggestion of distance. He didn’t help matters by nuzzling against her neck.

  “My mother’s soft-spoken and elegant, the perfect hostess. My sister Patrice will be quite the lady if she ever decides to stop playing the hellion. You’d like her, Garnet.”

  She swallowed hard. As if they’d ever meet …

  “And your father? What was he like?”

  Deacon paused for so long, she began to regret reminding him of the fresh pain of loss. Then he spoke with an atonal respectfulness, as if discussing a stranger. “He was a firm, sometimes even hard man when he had to be. He taught me all the lessons I’d need to survive in life … but he never showed me how to enjoy it. You did.” His hand tightened on her shoulders to bring her around to face him. He still wore the impenetrable look, but the husky quality of his voice woke a shiver inside her. “I’ve never known anyone like you. I’ve never had anyone express an interest in what I felt.”

  “Surely, your friends—”

  “I never had time for friends. I never even had a dog. No wonder yours dislikes me so. I’ve no idea how to act around him, just as I’ve no notion on how to behave with you.”

  “But you’re a gentleman—”

  “Who knows how to be gallant and flattering and shallow and shut off to the things that really matter. I haven’t a clue about what I’m feeling inside right now. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what to say to you.”

  She placed tentative fingertips upon his chest to sample the tension and thunder there. Quietly, she advised, “Say what’s in your heart.”

  He made an uncharitable sound. “Have you ever tried to read in the dark? I’m blind to what’s in there.”

  “Then what is it you want to do? Not what’s expected of you, but what you want to do?”

  He seized her upturned face between his palms and bent to snatch her lips in a bruising kiss, one that echoed the angry frustration she’d heard in his tone. One that gentled to a heart-tearing tenderness when she swept her fingers through his hair and melted against him.

  “I want this,” he told her with a soft savagery. “I want to feel like this forever.”

  “You can,” she encouraged, with words, with her quick reinforcing kisses. But his hands were lowering, dropping back to her shoulders to push her away.

  “But I have to leave.”

  “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  He searched her expression intently. “You’d wait for me.”

  “Forever. I want to keep this feeling, too.”

  He drew a shallow breath, indecision on some mighty scale warring behind his suddenly shuttered gaze. He touched her cheek and toyed with the awful homemade crop of her hair. And then a smile softened his sober features and Garnet felt her heart give way.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”

  Not trusting her words to escape the thickening in her throat, she simply nodded.

  She sent him off after a final cup of coffee with a day’s supplies and a scorching kiss. And then she settled in to wait. For however long it took him to return to offer her the future she desired.

  He rode hard and fast, but no amount of speed, no degree of cold or exhaustion, could tether the lightness in his heart or erase the scent of her from his nose or the taste of her from his mouth. It was madness, he knew. Craziness, he was certain.

  It was treason.

  He reached the Confederate camp early the second day. Still wearing the federal uniform, he put up his hands as if in surrender so the sentries wouldn’t shoot him. He asked to be taken to Brigadier General Hobbs. After some amount of discussion, he was able to convince the wary corporal that he wasn’t a Union assassin seeking a chance at their Intelligence leader and was taken to the brigadier’s tent.

  The general lifted a brow at the sight of the perforated Union coat and waved the enlisted man out. Without asking leave, Deacon crossed to the general’s sideboard to pour himself a healthy glass of whiskey, another action that peaked Hobbs’s curiosity.

  “Are you all right, Reverend?”

  “Fine, Joe. I’ll be glad to get out of this particular color and home to see my family.”

  Joe Hobbs regarded his Intelligence agent with a grim impassivity. Sinclair was perhaps the best man he had in the field: quick minded, coldly unscrupled, and totally reliable. He worked under the code name “Reverend,” since those involved in espionage seldom cared to use their own names at the risk of endangering their families. Sinclair was close to his, but Hobbs didn’t relish the idea of losing his services.

  “After I’ve heard your report, I’ve some news for you.”

  Deacon froze, his expression blanking. “Good or bad?”

  “News. First, tell me yours.”

  This was the part Deacon dreaded. As skilled as he was in deceit, he hated to lie to those who counted upon him for his loyalty. Here in Hobbs’s tent, smelling the familiar odor of the general’s favorite rancid cigars and enjoying the luxury of a relaxed code of conduct, the decisions Deacon made on the trail seemed less compelling, his reasonings less sure. He would be betraying more than just a commander who believed his word implicitly. He’d be turning upon his whole way of life, for the sake of a woman who several short days ago was nothing more than mission to him.

  But now she was much more.

  Enough to make him calmly give out an inaccurate account of what he’d been sent to discover.

  “I infiltrated the Davis farm. Only the daughter was there, and she didn’t know anything about
her father’s business. It was a dry run, I’m afraid.”

  Hobbs sighed in disappointment. “Sorry you had to waste your time, especially now. We’ll find another way.”

  Deacon waited for him to say more, alerted and growing alarmed by his superior’s unusual silence. Normally, Hobbs was full of ribald jokes and off-color anecdotes.

  “You said you had some news for me.”

  “Sit down.”

  He braced himself. “Tell me.”

  “We got the latest casualty reports. Your father’s name was on the list.”

  He received the information without a blink. “They’re sure?”

  “As sure as anything can be these days. I’m sorry. You’ll want some time to be with your family. They should hear it from you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He exited the tent with that wooden formality.

  Hobbs frowned and clipped a fresh cigar. From behind him, a figure slipped through the rear flap and came to stand at his back.

  “He’s lying to you, Joe.”

  “Why would you say that, Hermes? He’s got no reason.”

  “I don’t know why, but I know a lie when I hear one. Comes from telling so many of my own.”

  Hobbs glanced back at his second-best spy, indecision playing briefly upon his features. True, Sinclair was his best man, but in their business, truth sometimes was shaded by the higher price.

  “Maybe it’s the woman.”

  “Deacon Sinclair?” In his astonishment, Hobbs blurted out his operative’s full name. “Not likely.”

  “It’s something. I’ll guarantee it. Can you afford not to check up on him?”

  The general chewed his cigar for a moment, thinking past the individual to the whole network of those who worked beneath him. One thing he couldn’t afford to make was a wrong assumption.