by Untamed
Absorbed in her turbulent thoughts, she almost jumped out of her skin at the rap of knuckles on the door. Barbara pulled her dressing robe around her while Hattie went to the door.
It was a note written in a bold, slashing hand and requested a few private moments with Lady Barbara. Zach would wait for her by the stables.
Her heart thumping, Barbara crushed the note in her fist. She considered ignoring the request. She was no student of military tactics but knew a wise general would pick the time and place to engage in battle.
On the other hand, perhaps there would be no battle. Perhaps Zach only wanted to steal a few minutes alone with her before the ball. With that faint hope in mind, Barbara tossed the note aside and threw off her dressing robe. Ignoring the damask-covered corset and ivory ball gown with its overskirt of gold tissue Hattie had laid out on the bed, she snatched up the traveling dress she’d removed just moments ago. The gabardine fell in stiff folds over her linen drawers and camisole.
“Help me pin up my hair,” she asked Hattie, fumbling with the buttons on the bodice. “I must go out for a few moments.”
The maid’s curious glance went to the crumpled note. “Why?”
“That’s not your concern. Help me with my hair, if you please.”
Frowning, Hattie did as she was told. Barbara grabbed her shawl and was on her way to the door, when Vera and Urice entered. The older girl gave her a cool nod. She’d yet to forgive Barbara for those moments in the parlor with Mr. Harris. The younger fell into instant raptures over the ball gown on the bed.
“Ohhh! That gold tissue is the exact shade of your hair. How exquisite you’ll look!”
Vera sniffed.
Barbara started for the door. Paused. Turned to the older girl.
“I know you don’t wish any advice from me, but I shall give it anyway. Hattie is heating the tongs. Let her use them to fashion some side curls or a topknot. You’ll look quite lovely.”
“You’re right. I don’t wish any advice from you.”
Shrugging, Barbara brushed past her. She’d done her best by the stubborn creature. She only hoped the brother would prove less difficult to handle than the sister.
Her first glimpse of the lieutenant shattered those hopes.
He was waiting for her by the low log building that served as barn and livery stables. He wore his regimentals in honor of the occasion. Under other circumstances, Barbara might have taken a moment to admire the dark blue cutaway coat with its double row of brass buttons, lavish gold braid and embroidered epaulets. At the moment, though, all her attention went to the stiff set of his shoulders and the way his gloved fist gripped the hilt of his sword.
He looked up at her approach. The rapidly descending twilight cast his face in shadow. Wishing she could see his eyes, Barbara moved closer.
“You wish to speak with me?”
“I do.” Closing the few feet between them, he grasped her elbow. “Inside, where we won’t be disturbed.”
Her pulse tripped. His hold on her arm was as tight as his voice. She gave fleeting thought to her shoes and the hem of her gown as he yanked open the stable door, but his grim expression drove any worry about muck from her head.
A stable boy was inside, currying one of the horses. He turned a startled face to the intruders, and looked even more surprised when Zach issued a curt command.
“Get out.”
Recognizing the voice of authority, the boy scrambled to obey. The stable door banged shut behind him and left a silence broken only by the swish of horses’ tails and the restless shuffle of hooves. Barbara breathed in the earthy scent of warm horseflesh and fresh-cut straw, lifted her chin and took the offensive.
“I understand Mr. Irving accompanied the rangers on patrol this past month.”
“He did.”
She could see his eyes now. They held none of the warmth or laughter she’d grown used to seeing in them. Her chin rose another notch.
“Did you mention me to him?”
“I did.”
Anger flared, swift and hot. She wasn’t one of his troops, to be treated thus.
“Enough of this ‘he did’ and ‘I did.’ Just tell me what he said and be done with it.”
He stepped closer. Too close. Barbara refused to back away. Not that she could. She was almost up against the boards of a stall.
“He said you charmed an emerald bracelet out of some petty count in Bohemia.”
“He was a baron, not a count, and the bracelet was of diamonds.”
He accepted her cool reply with a shrug, as if not particularly interested in the details. Barbara discovered why in the next breath.
“Mr. Irving also said you were accompanied on that occasion by your brother…or the man who presented himself as such.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, a sick feeling curled in her stomach. Was this what people thought of her? Paramour to a man who might or might not be her brother? For the first time, her past shamed her. Deeply shamed her.
Pride wouldn’t allow her to show it, however. Deliberately, she curved her mouth into a smile. “Did he think Harry my lover? How very droll.”
“Is he your lover?”
“I will not dignify that with a response. You may believe what you will.”
He took another step toward her, and it was all Barbara could do not to shrink against the stall.
“Tell me.” The demand was a quick, slashing whip. “What relationship is this Harry to you?”
Goaded, she threw the question back in his face. “What difference does it make?”
“Little, I suppose. Except I’d feel less a fool for wanting you the way I do if I knew he was your brother and not your lover.”
The admission that he desired her despite the doubt that had been planted in his mind should have thrilled Barbara. She waited for the flush of victory, the heady rush of knowing she could add Zach to her list of conquests. Like so many others she’d set out to tantalize and beguile, he’d fallen under her spell.
The exhilaration came…and fled. She had only to look at the grim cast to his face to know that wanting her accorded him little joy.
“Tell me, Barbara. Is Harry brother, husband or lover?”
She didn’t understand the new, piercing ache that lodged just under her breastbone. She’d never cared what men thought of her before. Zach’s opinion shouldn’t matter any more than the others. But it did. For reasons she couldn’t seem to determine, it did.
Ignoring the ache, she shrugged. “You won’t believe me now whatever I say.”
“Which is he, dammit?”
“My brother!”
He gave a small grunt, but she couldn’t tell whether the sound was one of satisfaction at having pulled an answer from her or disbelief. His eyes were hooded as he stared down at her.
“Mr. Irving wasn’t the only one who accompanied us on patrol,” he said after a moment. “Mr. Latrobe was also a member of the party.”
“Is he supposed to be of interest to me?”
“You may not recognize his name, but he recognized yours. It seems you and your brother swindled his friend out of two hundred pounds.”
“I told you! Harry was as taken in by that Swiss railroad scheme as any of the men he convinced to invest in it.”
“This wasn’t a railroad scheme. As I recall, it had something to do with a jeweled miniature purported to have belonged to Marie Antoinette.”
Sweet Jesus! How much of her past had he uncovered?
“My grandmother was one of the queen’s ladies in waiting,” she bit out. “Grandmère smuggled that miniature out of France when she fled the country. My brother and I believed the stones to be real.”
And so they were, until Harry pried them off and replaced them with paste.
Zach said nothing for long moments. Barbara let the taut silence spin out. If she was to be interrogated like a prisoner in the dock, he could damn well drag the answers he sought out of her.
“Did
he send you here?” he asked at last. “Did you and this brother of yours fabricate this connection to my mother to play on her sympathies and extort money from her? Or are you lying about everything, including the business about Harry being in prison?”
“Shall I describe his prison to you? It was once the HMS Dromedary. Now it’s a rotting, vermin-infested hulk moored to a stone breakwater in Bermuda. I wasn’t allowed aboard, of course, but I could smell the stink of tar and sweat and death from the quay. I’m told the ship once carried a complement of fifteen officers and one hundred sailors. More than five hundred convicts are now chained below its decks each night.”
“You tell that tale most convincingly,” he muttered. “Why should I believe it? Or you?”
“Because you want to. It wouldn’t do for you to desire a liar and a cheat. Or a woman who would whore herself to save her lover.”
With a shake of his head, he drew his knuckles down the curve of her cheek. “Whatever else you are, my golden-haired witch, you’re not a whore.”
“How can you be so certain?” she flung back. “You must know I wasn’t a virgin when you…When we…”
“I’m no Johnny Raw, Barbara. I knew I wasn’t the first, but my guess is you haven’t taken many lovers.”
She would die before she would admit there had only been one before him. Or that the drunken bastard had left her bloodied and almost as bruised as Hattie. Harry had avenged her honor—what was left of it, anyway—but the mere memory of that distasteful incident was enough to stiffen her back.
“So, Barrister Morgan. You’ve weighed the evidence. Do you find me guilty or innocent of the crimes laid against me?”
“Not innocent.” His knuckles made another pass over her cheek. “Certainly not innocent. If I’m to judge anyone, though, I would judge this brother who sent you.”
They were back to Harry. Always, Barbara thought, it came back to Harry. She struggled to put her feelings for her scapegrace brother into words.
“Don’t judge him too harshly, Zach. You grew to manhood surrounded by a large and loving family. Harry and I had only each other.”
To her disgust, tears began to well behind her lids. Furious with herself for such ridiculous missishness, she willed them away.
“If my brother swindled anyone, it was to feed me. If he cheated, it was to keep a roof over my head. You would do the same for Urice or Vera or Theo.”
“In a heartbeat.”
The response went far toward calming Barbara’s tattered nerves. He studied her for long moments, his thoughts unreadable behind his dark eyes.
“How soon can you be ready to leave?”
“Leave?”
“Commissioner Ellsworth negotiated a treaty with the chief of the Grand Pawnee while we were out on patrol. Colonel Arbuckle has deputized me to carry it to Washington.”
She stared at him stupidly. “What has this treaty to do with me?”
“I’m thinking you should accompany me to Washington. Once I’ve delivered the report, we can take a ship to London.”
Her jaw sagged. “To London?”
“To see what can be done to aid your brother.”
Dear Lord above!
He really did desire her. He must, to put aside his doubts and his duties to travel across an ocean with her.
Barbara could hardly tell him now she intended to sail for Bermuda, not England. Nor could she admit her plans included extortionate bribes and a dangerous prison escape. Her thoughts whirling, she stammered a protest.
“How…? How can you travel to England? You have duties here.”
“I’ve requested a leave of absence. Colonel Arbuckle has agreed to it, after I present Commissioner Ellsworth’s report to President Jackson.”
“But…I thought…”
“Thought what? I promised to help you. The Morgans hold to their promises.”
Feeling much like a dog chasing its own tail, she struggled to make sense of this confusing man. “What of the things Irving told you about me? The things I told you about myself?”
“They change nothing. I merely wanted the truth out of you.”
The truth! A bubble of hysteria rose in Barbara’s throat. She couldn’t have sorted through her tangled web of half truths and lies now to save her soul.
She had to get away, had to bring some order to her chaotic thoughts. The shrill notes of a fife announcing the start of the ball gave her the excuse she needed.
“I…I must go and change.”
“I’ll wait for you out front.”
“No!” She dragged in a breath. “Lieutenant Prescott came by this afternoon and asked to escort me to the festivities. Since I had no word from you, I accepted.”
“The dog! And Nate dares to call himself my friend. Very well. I’ll see you there.”
Curling his knuckle under her chin, he dropped a swift, hard kiss on her mouth.
“Just be sure to save a waltz for me.”
13
Lieutenant Prescott was pacing Sallie Nicks’s downstairs parlor when Barbara rushed in.
“There you are!” His eager smile faltered when he took in her tumbled hair and travel-stained dress. “Have you changed your mind about attending the ball?”
“Not at all. I merely had some business to attend to. If you’ll be patient another few moments, I’ll go upstairs at once and change.”
“Of course.”
To Barbara’s relief, the bedroom she shared with Zach’s sisters was empty. Scattered ribbons and tossed petticoats indicated they had already departed for the ball. Hattie, too, was gone. The fire in the grate had been banked, and the wick was trimmed under the curling iron. Barbara’s ivory ball gown still lay across the bed. The gold tissue overskirt gleamed in the light of the oil lamp, but she barely gave it a glance. Her churning thoughts were all on Lieutenant Zachariah Morgan.
He wanted her. Despite all he’d heard about her, he still desired her.
Hugging herself, Barbara paced the cluttered room. She should be pleased that she’d added another conquest to her list. Instead, uncharacteristic guilt nagged at her conscience. The guilt annoyed her, but it was easier to deal with than the nonsensical regret that kept tugging at her heart.
She hated the thought of deceiving Zach yet again, but saw no other path to take. She couldn’t sail to London. She had no intention of allowing her brother to rot in the hulks for the months or years it would take to reopen his case.
Nor could she allow Zach to accompany her to Bermuda. He was trained in legal matters. What was worse, he wore a uniform. He hunted down those who violated the law or attempted to evade justice. He didn’t help them escape.
She’d have to slip away once they reached Washington. Find a ship sailing for Bermuda. She’d best make sure she got a bank draft from Louise Morgan before departing Fort Gibson, though. She couldn’t leave that to chance.
The muted trill of a violin tuning cut into her whirling thoughts. Muttering an oath, Barbara shed her traveling dress, dragged on the ivory ball gown and struggled with the buttons at its back. A firm tug at the rounded neckline bared the slopes of her breasts. A few pinches puffed up the sleeves.
Digging pins from her traveling case, she did her best to arrange her hair. Then it was merely a matter of pulling on her gloves, draping her tasseled reticule over her wrist and tossing the silk-lined opera cloak over her arm.
The Cotton Balers’ Ball was in full swing when Barbara and Lieutenant Prescott made a tardy entrance.
The dance was being held in one of the enlisted men’s mess halls. The men had cleared the long room of its plank table and benches and outdone themselves decorating the whitewashed interior. Oil lamps and bunting hung from the rafters, while the Seventh Infantry’s colors fluttered from every post. A massive silver punch bowl and cups held place of honor at one end of the hall. The regimental band occupied the dais at the other end. They were playing a lively reel for the couples dipping and swirling enthusiastically across the dance floor.
Lieutenant Prescott lifted the garment from her shoulders. While he searched for an empty peg amid the banks of scarlet-lined military capes, silk shawls and wool redingotes, a sea of blue coats and gold braid swarmed around Barbara. A fiery-haired young subaltern elbowed his way through the crowd to hand her a dance card.
“You’ve missed the quadrille and the Scotch reel,” he said with a blush to match his hair. “A waltz is next. May I beg the honor of taking you to the floor?”
“I’ve reserved that for Lieutenant Prescott, but you may put your name down for a later waltz.”
Almost overwhelmed by his good fortune, he snatched the card back and used its dangling pencil to scribble his name. His comrades were jockeying for the remaining dances when Nate Prescott returned and offered his arm.
“The colonel’s compliments, Lady Barbara. He’d like to introduce you to Commissioners Ellsworth and Schermerhorn.”
Nodding, she placed her hand on his arm and let him weave a path through the crowd. Her gaze drifted over the dancers as they passed. These Americans! They were so very egalitarian. Captains and corporals alike trod the boards, partnering their chosen ladies. And there was Sallie Nicks hooking elbows with a tall, mustached sergeant.
Suddenly, Barbara’s gaze snagged on a delicate beauty in a shimmering green gown. Well, well! Vera had scornfully declared herself above female vanities, yet someone—Hattie, Barbara guessed—had crimped her fringe and arranged her hair in most becoming side curls. She was dancing with a great bear of a captain and looked to be enjoying herself enormously.
Amused, Barbara searched the ranks of men lined up against the far wall. Sure enough, young Mr. Harris stood with arms folded and a glower on his face as he watched the twirling couples.
