An image of Cole moving toward her, naked and dripping wet, did strange things to her pulse and sent her scurrying into action. “No!” she cried. “Don’t move! I have it right here.” She grabbed the towel and raced to the partition, thrusting her arm behind it. “Here.”
“Sorry. Can’t reach it.”
She strained her arm further.
“No luck. I’m afraid you’ll have to bring it to me.”
“I’ll just set it down here and you can—”
“Bring it to me, Devon.”
She knew that tone. Arguing with him would be pointless now. If she didn’t comply, he’d just do something that would embarrass her even more. Not that she could think of anything more embarrassing than seeing him naked, but doubtless he could. She edged slowly around the partition, her eyes squeezed shut and her arm outstretched. “Can you reach it now?”
“Not quite.”
She sighed and inched forward, then stumbled as her toes knocked into something thick and hard. The tub. Her eyes flew open as she swayed forward, nearly tumbling into the water on top of Cole. He was as naked as the day he was born. Not only did he look as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself, he was making no attempt whatsoever to reach for the towel.
She stared at him in mute wonder, unable to stop herself as her gaze traveled slowly over him. Cole’s hair was sleeked back against his scalp, making his chiseled features even more pronounced and compelling. Wet, creamy streaks of soap clung to his broad chest, a glistening white contrast to his dark bronze skin. His shoulders and arms were thickly corded with muscle, visible proof of the tightly leashed power within his body. Even his legs looked strong, though she couldn’t see much of those. Just the tops of his golden kneecaps and a glimpse of masculine thighs before they disappeared back into the water.
Devon’s mouth went dry as an odd sensation shot through her stomach, making her feel nervous and excited at the same time. Solid, hard, lean, big—the words flitted through her mind, but none of them quite seemed to capture the raw, masculine beauty of Cole McRae.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to wash my back for me?” he drawled.
That snapped her out of her dazed stupor. Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she flung the towel at his face. “Go to blazes,” she said, then spun around and marched away.
She’d barely made it across the room when she heard another splash, then, after a minute, the sound of his footsteps behind her. Devon turned cautiously around, relieved to see that he was at least dressed now. Well, sort of. He’d pulled on his pants and shirt, but left the shirt unbuttoned. Her eyes went directly to the light smattering of coarse blond hair that covered his chest, then to the rippling muscles that lined his stomach. She noticed that he was barefoot too. Somehow that made him seem less intimidating.
Devon abruptly curbed her wandering thoughts and summoned her most disdainful tone. “May I?” she asked, tilting her head toward the tub. “Or were you planning on making me wait until morning?”
“Lord, no. The sooner the better.” Cole waved his hand in front of his face in a gesture she knew was meant to rile her. Stiffening her spine, she ignored the insult and made for the tub when he stopped her again. She turned to see him toss three soft bundles, all wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with string, on the bed. “You’ll probably be needing these,” he said gruffly.
She stared blankly at the packages, then back at him. A fierce scowl lined his features, and his hands were jammed deep in his pockets. He looked desperately uncomfortable, a fact that was amazing for a man who was always so totally in control. She would have studied that more, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?” she asked, not moving.
“Why don’t you open them and find out?”
She did. The first contained a pale lavender dressing gown, edged with touches of ivory lace at the collar and cuffs. The second package held knit stockings, a camisole, drawers, and a petticoat, all made from soft white cotton and trimmed with tiny blue ribbons. The last bundle contained a brand new gown. It was a lovely indigo calico with delicate touches of sage green. Blue and ivory ribbons were woven tightly through the bodice and sleeves.
Devon stared at the gifts, completely overwhelmed. She’d been planning on washing her garments in the tub after she’d finished her bath and simply hoping for the best. When Cole had said he’d needed to find new clothes, she’d presumed he meant new clothes for him, not for her. And what with goods becoming more and more scarce because of the war, he’d probably had to pay through the nose for them. She frowned, trying to make sense of his gesture.
“If you don’t like them,” Cole said quickly, “We can go back tomorrow—”
“No!” Devon snatched up the gown, as if afraid he’d take it away then and there. “They’re lovely, truly. I just didn’t expect—I didn’t think—blue’s my favorite color,” she stammered awkwardly.
Cole studied her for a minute, as though trying to divine the truth of her words, then something that looked like relief washed over his rugged features. “I know.” He reached forward, running his rough masculine hands lightly over the delicate white undergarments. “These had pink ribbons on them, but I told the woman you had to have blue.”
Devon stared at him in amazement, trying to picture Cole in a lady’s mercantile. He had probably scared the shop clerk half out of her wits, making her replace perfectly good pink ribbons because he thought she would like blue better. Just like a man. Give a man a little bit of information and he thought he knew everything.
She stared at the garments, her throat aching with the knowledge that he’d actually wanted to please her. He’d done more than that. Devon was stunned, amused, and absolutely thrilled. “They’re perfect,” she said sincerely.
He nodded. “The color’s right, and they should fit too. You won’t have to bother with that corset thing.”
“No, I guess I won’t.” She smiled up at him. “They’re lovely, Cole. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She became suddenly aware of how close they were standing. Looking up into his eyes, she saw flecks of gold in their warm brown depths. A lock of damp blond hair fell across his forehead, giving him a boyishly appealing quality. It dimly occurred to her that she should question his motivation. He’d probably only bought her the garments as a way to make her let down her guard, or feel indebted to him. Devon resolutely pushed those cynical thoughts away, regardless of how true they might be. For now, she just wanted to revel in the unexpected joy of his gift.
Her largess evaporated as she watched him cross the room and ease his long frame into a weather-beaten armchair near what used to be the window. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
He shrugged and looked down at himself. “Looks like I’m sitting down.”
“I can see that. Why are you sitting down?”
“You want me to stand?”
“Stand, sit, do whatever you want, just do it on the other side of the door so I can take my bath.”
Comprehension slowly showed on his rugged features. He eased back into the chair, locked his hands behind his head, and propped up his bare feet on a scarred pine table. “I’m afraid not.”
Devon’s eyes widened. “You can’t mean you intend to stay here while I bathe? In the same room? What about my privacy?” she sputtered.
He shrugged. “Consider that a privilege you have yet to earn.”
Devon unleashed the full fury of her glare on him. “Well, at least you’re consistent,” she stormed. “Every time I begin to believe you might be a halfway decent human being, you do something else to prove me wrong.” She stalked behind the screen. Seconds later, she was back, sweeping up the frilly new garments she’d inadvertently left on the bed. “You give me your word you won’t… interfere with my bath?” she demanded.
“My solemn oath.”
“Hmph. Your solemn oath,” she repeated hotly. “That and a nickel still wouldn’t be enough to buy a penny ca
ndy, now would it?”
She stormed back to the huge wooden tub, surprised to find that he’d left her two buckets of clean, warm water. She tossed the garments onto a nearby chair and added one bucket to the tub, saving the second for rinsing. A tremor of nervous apprehension raced through her as she started peeling open the buttons of her gown, knowing he was just on the other side of the screen. Since there was nothing she could do about it, however, she pushed the thought from her mind, tugged off the rest of her filthy clothes, and fairly leaped into the water.
It was a strange sensation to sit in the tub entirely naked, knowing that Cole had just shared the same water, but she refused to focus on that. Instead she concentrated her energies on finally getting clean. She scrubbed her body twice, and then attacked her hair, working the soap into a frothy lather as she removed every trace of mud and filth from her person. When she finished, she stood and reached for the bucket she’d set aside. She poured that over her head, letting the water cascade down her body like warm flowing silk.
Devon heard a sound on the other side of the screen and turned sharply. It sounded as if Cole had made a noise, but she couldn’t tell whether it was a word or a groan. She heard his feet hit the floor and the sound of his chair scuff back, telling her he had stood up. She froze as the water cascaded in thin rivulets down her body, bracing herself to see him come charging around the screen, but he didn’t. There was stillness on the other side of the partition, and a tension she could feel but not identify.
Not about to take any further chances, she stepped from the tub, buffed her hair and body dry with Cole’s damp towel, and wrapped herself up in the dressing gown he’d purchased for her. As she’d left her bag containing her brush, comb, and other personal items in the main room, there was nothing more she could do here. Devon tightened the belt around her waist, then moved hesitantly around the partition, her eyes immediately searching out her captor. He was standing with his back toward her, near the empty fireplace.
She moved wordlessly behind him and took a seat at the small dressing table beside the bed. The mirror that hung above it was cracked in two places, but it would do. She flipped open the straps of her tapestry bag and began spreading out the contents on the table before her. She reached for the comb first, tugging gently through the mass of tangles until her hair hung smoothly down her back. She fluffed it with her fingers in an attempt to help it dry, then left it alone. Next she opened the jar of lady’s finishing cream that she’d confiscated and proceeded to lightly smooth it over her hands, face, and throat. Sweet-smelling dabs of scent followed, applied sparingly behind her ears and along her throat.
Devon would have dabbed it between her breasts as well, but Cole had turned around since she’d begun to primp, and was openly watching her every move. Though she tried to ignore him, she was painfully aware that her heart was beating faster and her hands shook slightly.
Uncomfortable having him watch her toilette and suddenly anxious to abandon the small, confined space of the room, she dragged her fingers once again through her hair, deciding she would style it now, still damp, rather than wait the extra thirty minutes or so required for it to dry. She pulled her hair back and twisted it into a thick chignon at the base of her neck. But the heavy, damp strands kept slipping through her fingers, making her feel clumsy and inept under Cole’s steady gaze.
“Are you nearly finished?” he asked.
Her hairpins clattered to the ground. Devon glared at him, scooped up the pins, then twisted her hair into a tight knot and stabbed it in place. “Yes,” she said. A few wispy strands immediately came loose, falling softly around her face, but she didn’t care. She stepped behind the partition once again, hastily dressed, and met him at the door. “I believe you have the key.”
Cole said nothing. His tawny eyes moved slowly over her, taking in everything from the tips of her boots to the top of her prim hairdo. She immediately started to lift her hand to tuck in the wayward strands, but checked the impulse, bringing it slowly back to her side. She suddenly felt absurd, standing there in the clothes he’d picked out, like a doll all dressed up for him. Though that was obviously the last of his intentions. More likely, Cole McRae had simply grown tired of her constant state of dishabille. The ladies in his life probably spent hours gussying up just for him, agonizing over which frilly gown would please him the most. The thought caused a peculiar, twisting ache in her stomach and brought a frown to her lips. Well, she thought crossly, the hell with them.
As a matter of fact, the hell with him.
She tilted her chin and demanded, “Are we planning on eating this evening? Or would you prefer to stand here and glare at one another all night long?”
Again, that faint glimmer of a smile, and then it was gone, making her wonder if she had even seen it at all. Cole pulled the key from his shirt pocket, unlocked the door, and ushered her through with a mock bow. “After you, my lady.”
The dining room downstairs was deserted, the lamps cast down. Apparently the boardinghouse only offered rooms, not meals. They left and walked a few blocks through town. Unlike the bustling city of Fort Monroe, the streets here were quiet, almost subdued. Devon saw few civilians, though military personnel seemed to linger on nearly every corner.
They stopped in front of the town’s only restaurant. Faded muslin curtains hung limply at the windows, a welcome change from the usual practice of simply boarding them up. Inside were large battered tables which seated ten or more. Swinging doors on the far right of the room led to what looked like a saloon. She heard a rousing tune played on an off-key piano and the sound of men who’d been drinking, which told her the place could get rowdy, and quick. As far as she was concerned, Cole couldn’t have selected a better spot.
As the restaurant was crowded, they had to wait a few minutes to be seated. When two men left, the hostess hastily cleared their places and motioned for Cole and Devon to sit down. The four men who’d remained at the table sprang to their feet when they saw her approach. She sized them up quickly: mid-twenties, large and strapping, cavalry uniforms.
Feeling their eyes on her, she smiled and swung her hips as she moved, changing her walk to a seductive glide. She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she felt Cole’s hands slide over her hips from behind, holding her steady. Devon abruptly froze. She looked over her shoulder and hissed, “Take your hands off me this instant!”
“Only trying to help. You appeared to be having trouble walking.”
“Hardly, McRae. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“So do I,” he answered as he slid his hands off her hips. “And I sincerely advise against it, Blake. This will be your only warning.”
“In that case, I’ll be sure to give your advice all the careful thought and consideration it deserves.”
With that, she turned back toward the table, nodded to the men who were watching their conversation with open curiosity, and proceeded to move with an even more exaggerated sway in their direction. When she reached the table, she lowered her eyes demurely. “Goodness, gentlemen, please don’t tire yourselves on my account. Do sit down.”
The man on her right reached for her chair, but Cole was there first, pulling it out for her to sit down. Devon arched her brows in mild surprise. “Why, Captain McRae, how very gallant of you. And here all this time, I thought you didn’t know a thing about manners.”
She settled in and introductions were quickly made. Lieutenant Davis, the man on her right, was not only charming, she decided, but startlingly good-looking. He had a solid build—not quite as big as Cole, but big enough—rich chestnut hair, bright blue eyes, and a handsome mustache. “I couldn’t help noticing your charming accent, ma’am,” the lieutenant said after a few minutes. “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from originally?”
Beside her, Cole rolled his eyes. “France,” he muttered.
Lieutenant Davis frowned, looking from Cole to Devon. “France? You don’t sound French at all. I thought perhaps E
ngland—”
“You’re quite right, Lieutenant. I am from England.” Devon shot Cole a scalding look, then turned back to the lieutenant. She leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “Never mind Captain McRae, He has such trouble remembering things. The poor dear was recently wounded in the head, you know.”
The four men stared at Cole, their expressions heavy with appalled sympathy. Cole swore under his breath. “That will do, Devon,” he said.
“Why, Captain, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sure these men understand that you were once quite… alert.” She patted his hand encouragingly, her tone that of one talking to a none-too-bright child. “Perhaps you will be again one day.”
The four cavalrymen instantly rushed to assure him that his dull dim-wittedness would soon pass. The awkward silence that followed was finally broken when the hostess came over and deposited a plate in front of each of them. Devon looked down in dismay at the unappetizing mess of boiled beef, mushy peas, and burned biscuits. “It’s all we got left,” the woman snapped. “Take it or leave it.”
Beside her, Cole shrugged and lifted his fork. Devon attempted a smile as she looked up at the hostess. “I’m sure it tastes lovely,” she offered.
“Hmph,” the woman snorted, then spun around and stalked away. Devon stared after her in bewilderment.
“Don’t mind her,” Lieutenant Davis offered. “She’s been doing all the cooking, serving, and cleaning by herself since noon. The two girls that normally help out refugeed to Richmond this morning.”
“I see.” Devon took a bite of beef and chewed. She dawdled over her meal, stretching it out long after Cole had finished. She ignored him and set about flirting, laughing, and captivating each of her dinner companions in turn. She hung on every word of their stories, telling them how brave and strong they were, how fierce and frightening were the ordeals they’d been through. Cole pushed his chair back, an expression of weary boredom on his face.
Captured Page 14
