The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (19 page)

“Were you such a fan of honesty, you wouldn’t have made that ridiculous proposal just to placate my father.”

His gaze grew shuttered. “Ridiculous?”

Feeling the frost in his tone, she corrected herself, “Well, not ridiculous but certainly insincere.”

“Just what kind of offer would you consider as sincere, Miz Crowley? One from a man who sees you more as a convenience than as an individual? As a means to further his career? One who would share your bed but not your interests? Is that what you’re looking for when you toy with Miles Dougherty?”

She winced at his accuracy yet was moved to speak up in her own defense. “I’m not toying with Miles. How dare you suggest that! He and I are old friends, just as I am with Jane.”

“I don’t think it’s friendship he has in mind, Juliet. Open your eyes.”

She faced him angrily to demand, “And what is it you have in mind, Major Banning? Something less honorable? Or is it all of the above? Or are you only interested in me as a tool for your revenge?”

His stare went ice-cold. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m not such a fool as not to guess how much it would hurt my father if you were to—to break my heart just to spite him for what he’s done to you and your men.”

“I never thought you a fool,” he corrected in a dangerously low rumble. “Not until now.”

His hands shot out to circle her upper arms, to yank her up against him. Her gasp was quickly muffled by the grinding crush of his mouth over hers. She issued a soft mewling sound somewhere between protest and surrender, then parted her lips to encourage a more intense union.

This was the truth she wanted to hear.

His purpose altered immediately from harsh conquest to the sweet ravishment of her will. She had no desire to fight him or the yearning he stirred within her. For the moment, it was just the two of them alone beneath the infinite southwestern sky, unfettered by opinion or doubt or confusions while in the thrall of their nakedly honest desires.

Juliet met him kiss for kiss. Her palms prowled the rough wool of his uniform jacket, seeking a way inside to feel his body’s heat
and strength, wishing recklessly that she could peel it from his shoulders right there in the Howells’ backyard. Wishing they had more time to explore what exploded between them each time their lips met. Wishing she knew how to interpret their kisses, to know if it was more than just the passion of the moment or somehow significant of the way he felt about her. Wishing the sound of her father’s laughter wasn’t quite so loud, so near, reminding her of where they were.

But not reminding her soon enough.

The creak of the door forced them to break off the kiss, but they were still very much in each other’s arms when faced with Jane’s impassive stare. For a moment, she stood there, pale and stunned beyond reaction. Then when she did speak, her voice was toneless.

“Major Banning, the colonel was wondering what became of you. Will you go in, or shall I—invent something?”

“I’ll go in, thank you, ma’am.” His hands fell away from Juliet as his brief stare conveyed his regrets and reluctance. He went inside without another word.

Mortified, Juliet waited for some sign of what her friend was feeling. Surely she must have been shocked and betrayed. But her words gave nothing away.

“And here I thought you needed my advice on romance. Silly me.”

“Jane,” Juliet cried softly.

But the other woman returned inside without listening to her explanation.

Chapter 14

Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Juliet knocked upon her friend’s door in the morning. Jane’s greeting was unusually cool, grinding Juliet’s sense of shame deeper.

“I was wondering if you still wanted my help to prepare for the party tonight.”

There was a long silence. At any moment, Juliet expected her friend to chase her from her doorstep with angry recriminations. She’d deserve them for her disloyalty.

“Whom else would I ask?” Jane replied flatly. “That Carolina cow? Really, if I’d had to listen to her say, ‘Well, my Donald’ one more time, I would have strangled her where she sat.”

Juliet smiled anxiously. “She is quite overbearing, isn’t she?”

“An understatement. I know one of the duties of a military wife is to further her husband’s career at every opportunity, but to have the man’s obvious superiority rammed down
my throat with each swallow is quite intolerable. And the poor captain looked ready to die of embarrassment. Why doesn’t he take her aside for a good talking to?”

“I don’t think Maisy is a very good listener.”

“Well, if she hates it here so much, I’d be happy to get her started on the walk back to her precious plantation home.”

Juliet chuckled at her friend’s typical sarcasm and felt the void between them that much more keenly. What would she do without Jane Howell as her companion? She couldn’t let the breach widen any farther.

“Jane, about last night—I took advantage of your kindness and led you on regarding my feelings for your brother. I’m sorry. And I feel so awful.”

Jane sighed, then appeared chagrined. “Dear Juliet, please forgive
me
for acting so foolishly. It’s just that I’d so hoped you and Miles …” She let the rest dangle meaningfully.

“Believe me,” Juliet told her truthfully, “it would have been so much easier if it had happened that way.”

Jane smiled wistfully. “But it didn’t, did it? And I can’t blame you for that.” She opened her arms, and Juliet stepped into them with a grateful sob. After a long emotional moment, Jane’s question shocked Juliet from her tears.

“Are you in love with him?”

Sniffing, she leaned back. “With whom?”

“With your pretty Southern boy?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered unhappily. “I don’t want to be.”

“Sometimes we have little choice in matters of the heart. Come inside. I must finish a special repast for my escort. They’re due to leave midmorning, and I just feel that no one should be denied a touch of Christmas spirit.”

And that’s why everyone loved Jane, Juliet thought with a smile. She would consider the lowliest soldier with compassion and treat him like a king. “What can I do to help?”

“Put on your sunniest smile and that apron and help me serve up these flapjacks. I made the preserves myself. Don’t look at me like that. I
did!
I’m not totally without domestic skills. And when we’re finished, I’ll help you sort out that question of whether or not it’s love.”

Juliet wasn’t sure whether she felt relief or reluctance.

The troop marched out right after the guard mount. Jane waved and called to each man by name, even shedding a few tears, as if she’d formed a personal friendship with every individual. Knowing Jane, she probably had. Then she turned to Juliet, all business.

“Let’s start making ribbon bows while you tell me everything.”

Juliet told every detail, no matter how personal. Every feeling, no matter how confused. She spoke of her fear that Noble was leading her on to get closer to her father or to exact
some cruel revenge. She admitted that a part of her didn’t care if that was the case. That’s how far gone she was when it came to the Kentucky major. When she ran out of words, she looked to Jane, hoping the other could make some logical suggestion to solve her dilemma.

“Goodness,” was all Jane said. So Juliet was forced to draw the answers out of her.

“How could I be in love with a man I can’t trust?” she cried, pausing in the middle of tying her fancy loops of red. “He’s told me his plans, and I know there’s no place in them for me. He wants a local girl with money and influence to aid in his career. He wants a Maisy Bartholomew, not a Juliet Crowley, who’s followed the drum so long, she doesn’t know any other kind of life.”

“But you can learn, Juliet. If you love him, you can learn. And besides, what man would want a Maisy when he could have a Juliet?”

Thinking she was only being kind, Juliet knotted the fluffy bow and gave a stubborn scowl. “But I like my life the way it is.”

Jane said nothing. She knew that was a lie. She knew Juliet wanted nothing more desperately than a permanent home, with neighbors who would holler over the fence and children who could play in the yard without fear of an Indian raid. She knew because Juliet had told her all that during a soul-baring moment one long winter night in Texas.

Jane examined their overflowing basket of
cheerful bows and grinned. “It’s almost lunch time. Let’s see if we can coax a few of those handsome boys into helping us string our streamers and hang our bows.”

The minute Jane, in her dainty half boots and peeping petticoats, climbed up onto a chair in the mess hall, she was surrounded by troopers offering to lend a hand. Within the hour, the walls were decorated with flags and holiday wreaths and the ceilings draped with colored tissue, bows, and strategically placed boughs of mistletoe. Tables and chairs were pushed aside so that canvas could be stretched tightly over the wetted-down dirt floor. An area was set aside for the post’s musicians, who would play sprightly reels and nostalgic waltzes. Chairs lined one wall next to the food and beverage tables, so that ladies could rest their feet between dances. With a limited number of females, no jig or galop would find a lady without a line of eager partners.

As the afternoon wore on, Juliet found herself swept up in the excitement. She loved military balls—the dancing, the music, the formality, and the fun. This year was different. Previously, only her father’s opinion mattered. But on this night, whether she liked the notion or not, she wanted to bewitch Noble Banning the way he’d dazzled her. To what end she hadn’t quite decided.

She wore the gold gown again, simply because it was the most flattering thing she
owned and the most suitable for the occasion. Instead of the chignon she’d worn the night before, she let her hair flow loosely about her shoulders, spun with random curls and clipped up on one side by a sprig of holly Jane had nurtured all the way from Washington. After the shabby way she’d treated both Miles and Noble, they probably would refuse her a second look.

When she emerged from her room, she came to a startled stop as both Miles and Noble surged to their feet. Both were impeccably garbed in freshly creased uniforms and stood stiff as their starched collars: Miles capable and confident and so dear to her, Noble sleek, elegant and so staggering in his appeal that it was all she could do to look away from the smoldering self-assurance in his gaze.

Behind them, her father wore a cat-at-the-cream smile of self-congratulation.

“Jules, your escorts are here.”

Recovering from her shock and aware of the look of hostile competition the two men exchanged, Juliet chose the diplomatic route.

“Oh, my. I am so flattered, really I am, but I’ve already promised the first dance to the most handsome and eligible man I know.”

While they blinked, perplexed, she skirted them to take up her father’s arm. “I’m ready, Papa,” she cooed with feigned innocence. He patted her hand in approval.

“Gentlemen, you may fall in if you like,” Crowley instructed them as he led his daughter
proudly across the torchlit parade ground toward the inviting noise of the mess hall.

The moment they entered, there was a unison thunder as every man came to immediate attention. Never was Juliet’s pride in her father so acute as in these formal shows of respect.

“At ease, men, and a happy Christmas to you all.”

“Thank you, sir,” came the returning good wishes.

“I have it on good authority that through the generosity of Mrs. Howell, we have at our disposal some very fine champagne. Enjoy it—in moderation—gentlemen. Please carry on.”

The music started up, a surprisingly well-tuned assortment of instruments plucking out the melancholy strains of “Lorena” as the colonel and his daughter swept out onto the floor for the first dance. The married couples followed, and the other men indulged in some good-natured pushing as they jockeyed for opportunities to cut in. Juliet enjoyed the moment, but her father spoiled it with his amused observation.

“Which of your impatient suitors will you grace with the next turn about the floor?” Crowley teased as he observed his daughter’s distraction. Both Miles and Noble stood on the fringe of the jubilant company, their eyes on her and each other, tension arcing between them. Whichever she chose, the happy mood of the evening would be broken.

“I think George Allen.”

He laughed. “What an excellent choice to insure no ill feelings. And if you weren’t being so cautious?”

“I would continue to dance with you.”

A deeper chuckle rumbled from him as he spun her around and left her in the chaplain’s capable hands.

George Allen was a fine dancer. He moved her about the floor with graceful twirls, making the appropriate conversation. But he seemed distracted.

“George, is there someone you’d rather be dancing with?” Juliet asked.

He looked to her with a fiery blush. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.”

She glanced over to where Colleen was serving up the champagne, her smiles intoxicating the men more than the drink. “No offense taken, Captain. But you might want to get in line before the rest of her evening is spoken for.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Juliet.”

“Yes, ma’am. Juliet.”

She smiled as he scrambled over to the refreshment table as soon as he could do so without insulting her. As he spoke hurriedly to the servant girl, Colleen blushed happily, then cast an uneasy eye toward Maisy Bartholomew. But bless him, George refused to relent until Colleen shyly offered her hand so that he could lead her out for the next dance.

Across the floor, Maisy took notice, her features mottling unattractively. Hoping to avert disaster and preserve a well-deserved moment between two well-deserving people, Juliet moved to intercept the indignant woman.

“Mrs. Bartholomew, I must compliment you upon that exceptional choice of color. What is it called?”

Maisy frowned at being interrupted in her intentions but was too vain to let the flattery pass. “Chartreuse. My Donald had it dyed especially for me in Charlotte. Back before the war, you could obtain such extravagances. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I simply must go speak to that slattern of a maid. How dare she think to humiliate me by fraternizing with those above her station.”