Mischief and Magnolias (7 page)

That'll teach him to invade my home!

“In medieval times, it was customary for the women of the house to help a guest bathe.” He stood behind her. She hadn't heard him enter the room over the sound of the rushing water. “They considered it an honor.” Humor tinged his voice.

Shaelyn straightened and whirled to face him. His smile could have charmed the drawers from an old woman, much less what it did to this young woman. Her palms grew damp. She couldn't breathe, couldn't take her eyes off the crooked grin on his face. “You are not a guest,” she managed, although her mouth had gone dry.

“Be that as it may, the offer still stands.” He untied the sash holding his robe closed.

Shaelyn heard his laughter as she fled the room. Her face burned even hotter.

Off balance. Confused. Not in control of herself. Angry. The variable mix of emotions frightened her. She'd never felt this way before, which made her angrier and more befuddled. From the moment he'd walked through her door, the world she knew ceased to exist. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then entered her old room.

Well, he's certainly made himself at home
. His brush and comb were neatly aligned on the bureau alongside a bottle of cologne, a small knife, a pocket watch, and a gold coin. Shaelyn picked up the bottle and smelled the cap. A fresh, clean scent with a hint of citrus assailed her nose. The memory of pressing her face into his chest when they first met flitted through her mind. She put the bottle down then turned toward the bed. A book lay on the bedside table, a red ribbon marking his place. She glanced at the title and tried not to smile as she recognized one of her father's favorites,
The Last of the Mohicans.

The bedclothes were half on the bed, half dragging on the floor—as if he hadn't been able to find a comfortable position and instead tossed and turned all night, as she had done—but the pillow retained the indentation of his head. She smoothed the pillowcase and the scent she now identified as his rose to her nose.

“Nice,” she murmured and pulled the sheets from the bed, tossing them in a pile on the floor.

His uniform jacket hung on the doorknob of the armoire. She smoothed the collar, releasing the smell of sun-warmed citrus and soap, then retrieved the pile of dirty laundry from a chair. A pair of soft woolen undergarments fell from her hand and she picked them up. Not the typical drawers that went down to mid-calf like most men wore, these, she assumed, had been specially made for Major Harte. Made of the finest wool, they stopped at the thigh, allowing the rest of his legs to be uncovered beneath his trousers. She wondered if he'd had them made to accommodate the ugly scar on his thigh.

An idea popped into her head and made her chuckle before she dropped the pile of dirty laundry in the hallway and grabbed clean sheets from the linen closet. She could hear him humming in the bathroom amid the sound of splashing water as he shaved. He wouldn't be humming for long. She finished making the bed and made a hasty exit before he stepped into his cold bath.

• • •

Remy watched Shaelyn come through the swinging door for the fourth time. Using a dishtowel to protect her hands from the oven-hot plate, she carried a platter heaped with johnnycakes and started making her way around the table. She had already dished out eggs, ham, and fried potatoes on her previous trips before placing the leftover food in chafing dishes on the sideboard.

Remy rose from his seat. “I'd like it if you and your mother would join us for breakfast.”

She stopped and looked at him, the hot plate in her hands coming perilously close to Captain Ames's head. “I'd rather not.”

He tilted his head slightly. “That was not a request. It was an order.” He took the platter as well as the dishtowel from her hands, setting it on the sideboard with the other food, then grasped her elbow and guided her to the table, where he pulled out the chair next to his. “Please.”

Shaelyn sat. Remy pushed in her chair. He recognized the defiance in her eyes as she stared at him, and he hid the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth.

He felt her gaze as he limped over to the swinging door and pushed it open. “Brenna, would you please join us?”

“Of course, Major. Thank you.” Brenna smiled as she untied her apron and tossed it over a chair back. She entered the dining room and went directly to the sideboard where she helped herself to breakfast then took the seat opposite Shaelyn, next to Jock.

“You must be hungry,” Remy commented to Shaelyn as he moved to the sideboard. He spooned scrambled eggs onto her plate and added a slice of ham and a spoonful of potatoes. He placed the dish on the table in front of her then went back to the sideboard and poured coffee. He held out the cup, forcing her to take it from him. With a flourish, he grabbed the napkin from her place setting, snapped it open, and draped it across her lap.

He took his seat next to her, picked up his napkin and placed it on his lap, then folded his hands and watched her. And waited. He could be patient when the moment demanded it and as he gazed into her lovely face, he felt like he had all the time in the world.

“You're not eating,” he said after a while.

“I'm not hungry.”

“You must eat, if for no other reason than to keep up your strength. You have a lot of work to do.”

The hatred in her eyes almost singed him. He watched her gaze sweep the table. All eyes were focused on them, including Brenna's. Amusement made the corners of his mouth twitch as her gaze slid back to him. She raised an eyebrow. “Afraid the food is poisoned, Major?”

All motion ceased. Cups stopped halfway to lips. Forks, full of food, hovered in mid-air.

“The thought had crossed my mind.” His lips parted in a generous grin. “Have some coffee.”

Her eyes still filled with defiance, Shaelyn did as she was told and brought the cup to her lips. She took a sip.

“More.”

He touched the bottom of her cup with his index finger, easing it to her lips. Obediently, Shaelyn swallowed, but her gaze remained on him over the rim. She put the cup down.

“Happy?”

“Not quite.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. His smile widened. “Eat.”

“As you wish.” She picked up her fork, speared a mound of fluffy eggs, and took a bite.

“Swallow.”

Obediently, Shaelyn swallowed.

Remy nodded, glanced at Brenna briefly, then brought his attention back to Shaelyn. “You and your mother will continue to eat all meals with me and my men.” Feeling mischievous, he added for her ears only, “Coffee tastes much better without the vinegar. And I don't appreciate cold baths, either. Don't do it again, Shae. I can guarantee you won't like the consequences.”

Shaelyn's eyes widened. She almost choked on her eggs. Remy watched in fascination as she blushed becomingly and ate the rest of her meal in silence.

Perhaps I am up to the challenge
, Remy mused as he watched a vein pulse in her neck. His gaze drifted to her eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He'd angered her. He could tell because the color of her eyes had changed from vibrant cobalt blue to nearly violet.

Amused, he dug into his meal.

Between bites of scrambled eggs and ham, he addressed his officers. “Today, gentlemen, we'll inspect the Cavanaugh steamboats. I don't know when our first shipment of supplies will be here, but I'd like to be prepared. I expect everyone to be ready by eight thirty.”

“I'd like to go with you.” She spoke so quietly, he wasn't certain he'd heard her. He turned slightly and gave her his full attention. Again, her face colored, the flush rising up from her neck to stain her lovely features. Her beautiful eyes were wide, glowing with…what? Warmth? Determination? Her small pink tongue darted out to lick her lips.

Remy's inclination was to deny her request outright, but what better way to keep an eye on her? What better way to make sure she didn't put nettles in his bed? Or do something else to him?

Aware his officers watched him, he nodded slightly. “You may join us, but I will not wait for you. We leave at eight thirty sharp, whether you're with us or not.”

Shaelyn gave a slight nod then pushed her empty plate away. She rose from the table and started collecting the dirty dishes. He saw her glance at the clock against the wall, perhaps judging her time, and move a little faster.

• • •

He didn't have to wait for her. Shae was already standing on the porch, her hands resting lightly on the wrought-iron railing, when he stepped through the front door and closed it behind him. A slight smile crossed his lips. She had changed from the serviceable skirt and blouse to a day gown in vibrant colors of gold, green, and red stripes. Still, she wore no hoops, but he could see the frothy lace of her petticoats beneath the hem of her skirts.

Captain Falstead brought an open carriage around to the front of the house and remained in the driver's seat, the reins to the matched pair of bays held loosely in his hands.

She didn't speak as she walked down the steps, but did allow him to hand her into the conveyance, her small hand resting in his much larger one. The warmth of her touch sent a thrill coursing through him, one he couldn't deny…but should.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she adjusted her skirts and took a seat, her intent stare never leaving his face until she lowered her eyes to study her shoes.

Remy sucked in his breath as he climbed into the carriage and sat across from her. Jock had been so right when he'd claimed that her steady gaze could see into a man's soul. Despite his cold bath earlier, desire surged through his veins, heating his blood. Her tempting lips curved into a smile and all he wanted at that moment was to taste them. Would her kiss be sweet? Or bitter like the vinegar in his coffee?

He had no time to learn the answer, as the rest of his officers came down the curving staircase and joined them, the carriage moving as they climbed in.

“Where's Davenport?”

“Right here.” Captain Davenport rode up to the carriage astride a beautiful black stallion then tugged on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. “I'm going to stop at Rosalie. I'll meet you on board the riverboats.” He said nothing more as he nudged the horse, setting him in motion, and disappeared down the long drive in a cloud of dust.

The drive from Magnolia House to Natchez-Under-the-Hill took no time at all, and yet, time seemed to stop for Remy. Shaelyn sat across from him and he couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Excitement reflected in her softly glowing eyes. Obviously, her riverboats were not simply a means to an end for her. They didn't just provide for her livelihood.

They were something more.

She loved them, if the expression on her face was any indication. They were a part of her. Pride flickered in her eyes and despite being in a carriage filled with Union soldiers, she couldn't hide the smile on her face.

She glanced in his direction and flushed to the tips of her ears, then focused her gaze on the steamers lining the quay.

He could see why she loved them. The Cavanaugh riverboats were a sight to behold. Tethered to huge stone moorings, they bobbed in the water as the carriage came to a halt. Both the
Lady Shae
and the
Brenna Rose
were side-wheelers, their huge paddles on the sides. The
Sweet Sassy
was a stern-wheeler, the big paddle, painted scarlet, in the back.

His men climbed down and stood on the wharf, talking among themselves. Remy climbed down as well, then reached up and offered his hand to help her. She laid warm, slim fingers against his, and again a tingle raced up his arm and settled in his chest. Her lips parted in surprise, as if she too felt that tingle.

Something flickered in her eyes as she pulled her hand from his grasp and walked toward the
Lady Shae
, lifting her skirts just enough to show the lacy white petticoats beneath the hem. Remy sucked in his breath, his gaze focused on her slim ankles.

He blinked, forcing his gaze away from her ankles, then grinned in spite of himself as his eyes found and settled on her backside, swaying beneath the yards of shimmering fabric. As if in a trance, he followed her up the landing stage, the cane in his hand tapping on the wooden planks beneath his feet.

He felt an intense stare and turned slightly to see Jock's eyes on him, a huge grin stretching the ginger mustache across his upper lip. The older man said nothing, but he winked and picked up his pace, making his way toward the pilothouse aboard the
Lady Shae
.

One by one, they inspected the riverboats. All were in excellent shape, the paint new, the brass gleaming in the morning sun, the engines well oiled, and he wondered how Shae had managed it all. He'd seen the brighter squares on the wallpaper in her home where paintings had once hung and had assumed she'd sold them to keep food on the table, but it may well have been to keep her riverboats in tip-top shape, despite the fact there hadn't been passengers in quite some time.

“These will do quite nicely,” he murmured as he approached her. She stood at the bow of the
Sweet Sassy
, her face turned toward the deceptively gentle waters of the Mississippi. Several strands of her hair escaped the loose knot at the back of her head and fluttered in the breeze. “Who maintenances them? I'd like to hire him.”

Startled, she jumped, then whirled to face him. “I do.”

Remy cocked an eyebrow as he studied her face, noting how sad she seemed, noticing, not for the first time, how her throat moved when she spoke or swallowed, the white column soft and supple…and begging for the touch of his lips. “You?”

“Surprised, Major? Did you think me incapable of getting my hands dirty?”

He said nothing, mesmerized by the sudden flash of anger in her eyes as she looked up at him. Jock had said she was like no other woman he'd ever known, and now Remy could see why. Wisps of titian hair framed her face. He wanted to tuck them behind her ears and feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.