In His Eyes(42)

Over. Perhaps in the papers, but Westley knew better. Men would fight past the time when the governments called it to an end, and then the fires of battle would rage in hearts and minds for a long time to come. He’d studied war. He’d lived war. He was a man of war. His very name spelled out W.A.R.

There were many things in this life Westley did not understand—women chiefly among them—but war always thrummed through his veins. He followed Sibby back to the dining room, watching the tightness in her shoulders and the stiffness in her neck.

And as sure as he knew war, Westley knew something more. Whatever Sibby hid from him she would fight for. Whatever made lies shoot from her lips and deceit glow behind her eyes would be protected as surely as soldiers protected their lands.

They came back to the dining room and Miss Whitaker’s gaze flickered between him and Sibby. Did she know what secrets had taken up residence in Belmont? Or did she simply guard the ones that waltzed behind those arresting green eyes?

He turned up the corners of his mouth and slid into the chair at the head of the table. And then, as though secrets did not drift like ghosts among them, the three each pretended to be something they were not—he, the genteel Southern gentleman, Miss Whitaker the refined widow, and Sibby the loyal housekeeper.





Ella looked through her lashes at the major as she pried open the biscuit on her plate. What had riled him? He did well hiding it, as far as men went, but she could tell something bubbled beneath that calm exterior. He sat relaxed in his chair, his movements unhurried. But Ella had learned to sense when men boiled within. Her father often fooled many people, and few ever suspected the inferno that raged beneath his smiling features.

But Ella had always known. All too well.

Ever since childhood she’d possessed a way of sensing certain things about people. Perhaps that came from watching her parents for clues about what they hid from her, or perhaps it had been bestowed upon her by the Maker as a form of self-defense. Regardless of the origins, her intuition now told her that whatever transpired when Major Remington went to the kitchen stirred something restless within him. His movements seemed too casual and his manner too at ease to be genuine. In her experience the man who looked the most in control was often the one that erupted.

“You study me, Miss Whitaker.”

Ella startled. Had she let her gaze linger too long upon him? She fluttered her lashes and forged a smile. “Surely you are used to women’s attentions.”

He stiffened, and she realized her mistake. How utterly foolish of her! He already thought her a loose woman. To one such as he, she would only ever be a undesirable bit of rubbish to be discarded once he tired of her. Why that caused an ache, she didn’t know. Ella squared her shoulders. Let him think what he would. “My apologies, Major. I did not mean to be forward.”

His gaze roamed her face as though he would discover something there. She forced herself to keep his gaze. He seemed curious about her. She could work with that. Curiosity meant interest, and interest meant this might be her opportunity to sway him.

She placed her hands on both sides of her plate. “I know you are a military man, and not merely a volunteer for the war.”

He made no response.

“Therefore, I assume you will soon be returning to your duties?”

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and regarded her evenly. “You assume correctly.”

A good start. She plowed ahead. “Then may I also assume that you would do well to have someone care for your home while you are absent for long periods of time?”

His mouth twitched. “That’s what I have Sibby for.”

She straightened herself and tried to show more confidence than she felt. “Of course. But as she and I discovered, not many accept a Negro woman running a household. Even though you Yanks claim the war was fought to end slavery, I have yet to meet a Federal soldier who did not regard the colored people as incapable of such things.”

His nostrils flared and she feared she’d tread across something she should not. But she could not stop now. “Therefore, it would be prudent for you to have someone in place to handle such matters for you in your absence.”

He watched her for a moment, and then the dark shadows in his eyes flitted away and something that almost resembled mischief took their place. “And you believe you are qualified for that position?”

She bit back a retort that clawed for freedom on the tip of her tongue. How dare he sound so arrogant! Just because he thought her a harlot did not mean that he could also think her a simpleton. She rubbed Lee’s back to remind herself about the child at stake and forced a smile she did not feel. “I believe, sir, that I have already given evidence of such. I am a hard worker and learn quickly. I could serve you well.”

He regarded her for so long she began to hope she would move him, but then he shook his head. “I do feel for your plight, Miss Whitaker. And, in honor of my mother, I will do whatever I can to be sure that you and your child receive the charity you came for. But you cannot stay here.”

Her stomach constricted, and she feared she might lose the little she’d eaten. “But—”

He held up his hand and swiped it through the air as though such a gesture could silence her. Ella seethed.

Insufferable Yank!

His eyes widened and he looked as though she had struck him, and only then did Ella realize that the words had not been contained in her head but had flown from her mouth! She covered her lips, but the damage had been done.