The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (20 page)

“Maisy, please.” Juliet laid a staying hand on her arm and offered her most long-suffering smile. “Don’t embarrass Captain Allen by pointing out his lack of social graces. As a man of the cloth, he sees all as equals. I’m sure he is unaware that he’s chosen his partner unwisely, and poor Colleen is probably just trying to spare his feelings. Let them share a dance. Surely no harm will be done. It is Christmas, after all.”

Maisy huffed, trying to reinflate the sail of her indignation without success. “Perhaps you’re right, Miss Crowley. Even in this godforsaken place, there’s room for charity.”

If there was, Maisy Bartholomew would be the last person to recognize it. But just to be
on the safe side, Juliet continued the conversation. “How have you been? We’ve had so little time to chat of late.”

Juliet knew Maisy’s cordiality was because she feared being rude to the commander’s daughter, rather than from any interest in talking with her.

“I long for home,” Maisy said. “What kind of place is this where only the centipedes, scorpions, tarantulas, and snakes seem to thrive?” She sighed mightily.

Juliet regarded her with the arch of one brow. “Yes, they do, don’t they?”

“I begged Donald to let me return today, accompanied by those men, but he would not agree. He said I could no longer stay in our plantation alone. Said it was too dangerous. More dangerous than this place? Hah, I hardly think so, especially after what happened to those poor boys who deserted. But I wish I had the courage to try what they did.”

“You’ll adjust and you’ll realize how foolish such a wish sounds. Stay with your husband, Mrs. Bartholomew. I’m sure he knows what’s best.”

“For himself,” she shrilled, drawing several glances. “He never thinks of me or what I might want. He has no idea how despondent I’ve become since coming here, with only that Irish hussy to tend my needs. Why a woman—”

The dance came to an end, and Colleen returned to the drink table. Juliet had no need
to prolong the torture of Maisy’s company.

“Please excuse me. Mrs. Howell is waving to me.”

Maisy harrumphed to think the wishes of a junior officer’s wife should supplant her own, but she didn’t quite dare correct the colonel’s daughter in matters of etiquette.

“I thought you looked as though you needed rescuing,” Jane intimated naughtily when Juliet joined her. “What a harridan. No wonder her poor husband is chasing the champagne down with straight whiskey. I’d need a good bracer, too, if I had to spend a lifetime listening to that whining.”

Juliet glanced toward the far corner, where a group of the Southerners had gathered with Donald Bartholomew in their midst. A brown bottle was passed discreetly among them while their laughter grew increasingly loud. Not a good situation. Thinking she should bring it quietly to her father’s attention or perhaps to Noble’s, she was about to turn when Miles appeared at her elbow.

“I believe this is our dance, Jules.” He smiled and bowed, and she knew at once from Jane’s apologetic smile that her friend had arranged to corral her for her brother. But Juliet couldn’t decline, for the sake of their long friendship. She allowed him to wheel her out onto the dance floor like a coveted prize captured.

And across the room, Noble Banning ground his teeth upon his irritation.

He had no claim on Juliet Crowley. He had no actual right to feel the jealousy gnawing through him. She wasn’t his business, even though she’d made herself his extreme pleasure in the brief, yet passionate, interludes they’d shared. He watched her move in time to Dougherty’s steps, and in the recesses of his imagination, he saw her moving with him to quite a different, more intimate dance.

He shook off those thoughts and downed another glass of champagne, then stared at the glass moodily. Maybe it was the bubbly wine turning his mind against itself. Or perhaps it was his loneliness. Hearing the music, watching the couples whirling about the floor conjured up memories increasingly hard to suppress. He didn’t want to look back at a world that might no longer exist. Back upon the faces of friends who might no longer be living.

But when he closed his eyes, the stuffy mess hall became the soaring ceilings of Glendower Glade, the post musicians transformed into the skilled orchestra brought down from Louisville at an exorbitant expense for one night of entertainment. Instead of uniforms, the men wore polished evening wear, and women, the most beautiful women in the world, twirled about in abundance in swirls of lace and silk.

And he could picture his childhood friends with a clarity that hurt. Mede Wardell shooting him looks of embarrassed panic, pleading for rescue from the onslaught of attention
from three lovely marriage-minded belles. Tyler Fairfax at his wicked best, charming the pantalets off the bevy of giggly beauties hanging on his every drawled-out word while he gulped down his daddy’s bourbon. Tyler’s sister, Starla, conquering every man in sight with her sultry Creole sensuality while making shameless eyes at him. Patrice Sinclair, all Southern grace and sophistication, and her somber brother Deacon scaring off potential suitors with a single quelling glare. Jonah Glendower, the perfect host, the consummate gentleman. And Reeve Garrett, his best friend, lingering on the fringes of acceptability, regarding all with a cynical eye and a careless indifference that Noble had always admired.

But Jonah was dead. He didn’t know about the others. He couldn’t bear to speculate, for even considering that they wouldn’t be there when he was finally able to return to Pride made a mockery of all his dreams—dreams that seemed so far away from this place of arid heat and violent death, where grim duty wiped out all hopes of romance.

All that left him with was day-by-day survival until he could restore the honor of his troop by uncovering the name of their betrayer—even if it meant manipulating the heart of the woman he was dangerously close to falling in love with.

That fact required another drink. And still it wouldn’t go down smoothly.

“You look as if you’re having a wonderful time.”

Noble gave George Allen a thin smile. “Oh, yes. Just wonderful.”

George nodded his red head toward the dancers. “Why don’t you just cut in? Dougherty might object, but I don’t think the lady would.”

Noble shook his head. “I’m not out here to enjoy myself, George.”

Taking his meaning immediately, George took a step back and frowned in concern. He glanced about to see if they’d be overheard, then for once was outspoken in his criticism. “Still obsessed with your holy crusade?”

“Don’t mock me, George.”

“It wasn’t meant as mockery. Don’t you see the danger of what you’re doing?” Hearing a lecture coming on, Noble started to turn away, but the young reverend gripped his arm. “You’re placing yourself above everyone else in this single-minded quest. You’re making judgments that aren’t yours to make.”

“I’m doing what I have to do, George. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“And we’ll have it again until I can persuade you to let it go. You can’t move forward until you can let go of the past.” That last was almost a plea.

“I’m not going anywhere until we leave here. So what else is there for me to do?”

George sighed in frustration. He looked angry and agitated and even annoyed by Noble’s
persistence, a sign of how far Noble had fallen off his pedestal in the younger man’s eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you that the man you seek might already be dead?”

Noble stared at the chaplain, an eerie stillness settling over him. Then, in a tight voice, he said, “Crowley would have told me.”

George’s gaze asked who was being naive now. “You’re wrong there. If he’d told you from the start that this turncoat you’re after was already dead, you wouldn’t have agreed so quickly to come out here. The man’s not stupid.”

“But I am. Is that what you’re saying, George? That I’m on a fool’s errand?”

Conjuring a mighty patience, he placed a hand on Noble’s shoulder. “That’s for your heart and mind to tell you. Listen to them, Noble. Don’t be led astray by your pride. It’s a road that can come to no good end.” Again the beseeching tone, making Noble feel ashamed for so straining the chaplain’s compassion. He knew George was worried over the state of his soul. But George was a man of conscience, and he one of conviction. On this matter they could not agree. As if realizing that, George left him alone, but Noble was sure he hadn’t heard the last of his argument.

If only he could put it aside …

He watched Juliet turn in Dougherty’s arms, a golden Athena who could be his if he were to surrender his goals.

If he could forget his honor.

It was too hard to yearn for what he could not have. Lost in the silent study of his empty glass, he was beset by George’s words. Was he following a dead end at the urging of his pride? Pride that had more than once blocked sounder judgment.

What kind of justice was he pursuing? The righteous course toward the truth? Or an easy means to absolve himself of a damning guilt?

Because if there was no one else to blame for his men having died, he could only blame himself. How could he live with that? With knowing his arrogance, his blind confidence in his own cleverness, as Crowley had put it, had led to the death of eighteen men in the field and eleven more at the prison and four out in the desert. He didn’t want the weight of those souls resting upon his shoulders.

Was that why he’d narrowed his focus to one dedicated point, to finding the betrayer, to seeing justice done? Because someone had to pay the price for his vanity. Someone had to atone for breaking the trust he had in his men. He’d ridden with them, eaten out of tin cans and worse with them, had listened to them talk of their wives, their mothers, their sweethearts, their sisters, and never once, never once, had he guessed that one of them would stick a knife into the back of their whole unit and ruthlessly twist it.

How had he been so gullible? Why hadn’t he seen the treachery where it lay, dark and deceiving and ready to strike? Hadn’t he
learned his lesson? Hadn’t he discovered that the most benign surface often covered the foulest undercurrents?

He’d been just a boy, a lad of perhaps twelve, too young to see his father as anything less than perfect. He’d listened outside his father’s door, something that was forbidden, but he so loved to hear the judge’s silken orations, as caught up by his charm as any man who’d ever done business with him. He recognized the voice of the other man, a rye grower, but what confused him was the man’s panic and outrage.

“But you promised you’d pay top dollar for my crop,” he was saying. “You backed me when I refused to sell to that bandit Fairfax at the intolerable price he offered. You said you’d take the grain off my hands and see I got a fair price, so I waited, like you said, so that Fairfax would think he had the last laugh. But now it’s too late to sell my goods anywhere else. All the other harvests are in and sold and mine’s surplus. Are you telling me now that you don’t mean to keep your word?”

“Now Mr. Potter, did I ever say I was in the commodities business? Did you ever know me to buy and sell grain at any price?”

“N-no—”

“Then why did you listen to me, a man with no experience, just because you thought you’d squeeze out an extra dollar or two?”

“But you said—”

“I said Fairfax’s price was unfair and that I
would have offered one much higher, had I been in the business, sir. Had I been in the business. But we both know I’m not. What we have here is a misunderstanding—”

“What I have is a crop I can’t sell!”

“Well, now, Potter, I’d wager that if you went back to Cole Fairfax and asked him real polite-like, he’d take that rye off your hands. He’s the only one I know of who can afford to buy more than he actually needs.”

“B-but he’ll only give me half of his original offer.”

Suddenly, the judge’s tone lost all its congeniality to cut right to the bone. “Then you should have set aside your greed and said yes to it in the first place, shouldn’t you? And that’s exactly what you’ll do next year, isn’t it?”

“You was in on this scheme with Fairfax the whole time! The two of you worked this whole thing out just to get my crop for next to nothing. You cheats!”

“Now, Mr. Potter, is that a nice way to speak of them who’ve tried to help you?”

Noble stood on the other side of the door, sick to the heart and soul at what he’d just learned about his father. The truth. The truth that had been whispered but he’d refused to heed before. His father was a crook, a liar, a cheat, a schemer who sold his honor and his word to the highest bidder.

And inside the room, he heard his father’s deep chuckle. “Do you hear that sound, Mr.
Potter? Do you know what it is? Do you? It’s Cole Fairfax having the last laugh at your expense.”

That was the night Noble vowed to himself that his word would matter more than his life, that his honor would never be compromised by greed or self-interest.

And that he’d never again be taken in by deceit or have his heart broken by betrayal.

So to what lengths would he go to now to see that the man who’d fractured his trust on the battlefield was made to pay the price for it? A price he’d never been able to extract from the master of lies.

His father.

Unable to answer that most important question, he sought solace in another glass of champagne.

Chapter 15

One minute he was standing off alone, nursing a glass of champagne, and the next time Juliet had a chance to look, Noble Banning was gone.

Trying to smile at what Miles was saying and appear to be listening, Juliet covertly scanned the mess hall for a glimpse of the Confederate major. But he’d left without ever asking her for a dance. So much for a perfect end to what might have been a perfect evening.

As the last few strains of music faded away, Juliet stepped back from her dance partner with a polite murmur of thanks. She was about to turn away when Miles caught her arm.

“Take some punch with me, Jules.”

Not caring for the authoritative tone, she dropped a meaningful gaze to the hand upon her elbow. “I am not thirsty, Miles. Thank you.”