Tarleton's Wife Read Free

the edge of the crowd, it seemed to Julia as if the candles in the elaborate wrought iron chandelier cast a halo over the dark blond thatch of hair which straggled in unkempt wisps to his collarbone. His face was as lean and angular as his body, his gray eyes piercing, mouth thin-lipped, cheekbones high, his nose strong enough to rival Sir Arthur Wellesley. There was, in fact, nothing pretty about him. And no one cared a whit. He was strong and dependable, sometimes ruthless, frequently kind. His men loved him.
    Not even in her wildest romantic dreams could Julia have conjured anyone she was happier to see at that moment.
    As Nicholas crossed the room, he became uncomfortably aware that not all his fury was directed at the gamesters. He was sorry for it but he could not help it. Miss Julia Litchfield was not to his taste. He did not approve the custom of families following the drum. He liked his women soft and petite and clinging. Julia Litchfield was none of these things. Yet as he knelt by her chair, he could not help but notice she had dressed with such haste her long brown hair still hung down her back in its loose night braid. The hem of her serviceable brown wool was torn and dirty. Over it she clutched a coarse woolen shawl. The queenly Miss Litchfield, with her statuesque figure which the major usually noticed only enough to wish, fervently and profanely, that she were less of a distraction for his troops, had been reduced to vulnerability at last. Her full lower lip quivered and tears glistened in her wide, thickly lashed blue eyes.
    Hell and the devil! It was her own fault. The colonel wasn’t a pauper. She didn’t have to be here. Did she? No woman should have to endure what she had these past weeks. It wasn’t right. And now she was one more problem to solve. Bloody, stupid army! If he were in charge at the Horse Guards…
    “You’re not going to let him do this to you, are you?” Nicholas demanded.
    Julia hadn’t expected the anger. She wanted to throw herself onto the safety of his chest and weep. His tone knocked her back in the chair like a whiplash. She clutched her hands tightly together and tried to draw a deep breath in a chest so constricted she was sure the air could never reached her lungs. She and Nicholas were in the shadows some ten feet from the gaming table, the major’s face only inches from hers as he knelt beside her. The halo no longer glinted over his head.
    Steady, she cautioned herself. Nicholas Tarleton was her only hope. “I’ve lived with the army all my life, Major,” she said simply. “Above all else, orders must be obeyed. Without that, we would die. This is war and survival depends on obedience. There is also the obedience I owe him because he is my father. No!” She raised her hand to silence the major’s protest, her fingertips pausing just short of the thin straight line of his mouth. Dear God, how she wanted to touch him, to gather his strength to herself. Slowly, she returned her hand to her lap. “There is also the matter of honor. Gaming debts must be paid. I have been brought up to that absolute tenet as well.”
    “Honor!” Nicholas exploded. “Honor be damned. What can possibly be honorable about staking a daughter in a card game?”
    “You will not criticize my father. You will not!”
    “Criticize! The man’s mad, girl. Slipped his tether. You’ve no call to do anything he says.”
    “You forget yourself, Major. I have no rights .” Anger had driven away the tears and a bit of Julia’s well-known sparkle began to glow in her eyes. “I am female. And underage by two whole years. I have no family but my father. If he thinks he will die tomorrow, he very likely will. His mother was Irish, you know and ’tis said she had the Sight. I believe him. And there’s no denying he’s foxed,” she admitted wryly. “And well beyond reason. So, though it may be thoroughly humiliating and an end to all my foolish dreams, I am not in a position to say him