“And do not try to sneak away from this fort, Karissa. Are we clear on this?”
“Perfectly clear, General,” she said before she scooped up her nail file and ignored him as if he wasn’t there.
It was with tremendous relief that she heard the door click shut behind him.
Harlan Billings tapped lightly on the door to VIP quarters. He was treated to an enticing view of cleavage when Vanessa struck a seductive pose in her expensive silk negligee. Her welcoming smile turned upside down when he stepped into clear view and she realized it wasn’t her fiancé who had come to call on her.
“What do you want?” she snapped rudely.
Harlan slunk inside and closed the door. “I’m the one who sent you the telegram,” he announced. “I suppose you noticed your competition this evening in the mess hall?”
Vanessa clutched her robe around her and sauntered over to grab the wine bottle she had obviously brought with her from Virginia. You couldn’t get that kind of fine liquor in a place like this.
“Yes, I think I know which one Rafe is sleeping with,” she scowled distastefully. “It is the unattached redhead in that dowdy calico gown who obviously doesn’t know that any self-respecting lady would not allow her skin to become tanned and has done nothingto conceal that smattering of freckles on her nose. Am I correct?”
Harlan nodded, waiting for Vanessa to offer him a glass of her fancy wine. She didn’t. Neither did her snippy behavior gel with the well-mannered sophisticate he had seen flitting around the mess hall.
Vanessa was a haughty, self-serving bitch—exactly the kind of woman Harlan would have wished on the high-and-mighty Rafe Hunter.
“Just how long has Rafe been carrying on a liaison with that whore?” Vanessa asked bluntly, then sipped her wine.
“A week. I thought you should know that she intends to land your fiancé.” Harlan licked his lips, hungering for a taste of wine. He was sure it was sweeter than Vanessa.
Vanessa sniffed in disdain. “She isn’t going to get her hands on him,” she promised resolutely. “And you are going to help me insure that she doesn’t. Of course, you will be compensated for your services.”
That was what Harlan wanted to hear. He was always eager to acquire enough money to indulge in his two favorite pastimes—guzzling whiskey and paying occasional visits to the red light district in the nearby community that catered to the needs of the soldiers at the fort.
“And just where is that tramp staying? In a tent somewhere outside the fort?” Vanessa asked.
Harlan shook his head. “In the commander’s room.” He delighted in watching Vanessa lose all her polished charm.
“With Rafe?” she howled in exasperation.
“No, he’s bunking with Micah Whitfield.” Harlansmiled slyly. “Or at least, that’s where he starts the evening, before he sneaks in to join his trollop.”
Vanessa slammed down her glass, slopping wine on the table, then motioned Harlan toward the door. “Get out of here while I dress. I intend to pay that strumpet a visit straightaway. The sooner she leaves the better.”
When Harlan stepped outside, Vanessa hurriedly changed into her velvet gown. Things were worse than she had imagined if Rafe had turned his private quarters over to his harlot.
Everything else around this post was so far below her standards that it had taken all her restraint to prevent snorting in disgust when Rafe took her on a short tour of the garrison. She could not imagine why Rafe had accepted this position in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a company of men—most of whom were uncultured and probably illiterate—keeping watch over a bunch of savages that had been contained on reservations.
With his wealth and social connections he could be back East, sitting behind a desk during the day and attending sophisticated balls at night. He could be rubbing shoulders with the crème de la crème of society.
The man must have some perverse need
“Perfectly clear, General,” she said before she scooped up her nail file and ignored him as if he wasn’t there.
It was with tremendous relief that she heard the door click shut behind him.
Harlan Billings tapped lightly on the door to VIP quarters. He was treated to an enticing view of cleavage when Vanessa struck a seductive pose in her expensive silk negligee. Her welcoming smile turned upside down when he stepped into clear view and she realized it wasn’t her fiancé who had come to call on her.
“What do you want?” she snapped rudely.
Harlan slunk inside and closed the door. “I’m the one who sent you the telegram,” he announced. “I suppose you noticed your competition this evening in the mess hall?”
Vanessa clutched her robe around her and sauntered over to grab the wine bottle she had obviously brought with her from Virginia. You couldn’t get that kind of fine liquor in a place like this.
“Yes, I think I know which one Rafe is sleeping with,” she scowled distastefully. “It is the unattached redhead in that dowdy calico gown who obviously doesn’t know that any self-respecting lady would not allow her skin to become tanned and has done nothingto conceal that smattering of freckles on her nose. Am I correct?”
Harlan nodded, waiting for Vanessa to offer him a glass of her fancy wine. She didn’t. Neither did her snippy behavior gel with the well-mannered sophisticate he had seen flitting around the mess hall.
Vanessa was a haughty, self-serving bitch—exactly the kind of woman Harlan would have wished on the high-and-mighty Rafe Hunter.
“Just how long has Rafe been carrying on a liaison with that whore?” Vanessa asked bluntly, then sipped her wine.
“A week. I thought you should know that she intends to land your fiancé.” Harlan licked his lips, hungering for a taste of wine. He was sure it was sweeter than Vanessa.
Vanessa sniffed in disdain. “She isn’t going to get her hands on him,” she promised resolutely. “And you are going to help me insure that she doesn’t. Of course, you will be compensated for your services.”
That was what Harlan wanted to hear. He was always eager to acquire enough money to indulge in his two favorite pastimes—guzzling whiskey and paying occasional visits to the red light district in the nearby community that catered to the needs of the soldiers at the fort.
“And just where is that tramp staying? In a tent somewhere outside the fort?” Vanessa asked.
Harlan shook his head. “In the commander’s room.” He delighted in watching Vanessa lose all her polished charm.
“With Rafe?” she howled in exasperation.
“No, he’s bunking with Micah Whitfield.” Harlansmiled slyly. “Or at least, that’s where he starts the evening, before he sneaks in to join his trollop.”
Vanessa slammed down her glass, slopping wine on the table, then motioned Harlan toward the door. “Get out of here while I dress. I intend to pay that strumpet a visit straightaway. The sooner she leaves the better.”
When Harlan stepped outside, Vanessa hurriedly changed into her velvet gown. Things were worse than she had imagined if Rafe had turned his private quarters over to his harlot.
Everything else around this post was so far below her standards that it had taken all her restraint to prevent snorting in disgust when Rafe took her on a short tour of the garrison. She could not imagine why Rafe had accepted this position in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a company of men—most of whom were uncultured and probably illiterate—keeping watch over a bunch of savages that had been contained on reservations.
With his wealth and social connections he could be back East, sitting behind a desk during the day and attending sophisticated balls at night. He could be rubbing shoulders with the crème de la crème of society.
The man must have some perverse need