Warrior by Zoe Archer Read Free Book Online

delivering the message, finally learning what it meant, that Huntley had never considered that Burgess might not be a single man like himself, but a father, and worse, the father of a daughter. Huntley didn’t like having genteel ladies around. He didn’t know what to say, where to look. Genteel ladies seldom had much to do with enlisted men, but when he had become an officer, he’d had to associate with the other officers’ wives. Their fripperies and fragility made him nervous. Somehow, he almost always wound up offending them, though God only knew how.
    Strangely, he hadn’t offended Thalia Burgess, but they riled each other. He wasn’t used to being questioned. Fifteen years of steady and good service for Her Majesty meant something.
    Damned aggravating, how difficult it had been to tear his eyes from her, how, from the moment he had set foot inside Franklin Burgess’s tent, Huntley had been aware of her, every movement, every word, even, for the love of the devil, her breathing.
    His only explanation was that it had been six months since he’d taken a woman to bed. He had to think for a moment, and then only barely remembered Felicia, Lieutenant Colonel Calvin’s wife. Huntley generally avoided sleeping with married women, but everyone in the camp knew that Calvin kept at least two native mistresses and had given each of them a handful of babies. When Huntley had sold out, he finally gave in to Felicia’s advances. They’d spent a single pleasant, but not particularly remarkable, night together. And that was really six months ago? Great Gideon! Being near any woman was bound to attract his attention, and Thalia Burgess was definitely a woman. That had to be the reason.
    He’d found her manner to be a peculiar mix: on one hand, she was trussed up in a dress that looked ill-fitting. Wrinkled and seldom worn. The fabric had been tight across her bosom, but he’d tried like hell not to look. He’d tried, and failed. She could fit quite nicely in his large hands, filling them but not spilling over.
    He clenched his hands into fists, as if the feeling of his fingers curling into his palm might erase the desire to peel that damned dress off Thalia and see if his intuition was right.
    That didn’t stop his mind from wandering back to her, though. It didn’t help that he had nothing to do but wait, no task to keep his thoughts busy but think of her.
    Thick, dark hair, meant for tangling in a man’s fingers. Her cheeks were so full of lively color, her green eyes so vivid and brilliant, she must wear some of the womanly paint that ladies always claimed they never used but often did. And then there were those boots, spattered with mud and soft from use, though the dress’s hem was clean. A strange tangle of contradictions.
    Besides the way she looked, he had also been struck by her manner. He remembered the officers’ wives, even Felicia, complaining about the heat or their servants, and trying so hard to be genteel and pleasant and proper in the middle of “heathen backwaters,” as they called them. Thalia Burgess had said nothing derogatory about Mongolia, never apologized, and didn’t yell at her native servants.
    He and Thalia Burgess had stood close to each other, within touching distance. His body had reacted immediately to her nearness as he saw that she was tall for a woman and prodigiously pretty. She wasn’t a smooth and oval-faced porcelain doll, but had high, clear cheekbones, a strong chin, and an equally strong, straight nose. A full, rosy mouth. Even her annoying mistrust of him couldn’t shake his interest.
    Damn it, he needed to get a hold of himself, and he needed to do it now. Which meant he couldn’t think about Thalia Burgess any longer.
    Think about the message, he told himself. It was important, whatever it meant, and Franklin Burgess was going to do something about it. And when he did, Huntley would be right there, giving the stubborn man and his even more stubborn daughter the help