contain her ire while Julia tucked Suzanne into the wood frame bed Private Rafferty had procured from a source he’d declined to identify. The straw ticking rustled as she settled the girl and slowly drew up the sheet.
“Sleep well, ma petite. ”
Murmuring sleepily, Suzanne curled into a tight ball. Julia stroked her hair, fighting a spurt of pure cowardice. With all her heart, she wished she could shed her clothes, crawl in beside her daughter and draw the sheet up over her head rather than face the angry woman in the hall. In truth, she had no defense against the accusations Victoria would undoubtedly sling at her.
Was she mad, to have stood still and unprotesting while Andrew put his hands on her? Was she the slut Augusta Hottenfelder had called her, to feel her pulse trip when his lips had brushed hers? She was married, for the love of all the saints! She’d sworn to honor Philip with her body and her heart.
Her fingers gripped the coarsely woven linen sheet. A feeling of panic rose in her chest. As much as she tried, she couldn’t bring Philip’s face into her mind. God help her, she couldn’t summon a single one of his features! He’d been gone so long now, almost two years. And even before he left…
She closed her eyes, hating herself, hating the fact that she’d become more a mother than a wife to the charming riverboat gambler-turned-Confederate-naval-officer who’d soothed her aching heart during those long months in Natchez, where her uncle had sent her to stay to avoid the shame of having her name linked to that of a Union spy.
Philip had looked so dashing in his uniform, and loved her so tenderly. She’d come to love him, too. Not with the passion Andrew had stirred in her, perhaps, but with her whole, bruised heart. At least during those first years, when the demands of his war duties had kept him from the gaming tables that were his downfall.
And now…
Now, Julia had to struggle to recall his face. Another man, another set of lean, rugged features blocked her husband from her mind. Consigning Andrew Garrett to the hottest fires of hell, she loosed her grip on the sheet and smoothed it over her sleeping daughter.
Victoria was pacing the hall when she emerged from the bedroom and firmly shut the door behindher. The lieutenant’s wife had used her few minutes alone to work herself into a righteous rage.
“I won’t have you playing the harlot in my house, Mrs. Bonneaux. With Major Garrett or anyone else.”
Julia folded her arms, saying nothing while Victoria vented her spleen.
“The major may outrank my husband in army matters, but not in matters of common decency. I won’t have it, I tell you.”
Her uncanny echo of Augusta Hottenfelder raised a bubble of hysterical laughter in Julia’s throat. What was it about her that brought out the shrew in women like Victoria and Augusta? She was too proud, she acknowledged ruefully, and her chin had a tendency to lift too quickly, the way it now did.
“My conduct does not concern you, Victoria.”
“It does while you reside in this house!”
The temper Julia had worked so hard to keep in check around Victoria finally slipped its leash. “Then perhaps it’s best if my daughter and I don’t reside here any longer.”
“Perhaps it is!”
“I shall make other arrangements as soon possible.”
“See that you do.”
With a flip of her wrapper, the angry wife spun around and sailed down the hall to her own room.
Julia stared after her, trying to feel repentant, but the only emotion she could summon was anger. And disgust. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself forthose few moments on the porch that had brought her to this pass. Herself…and Andrew Garrett.
Damn him!
Dressed in her cherry-striped silk, Julia walked the short distance to the headquarters building after the buglers sounded stable call the next morning. She’d learned enough about life at a cavalry post by now to know Andrew would be at the stables, ensuring the