Enemy of Mine

  Chapter 5

  Erva smiled at Will as the carriage made its way through Brooklyn, where they were to attend a banquet. As much as she wasn’t fond of attending a stiff get together—and Erva had to face it, a party in the eighteenth century had to be pompous and boring as hell—this was the perfect opportunity to study Will, see whether any of the historical rumors were true.

  The sun was setting, and out of the windows she could see the town painted in the sun’s red-orange light. The town. She wanted to laugh, because presently it was a tiny hub of colonial houses, Tudor-like taverns, and even a few teepees and wigwams dispersed in the hamlet that was, is called New York City. Where they were driving over would be standing steel and frozen glass so tall, the eye couldn’t make out the top of it. But at the moment it was a small town. It was so beautiful. Or was it? God, her mind was playing such a weird trick on her. Was she inventing all of this in her whack-o-doodle head? Or maybe, just maybe she’d fallen, hit her head really hard and was in a coma. Whatever it was, reality or not, it was distracting enough to make her stay with it. Stay with Will.

  They’d gone back to his home and redressed into evening clothes. Erva was sad to see Will’s tall black boots replaced with black shoes. Those riding boots were spectacular on him. However, his breeches and the hose he wore revealed thick waves of muscles throughout his thighs and calves. To say nothing about his ass...God, she could spend an eternity watching the man walk away.

  Will’s maids had flocked to her again, cleaning and dressing her. She’d let them. Somehow. Some of the younger maids, the way they giggled and teased her hair, might think she was a large dress-up doll. And usually Erva would have bristled at the reminder of her mother, of being a Barbie whom people would see but never hear. However, the maids had oh-ed and ah-ed how pretty she was, not scolded her, and Erva couldn’t help but, indeed, feel a bit attractive.

  Yet when Will had looked at her after she was freshly redressed, had openly gaped, that had made her feel beautiful. He’d actually stumbled in his footing, his gaze traipsing up and down her body, dressed in a Pomona green frock that made her think of Christmas when she got close to Will and his scarlet dress uniform. His gaze kept peeking at her open neckline. Any other man glancing at her breasts like that, she might have smacked. But Will was so adorably shy, Erva couldn’t help but grin at him.

  As they traveled through Brooklyn, Will gave her a nervous smile. This time he sat beside her in the carriage and stretched his hands down his splayed, altogether wonderfully muscular thighs.

  In the camp he had been a bit quiet, yes, but under the stillness was captivating authority. Anything he said, his men silenced for and followed through as quickly as possible. His troops adored him. They’d walk to hell and back for him, as the saying went. After the drills, Will had personally seen to two young privates, encouraging them, showing them how to shoot faster. Someone had shouted that Will should have his own shooting contest. But he’d declined, stating he could never beat the lady. As much as it grated that he kept calling her that, she knew he was lying. His best record was almost twenty shots in under a minute, the world’s record with the Ferguson musket, even faster than the maker of that particular breach-loading rifle. He’d befriended Colonel Patrick Ferguson years ago, and the two had friendly competitions whenever they met. Unfortunately that would end soon, because not only was Will to die in a few days, Ferguson was killed when he was much too young too.

  Her heart racing, Erva stole another glance at Will who seemed minute by minute more and more anxious, which helped chase away her thoughts of his death. “Are you all right, my lord?”

  He turned to her, appearing shocked. “I thought we were beyond formalities?”

  “I did too, but you kept calling me ‘the lady’ to your men,” she teased.

  Will smiled and looked down. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

  “Do you prefer to be called William or Will?”

  “Will, as my chambermaids did when I was a boy. William reminds me...Why do you prefer Erva instead of Minerva? You do know that my men loved your show with the musket and rifle, and they’ll likely call you a goddess now anyway.”

  Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. “It’s what my father called me, little Erva. My mother calls me Minerva, and...” She cut herself off. She’d almost said too much, revealed so much of herself. How as a child her mother had tried so hard to change her, mold her into someone other than whom Erva thought herself to be.

  Will nodded. “William reminds me of my father, of my father’s criticisms. As well as every governess he hired would eventually replicate his same condemnations and call me William, as if it were a curse. It’s why I’m not overly fond of being called William.”

  Erva’s heart pinched at that story. She’d read something similar too. William’s father had been a bit of a tyrant in his house. He’d voted rather selfishly, not really picking a side to be on, neither Whig nor Tory, but what suited him best. And that usually meant he voted for raises for his own fortune. Will had done none of that.

  She found herself again liking Will. He was open. Honest. She hadn’t expected that. She’d thought she’d have to wrestle him down, not literally, but somehow corner him into telling her what she wanted to know. Often, he’d looked surprised when he’d spoken so freely with her, but now he appeared calm and coaxing, trying to get her to open to him.

  She submitted. “Ditto. Only for my mom. My dad was the one who picked my name though, but he mainly just called me Erva. Minerva for when I proved I could be war-like.” She stopped as she listened to Will’s appreciative chuckle. It was low, masculine, yet soft, and harmonious. He had a perfect laugh. It seemed to bounce through her body, making her feel more than she wanted to. The man would die soon. So she tried to ignore her response. “He was an army man, like you. He gave me my name, not just because of the powers of war, but for wisdom as well. He hoped I’d grow a hell of a lot wiser than him, he’d tell me.” Realizing she was being profane, she cringed slightly.

  However, Will softly laughed again. “He sounds rather sage himself.”

  “Thanks.” She had to clear her throat before she continued. “He passed away. Some time ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She glanced up, because from her periphery it appeared he was reaching for her. But he stretched his hands on his thighs again, swallowing.

  “I lost my father too.”

  “I’m sorry.” She knew that, and it had been one of the reasons why she’d wanted to study him. They’d both lost their fathers when they were just teenagers.

  She thought about patting his hand, but his jawline kicked. She’d come to find out that for Will the passing of his father had been one of the best things for him. At least one of his chambermaids had said so in a letter. Still, it was difficult to have any kind of parent die, she was sure.

  He nodded, the tension in his face becoming icy-cold air that permeated around him. But he suddenly turned to her, glancing at her up and down, then melted into a warm smile. “Erva, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but wherever did you receive your accent?” He turned more to face her. “You sound rather American, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “Not at all.” Because I’m quite American, she thought. She held back a giggle, as she continued. “Like I said, my dad was an army man too.” She couldn’t tell him that her dad had been a sergeant; otherwise, the disguise of being some kind of aristocrat would be blown. “So, yes, I was a military brat and traveled around a lot. I lived in several sta—colonies, as well as Germany, er, Prussia, even in England for a few years.” And that was the truth. Well, most of it. She’d also lived in Korea and Japan, but she wasn’t too sure how to broach that.

  “Brat, I doubt that very much.”

  To hear those words felt much better than she would have ever thought. “Well, you know,” she found herself whispering, “It’s hard to always be moving, making new friends every year.”

  “
That would be difficult, I suppose. I never moved much as a boy. But it was difficult to make friends.”

  “Because of your earldom?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose. It didn’t help that my father secluded his family from the world. After he died, my first purchase, when I was just fourteen, was Paul, the man who helped you with your chair this morning. Back then I was so desperate for a friend. I went out and bought one.” He stopped, looking utterly perplexed. “Lord, I’ve never told anyone that.”

  And nowhere had she seen any documents that Paul was anything other than a manservant. “You bought him?”

  Will grimaced for a moment, but kept talking. “His father was selling him at a wharf. He needed to pay off a gambling debt. Paul was eleven at the time, and his father promised me he’d be a good worker. I didn’t care about that. I just wanted someone to practice fencing with.”

  “A buddy.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You wanted a buddy. Um, sorry.” Erva thought fast of the etymology of the word buddy that yet was to be spoken. “A booty fellow, a butty.”

  “Aye, I did! A booty fellow to share my secrets to. I like this word buddy. Is it German? You know, I really should learn more German with all the mercenaries under my command.”

  Erva shook her head. “No, it’s a word that I picked up as time went by.”

  He nodded and smiled again. “I’ve never told anyone about my father either, reproving me the way he did.” Staring at her, his smile waned. He swallowed, then a muscle in his jaw twitched. His nose flared, as if he were frustrated.

  But Erva liked how he shared so much with her. “I’m honored, so honored.” And she was. As every passing second swept by, she thought more and more about his death. She was beginning to care about him. She liked him more than she thought she would.

  She didn’t know why, but she kept thinking of her father, to when she was a little girl and her father had scooped her in his arms and paraded her around his troops. Her father had been so proud to introduce her to his own general. She remembered the salute she’d received from the graying dignified man, and even a high-five for knowing all the parts of the AK-47. Her father had beamed down at her, as if she were the sun, moon, and stars in one little girl.

  She’d always wondered if her studies had more to do with her father or her. While watching the man at her side, she suddenly realized how she’d tried to compare the two, but Will was not like her father in so many ways. He was—well, she had to face it—hot. Nervous. And so complicated. In the ways he did remind Erva of her father, he was brave. Intelligent.

  Then Will did the oddest thing. He flexed his fingers out on his thighs again, which she caught from the corner of her eye, and looking back up at his handsome face, she saw his gaze flick down to her lips. She finally realized he wasn’t frustrated. His tense face wasn’t irritation.

  His chest rose and fell at a quicker pace. His lids hooded just slightly.

  He was...he was going to kiss her.

  Erva had thought many things about the man in her sights, but for him to be attracted to her. To her? She wasn’t even wearing mascara, although the maids had powdered her a bit and even given her blush, which she hadn’t needed much of since the afternoon’s sun was evident in her glowing countenance.

  The carriage decelerated with the driver’s loud, “Whoa!”

  Will turned his head and gazed out the window. He sighed. “We’ve arrived at our destination.” His voice cracked.

  The sun was still setting, illuminating an elaborate and spread-wide mansion with several torches lit around the house. The manicured lawn and sculptured bushes were astonishing. How did they do that without power tools? Servants holding amber-glowing lamps dotted the walkway to a huge black door. Yeesh, they did have some bling houses back then. Back now, she reminded herself.

  Further, Erva could hardly believe what had just happened. Or had it? Will had appeared as if he wanted to kiss her. Well, it could have been her imagination, right? All of this was in her head anyhow. That part was obvious, since she’d gone crazy. And something in her brain had decided that the man she’d had a weird crush on for a decade should reciprocate her affections. It was her mind playing tricks on her.

  It had to be.

  The carriage finally came to a stop, and Erva kept thinking about how crazy she had become. Or stuck in a coma. But if she was insane or this was some hallucination because of brain trauma, why did this feel so real?

  A footman opened the door, and Will held onto Erva’s hand to escort her from the landau. As soon as both her feet landed on the stone walkway, she winced. God, her knee really hurt now. And why did that feel so freaking real?

  “My lady?” Will stood before her. As if knowing the problem, he was already trying to take her weight into his hands by holding her arms.

  “Ow,” she quietly grunted, not wanting to make a scene, but she let him step closer and hold her by her waist.

  “It’s your knee, isn’t it?”

  She couldn’t help herself. He was there, and it hurt more than she wanted it to. So she leaned her forehead against his chest. God, he smelled good, so clean and spicy male. “Yes,” she murmured.

  “We’ll go back home immediately. I’ll get—”

  “But I want to be at the banquet.” She finally looked up at him.

  His black brows cast down. “They are terrible, these parties. All of them. You won’t miss a thing. I promise you.”

  “Terrible? Then why do you go to them?” She smiled.

  As if fighting himself, he finally cracked a lopsided grin too. “I have to. As a general I’m supposed to keep up appearances, which, honestly, I’m not too sure what that means. But with your broken knee—”

  “It’s not broken.” She snorted. “It’s just sore.”

  “Still, it’s the perfect excuse not to join.”

  “I want to go.” She nodded. “I do. Just...will you walk with me slowly? I’m sure once I start moving again, it’ll be better, like at camp with your men.”

  His jawline kicked, and his hands tightened their hold. His face again was tense, but this time she was pretty sure he was frustrated with her.

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded again.

  “I shall carry you then.”

  As he bent to do as he’d said, a few women, decidedly not servants, spilled out of the mansion. Erva smacked Will’s shoulder a few times as he hooked an arm around her knees.

  “No, no, no...there are people staring.”

  Will straightened. “You struck me.”

  Erva laughed. “I’m sorry.”

  “You look it.”

  She giggled more but saw around Will that three women in gigantic skirts and even bigger hair were marching toward them. “Oh God, they’re coming.”

  “Is that General Lord Hill? Out there?” said a nasal sounding woman.

  Erva looked up at Will who merely squinted down at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been hit before.”

  “Shh, the women are coming.” Erva couldn’t help but giggle again.

  “Even when I talk Paul into pugilism, he never really takes a jab at me.”

  “I’ll smack you around if that’s what you want, but the ladies are coming.” She fastened her hands around his red coat, over his chest, and gently shook him.

  “My lord, is that you?” the grating voice hollered.

  Will actually rolled his eyes, then looked down at Erva playfully. “Are you scared of the ladies approaching, is that why you act desperate?”

  “No, I’m trying to help you with your appearance, as you said.” That was partly the reason. She didn’t have time or the words to share with him that she’d been trained thoroughly to keep up appearances too. She’d been taught to smile through pain, smile through grief, for God’s sake to smile through intense loss, because a girl is nothing without a smile. That was her mother’s saying. And although Erva knew it was self-destructive, it was still drilled i
nto her to follow. She panicked and balled her fists into Will’s chest again. “Aren’t you supposed to turn around and—and bow and salute or something?”

  “You wish me to behave? Is that right?”

  His smile turned wicked, and through her anxiety something warm and wet zinged through her body, straight for the apex of her legs.

  “Yes,” she said too breathily.

  One of his dark brows arched. “What will you give me in return?”

  “I’ll box you.”

  He chuckled.

  “My lord!” A petite hand familiarly wrapped itself around one of Will’s biceps, and he turned in the direction he was pulled.

  “That is you. Didn’t you hear me calling you, my lord?” The woman was actually quite pretty, Erva realized, even if her voice resonated like someone grinding her nails against a chalkboard. Two other women clustered behind the one who still held Will. They giggled in unison, and Erva immediately thought of the movie, “Mean Girls.” They were lovely—perfect skin, great hair, even if it was huge, and plastic smiles that didn’t convey a true human emotion. Oh, Erva knew these kinds of girls. They were the young women who would whine in her office about getting a D on a test and why didn’t she understand that they didn’t have time to study. They had a life, and the implication was Erva didn’t. In other words in the eighteenth century, these were the bitches to avoid.

  “Sorry, no,” Will said nonchalantly. “My ears are shot. I’ve been around a very talented marksman all day.” He looked at Erva with a pointed smile.

  “Oh, poor man,” Nasal Girl flirted. “Shall I kiss your ears and make them better?” The duo behind her giggled as one.

  Oh God. So the rumors were right, Erva thought in a panic-stricken haze. Will was a rake of a man. He was a cad who seduced with his quiet charms. And she’d nearly fallen for it too.

  Will took a step closer to Erva. “Miss Whinny—”

  “It’s Winny, my lord. My name is Winny.”

  “Miss Winny, have you met my guest, Lady Ferguson?”

  Erva glanced at Will. He seemed collected and not at all interested in the gorgeous, albeit young, trio.

  Winny held her hand out limply in the air. “Pleasure,” she said as snottily as possible as she curtsied.

  Erva couldn’t help but snicker. She reined it in though as she tried to shake the other woman’s hand, but ended up holding onto her fingers in an odd greeting. “Yes, the pleasure’s all mine.”

  “Well, Miss Whinny, Lady Ferguson and I shall take our time walking. Why don’t you run along? We’ll meet up with you soon enough inside.”

  Winny let a soft, staccato tone out of her agape lips, a shocked protest. But then pursed her lips, curtsied, and rushed away in a flurry of white skirts, too much rose water, and her two friends immediately chirping like gossiping birds in her wake.

  When the big black door had slammed shut, Erva turned to Will. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Of course I did. I told you, these banquets are terrible.”

  “You didn’t even give the girl a chance.” Erva couldn’t believe she was saying as much, especially because if he had, then it might have proven he was a rake.

  Will coughed an affronted sound. “Give that child a chance? Why?”

  “Don’t most men want a woman that age?” She’d meant to say something about men of his time, but it hadn’t come out. The fact that she’d asked at all surprised her too, especially the way her voice had dropped and rasped.

  God, she hated it, but she really had wondered if this was the norm of men in all eras, including her own. Her now ex-husband had run off with one of her students.

  Will’s brows furrowed. “As it is, the lady I want—I’m talking to a lady who’s already—what are you? Ten years younger than I?”

  Erva bit her lip and shook her head.

  Will looked to the murky sky, turning a dark blue already. “I know I’m not to ask your age, but I’m just saying, already I’m talking to a young—”

  “You’re thirty-four, right?”

  He blinked and nodded.

  “I’m thirty-five.”

  “No.”

  She nodded.

  Now his mouth was ajar. He finally closed his lips and smiled sheepishly. “You don’t look it. At all.”

  “Thanks.” Erva glanced down at the gold frog buttons on his red coat. Then recalled what he had said. “Did you just say something about the lady you want—”

  “Let’s go inside. You’ve decided we’re to attend the party, so let’s just go inside.” The man, who if it weren’t so dark Erva could have sworn was blushing, scooped her up and rushed down the walkway to the black door.

  She giggled again, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It felt so...good. Oh God, why did he have to die? Then again, why was she so freaking crazy?