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.She certainly seemed a far cry from the cold little prude she’d proved to be since that night.“I forbid it!”She flicked a limp wrist toward him, dismissing his words.“La, aren’t you the masterful one! I’d like to see a lowly lieutenant march into the colonel’s office and announce that his wife isn’t allowed to ride out with the gentleman.” Her eyes narrowed once more as she turned on him.“Besides, I’m on to your weekly trips to Leavenworth.Special scouting duty, bah! Scouting out whiskey and women—that’s what you do best!”“Annabelle!” he gasped.“Never mind the outraged protest, darling.Some of the enlisted men stopped by the Star of the West last night.I know all about your fling with the little golden-haired Gypsy.The whole camp knows.And from now on, Lance Delacorte, I plan to do just as I please.You go your way and I’ll go mine.Now, if you will excuse me, I’d like to finish dressing.I don’t want to keep George waiting.”Lance Delacorte stumbled backward and fell to a sitting position on the bed, his mouth agape.George, she’d called him!Annabelle continued preparing herself, ignoring him completely.She pulled on a linen blouse with a lace ruff that gave the illusion of more bosom than she actually possessed.The hunter-green riding habit snugged itself close to her tiny waist, making her look tantalizingly dainty and feminine, before it swirled into a full skirt.Fetching, he thought miserably.Designed to make a man crave what lay underneath.Slipping her long fingers into soft kid gloves, Annabelle offered him a false smile and said, “Ta-ta, darling.I shan’t be too late.George says we’ll simply ride out to a private place he knows and read poetry together while we lunch on pheasant and champagne.” She scowled at Lance suddenly.“You really should clean yourself up.You’re a dreadful sight in those baggy old britches.Did your little Gypsy steal your clothes as well as your wallet?”With that, Annabelle Delacorte swept past her husband and out of the room.Lance slumped on the bed, miserable, defeated, and determined to get even with Prince Mateo and his blonde whore if it was the last thing he ever did.It wasn’t that George Custer sought any dalliance with Annabelle Delacorte, even though he had become aware of her flirtatious glances.Surely there were more attractive women on post than this little mouse whose own husband didn’t seem to have any interest in her.Still, he enjoyed the company of women in general, and with his own wife away, he often invited his officers’ ladies out to ride.Nothing gave him greater joy than to swing into the saddle next to a pretty woman on horseback and gallop out over the plains on a fine day.He glanced up at the wide expanse of blue overhead and smiled, stroking his mustache.“Fine day indeed! Now if only the woman were a bit prettier.”“Colonel Custer,” called a musically feminine voice.He looked across the parade ground, toward the green-clad, lace-jaboted figure sweeping toward him.A low, appreciative whistle escaped him.Could this be Annabelle Delacorte? He smiled and offered his buckskin-gloved hand.“Madam, you look fetching.”Annabelle executed a smart curtsy and flashed him a winsome smile.“Why, thank you, Colonel.”“Please, call me George.”She nodded and blushed slightly, thinking that she had been calling him George secretly for some time now.But flirtation was not her main objective today.No.She had much more serious business on her mind.Having accepted the colonel’s assistance in mounting, she watched admiringly as he swung onto the back of his own horse and spurred the animal to action.For a long time, they raced toward the distant horizon, too windblown and exhilarated to engage in conversation.But Annabelle never ceased rehearsing her speech to him in her mind.Only when they reached a distant hillock covered with a copse of trees did she get her chance.They had dismounted, nibbled at lunch, and toasted the day and their newfound friendship with sparkling wine before Annabelle finally broached the subject uppermost in her thoughts.“George,” she began in a whispery voice.He turned admiring eyes on her.“Yes, Annabelle.What is it?”“Well, this might not be the time or place, but I must speak to you about a personal problem.”His hand, which had been inching toward hers, drew away.“Feel free to discuss anything you like, madam.”“This is something I don’t like.Those Gypsies.”He frowned at her, slightly confused.“I had no idea you’d had occasion to meet any of them.”“I haven’t, but my husband has, most regrettably.”Custer laughed and ran nervous fingers through his long yellow hair.“Ah, you mean the talk about last night.I wouldn’t let that bother me, if I were you.It’s probably like any other gossip on an army post—exaggerated and not worth the breath to repeat it.Let’s not allow it to spoil our outing, Annabelle.”“I don’t want it to spoil anything.That’s why we have to talk about it.Did you see Lance this morning when he came in?” Custer shook his head and Annabelle hurried on, the wind at her back now.“His uniform was gone.”Custer jerked upright.“Naked? By God, I won’t have that of one of my officers!”“No, no, no! He was in a horrible, threadbare suit of borrowed clothes.”“Well, I should hope!”“But don’t you see, it was just as embarrassing for me as if he had been nak— Unclothed.He was with some Gypsy woman last night, drinking and who knows what else.He goes to town once a week and stays all night.Until I heard the rumors flying around this morning, I believed what he’d always told me… that he was on some sort of special duty.Now I feel like such a fool! And those very Gypsies he’s been consorting with are coming here next week.I simply can’t face them!”Tears coursed down Annabelle’s cheeks and choked her words.Custer patted her hand compassionately and made murmuring sounds of comfort, finally drawing her against his chest to hush the racket.Crying women always confounded him.His own wife never wept or made such unseemly female noises.“There, there, my dear.Don’t take on so.”The moment George Custer embraced her, Annabelle felt all her pent-up yearning burst forth.Here she was—“unattractive little Annabelle”—being crushed to the hard bosom of a hero, a man of iron.The thought made her feel faint.She stared up at his lips, wondering how it would feel to have them pressed to her own.Her heart thudded and heat flowed through her.“George?” she breathed.But instead of kissing her, he released her, saying, “I really don’t know what I can do, madam.As long as your husband breaks no army regulations, he is his own man.”She sat staring at him, gasping softly, before she could find her voice to reply.“But he did break the rules! He missed muster this morning.Doesn’t that count?”“Well, yes, I suppose so.Are you suggesting I have him locked in the guardhouse?”The thought pleased Annabelle, but she dared not say so.“No! I want Lance with me, not away from me.It’s the Gypsies I want you to deal with
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