Read Online Temptation by Leda Swann - Free Book Online

departed husband, George. When it comes to a man’s weapon, cleanliness is next to godliness. I shudder to think of my trusty Martini Henry misfiring at an inopportune moment, just when my life depended on it. Sand and grit are the real enemy here and I, along with my men, spend several hours each day cleaning and oiling our rifles. Not too much oil, mind, as oil is a dirt-magnet. But just enough to keep the parts sliding smoothly and the rust at bay.
    You are right in your letter that we are of similar occupation, as I also have the welfare of my men at heart. I find I have to run a tight operation, with the maintenance of discipline being paramount to our survival in this hostile place so far from home. Despite my men considering me a gruff old soldier I feel we must be of closer spirit than you suspect.
    I would be honored if you would write again, and if fate and chance permit maybe one day we shall meet in person and I will be able to thank you in person for your uncommon kindness. If I may be so bold, I will hold you in my mind as a strong and intel ligent woman, as having a vision helps me get through the long days. And nights.
    Warmest regards ,
Sgt. Maj. Bartholomew Tofts, V.C.
     
     
    She put it aside again with a sigh. Though she had been widowed for the better part of a decade, she was only thirty-eight. She still had so much life to live, and it made her weep to think she would spend it all alone. It wasn’t fair that the sergeant-major was considered in the prime of his life, ripe for marriage and a family, while she was considered too old. And she and her first husband had never been blessed with children of their own.
    She wiped a melancholy tear away. It was too late for her now. Best that she simply accept it and move on with her life. The young nurses that boarded with her were her family. They would have to suffice her.
    In a letter, though, she could pretend she was still a young woman. She could pretend that the sergeant-major was her sweetheart and that he was courting her. His letters gave her something to look forward to, something extra to live for, a reason to keep on with the struggle instead of giving up and letting the cares of the world overwhelm her.
    They had so much in common, and he wrote so sensibly of matters. Sometimes he reminded her quite forcibly of her late husband. He had the same forthright spirit. The same manly strength and the same uncomplaining nature.
    Or maybe it was the loneliness of her heart that made her cling to the first respectable man who had shown any interest in her for a very long time.
    She had had her fair share of offers from less than respectable men. The young rag-and-bone man who tried his best to flirt with her every week was one such. Dirty and ill-educated, he clearly saw her—an older woman presumably desperate for a husband—as an easy route to a comfortable bed every night and plenty of hot water.
    The sergeant-major wasn’t interested in her comfortable boardinghouse or the nest egg she had saved for her later years. He didn’t know she was comfortably off, that her dear George had left her so. He wrote to her because he enjoyed her conversation.
    If he were to lose interest in their correspondence, her heart would be shattered all over again.
    Myrtle’s naughty tintype lay on the side table where she had deliberately left it to tempt Mrs. Bettina into sending it to her sergeant-major.
    She picked it up and examined it carefully. Myrtle looked very enticing, but she was clearly not in the first flush of youth. Would the sergeant-major be more tempted to carry on their correspondence if he thought she looked like young Myrtle?
    It would be a deception if she were to send it to him, but a harmless one. They would never meet in person for him to find her out. He would never know that her hair was not raven black but a soft brown just starting to go gray at the edges, that her waist was no longer quite as slender as it was, and her bosom was far more