Read Online Temptation by Leda Swann - Free Book Online Page B

white cork hat a dull, muddy brown, and staining the dark blue trousers of his regimentals? The early summer sun was on his back and the wind was in his hair, and he was off to fight for merry England.
    The pipe band played merrily as they marched, their cheerful tunes piercing the clear air and carrying across the countryside in a show of defiance. The spirits of all the men in the column were high. Their months of inaction through the winter had told heavily on them, and even the prospect of a new place to camp broke the monotony of their dreary days of waiting.
    Three hours later, when the regiment had moved barely a mile down the road, he was less sanguine. The summer sun beat down hot on the dark fabric of his uniform, and his sweat prickled his underarms. Early in the day his horse had taken lame, and he had been forced to dismount and walk at the head of his troops. His boots, better suited for riding than for long marches, had rubbed his heels into blisters. He had even sunk so low as to feel a moment of envy for the uncivilized Boers, who had no uniform but wore clothes of an indeterminate mid brown or gray—light enough to reflect the worst of the sun, and loose enough to breathe.
    The pipe band had long since given up playing, and the band members marched along as dully as the rest of the company with their instruments at their sides.
    The supply wagons were the worst of their problems. Poorly maintained and worked hard, they were now showing their age. More heavily laden than usual, their lightweight axles could not stand up to the hard ground over which they had to travel. Every time another one broke, the whole column had to stop and cool their heels, standing around in the hot sun, until the wagon was repaired.
    When the sun finally went down, they had traveled maybe half of the distance to the small encampment they were charged with fortifying. The wagons were brought together into a defensive circle. Inside the circle, the men ate cold rations then unrolled their bedrolls and lay down in the open, without even bothering to pitch a tent. Despite the difficulties of the day, their mood was still light, and snatches of song and ribald laughter carried out over the veld.
    Captain Carterton chose a relatively isolated spot for his bedroll right at the edge of the laager, almost under the wagon wheels. Hoping for any measure of privacy was too much, but at least here he had a few yards of space to call his own, and could read over his letter without fear of someone looking over his shoulder.
    He unfolded the pages, smoothing out each wrinkle with a careful hand. The moon was nearly full, and bright enough to read by.
    Westminster, London, October 1880
     
    My poor lonely Percy,
    I have read your letter over and over again. Never has anyone written or spoken such words to me, and I had no idea to what extent such words would play on my feelings. Reading your words I can see so clearly you lying in your tent thinking of me. My skin warms and my heart races in my chest with the thought of being so vivid in your imagination.
    But how can I reply to such a letter? As you say, the die is cast, and I see no reason to hold back now. If I had been offended you would not have received this letter. And how could I reply with idle chatter of cricket or of the weather when your words were so full of physical love?
    There is only one way. I am sitting at my desk and my hand is shaking ever so slightly as I write. I am alone, with my roommate halfway into her shift. No one will disturb me as I write to you.
    In my letter I will enclose a photo of me, but all you can see is my face atop a volume of clothing. In the photo you can see my hair is dark. In fact it is a light brown, and my eyes are green. Look at that photo and now in your mind remove all that clothing, layer by layer. First you will discover rather utilitarian undergarments, but always clean and white. And underneath that you will find not the chubby body of a woman