The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,16

down to the tip of her nose. Wide-eyed with pleasure the children covered their mouths to muffle their laughter.

"Never mind, you little beasts. I think I make a charming squaw," Cara intoned then grinned as the children collapsed in glee.

"I'd say you look all the crack," Richard acknowledged when he could control his laughter. "Absolutely smashing!"

After parceling out the various crude weapons the garish threesome split up to stalk buffalo and settlers. Richard was more enthusiastic in the pursuit of settlers on the theory that his

chances of a good fight were better. There was much shrieking and whooping as each of the Indians battled with the elements, imaginary enemies and with each other. The game finally resolved itself into hide-and-seek.

Hurrying along the trail, Cara mopped at the perspiration dotting her upper lip. Readjusting her headdress she cursed the profusion of material, wishing she might abandon her disguise and let her hair loose in the warm June sunshine. She searched the woods for a possible hiding place. Nothing suited and she walked farther along the path. Hearing the rustling of someone moving behind her, she threw herself behind the nearest bushes hoping to evade detection. The footsteps came closer, hesitated then walked directly toward her hiding place.

Cautiously parting the greenery Cara gasped at the sight of two polished Hessians planted on the dusty path.

With a groan of pure embarrassment, Cara's eyes slid up the boots to the muscular thighs encased in buckskin breeches. She licked her dry mouth, tasting the salty perspiration on her upper lip and her eyes traversed the trim waist and expanse of chest in the many pocketed hunting jacket. Her glance faltered at the granite hard chin but, as if to punish herself, she completed the survey of Julian's expressionless face and ruffled black hair.

"Are you hurt, Miss Farraday?" Lord Wilton inquired in a deep voice that sent a shiver along Cara's nerve endings.

"Thank you, my lord, but I'm perfectly all right."

Cara ground out her answer, her eyes closing in agony. Praying that Julian would walk on or vanish off the face of the earth, she pressed her burning cheeks against the cool grass. When Cara continued to lay inert on the ground, the boots shifted restlessly.

"Are you planning to remain there for long, Miss Farraday?"

"For the rest of my life." Cara cursed under her breath. Then realizing the futility of the situation, she sighed in defeat and answered, "No, your lordship."

Summoning what dignity she could, she stumbled to her feet. It took all her determination to face her husband with a look of disdain which was somewhat marred by the streak of warpaint on her face.

"You're injured!" Julian stepped forward in concern. "What happened?"

"Indians," Cara declared straight-faced.

"I saw Richard and Belin a little while ago," Julian chuckled. "I thought their warpaint was fearsome but I didn't realize that you were a member of their tribe."

Taking Cara's arm Julian turned her toward the light so that he could get a better look at the painted face turned up to him. He had to admire the girl's coolness in such an awkward situation. Except for the flush on her cheeks, she appeared unconcerned as he scanned her features.

He noted the clean fresh quality of her skin and the soft brown hair of her lashes and brows. Throwing a look of disgust at the voluminous scarf on her head, he wondered idly if her hair matched her brows. His nostrils flared at the soft flowery scent that wafted up from her tiny figure. Though the girl neither cringed nor struggled in his grasp, he felt her physical withdrawal in her very stillness. Excited by the feel of her skin, Julian drew her closer.

"The warpaint is very becoming, Miss Farraday.”

Stunned by the sensual quality of his voice, Cara's eyes widened in consternation.

Once again Julian was caught by the jeweled eyes that stared up at him. Beneath his hand he could feel her body quiver. It reminded him of an injured sparrow he had once held in his hand. Julian was puzzled and dismayed at his reaction to the little governess. At thirty he was long past the easily aroused passions of a callow youth. Yet as he held the arm of the petite American he had an overwhelming desire to kiss the luscious mouth of the little innocent. Within those blue-green eyes he sensed a sleeping sensuality that he was curious to awaken. The urge to reach up his hand to soothe the girl’s fear was irresistible. Unable to stop