Once a Soldier (Rogues Redeemed) by Mary Jo Putney Page B

my views on what is considered legitimacy. Let me add that I have no desire to acquire an unwilling mistress.”
    “A surprising number of men lack your scruples,” she said dryly. “But it’s clear I overreacted. All you wanted was a kiss, not a mistress.”
    “Did I say that?” he said with a slow smile that lit his whole face. “I’m neither blind nor stupid, so of course I would love to lie with you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we met. But anything that might be between us is separate from what must be done in San Gabriel.”
    Her return smile was sad. “How can there be anything between us when you’ll be gone so soon? You’re anxious to return home, while I am committed to staying here indefinitely. I’m no innocent just emerged from the schoolroom, but I’m nowhere near reckless and worldly enough to lie with a virtual stranger. We haven’t the time for more than the first levels of friendship.”
    “That is . . . not necessarily true.” His gaze held hers, his gray eyes turning serious. “Though I yearn for my home, some things are more important. Becoming better acquainted with you is one such thing.”
    She stared at him. “You’re a most unusual man, Major Masterson.”
    “I’ve been told that before,” he said sadly. “It’s never a compliment.”
    She had to smile. “Now I know you’re teasing.”
    “Possibly,” he agreed; his expression sober, but his eyes amused. “If I’m forgiven for the kiss, will you call me Will again? I prefer to be on first name terms with you.”
    “Very well, Will.” She preferred that as well. “For whatever time you’re here, we can be friends. After you leave . . .” She shrugged. “In my experience, men are not such good letter writers as women, and it’s a long way from San Gabriel to Oxfordshire.”
    “I’m a rather decent letter writer, actually.” His gaze intensified. “Friends. And who knows? Perhaps we can become more than friends.”
    She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. He could not possibly mean what he seemed to be implying. Returning to irony, she said, “What are the relationship possibilities?” She held up her left hand and ticked off one finger. “Friendship is the broadest category and can range from mild acquaintance to deep, enduring loyalty. I think we are already mild friends?”
    “If we weren’t more than mild friends already, we wouldn’t be having this extremely interesting discussion,” he agreed.
    She ticked off another finger. “We could become enemies.”
    “I will not allow that,” he said firmly. “I have had enough of enemies.”
    “One does not always have a choice.” She tapped her middle finger. “The opposite of love or hate, which is indifference.”
    “It is much too late for indifference,” Will said seriously. “I believe I mentioned my immediate interest in kissing you.”
    “Do you always want to kiss women who aim rifles at you?” she asked curiously.
    “No, you’re the only one,” he said. “Though if the truth be known, women seldom greet me with weaponry.”
    “I’m glad to hear that.” She studied her hand. “Two fingers left for listing relationships, and those remaining are deeply implausible.”
    “But these are the most interesting possibilities!” he exclaimed.
    “‘Interesting’ doesn’t mean good. ” She ticked her ring finger. “We could have an affair. That will not happen for any number of reasons, most of which you can imagine.”
    “Which leaves another possibility,” he said, his voice soft.
    She closed her hand into a fist. “You can’t possibly be interested in marriage! You scarcely know me.”
    “That’s true, as is the reverse. If we get to know each other better, one or both of us might decide we’d never suit.”
    She stared at him, feeling as if time had stopped. She was sharply aware of the sweeping valley and mild breeze, the sunshine warming them both, his tanned complexion.
    The bleak impossibility