by Gina Danna
What really irritated her was how he’d managed to throw back at her as quick as her arguing against his old life in the slave owning South. Frankly, she hadn’t cared about their absence of workers when the slaves were emancipated. It hadn’t mattered, but since he brought the subject up, she was at a loss to say anything. The obvious, which she could clearly see now, was to hire the newly freed slaves, for the freemen would need jobs, but already, she could hear the rebuttal from men like their speaker, who’d have nothing to do with the South ever again.
The argument was at a standstill. She inhaled deeply. No wonder there was war. And at this rate, who would budge? Or would they be forever killing one another?
Her inner thoughts came to a screeching halt as the carriage slowed to a stop outside the house. The doorman instantly appeared and she waited, to see what her patient would do. Again, the man surprised her. He managed to move rather nimbly out the door, a one-foot hop to the ground and then he turned, holding onto the carriage.
“My lady.” He offered his other hand with a sparkle in his eye.
Trying to figure him out exhausted her. Slowly, she put her hand in his and stepped outside the carriage.
“Thank you, monsieur.”
“Always a pleasure to help a lady.” He grabbed his cane from the doorman and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
At his gentlemanly spirit, which was the opposite of what she thought he’d be, she gave him a quick nod. Once inside, though, things turned quite cold, as he released her arm and murmured goodnight before turning toward the stairs.
“Would you like a glass of wine before retiring?” The chill in the front hallway surprised her, more so since it came from him.
“I think tonight I shall pass. Our…event…has taken all my energy. Good night.”
As he continued toward the staircase, Ada’s eyes widened, ice skittering down her spine. Her exposing him to the abolitionists had hit the desired effect she’d wanted. Only now, she wished it hadn’t. How would she get that spirited Southerner back or had she driven him away?
Her stomach felt like she’d dropped a hot rock into it, and with each of his slow steps, she realized she regretted it.
Francois sank into his chair, slowly raising his injured foot onto the pillowed footstool the servant had put before him.
“Thank you, Billy.” He shook off the boy’s help to undress but took the offered glass of wine as the servant slipped out the door. Alone at last, Francois closed his eyes as he sipped.
The evening hadn’t turned out like he thought, while at the same time, it did. It wasn’t his first time hearing those crazed reformers rant on about the horrors of slavery. To him, from what he’d seen in the northern factories, it wasn’t any different, though here they were just workers and not called slaves. Nevertheless, Francois could count the number of landowners who treated their property like that speaker claimed. He always thought they were one of the stupidest type of people, because slaves were worth a fortune in investment alone. Hell, he’d once considered buying one man’s set from the looks of how they fared, except he knew the owner would simply go out and buy more.
He downed the wine, realizing it was a losing battle. The price to own them had skyrocketed to make it too expensive an endeavor to maintain. Even he knew that. He hadn’t really meant to pounce on Ada that way, but the saintly halo she put on, as if he was the devil himself, made him angry. Now, he wanted to laugh. That creature in the White House had freed the South’s slaves, according to the papers, so what was there to argue about? Except that slavery itself wasn’t abolished.
Finishing the wine, he looked down at his foot. It wasn’t hurting much as long as he didn’t race. And it wasn’t swollen from escorting her rather quickly out of that lecture hall, which now made him wonder. There was the ball she now owed him…
On that notion, he stood, grabbing the cane and headed out the door in his shirtsleeves. Slinking down the stairs as quietly as he could, which was probably in the end worthless with the cane and a limp, but he tried. At the foot of the steps, he found the back parlor had a glow and he heard the fire crackle. Ada had to be in there, so he headed in that direction.
Rather pleased that he’d made it this far without a fall or a sudden move to alert his presence, though he was sure the house mice heard him, he made it to the room and peered through the slit in the slightly closed door. His prey sat at the desk, furiously scribbling on a sheath of paper, a glass of wine at her right. She stopped her writing, still staring at the page and he caught her lips curving slightly, as if smiling to the person she was writing to. That thought made his anger flare. He didn’t know who she was writing to, but if she gave him that sly a smile, he’d warm instantly, though if it was another man, the mere idea of her with another irritated him. Yet why, he pondered. She was his doctor and she did save his foot, thus basically his life, yet she despised him…How had he come to earn for a woman who didn’t like him, strictly because of where he came from?
The only answer he could fathom came from deep. Like a coiled snake, the hiss and rattle at the mere thought suggesting she was interested in another man could not be denied. He bet the man was the other doctor, the one who saw him in that prison, because that was the only one he’d seen her with—suddenly, he tilted, his mad thoughts making him misstep and he lost hold of the cane. It crashed to the hardwood floor with a loud bang.
Ada’s head shot up her eyes wide with surprise.
“Francois, what a surprise.” She stood quickly and raced around the desk, coming to his side. “Are you all right?”
No, he felt like a fool…damn it, he missed the rut in the floorboard.
“No, truly, I am fine.” He took the cane back, fighting the heat that started to crawl to his cheeks as embarrassment flooded him.
But she didn’t seem to see his stupidity and looked concerned. “The rally was a lot to take on. You did so well, despite the verbal mauling it did to your way of life. I’m sorry it affected you so harshly.”
She was utterly amazing, to now make such a statement. He snorted. “My dear, you knew that would happen, and if I recall correctly, it was exactly what you wanted.”
She opened her mouth but he put his fingers over her pretty parted lips, the touch of the soft petal skin branding him like fire. “It is fine. Merci, ma chère, I will live.” He paused, the grin he thought he should hide burst through. “And now, you owe me a dance.”
The pressure of his fingers against her lips had surprised her, the tingle that raced through her made her thoughts swirl, but she did catch the end of it. She stepped back, out of his reach, her brows furrowing.
“A dance? You must have a fever.”
His devilish smile only broadened. “No.”
She inhaled deep. What was he up to? She had walked back to the edge of the desk, turned and leaned back on the top edge and gave him a questioning stare.
“We barely made it out of there without you stumbling. And you had your cane. Perhaps you might tell me how you’ll dance? Because leaning on a lady is not considered polite.”
“Well, I thought, perhaps we can practice.”
“Practice? When? Here? Now?”
Still using the cane, he stepped closer. “That’s a lot of questions, doctor. I do think here and now. What else are you doing that would prevent you from helping your patient?”
He was so close, she couldn’t breathe. What was it with this man, this Southerner, the enemy in more ways than one, that could make nerves jump? What was she doing? She wanted to shout she was writing to the love in her life, but even now, Will’s jabs at her about Rich’s intentions jabbered in her mind. The man before her interrupted her thoughts, made her heart flutter and almost forget about what she was doing.
Swallowing hard, she answered, “Nothing that cannot be accomplished later.”
His gaze sparkled and he offered her his free hand, a look of victory on his face. As she slipped her hand into his grasp, she couldn’t help but sn
ort.
“We have no music.”
He managed to spin her in front of him. “Are you sure? I can hear a tune in my head.”
That made her openly giggle. “Really? Then you’ll have to lead me the way.”
He tossed the cane onto the settee and put his left hand on her waist, the other remained holding her tight as he took a step to the left. The dance was a slow waltz, and on the carpeted area near the settee, she was shocked that he could lead her without making them tumble. His sapphire blue gaze never left hers, the grin though faded as the steps continued. He turned her once, and at the end of it, his fingers tightened on her, making her worried he’d fall but he didn’t.
“You do well for a man who needs a cane.” She prayed he’d take the compliment warmly.
“It’s a project I have a drive to achieve,” he replied, turning her again, though a bit more slowly. This time, he double stepped, fighting to stay upright. She tensed, wrapping her fingers around his hand to hopefully help him.
By the end of the noiseless dance, he stopped, bowing to her curtsy, breathing hard.
“Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself?”
He looked up and gave her a wink. “Better I’ve done this time than without a partner.”
“Perhaps you should sit and let me take a look—”
“No! I mean,” he shouted, before correcting his tone. He inhaled deeply and gave her another debonair smile. “Shall we go again?”
“Francois, please. I don’t want you to be worn out.”
“I am fine, ma chère. Please.”
She had to agree that he had pulled the dance off. Slowly, but completely, he had waltzed with her. Did she have the patience to do it again without fretting the whole time he’d make himself entirely lame? But her body betrayed her as she put her hand back in his grasp. Heaven help them both!
Francois stood somewhat precariously. His ankle throbbed, though he discovered if he shifted his weight off it and centered more on the ball of his foot, to the side, he could manage relatively fine. Enough to sway to a slow dance. He liked the waltz, as it always let him be closer to the lady but he had to manage not getting too close, or he’d have a mother to answer to. Inwardly, he chuckled. There was no mother here to interfere.
Ada was light on her feet, which was a pleasant surprise. This woman confused him. She was a doctor, and from his own experience, with excellent skills. She was intelligent yet naïve, in thinking freeing all the slaves would eliminate slavery’s hook on the land. Or that it was reasonable for owners, like his family, to simply let them all free, even give them a starting dowry, as it were, on marriage to a new life as a freedman. And what would the South do for workers? Had the abolitionists thought that far? Or were they simply guiled by runaways with horror stories? Francois had heard the arguments before, rather loudly, too, on the last summer he’d spent at the family’s New York estate. He’d had a rather interesting discussion with their neighbor, a true believer of the movement, and he hadn’t answered that question either. It was as if the South was to figure that out, to hire who they could at the spare funds they’d have after letting their investments walk off the land, and when the country paid by the lower profits coming in from trade, it might be too late to reverse.
As he spun her back in front of him, he grinned. Ada was also a beautiful woman, one who could catch any man’s eye, if she allowed it. So lovely, she could turn his world upside down and have him signing emancipation papers for all the slaves at home, if he didn’t watch it. The prim dress of a Union nurse did not dim her glow, but the wear and tear of the war wore on the edges. If nothing else, he hoped dancing would lighten her mood.
“Stop staring at the floor,” he warned her.
With a shock, she shot him a look. “I wasn’t staring at the floor.”
Still swaying her in time, he gave her a questioning look.
“I was just making sure you were okay,” she argued.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough,” he replied softly.
He couldn’t handle the pitying look she gave him. As if he was an invalid and of no value, which rubbed him wrong, so he spun her to the right and back three steps. The move caught her by surprise and she laughed, her smile catching his attention so strongly that he mentally silenced the throb that blossomed in his foot. He was mesmerized by her enjoyment, warming him deep inside, making part of him sizzle with the mere thought of touching her. He wanted more.
So he raised his right brow, trying to hold the grin at bay, particularly when she tilted her head, wondering what he was thinking. This time, he swung them back to the original spot, careful not to step that hard on his bad foot, and then pulled her closer. Without any warning even to himself, he reached up and traced the contour of her cheek to jawline with a gentle touch. Her skin was soft and heated with the blush that now pinkened her cheeks.
“You are so beautiful when you’re not fighting.”
That made her raise her chin. “Fighting? I believe you are mistaken. You are the soldier.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” He continued his stroking, his fingers slowly tracing back through the dropped curls that hung so precariously off her hairstyle, to the back of her neck. “The demands of medicine and fighting against the likes of me.”
He saw her swallow, as if trying to find her breath, like he was attempting to do. The heated snake in his groin snapped and he hardened.
“Yes, well, I’m trying to save you.”
He snorted. “From what? Death? The Union Army?” He cocked his head.
“From the war and eternal damnation.”
That statement made him lose his step.
The moment the words came out of her mouth, she nearly kicked him as he came to a sudden, and very close, halt. In that instant, her doctor-self rose through the blushes and social statutes and she stopped, making him stop.
“Are you all right?” She looked down again at his foot and tried to disengage herself from his arms with no luck. Inside, a soft voice scolded her for being too bold, and she agreed, for she had enjoyed his touch but doing this had made it stop.
“It is good.”
She shook her head, still staring down. She shouldn’t be this close to him, should not let him caress her so. She was in love with Richard, not this sinner. He was not worthy of her! Yet how could she stop her heart from racing when she was around him? Now that he was mobile and no longer a bedbound patient, she’d started to notice how debonair he was, even with the stubble on his chin, the fading sunny glow he had from marching through the countryside and the limp that would be with him forever. His dark hair and sapphire eyes, the icing to a man who walked with the gait of the rich, getting everything he desired gentleman, a steady pace with an attitude of authority, Francois Fontaine was as attractive and as dangerous as a chocolate cake with chocolate icing was to her waistline. The whole affair made her growl.
Trying to fortify herself against her body’s longing for his touch, she stiffened when he broke through her defenses, pulled her close and kissed her. The impact of his lips sealing hers caused her to whimper and that surrender gave him access to her mouth. But he didn’t advance boldly. No, this warrior was stealthy, using a very seductive lick into her mouth, his tongue slowly enticing hers to dance. He had the taste of rich wine and bold masculinity. She could feel the advance of his army, as his arms embraced her, his hands moving to caress her up her backside, with one balancing the base of her head in its palm, giving her support as he slightly tipped her back. His seduction of her mouth now twisted slightly as he cocked her head with his hand, allowing him to deepen his kiss.
Her stomach burned and a pool began to form internally, just near the apex of her thighs. It was a desire for more, a longing for something she’d only experienced years ago, when the call to arms tore her love away. But even now, the memories faded under this Southerner’s seduction, though the heat it awakened scared and excited her. She should stop him and, as much as she
tried to wrench herself free of his arms, she discovered the only part of her attempting to halt him was a voice in her mind, a voice that grew fainter and fainter the deeper his kiss became.
When his arm around her waist tightened, and he tipped her upper body slightly back, all fight left her. The trembling inside her, starting from the hotspot that was growing wetter by the moment, now took control and she slinked her arms around his neck, locking to hold him close and kissed him back with a fury she had no idea she had. It was a war and she gave in to the glory he tempted her with. She was lost…
Chapter 25
“Lying [sic] on the ground with his cocked rifle by his side and his ramrod in his hand, and his eyes set on the front. I know he meant to kill himself in case of fire—knew it as surely as though I could read his thoughts.”
—Union artillerist commenting on a soldier with two broken legs. Battle of the Wilderness 1864
Francois hadn’t meant to kiss her. No, that was a lie. He had, but the rest came over him the moment his lips touched hers, the soft petals so enticing. The taste of her own sweetness was so delicious, he feared he’d devour her all at once, with no regard to reason. All he wanted was her.
She responded to him, returning his passion with her own, and that only fed the wolf that’d been caged for too long deep inside him. His insides tightened and the fire in his loins ignited to a blaze. But they were here, in the library, with only the small settee. The floor was out of the question, the rug was hardly plush enough for her delicate form. Not a place made for a proper ravishing. So the only place left was upstairs in the bedroom. As he swept her up in his arms, delving deeper into her luscious mouth, the faint but persistent throb in his foot kept him still in the present. Could he get her up the stairs or would he literally fall in the attempt?
