by Gina Danna
Determination, though, won. Breaking free of her lips with his inner core yelling not to, he lowered her to her feet and he took her hand, scooped up his cane and said, “Come with me.”
They headed out of the library without a sound except for the cane. He noted how strange it was for her to be so complacent but he wasn’t about to ruin it. Slowly, he led her up the stairs and headed towards his room. But as they turned at the top of the landing, his toe caught in the fringe on the carpet and he tensed in an attempt to not fall, making his hold on her delicate hand tighten hard. She didn’t squeal as he fought to stay upright, and for that he was thankful.
Once in his room, he released her hand and went to stoke the fire that burned low in the fireplace into a better flame.
“Now, the general always told us to be diligent on the march, that those Yanks could be around the next rock or up in the tree to prey on us. We remained quiet as a mouse and watchful.” He replaced the stoker and stood upright. “I just haven’t decided if you’re a Yankee sharpshooter or you want to be here.”
She widened her gaze as her hands smoothed down the skirt that wasn’t needing it. “I came because you took my hand and,” she swallowed hard. “And because I wanted to.”
A flutter raced down his spine while his heart skipped a beat. Unsure still, he poured her a glass of whiskey out of the bottle he’d requested be kept in his room, handing her the glass before pouring one for himself. Picking the drink up, he raised it high.
“To the lovely Miss Ada. I owe you my life.” He drank, watching her reaction.
She rolled her lower lip into her mouth, as if thinking. “That is my job, sir. I am a doctor and it’s my duty to save lives.”
He nodded but nudged the drink in her hand to her lips. “Then let us celebrate.”
The whiskey burned down her throat, making her want to spit it out but she downed it, a shudder washing over her afterward. She’d never had a sip of hard liquor before, mostly sticking to wine and punch, but she didn’t want to insult him after he’d praised her skills as a doctor.
But what of her skills as a woman? That one daunted her. She’d focused for so long on her medical career, intimacy eluded her. A fire burned in the pit of her belly and a longing from that area that craved his touch. She must be mad.
As he poured them another drink, she muttered, “I shouldn’t be here.”
He gave her a wicked smile, a dangerously alluring one. “As a doctor? Or a lady? Perhaps I think you should be here.”
She took another drink, the burn this time was not as painful. “No, this isn’t appropriate.”
He laughed. The humor lit his face. He snorted. “Appropriate? My lady, from what I’ve seen, I’m not sure you have ever adhered to appropriate. Proper ladies do not go to medical school, treat the wounds you’ve dealt with, nor get involved with the scullery types that make up the abolitionists.” He put his glass down and took her free hand.
His touch scorched her, sending fire through her veins and fed the burning spot deep inside her, the one that begged for her to ignore politeness. As she stepped closer with the pull on her hand, she found she was starving and the handsome, rugged man with the southern accent and its French flair, was the dessert she desired. Despite all her upbringing and the manners she was taught, the moment their lips touched, she threw her arms around his neck and succumbed to his embrace.
The kiss was deep, like everything wild and abandoned. She couldn’t help but feed off the allure of his touch. His fingers moved over her back and to her front, without breaking the kiss. The path of his hands blazed a fire, as he started to undo the hooks on her bodice. Before she knew it, he had undone her bodice and peeled it off her shoulders and freed her arms, exposing her corseted torso. A cool breeze danced off her neckline until he embraced her again, slowly distracting her by leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. With practiced hands, he undid her skirt and crinoline, sending both the dress, over petticoat and hoops crashing to the floor.
Heat flooded her cheeks and cascaded down her neckline as she stood in her undergarments before him.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, shaking off his waistcoat, trousers and shirt to the heap on the floor.
He stood shirtless and in his drawers. Not that she hadn’t already seen him so attired, but this time, it was entirely different. Before, he was a bedbound patient and in pain. Now? He stood, handsome and desirable, with her hungry beyond measure. Since when had she turned into a harlot? The word made her shudder and she pushed it aside, focusing more on him.
He pulled on the ribbons of her corset, loosening them to free her of the contraption. With a swift toss, it too was added to the pile on the floor. Next to follow was her chemise and now she stood naked except for her drawers and stockings. A shiver passed through her, tightening her nipples.
His hand scooped up her breast and he swooped in, planting his lips around her nipple and suckling on the exposed tit. Ada moaned as the tingles branched out of her pearled tip, echoing the pleasure in the other one as well, and fueling the fire at the apex of her thighs. The split pantalets moistened as her lower lips swelled. Blood racing, she felt her temperature spike when Francois picked her up and laid her on his bed. Her legs were slightly parted, opening at the leggings and she swore he drooled when he caught a glimpse of her petaled core. He bent over and kissed her lower abdomen, on the cotton material, nearly sending her off the mattress. In a moment of sheer madness, her hips did raise her enough, he undid her waistline closure and as he pulled up, grinning no less, he shimmed the pantalets and stockings off her, leaving her entirely naked.
Engulfed in animalistic heat, she panted, her mouth dry, her body begging as she watched him through a slitted gaze. He gave her a wicked smile as he lowered to suckle her pearled nipple, his lips the only flesh touching her. It sent her into a wild frenzy, her back arched and legs parted a bit more, trying to get closer to him. He answered with a trail down her body with his fingertips lightly skimming down her until they reached the curls just above her core. She actually trembled, her nipples screaming for more when he lowered the hand and a finger slid inside her slick core.
She moaned at his invasion. As his finger slid in and out, she heard the sound of her juices at the movement and she turned hotter. Another finger entered. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
When he pulled his hand away, she groaned in frustration.
Francois’ entire body was tense. His cock was so hard, it drove him to push her a bit farther, and she appeared to welcome it. Wearing nothing but what she was born in, Ada was breathtaking. Her scent drove him to madness. Exploring her with his fingers made his hand a sopping mess. She was wet, willing and begging with his body crying to answer her.
Faster than he imagined, he shed the rest of his clothes. Later, he’d realize his ankle had not ached, mainly because his manhood demanded attention. Climbing onto the mattress, he gave her a glance. Her hair was wild, the hairpins long since gone, her cheeks flushed and she bit her bottom lip, letting the petal flesh slowly loose after being scraped by her teeth. It was one of the most erotic motions he’d ever witnessed. Unlike what he thought was his style, of slowing and enjoying the moment longer, he now poised himself between her legs, the tip of his erection at her core. At the touch, she pushed down with her hips and he met her, driving inside her.
The mating was intense. United, they paused. His heart was racing and from her short breaths, he’d bet hers did, too. With a jovial snort, he plunged deep. She met his invasion by pushing down on him, encompassing all inside her. Their hips rocked to the dance of the ages, each push just a bit faster, the breathing harder and the gaze on each other burning.
She wasn’t like anyone else he’d had before. It was like she knew what to do and craved it as much as he did. The bed squeaked beneath them as the bed boards held them. Her slick sheath clutched him, squeezing tighter, sending off excited tingles through his body and he repeated the gesture as often as he could.
Doing so made them both pant louder, a slight sheen breaking out on her face, even in the depths of New York winter. Her core got slicker and tighter and he fought to stay in when his world shattered and he filled her with him.
Stars still danced in her eyes when he collapsed on her, waking her up to what had happened. As her senses smoldered off the high heat, Ada felt exhausted and yet happy. Mentally, it took her a moment to realize what had really happened. This handsome man, rugged, yet sophisticated Frenchman, a Southerner, a prisoner and a patient, had just made mad passionate love to her and her body ate up every second of it. She had been starved for affection, or so she cringed at her body’s need, and he fed her. Could she learn to live with this feeling, though, of doing something wrong?
He was the enemy.
But he was a man who made her body sing.
Inhaling deeply, she pushed the growing concern back down. Lying with him naked in bed was not the time to berate herself for going against everything she believed in…
“Are you all right?”
She couldn’t help but smile. The heat of the moment had made him whisper into her ear accented in southern-toned French. And she realized he worried he’d hurt her?
“No, monsieur, tres bien.” That was the limit of the French she could recall from schooling years back.
“Merci, beaucoup.” He leaned up. Not off her all the way but moved a little to the side, propping himself up on the mattress to look down at her. He pushed a wayward curl off her cheek, making her laugh. “You are beautiful.”
She giggled. “You, sir, are a rebel in more ways than one.”
“Why? Because I showed you a tiger could still prowl, even injured?” The smile on his face took her breath away.
“A tiger?”
“Louisiana Tiger, mademoiselle.” He nodded his head in a mock bow.
“Ah, yes, the newsprint paints your compatriots as murderers, thieves and pick-pockets.”
His eyebrow rose as he pursed his lips for a moment before he answered. “Perhaps we are, though I don’t think I picked your pocket. I, perhaps, filled it instead.”
Her cheeks suddenly turned very warm. Trying to escape his embrace, embarrassed by his innuendo, she added, “I need to go to my room. Would not do well to be caught by the servants like this.”
He grabbed her wrist before she got free. “No, I guess it wouldn’t.”
She could read the hunger still in his eyes and it matched her own. As he tugged her back to him to kiss her, she realized she was his…. except for a small, distant voice struggling to be heard in the back of her head.
Richard, please forgive me….
Chapter 26
“A ghastly sight indeed! Arms and legs lay outside the operating tents, and each table had a bleeding man on it, insensible from either and with the surgeons at work on him.”
—Theodore Lyman, Union General Meade’s aide
Battle of the Wilderness 1864
The next morning, the sun poured into the room, sneaking through the drapes, which didn’t quite close, and the brightness of the winter’s glow woke Francois up. Squinting at the light, he threw a pillow on his head and moaned. He was exhausted and struggled to shrug off sleep. Then, memories of last night flooded his mind and he reopened his eyes, searching next to him, where he found…. nothing. Just an indent in the mattress. Another groan escaped him.
Why would he think Ada would still be by his side? Their lovemaking had been fabulous. Watching her leave had been a mix of frustration and arousal by the view of her swaying hips as she left without a stitch on. Rubbing his eyes, he realized the truth. She feared the servants seeing them together. He had never worried on such matters, but there was something about her that still held her back. Was it men in general, or just him? He quickly answered himself that it was just him—a rebel, who was also a slave-owner, a sin she could never forgive him for.
Sitting upright, he shook his head, discouraged. His ankle was sore, though it wasn’t as bad as he feared it could be, with all that dancing. He hoped tonight, at the ball, it would continue to function, for he wanted to show her just how wrong she was about him.
A scratching sounded at the door. His heart skipped a beat that it was Ada, being discreet, but it was the wrong door. As the hallway door cracked, Francois’s heart sank just a little.
“Good morning, Mr. Fontaine.”
“Good day, James.”
The man went to straighten Francois’s clothes that still laid in a heap on the floor. His face remained the perfect blank expression of a trained servant, making Francois want to laugh. At least, back home, the house slave that tended him was young and with just enough sass to liven Francois’s day, but here? Made him almost wonder why Ada cared if the servants saw them last night or not.
“Miss Ada has requested your presence for breakfast, sir.”
He blinked. She’d called for him? A shot of heat raced down his spine, making his heartbeat quicken. “Good, good.”
The servant still didn’t break his stride and put the only other decent set of clothes out for him to wear. “I’ll have the dress clothes ready by this evening, sir.”
“That’ll be fine, though I do expect another package will arrive today with another set. If you’d get those ready, all will be grand.”
James’s brows did rise, though it was up and down so fast, Francois virtually missed it.
“Yes, sir.”
Standing still while the man finished putting the waistcoat on him, Francois snorted. They’d never asked about the package that arrived yesterday, nor the whereabouts of this one and how a houseguest during war, with a southern accent like his, could get so much when he’d arrived looking poor and destitute, like the secesh prisoner he was. It totally amused him.
The question was—what would Ada think?
It took him a bit longer to make it down the stairs, even with the cane. At the bottom, he managed to get into the dining room, driven more by hunger now. Apparently last night had worn him out more than he expected, especially when adding in the last two months of infantry’s meager fare and hospital bland.
His appetite deepened when he saw her at the table. She looked beautiful. Memories of her lying beneath him, that succulent mouth slightly parted as she mewled when he plunged into her…he had stop those thoughts, because part of him was responding to those delightful ideas.
“Good morning, ma chère.”
She gave him a quizzical glance. “How are you today?”
He smiled, ignoring the doctoral tone of the question. “I’m feeling grand!”
One eyebrow raised, she stared at him, though her cheeks flushed red and that thrilled him to his core. He took the seat across from her, working feverishly not to collapse into it.
“And you, Doctor, how is your morning?” He took the cup of fresh coffee and inhaled the aroma, relishing in it, remembering how, when he was with the Tigers, they’d bartered the enemy in late night banter for a bag of it. Sure beat crushed acorns steeped in water…
“I fare well.” She put her fork down. “I believe, though, we should reconsider the ball.”
Swallowing a mouthful of toast, he frowned. “Why?”
“Well, to begin with, it is dangerous for your injury.”
“Poppycock. It’ll be great to actually be out, like a healed man.”
“But you’re not,” she countered.
“Well enough to be seen.”
“Plus, we are in New York. If word were to spread you are with the rebel—”
This time, he laughed. “Wouldn’t that send a thread of excitement in the air? To think a secesh was in their midst.”
“You laugh off what could lead to bigger problems.”
He hummed as he took another sip. She looked totally perplexed. “I think you’re more worried about what to wear.”
“I beg your pardon?” She looked astonished. “If that were the case, I might add you to that problem.”
“Why did you reject Madame Flo
rissant’s confection? It was for you.” It had floored him when the modiste had ranted on and on about Ada’s refusal to accept the gown, which had totally surprised him. He’d yet to see a woman ever turn down a new gown. What the hell was the issue?
Ada had spent the better part of the pre-dawn hours arguing with herself for falling under his spell. After the euphoria evaporated, she realize she needed to get out of his room to save whatever was left of her integrity. All night she never truly slept, worrying about what she’d done. She was a doctor and her heart yearned for another man, so what drove her to throw all aside for this rebel? The harder she fought the memories, the angrier she got, and in an attempt to bathe the night away, no amount of scrubbing cleared the stain.
Now he asked about a dress she’d never ordered. As if he had ordered it for her. Eying him again still showed a soldier who might know how to dance, but Confederate bills, if he had any, held no worth here.
“I did not order the dress, nor did I have the funds to cover such an expensive piece. Miss Dix would reject such an outfit, no matter how pretty, to be worn in the hospital.” There. That was enough, or so she thought.
“It wasn’t to wear in the hospital,” his tone sounded tense. “It was to adorn you, here, while on vacation from the war. A gift.”
“A gift? From whom? You? Last I saw, you had nothing outside a rather torn uniform. And Confederate money isn’t accepted here.”
“I have means.”
Those words were spoken in a very New York way, not a Southerner dialect. Now, she was getting confused. What was he talking about?
“Perhaps I had a golden coin on me…”
She shot him an accusatory look. “You stole off another? One of your own, as he lay wounded, or dead? Or did you lift that from a guard?”
His face mottled. “I was thrown into isolation, very ill with fever. Even that accusation is ill-founded.”
