Authentic Storm: An American Civil War Novel (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 5)

by Gina Danna

  The room was dark except for the glow coming from the fireplace embers. He told her to stay still as he went and got a switch to light the end there and then turned to use it to light a lamp. As the warm light spread across the room, Jaquita saw the room was filled with a sitting area, a harp and books. She frowned.

  “Where are we?”

  “In the back parlor, or as Larissa calls it, her music room.” He chuckled, walking back to her. “Here, take a seat.”

  She sat on the settee, still confused. “My dress.”

  “Yes, I know.” He arranged the skirt fabric to find the stain. “Wait here.” And he vanished.

  Jaquita sighed, finding herself growing irritated. The lovely dress was ruined so she should leave. No point being here with a soiled garment. She didn’t need his assistance leaving, so she folded her fan and poised to get up when he reappeared through the side door, carrying a pitcher and linen.

  “Where do you think you’re heading?”

  “I see no reason to stay with this disgrace. I can quietly leave—”

  “And miss my magic?” he tempted, putting his goods down and returning her to the settee. “I’ll have you know I have one of the best butlers in the county, maybe even in the country. Stain removal extraordinaire!”

  As he adjusted her skirt again to expose the stain, he dipped the rag in the pitcher.

  “Truly?”

  “Wait. You’ll see.” He wiped at the dress with the wet rag. Lo and behold, she saw the red lighten and, after a few more swipes, disappear, leaving a wet streak in its place.

  “How did you do that?”

  He leaned back, a devilish grin on his face. “For that feat, I demand a price.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He chortled. “I saved your new gown. For that, I want a kiss.”

  Chapter 12

  “War is the remedy our enemies have chosen, and I say let us give them all they want; not a word of argument, not a sign of let-up, no cave in till we are whipped—or they are.”

  —General William T. Sherman, 1864

  Thomas had a wild array of emotions swirling inside him and everything was contradicted. He so wanted to whisk the lovely lady away from a possible social flaw yet the animal inside him wanted to devour her. The quiet between them as she took in his request grew. He knew it was insane to bring her back here but his intentions were pure. Stains like that could be conquered if acted quickly on, except now, he couldn’t help but wonder if the ulterior motives hadn’t been the driving cause all along. That realization made him sit upright and forcibly push the thought to the back of his mind.

  She rolled her bottom lip in even as a smile threatened to stop her. So, she was amused at his request? That intrigued him more, for most white girls, he’d hear a swoon or some other malarkey like that, but not from this gem sitting across from him.

  “A kiss?” With one eyebrow raised in question, a smile hinted and he saw her now hazel eyes turn dark. “Well, come and meet me part way.”

  His insides tightened even as he stood to fall to her command. He blood was racing, his ears pounding. In two short steps, he was next to her, scooping her off the settee to reach him better. He bent to reach her lips, the contact setting off fires inside him he knew he couldn’t squelch. Her sweet petal mouth yielded to his attempt to invade her deep. She tasted of the champagne punch and strawberries, a delight he yearned for more of. As he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up next to him, he swore he could feel each stay of her corset against his chest and the sway of her skirts as their closeness pushed her crinoline back. She was warm and sweet and the animal inside him roared.

  She met his invasion of her mouth with a voracity that surprised him. Her tongue danced with his and even traced the inside of his mouth. She was a seductress, a siren, luring him closer and closer. His hardened member pushed against the constraint of his trousers, and rested close to, he hoped, the apex of her thighs. All he wanted was a taste and now, he was overwhelmed with desire. He had to break the kiss, needed to, but found he was too weak to do so.

  Jaquita, though, did the honors and pulled back. She was panting, her lips swollen from his and her deep breaths made her breasts rise against the bodice neckline and that made him harder. Then she licked her bottom lip. He was done. Damn!

  With his member throbbing painfully, he stepped back.

  “Please accept my apologies. I fear I let myself get out of control.”

  “No, it wasn’t your fault.” She flattened her palms against her skirt and he saw the tension in her arms and how tight her jawline was. But when her hand hit the damp fabric, she stopped. “I appreciate your aid in removing the spot. I just feared I let our kiss get out of hand.”

  She feared his animalistic behavior was all her fault? He wanted to laugh but held it in. “It is anything but your doing. I was out of line asking for a kiss.”

  Now, she broke into a smile. “Well, then, perhaps we should return before anyone notices we’re missing.”

  He agreed but did nothing. Neither did she. The air turned thick again. And then, in a moment’s notice, he took her back into his arms and bent her backwards with a growl.

  Allison returned to Thomas’s table, where his parents sat during the dance, and thanked her dance partner, trying desperately to shoo him off. Freed, she inhaled deeply and gave the McHenrys a smile. Then she noticed Thomas was vacant. Inwardly, she groaned.

  “You look exhausted, my dear,” Mrs. McHenry said, making Allison bite the inside of her lip, trying to pull herself upright and animated.

  “Mr. Farland is not the best on the dance floor,” Mr. McHenry chortled. “You will recover, rest assured.”

  She laughed. “Oh, thank you, sir. I was afraid it was me.” She picked up the champagne glass from the servant who stopped by with a tray full.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McHenry.”

  They turned and found Jeremiah walking up.

  “Why, Mr. Johnson, what a pleasant surprise!” Thomas’s mother chimed as Jeremiah took her offered hand and kissed it. “Miss Lancaster, may I introduce you to Jeremiah Johnson, one of the major movers of the Albany Anti-Slavery Society. Jeremiah, this is Miss Lancaster and the future Mrs. McHenry III.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Jeremiah said to Allison with a big grin, one which she returned with her same remark. But Thomas’s mother jumped right back in.

  “Enjoying the turn out?”

  “Yes. Pleasantly surprised we could pull such a large gathering. Now if the funds equal the numbers, we will make huge progress this year.” He grinned ear to ear.

  “Speaking of donations, let me steal my wife and we’ll go to make ours.” Thomas McHenry rose, gathering his wife off her chair. “Will you keep Miss Lancaster company until we return?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Allison bit her tongue and forced her smile to return, now trapped with the eager abolitionist.

  “Miss Lancaster, I understand this is your first time to visit one of our events.”

  She turned and faced him. He wasn’t much taller than her and she guessed he wasn’t too bad to look at, though she rarely paid attention to the freedmen. Yet, she did note his use of language was proper and that pleased her.

  “Yes. I came as a surprise for Thomas, though I’ve only caught a glimpse at him. On the dance floor, before Mr. Farland stepped on my toe.” She still grimaced as it still throbbed from the stomping, though she refused to sit at the moment. “My driver got lost on the way here. Partially my mistake. I said the wrong street.” She shrugged. She’d actually gone to the McHenry’s townhouse in the hope of catching him there, but was too late.

  “Well, he has been out socializing,” Jeremiah chuckled. “I’ve heard rumor that he is running for the senate?”

  She tilted her chin up with pride. “Yes, indeed he is.”

  “Splendid idea. He’s done so much for the cause.”

  She could barely swallow the knot in her throat. She gl
anced about the room, still not seeing her future husband. What she did see made her shift her weight with a nervous energy.

  “I had no idea this was as big an evening as it is for your type.”

  Jeremiah nearly choked on the champagne he’d just sipped. Her words at the end of her statement stung like a whip across his back, a memory he’d spent the last year trying to bury. Pushing the emotion down, he forced a smile.

  “True, for most men, dancing is always a scary proposition. What if we ruin a dress, are clumsy, twirl you too hard or too fast?” He shrugged, working to appear casual while assessing her view.

  She laughed. It was a wonderful sound and cleared out his tension. Plus, it animated her face, making her beautiful.

  “Oh, yes, that would be an issue I had never thought of.” She took a sip out of her glass and after swallowing the champagne, she frowned. “This is my first visit here. I truly believe that slavery is an abomination and truly a sinful act. They need to be set free.”

  He loved to see how the peculiar institution set her on fire. It’d take fire to destroy the South’s views on their chattel, though not the type John Brown had attempted. The staunch abolitionist, who took over Harper’s Ferry Arsenal with his sons and freed blacks, believed the local slaves would quickly join their cause to burn slavery out of the South, but he failed and paid for that attempt with his life.

  “That is what we are all fighting for.” He tilted his head. “Your friend, Mr. McHenry, is a strong supporter of our cause.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of that. And he’s not my ‘friend’, but fiancé.”

  “Truly? Well, congratulations!”

  She blushed, her gaze darting around her. “We haven’t formally announced it yet, so if you’d be so kind to keep mum on it.”

  “Certainly, my lips are sealed.”

  She smiled broader.

  “With him as senator, a lot could be done toward that end.”

  “Yes, yes it could.” The enthusiasm in her tone faltered. “We need to free them all and return them to Africa.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “Africa?”

  “Well, of course. That’s where you all came from. The slavers stole you from your home, so surely, you’d rather return. I mean, why come north? This isn’t home.” She shuddered. It was barely noticeable except he did catch it.

  Jeremiah fought to control the mounting anger. This wasn’t the first he’d heard this however… “I see. Tell me, Miss Lancaster, where is your family from?”

  “The Lancasters? Well, here, in Albany, of course.”

  “I mean, originally? Because the original inhabitants were Indians.” He’d let her mull that thought and he got the expected reaction of another shudder when he mentioned the natives to America.

  “My family came from England, though we’ve been here for over a century. My grandfather fought in the War for Independence.” She stood tall, pride clearly shining in her eyes.

  “Miss Lancaster, perhaps you’d like to return to England. To your family’s home.”

  She laughed. “Now, why on earth would I want to do that? New York is my home.”

  “Precisely. So why do you think I would want to return to Africa? Or any of the slaves? Because many of us have been here for generations and all we know is America. It is our home,” he argued.

  She stared at him with a confused look, as if he just told her the earth was flat and she was going to fall into the abyss.

  “That seems hardly likely,” she replied.

  “To the contrary. I was a slave in Virginia, as was my mother and her mother before. All I have known or seen is this country. Why would I want to return to a land where I have no idea where my family was from? Hmmm?” His anger was slowly burning. How many Northern white people had thrown this stupidity at him and at Blacks in general? He knew that they pushed this versus having to deal with the ‘freedmen’ living next to them. As if they were sub-humans, the same argument the Southerners used for the continuation of slavery.

  “But you hate America for slavery,” she countered, her voice breaking some.

  Behind her, he could see Larissa and Susan heading towards them with very determined looks on their faces. He wondered if they knew this woman was slowly aggravating him?

  Allison’s face lightened and she gave him a stunning smile. “I see the McHenry’s calling me over. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson.” And she fluttered away toward the throng of white abolitionists near the food.

  Thoroughly disgusted, he downed his glass of champagne in one gulp.

  “Jeremiah, I’ve never seen you drink that much at one time,” Larissa said once she reached his side.

  “Yes, well, just another enlightening conversation with that woman.”

  “Miss Lancaster? Her father is a prominent lawyer in Albany. One we’ve been trying to win over to the cause,” Susan stated.

  “Maybe a lost attempt, if conversation with his daughter is any indication,” Jeremiah snarled. “She’s here for Thomas’s sake, claiming to be his intended, but if that’s the case, we are doomed if he becomes senator because she thinks all freedmen should return to Africa.”

  Larissa put her hand on his arm. “Relax. Thomas isn’t likely to be drawn to that same conclusion.”

  “What makes you think so? She’s just like many of the white people here, wanting us freed but gone. The question is, do you agree? Because if nothing else, Blacks, as slaves and freedmen, have built this country, with their backs, so we’re more American citizens than many of the whites who dabble in this or that. We’ve sown our blood here, why should we leave?” He had to know. Was he fighting for freedom only for it to be shifted in getting rid of the Blacks?

  “Jeremiah, no one says you have to leave. Only that small set that think they’re greater than they are. Which,” she darted a glance at Susan, “is precisely the reason we need to educate everyone on the matter.”

  “Most certainly,” Susan agreed.

  Larissa’s confidence that all would be good with no deportations calmed him down for now. But he’d keep an eye on Miss Lancaster and if her relationship with Thomas would change him, because if that happened, it would be a disaster for them all.

  Chapter 13

  “Why, it’s just like shooting squirrels, only these squirrels have guns, that’s all.”

  —Veteran of Fort Donelson rallying his Illinois farm boys. Battle of Shiloh, April 1862

  Next morning

  Jaquita stretched, lounging just a moment longer in bed. Memories of last night swirling in her head, making her smile larger with every second. Her long kiss with Thomas McHenry played in her mind, as well as the touch of his body as he embraced her tightly. And his lips. Soft yet demanding, he’d kissed her hard and deeply, filling her soul with a longing she should avoid. When his lips traveled down her neckline, his tongue tracing a path, every nerve inside her lit on fire. Even now, the morning after, just the thought of what happened made her tingle with excitement. He’d kissed along her bodice neckline, slowly skating over the mounds of her breasts just above the fichu. The mere contact had made her nipples hard and her lower stomach light on fire.

  Then, they’d stopped. He was panting, his eyes dark and wanting when he growled that they needed to return to the dance. She couldn’t speak, her heart pounding so hard, she couldn’t form the words and she was out of breath so she nodded as she put her hand on his arm to return to the dance floor.

  The rest of the dance was a blur. She’d talked to a few others, danced with a couple but lost sight of him and that made her disappointed. She’d seen him bob in and out of the crowd but suddenly, he vanished. Without his presence, she deflated, exhausted and longing to leave. Bidding her hostess good night, she ran.

  Now, though, she wondered if she’d see him again. Gripping the sheet beneath her as her hips swayed in a fashion she didn’t understand, she forced herself to sit up and think straight. Thomas McHenry was a handsome man but she needed to remember that he was al
so a white man, and that white men rarely did anything worthy for a Black woman. Her basis for that way of thinking was simple. Her father. Pierre Fontaine claimed to her that he loved her mother, but her mother was a slave in his house and one he never freed to the best of her knowledge. So while he raised her with his white children, she feared his ‘love’ for her mother was nothing more than a lie to tell a mulatto child on the day her mama died.

  She growled at that thought and slid out of bed. It was time to dress, and she was determined to spend her day forgetting the tall handsome lawyer. As she went down the stairs, she found a lovely array of flowers in the dining room with the scent of the lilies and roses filling the room. It was lovely, and she inhaled deeply.

  Aunt Lila entered the room, carrying a tray to the table where she sat. Jaquita couldn’t help but shake her head as the servant put the breakfast before her.

  “One day, you’ll tell me how you knew I was coming down for breakfast.”

  The house servant chuckled. “Some telltale signs and ways to do things never stop, Miss Jaquita.”

  “Thank you.” She took a sip of the very hot coffee, being careful to go so to avoid burning her tongue. “The flowers are lovely. I don’t recall the garden being in this advanced state.”

  “They were delivered this morning,” Aunt Lila stated. “For you.”

  “Truly?” Her heart skipped a beat. “How grand! From who, did they tell you?”

  The elder Black servant gave her a stern look, all most like a reprimand, Jaquita imagined. “From Mr. Thomas McHenry, III.”

  He sent her flowers! “They’re so lovely.” She bent to inhale one of the roses. Then she pulled the card next to the vase.