“Let her go, Blane, and settle down. This young lady and I have some talking to do,” the other man stated patiently and kindly.
“Sir, this is a cunning Rebel spy. She climbed the tree outside my room and sneaked inside. She’s shrewd and dangerous, and handed me a devious tale as big as Texas.” He would fix this temptress for making a fool of him! She would be sorry her mission had placed her within his grasp tonight and for the next few days! A tiny female had done what no foe had done before—outwitted him.
“I am not a spy, and I’m not dangerous,” Shannon protested.
“Not dangerous? You pushed me out a third-story window,” Blane revealed, shaking her roughly. “I could have been killed or injured.”
“Served you right! You refused to let me see President Lincoln.”
“In the middle of the night? Disguised as a man and sooted up for concealment?” Blane snapped in rising vexation.
“That’s the only way I could get to him, you brute!”
“It’s impossible for you to see President Lincoln tonight. I told you I would handle matters and contact you tomorrow.”
“For dinner,” she scoffed. “You didn’t believe me, and you weren’t going to help me! I’m running out of money, and I don’t have time to be toyed with by a charmer like you, Blane Stevens. With or without anyone’s aid or permission, I’m going to Danville, Virginia.”
The older man was amused by the interaction between Shannon and Blane, and by the ebony smudges on both. He watched as the angry girl struggled to turn in Blane’s arms, but he held her fast against his chest. Shannon could only glare into Blane’s challenging eyes as she repeated her claims and offers. The older man was intrigued by her suggestions and touched by her suffering.
Blane declared, “Where you’re going is Old Capitol Prison, you little wildcat. Only a loyal Reb would pull a stunt like this.”
She spoke to the man behind her instead of to Blane. “I owe the Confederacy nothing, Mister President. Rebels killed my father and my brother Temple; they imprisoned my brother Corry. Regardless of the dangers, I will do whatever is necessary to defend my family and my home. Mister Stevens underestimates women. They can be just as patriotic as men—just as brave and clever. I have a duty and desire to aid my country, to save lives, to help end this war quickly. I searched my heart and mind for weeks before coming here. I know I’m doing the right thing. Please give me a chance to prove myself. At least help me get home to Greenleaf near Savannah.”
The man’s mirthful words halted their dispute. “Let’s go downstairs and run this matter around calmly. Such a brave and cunning lady deserves to be heard, even at midnight.”
“President Lincoln wouldn’t like this, Mister Manning. If he were here tonight, he would order her imprisoned and interrogated.”
Shannon twisted in Blane’s grasp and stared at the silver-haired man with her penetrating, slate blue eyes. He was not Abraham Lincoln!
At her reaction, the man smiled genially and introduced himself. “I’m Silas Manning, Miss Greenleaf. You could say I’m Abe’s confidant, his aide, his loyal minion, his factor. If you have business with him, it goes through me first. Anyway, he isn’t home tonight. Let’s talk and see how serious and honest you are. Bring her along gently, son.”
Blane’s mind whirled with the staggering facts she revealed in her last outburst. His suspicion about Shannon multiplied. She was a Greenleaf from Savannah with a brother named Corry…It had to be the same family! But why would she tell him her real name, he wondered, unless she didn’t know about her brother’s wicked deeds and his own vengeful pursuit of her brother…unless she didn’t realize he was the man who was after her brother’s life. So, Corry Greenleaf had gotten himself captured and was sitting in Danville Prison, helpless. Danville Prison? his sharp mind echoed. That was a Confederate prison for Yankees. What would Corry be doing in a Yankee prison—an insidious Rebel spy pretending to be a captive to obtain critical information from other prisoners?
Blane and Shannon exchanged challenging glares in the shadowy hall of the White House. The simmering Texan held her wrist firmly as the three descended the stairs and walked into the library to talk.
Blane knew he must reevaluate the situation quickly and with a clear head, for surely this she-cat had something devious in mind. He had visited Greenleaf on three occasions in his hunt for that marked-for-death brother of hers. Blane had disguised himself as a Rebel agent named Major Steven James, and the overseer had told him, “All the Greenleafs are off fighting this war, Major James. I don’t know where they’d be nowadays. You can leave a message. I’ll pass it along if any of ’em returns soon. Ain’t no family braver or more loyal to the cause. I was left in charge of their home and lands till this war ends.”
Was the whole family “a nest of Southern spies” as Simon Travers had accused? Did this Bostonian have proof? Was that why she was fleeing from Travers, or was that claim a lie, too?
Blane stole a glance at Shannon. What a dainty puzzle! Undeniably the vixen was meddlesome, but so tempestuous—as wild and unpredictable as a violent thunderstorm over the plains. She was utterly and potently appealing, but was she honest and trustworthy? He grudgingly admitted to himself that he could be allowing her humiliating trick and her identity to color his opinions and emotions. Was it possible that she was an innocent, and that this lecherous Travers was using her family’s crimes to coerce her into marriage? He couldn’t imagine this feisty minx permitting or enduring such a repulsive defeat. From past experience, he knew it was bad when feelings got in the way of judgments and actions. A man had to ignore them and do what he must. That was why he was so damn good at his job. He could be cold and unfeeling—unreachable. One thing he didn’t like to be was wrong; another was weak.
Blane had been searching for Corbett Greenleaf since the young man had left Texas in December of 1860. Shannon had provided Blane with his first clue to his quarry’s location. And yet that fact wouldn’t help if Corry were a Rebel spy using another name. Blane realized he might need Shannon to identify Corry for him. Then another aggravating point stabbed home. Considering her present age and her tender one in ’60, he had to admit that she could be unaware of Corry’s actions. If that were the case and if she weren’t a hazardous spy, he would be using her to help destroy her brother—her last family member.
Was that an honorable road to justice, he asked himself, or merely the path to brutal vengeance? Blane shook his tawny head to dismiss any twinges of guilt or reluctance. Shannon Greenleaf was an audacious stranger, a stunning temptress. He would not put her needs or demands above those of the Union and his beloved Ellie. As they reached the library, he pushed aside those rankling thoughts.
Chapter Two
After Shannon related her story, Lincoln’s assistant leaned back in his chair and studied her. Ideas flooded Silas’s keen mind. Ending this awesome war was President Lincoln’s main concern, even if this was an election year and McClellan was chasing him frantically toward the polls. War was a grisly, oppressive affair that tarnished any administration. Lincoln had dealt with many burdens—the staggering Union defeats and those draft riots last year. For emotional and political support, the President needed substantial victories from Grant, Sheridan, and Sherman. Could this clever, young daring woman help his friend and superior? He looked over at Blane and Shannon, observing their silent confrontation.
When the redhead glanced at the manly rogue sitting near her, she discovered Blane’s penetrating gaze on her face. He was sitting like a coiled viper ready and eager to strike at her. His hazel eyes were as cold and hard as a canning jar filled with snow. Could she blame him? She had duped and embarrassed him. What if she needed his help later? Shannon surprised both of them when she stated abruptly, “I’m sorry about tossing you out the window, Mister Stevens. I hope you weren’t injured.” Her blue eyes quickly examined his face and frame before she relaxed and returned her attention to Lincoln’s aide.
Out of respect for t
he older man and from smoldering fury, Blane held his silence. He assumed Silas would politely hear out the persistent female, then gently dismiss her. Then, he would handle this little she-devil. She would be only too eager to earn his mercy!
“Blane was right when he told you it was dangerous to head south, Miss Greenleaf. Both sides are tired of the fighting and killing. Loyalty and spirit are running low. A war that wouldn’t last a month has been going on for years. Families and friends have split. Homes and lands have been burned. People are starving and dying. It isn’t a pretty sight, young lady. People are robbing to stay alive. Many of the wounded go without medicines. Some of the soldiers have no weapons, or tents for shelter, or proper garments. Raiders roam the countryside, looting and terrorizing. The Union is mounting a tougher offensive all over the South. The Rebels are fighting just as desperately to hang on until we withdraw, but we can’t. It’s no place for you.”
“No disrespect, sir, but I would be there now if my father hadn’t sided with the Union and moved us to Boston until this conflict was resolved. There are plenty of women in the South, many of whom are spies or loyalists. I know I can do something to help my brother and perhaps the Union. I want this war over so I can go home to Greenleaf. I’ll be safe. I know many people from my travels with my father and brothers. I can sing and play the piano, so I could pretend to be an entertainer. The war hasn’t stopped that pleasure. I know about herbs and medicines, so I could nurse. Wounded men might share vital secrets, or their pockets might contain them. I’ve been courted by a newspaper man and a photographer, and each taught me something about his profession. I can ride and fight and shoot and handle a knife.”
When neither man spoke, Shannon brazenly vowed, “The only way you can keep me from heading south is to imprison me. I don’t think you can find adequate charges for such an action, and I doubt President Lincoln would allow you to drum up false ones. Just put me in touch with loyal Unionists or undercover agents who can help me.”
“Don’t trust her, sir,” Blane advised gravely. Was that her scheme, he wondered, to worm her way into the Yankee spy system and destroy it?
Shannon rashly sneered, “Because I outsmarted you? If I hadn’t been concerned about making noise, I would have proven to you I can defend myself. Where is the President? I’m certain he would help me.”
Silas rose from his chair and stretched. “Blane, you escort Miss Greenleaf back to her hotel. Shannon—if I may call you that—I’ll send for you at three tomorrow, after I’ve conferred with the President. I have the impression you can be of service to your country, and I’m sure Abe will agree. We’ll discuss matters after a good night’s sleep. Blane, I want you at that meeting, but see me first at two.”
Lincoln’s minion was cognizant of how many Northerners had opposed and still opposed this grim war. He knew the emancipation policy had birthed many outspoken Copperheads against his cherished leader. Morgan’s raiding in the Great Lakes had created panic, as had Lee’s bold intrusion into Pennsylvania and the advance toward Washington. With luck, Admiral Farragut’s conquest of Mobile would appease some fears, for it would sever vital enemy supply lines. If only the Southerners wouldn’t remain so dedicated to this divisive, futile cause. Aloud, Manning explained, “All I need is a little time and a lot of effort to make a few plans. Good night, Miss Shannon Greenleaf. Good night, Blane.”
Shannon beamed with pleasure and relief. “Thank you, sir.”
Blane couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He queried incredulously, “You believe her, sir? You’re going along with this wild scheme?”
“You will too when I explain everything tomorrow,” Silas Manning said, then grinned broadly at the stunned Texan. As was true with Lincoln, he knew most of Blane’s troubles and traits from soulful talks before a cheerless blaze on lonely winter nights over the years this man had worked for them. He hoped that this extraordinary woman might purge and heal Blane’s emotional wounds. It wasn’t good for a man to hate, to seek revenge, for so long. Silas was positive Lincoln would agree.
After the President’s agent left, Blane and Shannon exchanged wary looks. “Don’t be mean, Blane. I won’t intrude on your territory or life. I have to do what I know is right for me and my family. I’m not a Rebel, and I’ll prove it to you in less than a month. Will you check with President Lincoln in four weeks, then make your judgment?”
Blane’s eyes moved over Shannon’s face and figure. How could their meeting be a simple coincidence? Was she working for the Rebs, for Corry, or, neither? “Something tells me I’m going to regret meeting you tonight,” he muttered, then grinned wryly. There was more than one way to obtain the truth from a deceitful woman…
Shannon laughed. “I could say the same, but I won’t.” Her eyes drifted over his towering frame. His shoulders were broad and well muscled. If he carried any extra weight, it didn’t show through his snug garments. She noted that his whiskey-colored hair was mussed, and she found herself wanting to run her fingers through it like a comb. His jaw was set in angry lines, which only served to increase his masterful image. Noticing the gun and knife belted at his waist, she smiled again.
Blane followed Shannon to where she had concealed her shoes, then she sat on the ground and pulled on the dusty boots. As they headed across a moonlit lawn toward the street, Blane grabbed Shannon from behind as he asked, “If I were a villainous Reb bent on ravishing you, how would you protect yourself, sly vixen?”
Shannon’s right foot entangled his as she seized his neck and flipped him to the hard ground. Taken unawares, Blane found himself straddled by Shannon with his own knife at his throat. “One false move, villainous Reb, and I’ll pierce your jugular. Like I said, Blane, I can defend myself. I didn’t want our fighting to draw attention to my presence before I could get to see President Lincoln. Contrary to your current opinion, you might eventually discover I’m not a helpless ninny.”
Shannon underestimated Blane’s strength and wits. She suddenly found herself pinned beneath him and the knife wrestled from her grip. She couldn’t move. Shannon smiled and remarked, “Mister Manning’s right; you are one of the best. I can’t believe how you moved without a sound upstairs. Since my antics have taught you to be more careful, would you teach me that move? I might have use of it one day soon.”
Blane chuckled. Either she was superior at her job or she was one amazing female. “How about this move?” he teased, kissing her.
“You’re one of the best in that area, too,” she confessed merrily when their lips parted. Blane had released her hands and they slipped around his neck. She drew his head back to hers and returned his playful kiss. She had the feeling she should make friends with this man who could move as rapidly and potently as lightning. If he had any influence over Lincoln and his aide Silas, she wanted him to use it to her advantage. Besides, she didn’t want him resentful of her, or repulsed by her.
Blane’s hands moved to either side of her head as he kissed her deeply and hungrily. He was stimulated and surprised by her eager response. As his tongue darted skillfully into her mouth, he discovered hers feverishly dancing with it. He felt her arms tighten around his neck and sensed her arousal by the way she lifted her body toward his.
He didn’t halt his enticing actions until a guard called out, “Anything wrong, Major Stevens?”
Blane replied, “Nothing, Tom,” then pulled Shannon to her feet. For a moment, he had forgotten their location and his intention. He would have to watch her magnetic allure.
“Major Blane Stevens,” she murmured, visibly impressed. He was a rare specimen of manhood. “I see no end to your accomplishments and skills. We don’t have to be enemies. After tomorrow, we won’t ever see each other again. This will be nothing more than an amusing story to relieve the boredom of a wintery night.” A curious pang struck Shannon as she spoke these words. To cover it, she asked, “Where did you come from, Blane?”
“My mother,” he quipped, then laughed.
“Very funny,” she
chided. “You sound Southern.”
“Texas, Ma’am,” he replied. “Like you, I had to git when everyone sided with the Rebs. Besides, I was tired of Cavalry life and scouting. Would you like to know how many Comanches this boy’s peeled?” He wanted to probe her reaction to killings. When Shannon grimaced and shook her head, Blane ordered, “Make sure you stay put in your room until I or one of Lincoln’s guards comes for you. You might be sorry you met Silas Manning. To him, winning is everything.”
“What do you think he has in mind?” she questioned eagerly.
“I don’t know,” Blane admitted worriedly. Lord, he wished he knew if this treasure were genuine. Of all the women in this land for him to meet and desire, why did it have to be this gal who had been born Greenleaf’s sister? He forced himself to remember Ellie and the past. He wouldn’t be surprised if this unique vixen sought revenge after he confronted her brother. It was crazy to get tangled with her! Explaining an affair with this beauty to Ellie would be as easy as winning and retaining Shannon if she learned the truth, especially after he killed Corry, Perhaps he should convince Manning to refuse her wishes.
They walked in silence for a time. When they reached her room, Blane unlocked the door and handed her the key. He had always been a keen judge of character, but she mystified him. He stared at her strangely before cuffing her chin, pulling the door closed, and leaving.
Shannon locked her door and readied herself for bed. She was in a state of mingled depression and elation. Blane’s face kept entering her mind. To date, she hadn’t met a real man—one who was brave, intelligent, and well bred. Those she had met previously were too similar, too dull, too awkward—except for her three brothers.
She had yearned to meet a unique man, one who displayed all of the traits that she admired. Blane was everything a woman could want. No, she reflected, perhaps he was too handsome, too virile, too disarming! No doubt he was an adventurer, a taker, a user. Yet his charms were irresistible. Her lips and body still tingled from his kisses and embraces. Yes, she was powerfully attracted to the devilish rogue!
Destiny's Temprtress Page 4
