Passion's Fury

by Patricia Hagan

  “I’m really sorry,” she said as though she meant it. “I only came here with the clothes on my back. I had to have something to wear. Edward said it would be all right if I borrowed something of yours. Of course, I had to let the seams out. You’re such a tiny thing.”

  “It’s all right,” April replied, more sharply than she intended. “If those two mean to make a women’s prison out of this ranch then they should stock clothes of all sizes to accommodate everyone.”

  “Hey, you sound bitter.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” April crossed over to sit on the bed and began to rub at her sore, swollen feet. “Why do you think I ran away? I’ll run away again, too, the first chance I get.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Edward said. He said if Rance found you, he’d have to keep a good watch or you’d do it again. As for me, you couldn’t run me off.”

  April raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re here of your own free will?”

  She laughed. “In a roundabout way.” She recounted her story as April listened, astonished, then added, “I really like Edward. Maybe I even love him. He makes me happy, and I know I make him happy. I never had it this good at home. I hope I can stay here forever.”

  “Well, that’s your business,” April sighed and got up to walk toward the kitchen. “I have a home that I’m very anxious to get back to. The last thing I want to do is be around Rance Taggart, anyway.”

  “I just can’t believe you said that.”

  April cocked her head to one side. “And why not?”

  She smiled, slowly, almost insidiously. “As much as I like Edward, I’d give anything to be Rance Taggart’s woman, if only for one night. He’s so handsome…so dashing.” She wrapped her arms about herself and began to swirl around the room, a dreamy look upon her face. She stopped abruptly, eyes shining, and cried, “Tell me. What is it like with him?”

  April backed away from her. “I’ll tell you nothing. I won’t discuss something so sordid.”

  “Sordid?” Trella echoed with a whooping laugh. Placing her hands on her hips, she twisted from side to side mockingly. “Well, listen to little miss goody-goody. You must be one of those sick women I’ve heard about who don’t have a need for a man. So what does a magnificent specimen like him see in you?”

  April shrugged. “Ask him, if it means so much to you.” She picked up the water pails and breezed by her toward the rear door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  April hated being in Washington. It seemed an effrontery to the Southland just to be here, in this Yankee capital citzy.

  She could find no fault with the hotel Rance had chosen. Oh, no, he had made sure that they were all afforded the most elegant accommodations to be had. He and Edward had separate rooms, opposite the one she shared with Trella. And while Trella made almost nightly visits to Edward’s bed, she always returned promptly to take up her station as April’s bodyguard.

  April had accused Rance of having Trella spy on her, and he had not denied it. “Of course, sweetheart,” he had laughed. “You don’t think I’m going to give you another chance to escape, do you? Especially now, when I need you.”

  Need, indeed, she thought furiously, pacing across the room to pull back the lace curtains and stare down at the bustling street below. Forced to pose as his wife for all the ridiculous social functions he insisted they attend. That was his need. He had not been to her bed or insisted she come to his. Well, for that much, she was thankful.

  Trella liked to goad her about that, too. She would quite brazenly talk of her bedtime activities with Edward, then demurely hint that perhaps the reason Rance did not come to her was that he had other women.

  “You think I care?” April stared incredulously. “I hope to God that man never touches me again. He’s evil and vile and—”

  “And good-looking, and I’ll bet he’s hell in bed,” Trella interrupted flatly. “What I wouldn’t give for a tumble with him, but I wouldn’t want to risk losing Edward. He talks about getting married, something that would never enter Rance Taggart’s mind.”

  “There are other things in life besides getting married,” April pointed out.

  It was Trella’s turn to be shocked. “I’d like to know what! Maybe you was raised all fancy and rich, but I know what it’s like to crawl through a cotton field on your hands and knees dragging a sack behind you in the dirt, with the sun boiling down on your back and blistering through the rags you call a dress, ’cause you ain’t got no better. If I was to marry a fine man like Edward Clark, I’d never be on my knees in red Alabama clay again. No sir! You see, the way he dresses me now, don’t you? Well, this is the way I’m gonna live from now on. Elegant and fancy. You think you can do better, you go ahead. You just don’t know when you’re well off.”

  April sighed, recalling the conversation. She left her post at the window and stood before the ornate oval mirror that hung on the wall over the ruffled dressing table. Yes, Trella probably was wearing the nicest clothes she had ever had. But it was not Edward supplying them. Rance picked out everything she and Trella wore, and while she would never tell him so, he did have excellent taste. The gown she was wearing for tonight’s party was of pale blue watered silk, yards and yards of it, the skirt supported by a large metal hoop and five crinolines. The front of the skirt was embroidered in white rose-shaped patterns, sheltering a bouquet of daisies in the center. Each flower shimmered, catching the light as she turned. The same white embroidery adorned the daring bodice, enhancing her ample bosom.

  The door opened, and she saw Rance enter. She did not turn around. He never knocked, she thought furiously. She had to make sure that she never moved from behind the tapestry dressing screen unless fully dressed.

  As she watched him stride across the scarlet and gold rug, she could not help wondering once again why he chose not to take his pleasure with her. Each time their eyes met, he sent her a secret challenge. He was sure she wanted him, and was merely teasing her, making her wonder when the magic time would come.

  Magic, indeed, she sniffed with disdain. She did not want him or any man. And he was a fool if he thought she h.ad enjoyed those moments of passion. Her body had betrayed her then. It was her body, not her that he had ravished.

  She felt the light pressure of his fingertips on her bare shoulders and looked up, hating to admit that he did look quite handsome in his dark blue waistcoat and white satin cravat. His dark hair curled ever so slightly about his face, and his mustache was neatly trimmed above the ever-smiling arrogant lips.

  “When I see you this way,” he murmured, lips so close to her ear she could feel his warm breath, “it’s as though a magician and a designer put their heads together to create a masterpiece. Your hair, exotically golden, framing that beautiful face, your eyes glowing as the blue silk of your dress. No earthly creature could be so lovely. You must be bewitched. Merlin himself created you.”

  She returned his smug smile, eyes meeting his with cool defiance as she said, “It’s a pity I am not bewitched, or I might be swayed by your poetic words. But I know you for the rogue you are, and you would do well to remember that. Nothing you can say will make me despise you any less.”

  “Ahh, April, why must you always be so unpleasant? Why can’t we at least be friends?”

  He looked her over again and said softly, “You are a rare and treasured beauty, and I am proud to introduce you as my wife.”

  “But I am not your wife, and I would rather be dead than make your lies a truth. Why do you persist in this game? What difference does it make whether these people accept you or not? You’re supposed to be fighting for the South, not sipping brandy with the enemy, you coward.”

  He flinched, ever so slightly. It was enough. She knew she had hurt him.

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, April. Someone might hear. I’ve told you—for all intents and purposes, we are happy to be here. We sympathize with the Union cause. I am a horse trader, and my sole purpose is to supply the federal army with the best sto
ck available. You are my loving, dutiful wife. Edward is my partner, and his wife is your dearest friend.”

  “None of it makes any sense to me. We’ve been here so long. What is it now? September? How much longer must we stay here?” She shook her head. “I’m sick of the parties, the charades, and one of these nights I’m going to scream to high heaven that you’re a spy, and I’m not your wife, and—”

  His hand moved quickly to her throat, squeezing her to silence. Terror made her eyes widen. Why did he react so violently? “I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk, April. I don’t want to hurt you, but damn it, you aren’t going to mess things up.”

  His brown eyes smoldered with bright crimson fires as he stared down her. “If you ever expose me, I swear you will live to regret it.

  “When I have finished with you, then you can go home and do battle with that she-devil twin of yours. But until that time comes, you are not going to give me any trouble. For the last time, do you understand me?”

  She was frightened of him and agreed quickly.

  “I will play your game…for now.”

  “That’s all I ask.” He took a breath, straightened his coat and bowed slightly. “Now then, shall we join Edward and Trella downstairs?”

  She swished by him, and moved down the hall quickly.

  Below, she could see guests arriving to mingle in the lobby before moving to the spacious, elegant ballroom. There were uniformed federal officers wearing dress uniforms, polished scabbards at their sides. Their ladies were all attired elegantly in lavish ballgowns of every color. It was quite a spectacle.

  There was a frivolity in the air, a brightness. Musicians were playing in the ballroom, the sweet tones of the violins floating out to greet the arrivals.

  Her own gown drew attention, she knew, as she was the object of envious stares from the women and admiring looks from the men when she made her descent on Rance’s arm.

  “Mr. Taggart.” An officer stepped forward, bowing with military snap in April’s direction. His eyes took in her face, her silken hair, the marble smoothness of her white shoulders, glancing for just an instant to the swell of her breasts.

  “Captain Devenaugh,” Rance acknowledged coolly. “My pleasure. It’s good to see you in more pleasant surroundings than a horse stable.”

  The officer laughed jovially, then glanced at April once more before saying, “I had heard what a gorgeous creature your wife was, but now I can testify to that fact, myself. She is magnificent.”

  April saw the proud look take hold of Rance’s face, and she felt like screaming she was not a horse, not a “creature.” But she merely smiled, as was expected, as had been instructed.

  Other officers moved about, murmuring compliments, but Rance impatiently removed her from their flowery words and bold stares, leading her to the ballroom. He had gotten what he wanted from these important men—admiration for his lovely wife, and perhaps acceptance. But he did not want resentment from the officers’ wives, so he had taken her away.

  He pulled her gently into his arms. For so large a man, April had to admit that he danced quite well. As always, with a hoop, she had to pay close attention to her movements, lest the back of the hoop flip up, exposing her undergarments. She was glad for the preoccupation. It kept her from getting caught up in the sweet melody, or in the way Rance looked down at her. Warmth began to spread through her because of his touch.

  “I always did think you were the prettier.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled. “When you were little. When I was no more in your life than the poor son of your father’s groom. I thought you were much prettier than your twin. But that was when I believed you were sweet and innocent. I always knew she was cunning. Now I know you can be quite cunning, yourself, and vindictive.”

  She was aware that there were many eyes upon them, and she could only assume they made a striking couple. With a forced smile, she whispered, “If ever a woman had a reason to be vindictive, I do. You have humiliated me and interfered with my life. I have to dance with you. I have to pretend to be your wife. But damn you, Rance, don’t push me too far. Everyone has a breaking point, and you are goading me toward mine.”

  His lips continued to smile, but his eyes betrayed the anger she had evoked. “Just keep on looking blissfully happy, my dear. That’s all I’m asking—for now.”

  She allowed him to lead her into a delicate twirl, and when they passed close to each other, she hissed, “You need never ask for more. Remember that.”

  He raised their arms up high, fingers entwined as he twirled her in time to the waltz. “I won’t ask, April…but you will.”

  The implication was maddening, carrying her to the point of explosion. The dance ended, and she was only dimly aware of the spattering of applause around the room, meant for them. She was grateful when Trella and Edward approached, greeting them like the close friends they pretended to be.

  Edward and Rance steered them to a terrace overlooking the city, leaving them in the shadows while they went for glasses of champagne.

  “My, but Rance is a handsome devil tonight,” Trella gushed the moment they were alone. “I don’t see how you can stay out of his bed, April. I should think—”

  “I should think you could mind your own business,” April said icily. “Really, Trella, do you ever think of anything except mating?”

  Trella laughed, a high tinkling sound that grated. April had never known her to be truly angry. While she envied Trella her sunny nature, she also found her offensive.

  “My heavens, I don’t think of doing it with just any man, honey,” she said. “Just those who appeal to me—like Edward and your Rance.”

  “He is not my Rance.”

  “Well, you could do it with him if you wanted to, and you know it. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because Edward says you have. I don’t see why you don’t want him again. A man has to have it, and if you don’t give it to him, he’s gonna go somewhere else. How can you even think of sending him to the arms of another woman? Edward says he thinks that’s what he’s doing, because there are plenty of nights when Rance doesn’t come in till dawn, and he smells like perfume, and—”

  “Trella, really!” April stared at her in wonder. “You and Edward seem to spend a great deal of time speculating about Rance’s personal life. Why not use your energies to spice up your own activities?”

  For the first time, Trella looked angry, but there was no time for a retort. Rance and Edward returned, carrying crystal glasses of sparkling champagne.

  “Now tell Rance what you heard the women saying,” Edward spoke to Trella urgently. With a smug look in April’s direction, she made a smacking sound and began. “I overheard a woman saying that the White House seamstress, Lizzie Keckley, makes dresses for her once in a while when she has time. The Keckley woman told her about those say…say and sees…”

  “Seances,” Rance corrected her, ebullient. “Go on.”

  “Well, this Lizzie, who’s a nigra and used to be a slave, she even worked for Mrs. Jefferson Davis once, she said Mrs. Lincoln is having those things at the White House, and she’s talking to that son of hers that died last February. And that’s why the President won’t be here tonight, because they’re having another one tonight, and he went to it.”

  “You don’t look surprised,” Edward said to Rance.

  “I’m not. I’ve heard the talk. There’s been a lot of criticism, but Lincoln is said to be a very sympathetic husband who covers up his wife’s erratic behavior.”

  “That’s right,” Trella rushed on breathlessly. “The woman was talking about that, too. She says she’s heard that every time a new medium comes to Washington and Mrs. Lincoln hears about it, she has another one of those say…seances. Folks have tried to talk to President Lincoln about it, because they don’t think it’s right, having such goings-on at the White House like that.”

  Rance nodded. “He grieves over his son, too. The boy was on
ly eleven. Evidently he’s so concerned about his wife’s grief that he’s glad for her to receive comfort from any source.”

  “This nigra, Lizzie, is the one that got her started, according to the women I heard talking. She believes in all that stuff.” She turned to Edward. “Do you believe they really talk to the dead?”

  April had been silent as long as she could. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on? You all act so excited. What’s so important about seances at the White House?”

  Rance narrowed his eyes, deep in thought, then said, “Edward, this is an opportunity we can’t pass up. We’re already here in the Union capital and we’re accepted as businessmen, horse traders. All we have to do is arrange for a seance in the White House, and while all that table rapping and nonsense is going on, we can look around. We’re bound to find some information of use to the Confederacy. It’s worth the risk.”

  Edward started to speak in agreement, but April cut in quickly. “Aren’t you going to tell me anything?” she asked, exasperated.

  “We are going to have a seance at the White House,” Rance said as though speaking to a child. “Have you heard of the Fox sisters? They started a national fad of communicating with the dead. People have begun to take it quite seriously, particularly since the war. There are plenty of widows and parents trying to communicate with men they’ve lost.”

  “I’ve heard about this,” she muttered, “but I’m not interested.”

  “You will be, because you’re going to learn all about spirit rappings and table tappings, eerie voices, flickering lights, mystical music, and speaking in trance.” He gave her a lazy smile.

  She shook her head. “Why should I learn? I don’t believe in it—charlatans preying on the grief-stricken. It’s disgusting.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter what you think, because you’re going to be a medium and conduct a believable seance at the White House for Mrs. Mary Todd Lincoln, herself. With Trella’s help, and, of course, the assistance of Edward and myself, you’re going to give the most credible seance that has ever been held in the White House. Mrs. Lincoln will hold you in the highest esteem—and so will the Confederacy, if Edward and I can discover any valuable information.”