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
