“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 Florissant’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.”
She’d raised his temper. He did have a weapon, of sorts, in that cane. Memories of his touch reminded her he wasn’t evil, but could she believe it?
“I mean,” she started, biting her lower lip. “Confederate currency is of no use here.”
The anger on his face vanished as he laughed. “No, none of that. I have access to funds for the dress. When she returns today, please accept. As my gratitude to the doctor who saved my life.”
He was hitting the right spot as a man who understood her value as a surgeon. The squeal inside her banged to be heard but she bit her tongue, offering him a small smile and a slight nod. “For that, I thank you. But as to the dance…”
“We will go. If you recall, that was the deal. I put up with being blamed for all the badness you Yankees heap on us, your Southern brothers, so I expect payback in full.” Then he smiled big, a devilish grin that made her nerves tingle with anticipation as the words struck home. Even her lower abdomen grew warm.
“No, we can’t,” her voice faded. Swallowing hard the lump in her throat, she added, “What we did was very inappropriate. You know that as well as I.”
“I would not think it inappropriate. You enjoyed it as much as I,” he argued. Leaning in slightly, he added, “Unless you hold feelings for another, perhaps one that writes you those letters.”
She nearly dropped her fork, aghast. Had he seen her pull that letter from Richard? She didn’t think he paid any mind to things like that.
“I do have feelings for another man, yes.” She took the handle on her teacup.
He was staring at her. It was a questioning gaze, not a snarl. “A soldier? Fighting for your abolitionist wing?”
She didn’t answer at first. “He is a doctor for the Union as well.”
“Out in the field? Or here?” He snorted. “Men miles from their woman’s touch will often turn to others to fill that need.”
“How dare you!”
“Not all, but many.”
“And do you have a lady at home that you thought of when we were…?”
He shuffled the utensils at his plate, not looking at her right away. “No. The woman I love cannot be mine.”
His tone startled her. He’d lost someone. The air in the room chilled. She cleared her throat. “All right. I’ll accept your gift out of courtesy and since we had an agreement, to which you held your end admirably, considering. But hear me well. The moment the slightest ache hits, we will depart. Am I understood, sir?”
He surprised her with a wink.
Why did she feel like she’d
