She continued to assess him, her amber eyes skimmed over him, from his toes all the way to his face, her gaze ending on his mouth.
The hair rose on his neck. Instead of torture, was the Confederacy using the ruse of a beautiful woman to extort information from him? So, he followed her lead, assessing her from the toes to her tiny waist and elegant bosom to her sensuous, full lips.
She didn’t flinch, obviously used to having men admire her.
“Am I so ugly that words are stricken from your tongue?”
“On the contrary,” Lucas answered with a casual ease he little felt. “If this is to be my prison, then I will accept all terms ofyourpunishment.”
She laughed, her features composed.
A talented actress? “What are your opinions on the war?” Lucas asked, a question most women would brush off.
She stood haloed in shafts of late afternoon light. Her shadow stretched over him, caressing him. “I don’t know. I don’t think I have an opinion. I’m a woman after all.”
Lucas’ amusement died. Well-prepared, an original thinker. “I believe I have met my match.”
“Whatever do you mean?” She lowered her voice, being purposefully mysterious.
She was the epitome of womanhood, exquisite and elegant. Though lacking trimming and hoops, the threadbare calico gown enhanced her loveliness. A rare jewel, she complemented the simple dress, making the mere garment a work of art. The lace at her throat parted, and the hollow of her neck filled with soft shadows.
Lucas sat transfixed. Time slipped past, and still he did not respond, all his senses involved with her. He failed the test. Although he gave it his best effort, he was powerless to control his own reaction to her. His gaze clung to hers, analyzing what lay beneath the surface. There appeared a puzzling glimpse to which he could not lay a finger, a hint of independence, a brief flash of impudence, and a surreptitious touch of guarded intelligence.
He dragged his attention from her and glanced out the window. There stood a barn in the distance, and in the paddock, horses curved their hooves, digging up bowls of dust. Despite his condition, he could and would, if necessary, overpower her to escape. How many Rebs guarded him outside the room?
With the grace of an angel, she fanned out her skirts and settled in a chair facing him. She folded her hands demurely together, appearing to be relaxed unlike moments before when she viewed the Bible he’d been reading. How white her fingers were clasped together, whether from fear or anxiousness, he couldn’t tell. Her vulnerability was unexpected, and he found himself searching to find a way to put her at ease.
“I’m Colonel Lucas Rourke, Army of the Potomac,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret revealing his identity.
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re Colonel Rourke? With great fortune, you have been rescued by the Saint.”
Her words snapped him to attention.
“The Saint works without conscience for his personal gain. When I’m done with him, he’ll wish he never inhabited the earth.”
Her eyes scorched amber fire. “Perhaps you remain addled from the laudanum I dosed you with this week. The Saint can move through southern latitudes like an Indian savage with no trace of his footsteps and defy every one of his enemies without the slightest hint of their knowledge.” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Just like a ghost.”
Lucas had received an emergency missive to meet the Saint in Washington. He’d trusted the spy and went to meet him at an inlet on the Potomac. Ambushed by great numbers, he had been rendered unconscious, and then woke to the crack of a whip scoring his back in the capitol of the Confederacy.
Lucas lowered his voice. “The Saint has taught me a grievous lesson in betrayal. I’ll see he is hunted down like the cur of a dog he is and have him hanged from the nearest tree for his crimes.”
Her lips drew back in a snarl. “The Saint has employed every capacity that God has endowed him with. He’s been far more successful than anyone might imagine, netting the North’s most accurate information from politicians high in council as well as ubiquitous War Department clerks, military officers and a network that extends over most of Virginia.” She yanked a note from her pocket and dropped it on his lap. “The Saint gave me this to convey to you.”
Lucas opened the missive, signed by the Saint, flourished with his signature “S”. He told him to trust Rachel Pierce. How could he trust her? He didn’t trust the Saint. Caution was his best friend.
The Saint.The fabled agent who made a high art of spying. Lucas had never met the Saint, nor had anyone in his office, and no one had been able to provide a description. Up until now, the Saint had achieved a revered status of epic proportions. He astonished Union officials in Washington and generals on the line with maps of detailed troop numbers and movements, sketches of military arsenals and blueprints of weaponry. Repeatedly, information filtered through the lines like fish through a wide-meshed net. With confidence, he surfaced a genius, breaking many a rule, living on the edge of danger.
Lucas remained bitter, his most trusted spy had double-crossed him. “Of late, the Saint has discovered dishonesty is more profitable than honesty. How much gold does he require?”
“The Saint has always been loyal to the Union.” Cold and lashing, her voice ripped at him. “Never once has he wavered from his task. I am sure he would be disappointed over your lack of appreciation for his heroic endeavors. Perhaps you have endured a head injury during your incarceration and suffer from circumstances of which you have no control. I am sure the Saint will understand your reluctance to put him in the best possible light. He would never dream that you would say disparaging things about him, and that your faith in him actually lays unbounded.”
Her accent was unusual, more clipped when she was excited than the imperfect drawl she attempted to imitate. Where was her place of birth? Definitely not Virginia. “Why is your faith in the man so solid?”
She clapped her hands together in supplication to mock him. “The Saint is so romantic, don’t you think? It makes me swoon to think of him. Has he not sent you Richmond’s fortifications and other vital information?”
How would she know of Richmond’s critical defenses the Saint had sent to his office? How close was her relationship with the Saint?
Lucas crossed his arms. What the Saint had accomplished over the past three years was legendary. But after what he’d been through, a part of Lucas remained wary of those operating in the shadows. “A season of war will teach you that mankind is not honest.”
