Were they dancing?Too much. Her breath drew tight, her blood burned, turning her insides to molten fire. Her arms ached where one rested on his shoulder and the other held firmly in his palm. By some miracle she remained dancing.
The music stopped. Her breasts heaved as she sucked sweet air into her lungs.
Then she saw…he was affected as much as she. A momentary flash…a glimpse of the real Lucas…the good Lucas yet replaced with a mask of arrogance.
He chuckled.Did he mock her?Was he teaching her a lesson like he did in Bowman’s library from an imagined offense?
His conceit sobered her. She raised her hand. He caught it, clamping hard on her.
“Our audience.”
Rachel blushed from the murmurs. What a fool she’d been.
“You will always remember me.”
She scoffed at that notion. How he excelled in using the right words to infuriate her. “Your memory barely scrapes the surface. I think about you as much as my horse. I am so busy with—”
Several officers approached to beg a dance. Lucas stared them down and they all vacated their positions.
“Amazing how you do that,” she scoffed.
A satanic smile spread across his face. “Do what?”
“Put murder and mayhem in those eyes of yours. Attila the Hun possessed the same barbaric manners. Go back to your fiancée, Colonel Rourke. I’m on the Saint’s business.” She whirled away from him with another partner.
Oh, she was playing with fire. But she dare not provoke him to the point where he might throw caution to the wind, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her out of the ballroom. She had to keep a cool mind. End the nonsense of becoming a shameless wanton whenever he was near.
After begging off the dance, she moved down a long hall to the ladies’ lounge and paused at an open window to breathe fresh air. Raindrops pattered on branches. She held out her cupped palm, catching several in her hand where they pooled together. Tilting her palm, the water cascaded to the ground.
“How sad that something simple and pure cannot last,” she said aloud. The soft thud of slippers caused her to turn around. Susan Webster and her entourage straight from the choir, peered down their noses, and armed with gaily colored fans, employing them with enough dizzying force to blow a house off its foundation.
“Some things are never pure,” Susan said, then laughed. Her friends tittered.
The quintessential queen bee, the general’s daughter stood in charge and to Rachel’s estimation, had not missed a meal. With practiced ease, Susan’s smile went taut with a heavy dose of haughty self-importance, disapproval and rudeness. She and her bovine companions embodied all the qualities of a clandestine group of shrews—ill-tempered and full of resentment.
Susan had seen Lucas dancing with her and, no doubt, was nettled that he’d left her standing in the middle of the dance floor. Rachel squared her shoulders and attempted to move through the group, sparing no time for a silly confrontation. They created a barricade of silk and brocade with all the charity of an arrow meeting its target.
“Excuse me, Miss whoever you are.”
“Rachel Pierce,” she furnished, unable to fathom why Lucas would choose a shallow witch for his bride. He’d have the silly girl for his lunch.
As a veteran of contentious meetings with females in Richmond, Rachel possessed any number of weapons. To have a snake or a mouse handy might prove entertaining.
“Miss Pierce, you are newly arrived to our city? Where do you hail from?”
Susan desired to make it known Rachel was from the south to create an ambience of suspicion. “May I know the reason?” Rachel asked.
“Because I say it’s important,” said Susan as more of her friends collected around her.
Rachel lifted a brow. “For whom?”
“For the Union,” Susan snapped.
“I’m sorry, Miss—”
“Webster.”
“Miss Webster, it’s none of your business.”
