The men bid their farewells and departed. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief then thanked her lucky stars she had been in the library. Fortune had finally smiled on her this night. The only trouble was that she had not glimpsed the Copperhead leader’s face. But if she heard that voice again, she’d recognize him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rachel had been escorted from the ball by Jimmy and Simon. She had written messages, sharing intel to other spies working for her in Washington, and to the one man at the top she could rely on about Mr. Walsh and the mystery man. Chicago, Baltimore, New York and no doubt Washington would be hit soon in a coordinated attack. “Make haste to deliver all these letters to the men I assigned. And, Jimmy, be back shortly. Let Simon deliver the bulk of the messages. There is no time to waste.”
Men would race out on horseback to comb the Washington streets to counter the plan formed. General Grant and other military personnel would be contacted. She ran her fingers through her hair. No time. She had to change her clothes and travel miles north of Washington and find the Ruther’s place on Steeple Ridge, that is, if she could find it in time.
She unlocked her front door. After removing her wrap, she looked at herself in the hall mirror. A jangled mass of anxiety reflected back. Was that really her?
Ever since Lucas came into her life, he’d turned it upside down. Not so incomprehensible, really. She was in love. She was madly, deeply, completely in love, and too afraid to admit it again to Lucas, especially while he was forced to cool his heels in a military jail because of her orders to not have him interfere.
Didn’t love and stupidity go hand in hand?
After she completed what she had to do this night, she’d have Lucas released, maybe even give herself a few days’ head start. She thought of the collateral damage as a result of her orders. To describe the rage Lucas would possess as threatening was to call the Sahara dry or the ocean wet.
To come face to face with him? She shook her head and her reflection mocked her. His revengeful nature would bury her.
She picked up the cranberry glass oil lamp, kept lit by the housekeeper. The lamp’s crystals clinked against one another as she climbed the long flight of stairs to her bedroom, so looking forward to the tea the maid had no doubt set out. Given the late hour of her return from the ball, she’d given the servants the night off.
She’d wait for Jimmy, and then ride out to Steeple Ridge to learn the last of the Rebel’s plotting and beat them at their own game. And that would be the end of it, the end of the Saint. Lucas was right. The Copperheads were dangerous, and it remained only a matter of time before they figured out her real identity.
She was tired, sick of the pretense, exhausted of the war sapping her strength and draining her emotions. There would be nothing better than to take up Lucas’ offer, accept their vows and live as man and wife.
But she wasn’t fool enough to leave herself open to that kind of hurt. Yes, Lucas had said he wanted her, desired her. But she wanted more. She wanted it all. Any woman could be desired, but—to be cherished…well that’s what Rachel wanted more than anything else in the world.
With a rush of wind that beat down on the house, Rachel entered her room. Rain slashed at the windows and pummeled the roof. She yawned, set down her lamp, muted it, and kicked off her slippers. She proceeded with the gradual process of unbuttoning her gown, until the scarlet dress that had created a sensation at the ball fell to the floor in a soft swish. She untied the strings to her whalebone corset and threw it to a chair, cursing the punishing garment. She untied the pink ribbon on her drawers, sliding the silky garment over her hips, and down her legs. She shivered as the wispy chamois glided down her body and pooled at her feet, and that garment too she tossed to the chair.
In nothing but her stockings and garters, she moved to the mirror and massaged her breasts, so mercilessly pinched beneath her corset. She turned from side to side and frowned. Her breasts seemed fuller, heavier.
So many things to think about, her mind was drowning with it. At a time like this, Rachel didn’t need thoughts of Lucas to keep emerging, pounding her like wave after wave. A bolt of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the room, followed by a roll of thunder. A weighty feeling plummeted in her stomach, Lucas, cold and alone in jail.
Rachel sighed. On the other hand, she was relieved to have him securely locked up and safe from an assassination attempt. She reached for her nightgown.
“Don’t even think of putting it on.”
Rachel turned and clutched the gossamer material to her bare breasts. “Lucas?” Her limbs shook.Stupid.To think he could be detained.
He hadn’t made a sound. But there he was lounging in a chair. Low light and shadows made him look fierce. “Do you believe two guards could keep me imprisoned when I evaded the whole Confederacy?”
Close thunder shook the bricks, rattling the glass of the oil lantern and her, too. “How did you find my home?”
“Easy.” His eyes appraised her, pinned her with those cobalt blue orbs, and it took all her power to step backward. “Jimmy may not leave a trail, but Simon leaves a path a mile wide.”
His coat was thrown carelessly over a table, his boots stretched out in front of him, and he reclined like a panther confident of devouring its prey. His electric presence radiated as intense as the lightning outside, and from his fingers, dangled her corset and chamois. In his other hand was a brandy bottle he’d no doubt pilfered from downstairs. She was acquainted with his unparalleled strength and quickness, knowing that a dash for the door would not be prudent. Not to mention her nakedness.
“You might like to plot, but I like to surprise.” He dropped her undergarments and the brandy to the floor.
Rachel cocked her head and lifted her chin. “What do you want?” she asked, her mind scrambling for options. What worried her more was the lethal edge to his voice, rendering the air to crackle and smolder with his menace.
Naked, trapped, she stood there, having no hint of what to do or what he might do next. Warning bells chimed. One trivial blunder, and she’d not end the Rebel rebellion. All she had worked for would be lost.
She forced a demure smile. “I could at this very moment be planning any number of things.”
“You won’t get very far this time.” He rose so quickly, she cried out. He brushed past her, locked the door and placed the key in his pocket.
With an inaudible gulp, she composed herself. His commanding tone annoyed her, that same infuriating tendency that allowed no one to contradict his opinion.
“Frankly, I’m tired of chasing down the night for you,” he said. “Your willful stand on this war has so dominated your thinking that it has become impossible to have a rational conversation.”
