Her chin lifted a notch. “Simon is not a slave. I freed him.”
She was fond of Simon, and her voice reflected that affection. “There is more?”
“Simon and his mother were escapees. They were caught and herded into a barn with other escaped slaves. Their masters decided a lesson must be learned. The barn was locked and torched. In the confusion, Simon’s mother pushed him through a hole in the back wall. He escaped. However, his mother was not so lucky. Simon was captured and resold.”
Lucas raised a brow. “From his attachment to you, I sense the history goes further.”
“Simon was to be hobbled by his new master who tired of him running away. I happened to be visiting and bought him right then and there. Of course, his master extracted an exorbitant price. Simon’s worth every penny and has been with me ever since.”
She rose and walked to the door, the sway of hips and soft swish of her skirts mesmerized him. Good Lord, the woman possessed weapons to scourge his backside all over again.
She stopped, pulled items from her pocket, then dropped his ring and pocket watch in his palm. “I forgot to return these to you.”
“My father’s pocket watch. He gave it to me before I left…the one item that reminds me of home. Thank you.” He saw her gaze drift to his gold West Point ring he placed on his finger. He said nothing.
“I must go about my errands.”
“One more question before you leave. Do you love the Saint?” For some insane reason Lucas had to know.
“I would hope so,” she said, bestowing a sly secretive smile that confirmed his suspicion. “Tell me, Colonel Rourke, will you miss me when I am gone?”
She teased him now. Yet, he hated any thought of her affections for the Saint, a man who used her for his schemes. Rachel presented a rare picture of a woman, a breath of fresh air, far from the dowdy women who inhabited Washington, especially the annoying general’s daughter who was trying to trap him into marriage.
Her amusement swiftly died as if she sought to erect a wall of defense against him. “I apologize, Colonel Rourke, but I have to lock you in here for your own protection. Good night.”
Lucas might have entertained the notion of annoyance for the locking of his door. Her footsteps fell softly into the room next to his. He smiled. She slept one wall away. “No apologies, Miss Rachel. But perhaps you should lock your door…for your protection.”
The irony struck deep.
She lay safe.
He was an honorable man.
Chapter Three
“Miss Rachel, you got callers,” Simon yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
She hesitated before the mirror. Black circles shadowed beneath her eyes. Unaccustomed to someone sleeping in her home, she had not slept well and had risen late. The annoying Colonel Rourke had paced her father’s room during the long night hours, and she’d been aware of his every movement.
The Confederates had pulled off a brilliant coup capturing Colonel Rourke. He was one of the top commanders of the Office of Civilian Spying, an asset owning dangerous and vital information for the North that the Rebels would seize upon. Netting Colonel Rourke was almost as bad as apprehending President Lincoln.
She had studied Colonel Rourke while he was unconscious, reclined like a warrior taking his rest, and it did not quell the rioting in her stomach. Regardless of his wretched state, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His face was shockingly handsome with high cheekbones and full lips. His thick wildly unkempt hair, dark in the sunlight, waved over his temple. His bearded jaw spoke of determination and…stubbornness. Or did it shroud a delicate, feminine chin?
While he’d been out cold, she had cut off his clothes and checked for bone breaks. His arms and legs were sound, but his back had been a bloodied pulp. She had worked tirelessly cleaning the wounds. How shameless she had been smoothing a healing balm on his back, lingering her fingers over his sides and applying the unguent over his buttocks. Her cheeks reddened from the memory.
She buttoned the buttons on her frock, her fingers lingering on her bodice. The man oozed masculinity, probably made every girl a conquest. His dark good looks and excellent physique would make any girl’s heart hammer double time. Except Rachel’s.
Yet, engaging the irascible Colonel Rourke stimulated a diversion, a game she had to win. Competitive by nature, she enjoyed setting goals and achieving them, and there was little doubt she was dealing with no ordinary man. He exuded confidence and an air of command. Power clung to him. Men would follow without question. How she looked forward to provoking him.
She had developed the art and power of the unspoken, scrutinizing his body language as closely as his speech, noticing the slightest gesture, a twitch of his jaw, a dip of the brow, anything that could betray doubt, weakness or subterfuge. He had exceeded her assessment.
Yet, why did she feel like she was the one being provoked?
Do not allow yourself to become comfortable with him.Remember what you are about.One small error in judgment could land an appointment with the hangman.
Her fingers clenched tightly to her hairbrush. Her father’s Bible had been tucked in a drawer never to be read again. How dare Colonel Rourke touch her most cherished possession?
“Miss Rachel! You hear me? You got callers.” Simon stretched his vocal cords, yanking her from her woolgathering. On rare occasions when a visitor happened to be someone Simon tolerated, he’d be polite and knock on her door. Given his tone, it had to be someone he didn’t like.
