“You jackanapes! You were spying on me the whole time!” she said, as he stepped from the tub. “I asked for a little privacy and you deliberately ogled me while I bathed unawares.”
He shrugged as he pulled the towel from his waist and dried himself. “I never promised not to look at you, wife, just as I haven’t forbid you to look at me.” He gave her a lecherous look while running the towel over his chest as if daring her to gaze at his exposed member.
“You--you should have sliced your throat,” she sputtered before storming from the room. As she left, she didn’t know that the bedroom lamp revealed her shapely form through her nightgown or why Reagan suddenly laughed.
Amanda sat at the table and lifted the lid of the chafing dish as mingling aromas wafted toward her nose. She was nigh starving, and didn’t care if Reagan was ready to join her or not. She filled her plate, determined to show that nothing had changed between them. He was still a cad and her silence would attest to her loathing of him.
Reagan had donned clean trousers and nothing else before joining his wife at the table. As he filled his plate, Amanda tried to ignore his presence and though she hated herself for it, she had to admit her husband had a near flawless physique. His arms and shoulders had become even more sculpted these past weeks, though his belly remained taut. Despite her intentions, she found herself drawn by his magnetism and kept averting her eyes to look at anything but his wide, bare chest.
“Wine?” Reagan forced her attention as he held the bottle over her empty glass. Amanda would’ve preferred water, but as none seemed available, she nodded, thinking a few sips wouldn’t unduly affect her.
After eating his fill, Reagan continued to drink and twice refilled his glass while waiting for Amanda to finish. He had always appreciated that she wasn’t a woman who gabbed incessantly, yet this constant cold shoulder was wearing on his temper. “How’d you fare on your first day in the saddle?” he ventured as he refilled her glass.
“Fine,” she said, taking a sip.
Reagan found it difficult to keep from devouring her form beneath the thin batiste and forced his gaze upward. “Sore anywhere?”
“A little, maybe,” Amanda said politely. “It’s been awhile since I’ve ridden.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help,” he let the offer hang a moment, one eyebrow raised hopefully. “A massage would do wonders for your aching muscles.”
Amanda gazed at him warily as she daubed her lips. “No, thank you,” she said, pushing back her plate. “I prefer to remain sore rather than suffer your hands upon my person.”
Reagan grew incensed that she thwarted his every attempt to regain her good graces. He had never encountered a woman he couldn’t charm, and struggled to believe his overtures could be so easily dismissed. Scowling, he emptied his wineglass before setting the tray with the remains of supper in the hall.
Keeping the bottle of wine, Reagan closed the door. Perhaps he could yet persuade Amanda to share his bed. How long, after all, could she keep up this portrayal of aggrieved wife?
As he returned to his chair, Reagan winced, moving his shoulder as if it suddenly pained him. “I seem to have developed a knot,” he said, responding to her questioning eyes.
Amanda watched in quiet amusement as Reagan stretched and then rotated his arm. It served him right, she thought. After everything he’d put her through, he deserved a cramp or two. He struggled for some moments, appearing to be woefully inept at easing the pain before he spoke. “Madam, I appear to be in some distress. If you’d be most kind, I’d appreciate your help.”
If not for his recent purchases, Amanda would’ve had no qualms refusing. However, the favor seemed small considering that at this moment she was wearing a fine muslin gown. She moved behind his chair and placed her fingers on his shoulder. At first, she applied light pressure, kneading the area much like dough from Hattie’s bread recipe.
“Right there,” he breathed. It’d been weeks since he felt her touch, and he basked in having her hands on his skin.
When Amanda drew closer, her hair accidentally brushed against his back, eliciting a sudden rise in gooseflesh. She hurried to finish, lest she awaken more than a shiver. “There,” she chirped as she gave a final rub, “that should do it.” Suddenly, she found herself pinned against his chair as a hand reached around to firmly grasp a buttock. Shocked at the unexpected assault and the pleasurable response it elicited, she yanked his hand from her. “I see you keep showing your churlish proclivities,” she snarled, stepping away.
Reagan rose from his chair, his face darkening with both anger and unappeased passion. He had hoped to seduce his wife and end their estrangement, but at every turn she reasserted the barrier between them. He had only been able to endure the past weeks by working to exhaustion. But seeing her in various states of undress, forced him to deal with his whetted appetite moment by moment. “Keep your claws sheathed, madam!” he growled, amazed that even now, with his own fury ignited, he still wanted her. “I shan’t breach your chastity tonight!” Reagan grabbed the wine bottle and stomped through the bath chamber to the other room.
For some reason, the slamming of his door caused Amanda to feel let down. Despite the certainty of her convictions, a small part of her protested the banishment of her husband.
Amanda placed a trembling hand on her forehead. What was wrong with her? Wasn’t she the aggrieved party, the one Reagan practiced his deception on? Why should she feel guilt now that the truth had been revealed? The wine was affecting her judgment, she reasoned. Things would look clearer in the morning.
Turning down the oil lamp, she drew back the covers and climbed into bed. It seemed to take forever before sleep stole over her, and the last things she recalled were muted sounds of Reagan pacing the floor, not unlike that of a tormented animal.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Trapped in the tentacles of sleep, a small, persistent noise disturbed Amanda. A clawing, creaking sound permeated her dreams, filling her with unease. When a nearly noiseless shuffling crossed the floor, she opened her eyes to see moonlight stretched between her bed and bathing chamber. Yet, the door as well as the wardrobe remained hidden in shadows. Just when she believed she had dreamt the mysterious noise, she heard a muted footfall. Sudden terror congealed in her throat as she realized someone had entered the room and was even now, rifling through the wardrobe.
A thief! Should she call out and hope to scare away the burglar? Or should she flee? A muffled thump revealed the intruder had found a saddlebag and would now have his back to the room.
After a moment’s hesitation, she flung back her quilt and vaulted from the bed, sprinting toward the bath chamber. As she passed the table, she grabbed a chair, flinging it behind her. Amanda heard swift footfalls before a muffled crash indicated the intruder had tripped. Still, he managed to grasp the back of her nightgown, halting her flight.
Terrified, Amanda swung her arm trying to knock away his hand and when that didn’t work, she turned and kicked him. He grunted, yet tenaciously held on while twisting her captured foot. She fell, landing on her stomach with enough force to knock her breath away and lay gasping as the prowler twined his fingers in her gown, pulling her toward him. Squirming onto her back, she struck him with her fists, but he finally gained a stronger hold and subdued her hands with one of his. As she sucked air into her lungs, the apparition clamped his fingers over her mouth.
“Shut up!” he hissed. Rising to his feet, he pulled her with him. “No one can hear you!” Amanda’s mind raced. He believed her alone. Either, he didn’t realize there was an adjoining room, or he didn’t know it was occupied. As he yanked her toward the bed, she struggled to free her mouth.
Suddenly, she remembered a similar situation and using both hands, pressed the man’s palm into her mouth and bit with all her might. Despite his obvious pain, the robber held on, cuffing her face. “Do that again, you little witch,” he snarled, squeezing her harder, “and I’ll knock ye senseless!”
; In desperation, Amanda reached back and clawed at him with her nails. Forced to shield his eyes, the attacker loosened his hold and Amanda wriggled free, running into the bath chamber and sidestepping where she knew the tub to be. Just as she reached Reagan’s bedroom, he wrenched open the door. She rushed inside as the thief stumbled and tripped headfirst into the tub, causing a large splash.
“What the hell--?” Reagan’s lamp shone dimly through the doorway, revealing a pair of legs protruding from the tub. Reaching in, he hauled the unconscious man from the bath water and dropped him onto the floor. “Who’s this?”
“I think he was robbing us,” she said, returning. “I tried to run but he caught me.”
Reagan lifted her chin and viewed her swollen lip. “The bastard struck you?”
“I didn’t feel it,” she said, surprised at his concern. “It happened so fast, I was more shocked than anything.”
“Bring over my lamp and we’ll see who we’ve got.” When she returned, he reached down and turned the man over. Several scratches marked his face. “Good Lord, woman, did you do that?”
“I-I was trying to get away,” she said while Reagan held the lamp to the man’s face.
“Why, it looks like our friend, the clerk.”
“The clerk? Why would he rob us?”
“I don’t know. You stay here,” he ordered, setting the lamp down. “I’ll take him into the other room and summon help.”
Amanda felt immensely relieved when Reagan dragged the unconscious man into the next room. She heard him strike a match and surmised he’d pulled the cord, because it wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door. She hurried to her room. “Wait! I need to put something on,” she said. Walking around the crumpled man, Amanda took one of Reagan’s shirts from the wardrobe and put it over her gown. “I’m ready now.”
A maid stood outside the door holding a candle. “You rang, sir?”
“We have an uninvited guest,” Reagan said. Widening the door, he revealed the man sprawled on the floor. “Kindly inform your mistress as well as the sheriff.”
The girls’ eyes widened when she saw the clerk, bereft of his senses. “Right away, sir! I’ll get Mrs. Bonham immediately!” Lifting the hem of her skirt, the girl hurried down the hall as Reagan shut the door.
When the clerk began to stir, Reagan took a glass from the table and went into the bath chamber. “Let’s see if we can get some answers,” he said returning with tub water and dumping it on the man’s face.
Sputtering, the man winced as he touched his bruised forehead before opening his eyes. He looked shocked when he recognized Amanda standing beside Reagan. “W-what happened?” he mumbled, staring at the blood on his fingers.
“You were in the process of robbing us,” Reagan said, pulling the man to his feet. He kicked the overturned chair upright before shoving the clerk into it. “The law’s on its way, so you better speak up. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Before the man could answer, there was a loud knock; then the door burst open and Mrs. Bonham rushed inside, followed by the scullery maid. It was apparent by her twisted belt and crooked nightcap that she’d hastily donned her wrapper. Spying the recently fired clerk, Mrs. Bonham’s eyes turned stormy.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded and when the clerk’s expression remained belligerent, she seemed further angered. “Tell me, I say! How did you manage to enter these rooms?”
“It was easy, you stupid bitch! For months I’ve outsmarted you.” He paused, touching where his face had been raked before he glared at Amanda. “If not for her, you’d have been none the wiser!”
Mrs. Bonham took a step closer. “Are you going to answer me, or should I let the sheriff get the information? Tell me how you entered these rooms without a key!”
“Why, I stole the keys and had copies made. You never noticed when they were missing,” he smirked, looking at his fingers as if they were instruments of skill. “Any time I saw a suite had been let, I knew the occupants were wealthy, and therefore worth pilfering any trinkets left about. By their lack of alarm, they never missed the baubles anyway.” His face grew contemptuous as he glared at Reagan now bereft of his beard. “So! You’re a man of means, after all. The rich! They make their money off the backs of working folk.” His chin rose as he pressed a palm against his wound. “It’s only fair we take back a little of what’s rightfully ours.”
“It’s usually the lazy who find themselves wanting,” Reagan said. “Those who work hard are capable of improving their lot.”
“Oh, and you don’t love money, either,” the clerk spat.
“I don’t steal from others to get it,” he said, missing Amanda’s sudden look.
The clerk snorted, but lowered his gaze under Reagan’s stare. At that moment a man barged into the room, a pair of pistols strapped to his hips. “Sheriff Ritter,” Mrs. Bonham said. “I’m so relieved you’re here.” She pointed to her former employee, “It seems we have a burglar in our midst. If you’d be so kind as to search his pockets, I’d like to make a formal complaint.”
Chapter Sixty
President Lincoln had barely begun his term when he was informed of the desperate situation at Fort Sumter. The small garrison had been denied provisions and correspondence by South Carolina ever since the breakup of the former President’s cabinet. Taking advantage of the situation, authorities of the rebel state planted batteries on James Island, Morris Island and Cummings Point. In every spot where guns could be brought to bear, earthworks were erected. Built on an island at the mouth of Charleston Harbor, the fort hadn’t been designed to withstand bombardment from fortifications it was meant to work alongside. With guns pointed from all directions, Major Anderson and his men became isolated from the rest of the country.
President Lincoln insisted that these men could not be left to starve. He notified the governor of South Carolina that provisions would be sent to the garrison, peaceably, if possible, if necessary, by force.
When three vessels of war, three transports and three steamers sailed from New York and Norfolk, the commander of the Confederate forces demanded Major Anderson surrender and evacuate the fort. General Beauregard knew that Anderson was ignorant of the coming aid, and hoped the garrison’s state of semi-starvation would force the surrender.
He was wrong.
***
The shocking news that Fort Sumter had been fired upon, reached Cantonsville the same day Reagan and Amanda arrived by stagecoach. Amanda couldn’t help but stare at throngs of people clogging the boardwalks. Excited citizens maneuvered around the stagecoach while men with knapsacks and muskets gathered at the post office. At Reagan’s query to a passerby, he was informed that volunteers for the Union Army were assembling. It seemed much had occurred during their absence.
Despite the press of people, Reagan was able to procure a rented buggy and after securing their luggage, headed home.
A chorus rose throughout the household as soon as they turned in the drive and by the time they reached the stoop, the family stood waiting to greet them. Thomas shook Reagan’s hand and Katherine hugged Amanda while Amy plied both with questions.
Watching Amanda closely, Thomas noted that something about her bespoke painful awareness and with sudden insight, perceived that she knew. It was the way she held herself and avoided his eyes that told him his fears had come to pass.
“It’s started, hasn’t it?” Reagan said, interrupting Thomas’s thoughts.
“The news came this morning. The South has struck,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve closed the mills for today.” As the women whisked Amanda into the parlor for refreshments, the men retreated into the study.
Chapter Sixty-One
Green eyes glinted beneath the brim of a hat that looked to have seen grander times. With his work closed for one day, the bewhiskered man loitered near the saloon, scrutinizing passersby. By mid-morning, he was beginning to lose interest until his eye caught a bold flash of color. A harlot, weari
ng a low cut red frock, sashayed toward him along the boardwalk. Her equally red parasol was held at a jaunty angle to keep the sun from darkening the freckles that smattered her nose. Men whistled as she walked past, but she only grinned and kept up her promenade until reaching the saloon. She then looked back over her shoulder.
“Well boys, she said, placing a hand on an outthrust hip. “Since the mills are closed, the saloon’s decided if you join the ladies inside, the first drink’s on the house!”
Her words were greeted with whoops and hollers as men jostled each other to be first inside. The woman stood close enough for the green-eyed man to notice the scent of her cheap perfume. As he leaned against a post, his eyes roamed her body, lingering where her breasts seemed ready to spill from her bodice. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself hard liquor and a strumpet. Ever wary of divulging secrets when strong drink clouded his mind, he felt the sudden need to relieve his cravings. When the harlot tried entering the saloon, he reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Hold off, Mister,” she snapped, eying his clothes. “There’re plenty of girls inside that’ll satisfy yer needs. I only socialize with gentleman callers.”
“Your name’s Molly, isn’t it?”
“How d’ya know me?” she asked. “We haven’t met.”
The man reached down to finger a velvet necklace around her throat. “I gave this to you, before Christmas, when you were newly employed.” He smiled, allowing his fingers to brush her skin while tucking the pendant into her bodice. “Don’t you remember?”
“Orville?” Molly’s eyes widened as she tried connecting the crudely garbed man with the dapper gentleman she knew as Orville Farnsworth. “Is--is that you?”
After the rough treatment from the bounty hunters, Molly had been swept off her feet by a handsome stranger who introduced himself as Orville Farnsworth. Though well bred and attentive, once in the privacy of her room, the aristocrat proved to be just as rough as the others. Molly had learned to tolerate the discomfort with benumbing effects of cheap wine. “Where’ve you been? I-I thought you had left town,” she stammered.
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