by Lisa Kleypas
“I was a journalist for the Mobile Register during the war. I reported for a few other papers, too. I tended to switch around, usually when the editors were too heavyhanded. Nothing makes a writer mad quicker than seeing one of his reports cut almost in half—”
“But surely they had good reasons for cutting your work.”
Heath laughed softly, shaking his head as if the world didn’t make sense and any man who tried to find reason in it was a fool. “Yes. They felt that a reporter should try to keep the public’s morale high. The editors didn’t like my battle reporting—said I was faultfinding, glum, that I didn’t look on the bright side of things. Problem was, I couldn’t find much cause for optimism in the middle of a battle—especially since I was on the losing side.”
As he smiled again, Lucy regarded him curiously, unable to share his amusement. The firelight turned his hair into a brilliant blaze of coppery gold, filtered through his dark eyelashes and cast long shadows over his tanned cheeks. He looked so carefree and handsome, as if he had never known the hardship of battles and gunfire. With all the horror and bloodshed he had undoubtedly seen, she could not understand why he could smile and talk so easily about the war. It seemed utterly heartless of him to be so comfortable about it all. Every other man she had ever heard talk about the war got all riled up, bitter, excited, proud. Frowning slightly, she sought another direction for the conversation.
“The Register was a big paper, wasn’t it? You must have gotten published often.”
“Often enough.”
“Do you have any copies of what you’ve written?”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“That’s too bad. I’d like to read something of yours. Did you use your initials or—”
“Rebel. That was my pseudonym. I couldn’t use my initials, since I occasionally took unpopular stands. My . . . associates . . . wouldn’t have appreciated the fact that I could never see angels and golden banners flying over the battlefield. All I could see were wounds and indignity. Even when we won the battle, I couldn’t see triumph in all that wretchedness . . . but then, maybe I lacked imagination.”
Wearing a stricken expression, she stared at him. “Your pseudonym wasn’t really Rebel, was it?”
“You don’t like it?”
“That’s not what . . . I mean . . . I have read something of yours. They reprinted them in some of the newspapers up here. You wrote about the fall of Atlanta better than anyone—”
“Well, I really was walking down the center of the road if something I wrote was printed in a Yankee paper.”
“Don’t make light of it. I read what Rebel—what you wrote, over and over again . . . the refugees, and the children in the street, and the deserters. You’re not teasing me, are you? I would never, never forgive you if you weren’t telling me the truth about this—”
“I’m not teasing you, Lucy.” Suddenly Heath’s face was grave and hard.
“You wrote a book about the war after it ended . . . or at least someone using the name Rebel did—”
“I wrote it.”
“Everyone’s read it . . . well, I haven’t yet—but I will.”
“Please do. My royalties have been diminishing lately.”
Lucy didn’t smile. She sat there, staring down at the paper in her hands without seeing a word. That article about Atlanta was one of her few vivid memories of the war. Concord had been so far away from the actual fighting that she had felt removed from all of it, reminded of it mostly by the fact of Daniel’s absence and her own work in the Ladies’ Soldiers’ Aid Society. And then, the reporter named Rebel had written about the battles in Georgia, the people fleeing Marietta in droves, the weariness and desperation of the besieged city of Atlanta. His words had been so bleak and dismal that she had finally understood just a little of the horror it had been for all those people to see their world being torn up. It was difficult to believe that the man in front of her was that reporter.
“We all looked for more articles by you,” she said. “We were sure that whatever you wrote about the surrender would be printed. But there wasn’t anything.”
“I wasn’t at the surrender. Wounded at Harpeth Creek. We were sent on a suicidal charge. A noble, lastditch effort to win the war. At that time, we figured there wasn’t much to lose. Most of the regiment was killed.”
“I’m so glad you weren’t,” Lucy said, her eyes moistening with tears despite her will to hold them off. He looked up in surprise at the quaver in her tone, then shook his head and smiled ruefully.
“You’re too softhearted.”
“I know. Daniel says I shouldn’t cry so easily, but sometimes I—”
“Daniel again. I don’t believe I’ve ever known a man so well and disliked him so much without ever having met him.”
She chuckled at that and swallowed hard against the biting tears.
His hand slid over hers, enclosing her fingers in the warmth and strength of his. Though she did nothing to encourage him, not even daring to look at him, her pulse became light and rapid, and an almost pleasant sensation of nervousness took hold of her. Slowly, she turned her palm up to meet his, and their fingers laced together. A strange and unfamiliar sweetness seemed to drift through her body. There’s nothing wrong in holding hands, she told herself defensively. Yet somehow, this felt disloyal to Daniel, finding such pleasure in the touch of another man. The gentle clasp tightened briefly; then, Heath pulled away, leaving Lucy with a feeling of deprivation.
“I’m going to see about splitting some wood,” he said, and she nodded silently, suddenly confused and eager to be away from him, and reluctant to let him go.
Chapter 2
The dunking in the river had been even more of a disaster for Lucy’s walking dress than for Lucy. The garment was shrunken in some places and oddly misshapen in others. Futilely she fussed with the velvet plaits that looped the sides of the overskirt up. She retied the brown satin ribbons several times, but it was impossible to disguise the damage. She was thankful that her cloak would cover everything until she could find a way to dispose of the clothes secretly. Even though her father was meticulous about the details of his store, he was absentminded about most matters concerning his daughter, and he would never notice the absence of a few garments.
This morning there was a thoughtful silence between Lucy and Heath, a silence that was puzzling in light of the easiness of their earlier conversations. He took her to the village in a small carriage drawn by a dappled gray gelding, and as they neared Concord green, the pace of the horse seemed to slow down.
“Almost there,” Lucy said reluctantly, realizing that her strange adventure of the past two days was coming to an end. Suddenly it occurred to her that there were things she had not talked about with him, things that should have been discussed. “Heath, wait. Could you stop the carriage?” His eyes, shining cool and blue-green in the daylight, flickered to her as he pulled on the reins, easing the horse to a halt. “There is something we have to decide,” Lucy continued, her voice subdued. “About how we’re going to behave if we see each other in public. I don’t want to treat you as if you’re a stranger to me, not after what you’ve done for me . . . but I can’t let on that I know you!”
His face was blank, the thin scar on his temple un-camouflaged by any laugh lines. “Because I’m a Reb?”
“No. No, of course not. Because we haven’t been introduced . . . and I can’t ever talk to you like the other night, never again. I’m engaged. And you’re not the kind of man that an engaged woman could be friends with. No one would understand, especially not Daniel.”
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Heath said, and the quiet sound of his voice comforted her slightly. He did understand. She raised her eyes to his face, her gaze alighting on the tawny color of his skin and the rich gold of his hair. How out of place he was, up here amid the snow and the icy air. He had been born to live where there was plenty of sun and green land. His lazy smiles and his foreign drawl would never be accepted here
. Why has he decided to settle so far away from home? she wondered. What could his reasons possibly be? She couldn’t bring herself to ask him. For the first time, she saw that there was a thin, almost unnoticeable scar on the side of his neck which seemed to extend past the collar of his shirt. How far down did it go? How had he gotten it? It looked like the one on his temple.
She wondered what kind of man he was. She only knew enough about him to recognize that there were depths of experience and emotion locked inside him that no one would ever be able to understand. Unlike Daniel and the others she knew who were basically uncomplicated, Heath Rayne was too complex, too . . . deceptive. She was grateful for what he had done, but she would not delude herself into thinking that there was any basis for a friendship between them. They had nothing in common. They were worlds apart.
“I’ll never forget what you did for me,” Lucy said gravely. “Nothing I could do would ever repay—”
“I don’t want your everlasting gratitude,” he interrupted, a wry smile spreading slowly across his face. “Don’t look so woebegone, honey. This isn’t goodbye.”
“But it is. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Ah, I see. Forgive me. It’s just that in Virginia we have a different way of saying goodbye.”
There was deviltry dancing in his blue eyes, and Lucy smiled in response as she turned her face away from him. “Don’t tease,” she said, turning coquettish, knowing that now he was going to try to cajole her into allowing him a liberty; and certainly she would refuse, no matter how persuasive he was. She was an engaged woman.
“I’m not teasing. This is a serious matter. Don’t you think you owe me at least one kiss? As you just pointed out, I saved your life. Would Daniel begrudge just one of your kisses to the man who rescued you? Would Daniel ever know? God knows I would never tell him. A kiss is such a little thing to ask, Lucy.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone but Daniel,” she said primly, finding an irresistible delight in flirting with him.
“Yes, but I’ll bet he doesn’t know where your birthmark is,” Heath said, and smiled as she blushed. “Sorry, honey. You were right before—I’m not much of a gentleman, am I?”
“No, you’re not.”
“Are you telling me the truth about never kissing anyone but Daniel?”
What a conversation for her to be having with him! She felt her cheeks go hot as she avoided his gaze. “It’s basically true. Before we were engaged, I . . . tried kissing with a boy or two . . . but they weren’t real kisses like they are with Daniel.”
“Real kisses,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I didn’t know there was any other kind except real ones.”
“You know what I’m talking about. Some kisses don’t mean anything at all. But a real kiss is one that means something.”
“No, I didn’t know anything about these interesting distinctions. Look at me, Lucy.”
Aware of a mixture of confusion and excitement, she obeyed for a reason that she didn’t understand. Yes, he was going to kiss her, and she shouldn’t let him, but she couldn’t find it in herself to tell him not to. Deliberately he removed his gloves, his eyes holding hers. Then one of his brown hands was clasped around the back of her neck, his fingers sliding into her chestnut hair. The other had lightly gripped the nipped-in curve of her waist. The way he held her was very different from Daniel’s undemanding embrace.
“Tell me if this is real or not, Lucy.”
His head lowered over hers, and she closed her eyes, inhaling quickly. The first touch of his mouth was dry and warm and urging, demanding something that she didn’t know how to give. She clutched the edge of the seat and offered her lips to him cautiously. Long after she thought that he would stop, the pressure of his mouth was still on hers, and then it slanted harder, forcing her lips apart. Gasping, she put her hands on his chest to push him away, her palms flat on the broad surface. The kiss was now hot and intimately moist, making her tremble in a funny combination of repulsion and pleasure. Bewildered, startled, she felt the velvet stroke of his tongue against hers, tasting her in a way that she had never dreamed of. His mouth was blazing and hungry. There was a magic about him that wound around her senses and tugged delicately. She was shaking, just as she had the first time he had held her, only this time it was not from cold but a heat that burgeoned from deep inside her.
With a muffled sound, Heath ended the kiss, and there was a disturbed expression on his face. Dazed, she met his eyes; her heart was throbbing and her stomach jumping. He had just tasted the inside of her mouth. The thought that anyone would want to do that was absolutely astonishing. And yet . . . it hadn’t been unpleasant.
“Don’t do that with your fiancé,” Heath said. “He’ll be asking where you learned it.”
Lucy pulled away from him with a hasty jerk, sliding to the corner of the seat and averting her face. Her lips felt soft and swollen, and she could still feel the brush of his tongue against hers. Every time she thought about it, she felt limp and shaky. How could she have let him do that to her? Guiltily she thought about Daniel, who had never attempted to do such a thing. She and Daniel would probably never kiss with their mouths open, not even after they were married. As Daniel had told her, a man held one kind of woman in a way that meant lust, and the other kind of woman in a way that meant love, and he had said that she was the kind who was meant to be held with love.
“In your opinion, was that a real one?” Heath smiled wryly as Lucy refused to look at him. “All right, honey . . . I’ll take you home now.”
In the evening Daniel came to call. Conveniently, it was only a short walk from his house to the general store on Main Street. Lucy and her father had lived above the store on the second floor ever since Lucy’s mother, Anne, had died of consumption years ago.
“I’m going to be downstairs taking inventory,” Lucas Caldwell said, checking absently to make certain that the ends of his snowy white mustache were twirled into neat points. Lucy smiled gratefully at him, knowing that he was giving her a few minutes alone with Daniel, and her eyes followed the immaculately clad form of her father until he closed the door with careful precision. Then she flew to Daniel’s arms. How perfect they were together. He was just the right height, tall enough for her to feel protected, yet not so tall that she felt overpowered by him. They fit together so comfortably, like two hands clasped together. They even thought the same way. Daniel was her dearest friend, and she knew that that would never change, even after he had become her husband.
“Oh, how I missed you,” Lucy said fervently, lifting her mouth for his kiss. The familiar brush of his mustache feathered across her upper lip. Inexplicably, a new impulse swept over her, and Lucy started to let her lips drift apart, wanting more than just the pressure of his mouth. She wanted to taste him. She wanted him to kiss her harder, like she had been kissed that afternoon. Maybe in the past Daniel had been afraid to try that with her because he hadn’t wanted to upset her. But even as her mouth softened with yearning, he lifted his head away from hers.
“I missed you too,” Daniel said, his brown eyes traveling fondly over her face. “I’ve thought about what we talked about before you left—”
“I’ve done some thinking too. I’m so sorry that I have been pushing you so hard.”
“Of course you’re anxious to get married. I understand that, my dear . . . I want to be married just as much as you do. We’ll set a date soon. I promise.”
“But you’ve said that for the past three years.”
“We can’t get married until I can afford to get you what you deserve—”
“You have enough to get a small place. I don’t want a big house. I just want for us to be together. I don’t see why you won’t even consider us living here with Father or with your family, just until we have enough money to get our own place.”
“It’s a matter of pride, and that’s my final word—”
“Can’t you put aside your pride for a minute and listen to me? Other men live with
their family or their wife’s family. Other men start off with smaller houses and build bigger ones later. Can’t you decide on doing one of those things? I don’t want to go on like this anymore.” Her voice caught in her throat as she added softly, “I’m lonely.”
Astonishment crossed his sternly handsome face, and his hands came to rest on her shoulders. “How could you be lonely? You’re surrounded by people all the time. And I see you every day, sometimes more that once a day. We go to the dances and lectures—”
“A person can be surrounded by people and still be lonely. I feel as if no one needs me. I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Your father—”
“Father has his store. That’s what means the most to him. His whole world is the store and his customers, and that’s all he really wants. Oh, I know he loves me, but it’s not the same. And you have your family, a big family with too many brothers and sisters to count. You are all so close, you support each other, you all belong in that family.”
“But you belong in my family—”
“I’m an outsider,” she insisted stubbornly. “And I need a family too. I’m a woman, and there’s so much I want to give to you—so much that you won’t let me give you. I . . .” She hesitated before rushing on. “I want to be close to you and love you in the way that a woman loves her husband. I’m tired of kisses on the porch and holding hands when no one’s looking.”
Daniel’s ears became red as he understood what she was saying. “Lucy, hush. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I want to be yours, in a way that I can never be anyone else’s. I don’t want to wait anymore, not if we’re going to put off the wedding for another few years—”
“My Lord.” Daniel let go of her, laughing nervously. “I never guessed you would have thought about such things, Lucy.”
“Of course I do. All women do, whether they say them or not.”
“But we can’t. I want you to be unspoiled on our wedding night. Like a bride should be.”