As he turned to accept a drink from a servant, Hunter caught a glimpse of another striking face reflected in one of the tall mirrors in the ballroom. The face stirred a hint of recognition, but when he turned to locate the original visage, it was not to be found.
***
Andrea fiddled with the ornate brocading on the side of her gown, then forced her hands to her side and nodded pleasantly toward a couple as they strode by. She’d taken immense risks to get here, and was in great peril even now, but the amount of information she could glean made the danger worthwhile.
The wave of constant chatter and the occasional burst of laughter contrasted with the sounds she was familiar with, yet Andrea was thankful J.J. had allowed her to make the journey to Richmond. Things had moved at a whirlwind pace since her close call with Hunter, leaving her blurry-eyed with lack of sleep. But the excitement of attending this high-society ball fueled her with newfound energy.
It seemed unreal to Andrea that just over a week ago she’d been dressed as a young boy and riding through the Virginia countryside on Justus. The only reminder of that life now was a still-sore ankle, and memories that seemed almost too incredible to be real.
Dressed now in a pale green gown draped in layers of shimmering silk, she felt like a princess. And when she stood demurely along the wall of the extravagant ballroom, the thought of war seemed like a far-off dream.
A tap on her arm by the woman who’d escorted here this evening shook Andrea from her reverie. This was not a dream—she had a duty to perform. The touch was a signal to be vigilant, one of the many secret gestures they’d rehearsed together the last few days. The woman—a fellow spy who pretended to be her Aunt Adkins—had already introduced Andrea to a few of Richmond’s most distinguished residents. It was now up to Andrea to mingle and be observant, a duty that seemed quite tame compared to what she’d been through the past few weeks.
As Andrea approached a row of windows on the far side of the room, she noticed her reflection in the glass. The princess-like figure in the flowing green gown appeared so unreal and unfamiliar, Andrea doubted the capacity of her own eyes. Hair, that had at one time been bluntly sheared, was now curled and fashioned into ringlets that mimicked the latest fashion. Though her locks were still considered short by most standards, the style complemented what she had, giving an appearance of refinement and grace.
Andrea turned her head, certain she must be confusing herself with a feminine figure standing behind her. But the only person she found was a young Confederate officer who apparently thought she was taking a second look at him.
“Pardon me, miss.” He approached her then with a confident air. “The orchestra is about to start. May I be the first to request a dance?” The smartly-dressed man took her hand and led her toward the dance floor without bothering to wait for a reply.
Andrea stiffened at his boldness, but instantly forced herself to relax. By the time the music started, all the butterflies had taken flight, and she began to play her role with ease.
When the musicians took a short break, Andrea drew in a deep breath of satisfaction. The South Carolina accent she usually tried so hard to disguise had come back to her with little effort. The slow, measured, ladylike walk she had been forced to practice endlessly as a child almost felt natural. This was so much easier than riding through muck and mud. Why had Daniel and J.J. been so reluctant to allow her to come?
But her high spirits—and her courage—plunged when she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man sauntering through the door. No. It couldn’t be. Not in Richmond.
When he paused to survey the crowd, Andrea shifted her position to hide behind two young men. Accepting her move as interest, the well-dressed men struck up an animated conversation that Andrea had trouble following. She nodded her head as if understanding, but the fear and dread coursing through her body did not allow her to speak.
Hoping she’d been mistaken in her identification, Andrea glanced around the figure in front of her. The figure in the doorway was gone, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she caught sight of him again. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Captain Alexander Hunter stride boldly in her direction, the crowd parting before him with obvious reverence and admiration.
She turned away just as the orchestra began to tune, and was swept up in the surge of movement onto the dance floor. Carried along like a leaf in a fast-moving stream, Andrea continued to look over her shoulder, even as someone grabbed her hand and led her onto the dance floor.
As the music began, Andrea scanned the room behind her one last time, then exhaled a sigh of relief when the dark-haired officer did not reappear.
“Are you looking for someone?” Her partner pulled her to face him.
Andrea’s heart stopped beating as if snuffed out by a giant hand.
She slowly raised her graze from the impeccably polished knee boots, past the gray trousers and snug gray coat, and finally up to the steel-gray eyes. Her heart came to new life now, fluttering in her throat as if seeking the nearest way out.
“Uh-h, no. Well, yes.” Andrea stumbled over the words, shocked by Hunter’s sudden reappearance and shaken by the light touch of his iron hand. “Just trying to locate my…uh, aunt. And my dance card.” She looked down at the piece of paper, pretending to seek the name written there.
“Ah, yes, your Aunt Adkins,” Hunter drawled the name. “As for your dance card, I see no one here to contest my claim.”
The sound of his voice sent a shiver down Andrea’s spine, and the feel of his hand encircling her waist almost caused her to pant. Never had she felt such enormous physical strength. And when she rested her hand upon his arm, she stared at it, trying to convince herself she was not grasping a piece of steel.
Andrea raised her head slowly to meet Hunter’s gaze, but was sorry that she did. Those deep penetrating eyes she remembered so well from a distance were nothing compared to what she gazed into now. They were of an intensity so piercing she no longer doubted a story she’d heard from a Union soldier…That a single intimidating look from Hunter in the heat of battle could persuade his six-shooter to yield a seventh shot.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor.” Andrea surprised herself. Her voice didn’t shake. “I am—” She faltered. His stare overwhelmed her. She could not remember the name she had repeated at least a hundred times this night.
“Miss Maryann Marlow if my information is correct.” His tone was laced with confident sophistication, most unlike a guerrilla leader of his reputation—throwing Andrea even more off guard. “The honor is all mine, Miss Marlow. Captain Alexander Hunter, at your service.”
Andrea tried to look surprised and recover her composure. “Truly? The Captain Hunter?”
“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said coolly.
“’Surely everyone in this room knows your reputation and the gallant exploits of your command.” She managed to stifle the shiver that swept through her, but just saying the words was enough to make her skin crawl with revulsion. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, half of her afraid to look at him again, the other half knowing she had to.
When did it become so unbearably hot in here? And, why is he in Richmond? She dared not give herself away. “You are acquainted with my aunt?” she finally asked with the best smile she could muster.
“No, I’m only visiting Richmond. I’ve never had the pleasure.”
“But you knew her name.”
“Miss, every man in this room with eyes in his head knows that you are Miss Maryann Marlow, lately of Maryland, and that you are in Richmond visiting your Aunt Abigail Adkins.”
Andrea smiled, trying to appear relaxed. “I had no idea I was so popular.”
A nod of his head was his simple response as he led her expertly around the dance floor. His eyes, although focused over her head, revealed that his mind was alert and observant. She could tell he was aware of her every move.
Andrea’s heart began racing again like an out
of control racehorse. If he discovers my identity, will he kill me on the spot? Her gaze wandered down to his holster where he carried only one revolver tonight. Or will he wait until sunrise and hang me?
Clearing her throat, Andrea tried to sound more composed than she felt. “So, Captain, what brings you here? I was under the impression that a dance in which gunfire furnishes the music is more to your liking than a ball.”
“If I were a gentleman, I’d say I’m here to see all of the patriotic Virginians gathered together.” He looked disdainfully at the women along the edges of the room chattering like magpies.
Andrea smiled. “And since we can presume you are no gentleman—”
“Ah, you do know my reputation.” Hunter’s gaze remained moodily upon the crowd. “I suppose you could say I’m here scouting for enemy forces.”
“Here?” The words creaked out like a seldom-used door. “Tonight?”
“Spies.” He looked straight into her eyes. “There are those among us who are not as they appear.”
Andrea inhaled sharply. She assumed she had awakened no memory of their earlier encounters, but now she was not so sure. “I-I-I cannot imagine such a thing.”
Not wanting to look at his face again, and trying to keep her eyes from landing on the bulging biceps that lay beneath her hand, she tried instead to focus on imaginary objects in the air. But she could feel the heat of his eyes burning into her, could sense he was staring. Will the music never end? It seems like we’ve been dancing forever.
The brightly colored ball gowns and glowing candles reflected in the mirrors around her began to make Andrea dizzy. He who God has appointed for destruction may well make preparations for the fall. Those words of wisdom from her Mammy began to replay in her mind, try as she did to concentrate on something else.
Stop it, Andrea. You cannot fail. Not now.
Bit by bit she managed to push his fearsome reputation and ominous threats from her mind. Truthfully, he was not nearly the roguish-looking man she remembered. Shaved clean of the stubble that had shrouded his face when last they met, he appeared like a Virginian aristocrat. Andrea decided she could picture him as easily sitting on a throne as sitting on a horse, so courteous and polite did he seem tonight.
“So what brings you to Virginia, Miss Marlow?”
The way he looked directly into Andrea’s eyes gave her the uncomfortable feeling he was attempting to read her thoughts before she had the opportunity to lie about them.
“My aunt invited me to stay with her. As I’m sure you are aware, Maryland is quite, um, undecided about the war.”
“And you?” Hunter quickly asked.
Andrea blinked, not knowing his meaning.
“And you are decided about the war?”
“Oh, yes, quite.” She unconsciously bit the inside of her cheek so hard it bled. “I am loyal.”
Hunter did not appear to notice she did not say to whom her loyalty referred—at least he didn’t ask. “You and your aunt are close?”
“Yes, of course.” Andrea’s heart banged again as she tried to decide if she’d heard a trace of suspicion in his voice.
“So your visit will be a lengthy one?”
“So long as it is pleasant and agreeable, I believe I will stay.” His inquiries began to agitate Andrea. If he knew who she was, or suspected it, why didn’t’ he just say so? Her heart pulsed with new resolve to shield herself from his barrage of questions.
“Well, tell me,” he continued in a voice pregnant with arrogance, “in a state with such mixed loyalties as Maryland, how is it that you decided to cast your allegiance with the imperial South?”
Andrea’s heart pounded, but no longer with fear. Imperial South indeed! She suddenly felt the urge to tell him and all the regal rebels within earshot what she thought of the imperial South.
But remembering her promise to J.J., she suffered in silence, hoping her face was not red from the suppression of intense emotion. She answered his question with a question and did not lie. “Why Captain, how can you ask such a thing? I would not be in Richmond but for the Confederacy.”
“By necessity? Or choice?”
The feeling of loathing and aversion at having to tolerate his infuriating Southern pride became so strong that Andrea could no longer conceal it.
“Sir, is this an interrogation or a dance?” She cocked her head to one side and looked into his eyes defiantly. “Because had I been aware that your intent was a military grilling rather than the privilege of a waltz, I most certainly would have declined the honor.”
Andrea watched the corner of Hunter’s mouth turn up unexpectedly as he threw back his head and laughed. The effect of his emotional display knocked her off guard. She had never seen such an engaging smile radiate from a man before and never dreamed it possible from this one. The lifting of his lips revealed straight, white teeth, and exposed two small dimples that completely changed the look of his usually stern visage. And those eyes—those cool, stern eyes, now literally twinkled with amusement.
“I apologize. You were, however, forewarned that I am no gentleman.”
Hunter’s voice was warmer now, his face much less severe. But the smile quickly disappeared as if he was not accustomed to wearing it.
“I was beginning to wonder about your motives for dancing with me,” Andrea said boldly. “To my knowledge, I’ve asked you to divulge no military secrets. Yet you question me as if I have something to hide.”
“On the contrary,” he said quickly, his expression one of faint amusement. “It’s my understanding that you are new to Richmond, and I wanted to make you feel welcome.”
“Feel welcome?” Andrea gave him a coquettish smile. “Sir, if that was your intent, may I say without fear of retribution that you have failed miserably?”
She felt his hand tighten somewhat on her waist.
“I regret that I sometimes forget my manners.” The look on his face was somewhat contrite. “But you must understand that I am not often in the company of anyone but my men.”
Andrea succeeded in stifling a laugh, since she was in the same predicament. “Your apology is accepted as it sounded sincere, but I am somewhat surprised that you conceive it your duty to make the young ladies of Richmond feel welcome.”
“Only in some cases,” he said smoothly. “In this particular case, not my duty, my privilege.”
Andrea felt the color rise in her cheeks. She could feel her resolve almost melt away at the sound of his rich, persuasive voice. She forced herself to remember who he was.
“I so seldom attend events of this nature, I merely wanted to dance with the belle of the ball,” he continued. “Be assured, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Andrea laughed inwardly at his last statement, but responded to the former one. “Me? The belle of the ball? You know what they say about flatterers, don’t you?”
“No.” He looked down at her curiously. “What would that be?”
“Flatterers look like friends, as wolves like dogs.”
Hunter’s face broke once again into a smile. Well, not quite a smile. Only one side of his mouth took part this time in a half-cocked grin that was somehow even more captivating than the previous one. “Perhaps in Maryland,” he finally answered. “But Virginian women love to be flattered.”
“Is that why they all know you so well?” Andrea nodded toward the women staring with open admiration at their dashing hero. “It would appear my notoriety among the men is matched only by yours among the ladies in the room tonight.”
Hunter shook his head and locked his eyes on hers. For a moment she wondered why she had thought them so frightening. They were nothing but sparkling and brilliant and full of expression now.
“The ladies here, I can assure you, are familiar only with my reputation on the battlefield.”
Chapter 33
Wilt thou set eyes upon that which is not?
– Proverbs, 23:5
Captain Alexander Hunter felt strangely content matching wits wit
h his new dance partner, as opposed to the endless banter with which he had been deluged the rest of the evening. Most of the women in the room seemed utterly devoid of intelligent thought, yet amused themselves by buzzing into his business and annoying him like so many bothersome bees. To converse with a woman whose intellectual capabilities were equal to the task was enjoyable. But something about this young stranger troubled him.
For one, her eyes revealed a strong suggestion of cleverness, mixed now and again with something that definitely resembled contempt. He studied the vibrant, green orbs once more and tried to decipher what lay in their depths.
Although they appeared calm and serious in their expression at the moment, something within them gave him the impression they could erupt into flames if driven to anger or excitement. He sensed, even if he could not see, a soul with deep feeling. He wondered what lay hidden beneath the mask.
“Do not accept as fact what in fact is not,” his grandfather had told him once in reference to horseflesh. But even with the warning, Hunter did not envision that the gown that swished so alluringly against his legs concealed muscles that were nearly as strong as his own. That they could, in spite of fatigue and fear, carry their owner into streams, and even bareback over stone walls, if circumstances required.
“Are you certain we’ve never met before? You seem strangely familiar to me.”
His partner laughed a bit nervously. “I’m certain that any encounter with you would be inexorably branded in my mind.”
Hunter pondered her response, wondering if she had really answered his query.
“Likely, you will wish to forget me,” she said then as if to prevent him from mulling over the statement. “You would perhaps find that I am overconfident and overbearing.”
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 15