Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

Silky picked up the tiny spoon, examining it. "What is this for?" she inquired, turning it over in her palm. "It looks like a toy."

  Taggart's expression softened as if she were an inquisitive child. "It's a demitasse spoon," he answered, spilling a tiny bit of precious sugar into his cup.

  Silky laughed, following his example. "Well, if that doesn't beat all. A little spoon just for these little cups," she exclaimed, sipping the bitter brew. Amusement shone in his eyes, and she wondered what she'd said that was so funny.

  "Demitasse means half-cup in French."

  "Lordamercy," she said wonderingly, setting down her tiny cup. "Why don't they give us a whole cup? This little taste is just enough to make a person mad!"

  Taggart laughed and she studied his handsome face, amazed at his knowledge. If she'd ever had a doubt that he was an aristocrat, she had none now. He'd been raised to know the right fork to use and the right wine to orderand could even speak French. No telling what else he knew. He must have been brought up like a prince of the blood.

  After she'd finished her coffee, she captured his eyes, yearning to know how he'd acquired all his social graces.

  "Tell me about your days before West Point," she ventured. "What was it like growing up in Norfolk?"

  Taggart's expression softened. "I grew up in one of those old Georgian mansions," he answered, his voice deep with emotion. "I can still remember how cool and shadowy it felt when I'd walk into the parlor as a boy, and how the study held the scent of leather-bound books." Pain darkened his eyes. ''I scarcely have a memory of my mothershe died when I was very young. Sometimes I can almost recall the touch of her hand or the scent of her hair ... then it's gone." Hard lines streaking his brow, he leaned back in his chair. "My father never remarried. For all practical purposes his brick factory is his life."

  Unease rose in Silky as she considered the differences in their backgrounds. Like her, he'd grown up without a mother, but he'd been well educated and had all that money could buy. How simple and awkward she must appear to him. "You're wealthy, very wealthy, aren't you?" she asked, a blush stinging her cheeks.

  Taggart rattled his cup down. "I suppose so," he conceded. He inclined his head, then stole a quick glance at her. "One day I'll inherit a great fortune, but I'd rather inherit my father's goodwill." He stared straight ahead for a moment before finally returning his attention to her. "You see, we never got along."

  "But why?" she blurted out, honestly surprised.

  Taggart tossed his napkin on the table. "He wants me to take his place when he's gone. He's told me that since I was a child." A humorless smile moved over his lips. "I postponed his wishes by going to West Point and starting a military career. Everything went well for a while; then like everyone else I got caught up in the war."

  She said nothing, but just listened, remembering that on the way to Richmond he'd told her his dream was to own land, a confession that had astonished her mightily.

  "Someday I hope my father and I can see eye to eye on something," he continued, his face hardening with frustration. "I'd like to change things ... build a bridge between us." He drained his wineglass, then set it down solidly. "Sometimes I think all his money only gets in the way."

  "There are many ways of being rich, you know," Silky remarked quietly, tracing the rim of her wineglass.

  He ran his gaze over her. "Yes, and I'd say having a lot of money is one of the poorest."

  Silky remembered her happy childhood, understanding what he meant. "Pa couldn't give Daniel and me much, but he gave us the will to fight. And he loved us with all his heartand we loved him, too."

  Taggart clasped her hand, making her skin glow with the warmth of his touch. His eyes glistened with understanding and his lips curved into a smile that melted her heart. "Then you're rich indeedmuch richer than I," he remarked warmly.

  "Step, slide, and step. Step, slide, and step," Taggart repeated as he danced Silky about her bedroom three evenings later. A late-night affair was being held in the ballroom below, and the strains of a lush waltz seeped through the floor, filling the chamber with soft, muffled music.

  Overwhelmed that she was actually waltzing, Silky responded to his smooth, powerful moves, amazed that such a large man could be so graceful. Lost in the joy of the moment, she looked at his pleased face, stirred by his manly appearance. They'd been dancing a long time, and he looked sightly rumpled, his collar button undone, his black tie dangling loosely about his neck. He'd taken off his jacket, revealing his wine-colored embroidered vest, rolled-up sleeves, and muscled forearms. A cluster of damp curls clung to his forehead and a satisfied smile touched his lips as he gazed down at her with twinkling eyes.

  "So this is all it is?" she asked, enjoying the feel of his warm hand spread over her back. "Why, it's just the same thing over and over again."

  He nodded his head. "Yes, see how simple it is?"

  How wonderful it was to feel his strong arm about her, to be swept smoothly about the floor as if she weighed no more than a flower. He pulled her closer, and gradually a deliciously sensual feeling swelled within her, prompting her to follow his lead until they danced as one. Just when she thought she knew all there was about waltzing, he negotiated a reverse and she made a misstep. "Oh, wait," she cried, embarrassed. "Show me that again."

  Taggart whirled her about the bedroom again, demonstrating another reverse.

  "Say, I like that move." She chuckled, thrilled to learn another step. "Let's do it again."

  "We will later, but right now I'm going to show you something else," he responded, sweeping her into a low dip.

  Silky thought the maneuver so amusing she started laughing and couldn't stop. "Do people really dance like that?" she gasped, trying to get her breath.

  "All the time," he answered, leading her through another dip.

  They waltzed for a while longer; then the music stopped, and from the ballroom below, Silky heard light applause and faint conversation. She eased away and, smiling, pushed back her damp hair. "Where in the world did you learn all these steps?"

  "West Point. It's one of the requirements of an officer and a gentleman, ma'am," he replied, making a gallant bow that started her laughing all over again. They'd had a good meal, several drinks, and were both in a wonderful mood. It was one of those rare times in life when for a few hours everything seemed fine and troubles seemed far away.

  Silky heard the orchestra striking up another piece and she slipped into the waltz position. "That was fun," she exclaimed, excited that she was easily catching on. "Let's waltz some more."

  Taggart shook his head. "No, we can't waltz to this one."

  "Why, for heaven's sake?"

  "Because it's a polka. Just listen."

  Silky cocked her head, liking the lively music even better than the waltz. Why, this sounded like one of the square dances she'd done back in Sweet Gum Hollow, she decided, her spirits soaring even higher. "This has some fire to it." She laughed. "Show me how to polka."

  Taggart took her around the floor and she watched his swiftly moving feet, trying to follow his steps. "No, this one is too fast," she finally conceded, breaking away with a giggle. "I'll have to watch for a while."

  "Fine, but who am I going to dance with?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he spotted one of her gowns draped over the back of a chair. With a devilish grin, he picked it up and started dancing to the polka, holding the gown in his arms. He danced with a solemn look, once even putting his hand over his heart as if he were in love. Silky knew he was doing it to amuse her, and he looked so funny swirling the gown about that laugh she did, until tears filled her eyes.

  "Stop," she ordered, sinking to the bed. She lay back and covered her eyes with a spread hand. "You're too funny. I can't look at you anymore."

  Laughing along with her, he tossed the gown aside, then fell on the bed beside her, his expression shining with mirth. "Thinnest girl I ever took around the floor. She couldn't weigh over five pounds," he remarked with a completely strai
ght face. She giggled and he entwined his hand into her fanned-out hair, letting a lock slide between his fingers. "Having a good time?" he asked softly.

  "The best," she murmured, her heart tripping a little faster.

  Silky noticed his eyes becoming a deeper blue, smoldering with an erotic warmth that made her breath catch in her throat. Gently he cupped her face, and with a low groan he kissed her, crushing her against him with his free arm. At his touch, a sweetness rose within her and shot through her veins, promising a heady pleasure that was hard to resist. He kissed her with fiery urgency, and she clung to him, running her palms over the hard, corded muscles of his back. She could smell his musty scent wafting over her, and feel his thudding heart, and she went all soft and liquid inside, unable to deny him.

  At last he released her to nuzzle her ear, his soft breath upon her cheek. "I think we'll go on to another lesson now," he murmured, fluttering kisses down her throat and working his way to the tops of her breasts, which swelled from her low-cut gown.

  He lifted his head, casting her a playful look, and Silky trailed her fingers through his crisp black hair, reveling in the spark of fire in his eyes. "I have a feeling," she drawled softly, "that I've had this lesson several times before."

  The next morning Silky sat up in bed and watched Taggart slip into his robin's-egg-blue watered-silk vest and button it. She loved the way they'd fallen asleep last night, the way he'd snuggled her back against his chest, and thrown his arm over her, cupping her breast. Even now a deep, languorous feeling coursed through her body, and there was a stirring warmth between her legs, reminding her of their passionate lovemaking. But he was leaving, she thought with a drowsy rush of depression, just when she wanted to be with him so much.

  Getting out of the warm bed, she reached for her pink silk wrapper. "Where are you going today?" she asked, slipping into the garment. As she tied the wrapper about her, she noticed he'd already shrugged on a finely tailored jacket that made his powerful shoulders look wider than ever. She walked to him and studied his implacable face, wondering if there was any way to pry the information from him. "You're going to Petersburg, aren't you?" she inquired, tracing her fingers over his determined square jaw. "That's where you went day before yesterday, too, wasn't it?"

  His eyes danced with amusement. "You're an insistent little thing, aren't you? Can't a man be about his business without a daily quizzing from you?" Interest flickering in his eyes, he surveyed her thoughtfully. "And just why do you think I'm going to Petersburg, anyway?"

  She crossed her arms, very pleased with herself. "Oh, I have my ways," she answered, sashaying away, then turning and playfully gazing at him through her lashes.

  He narrowed his eyes, but she was glad to see he'd tempered his stern look with a roguish smile. "Your ways?" he echoed, closing the distance between them and gathering her in his arms. He raised his brows inquiringly. "And just what do you mean by that, you sly minx?"

  She pressed her lips together; then, so pleased with her cunning she couldn't keep it a secret, she confessed, "I asked one of the carriage drivers in front of the hotel where you might be goingwhat destination would take you away early in the morning, and not let you return until seven in the evening with red mud on the bottom of your boots."

  Taggart's eyes focused intently on her.

  "He said Petersburgtold me there was a heap of red mud down there."

  He shot her a commanding look. "I can't confirm or deny your suspicions, Miss Pinkerton, but you must promise me, promise me with everything you hold sacred, you won't tell anyone thisnot a soul."

  "Yes, of course. How long will you be able to stay with me here in Richmond?" Silky asked, wondering why she could never completely pin him down on the length of time he would be in the area.

  Taggart heaved a great sigh. "That's something you don't need to worry about. Probably as long as Daniel is in the hospital." His tone grew more serious by the second. "But if you value what I'm doing for the Confederacy, you must say nothing." He ran his hands over her shoulders and riveted his gaze on her as if to emphasize his words. "Do you understand? Not a word."

  There was a moody look on his face, and Silky nodded. He really looked stern now. There wasn't a spark of playfulness about him; therefore she was sure she'd guessed where he was going. How wonderful it was not to worry about him suddenly traveling to another part of the South and leaving her longing for him. "Yes, I understand," she whispered, her fiery loyalty to the Confederacy making his mission a sacred cause to her as well.

  "I'm glad that's settled," he replied. He smoothed his hands over her arms and released a ragged breath.

  He walked away, but she followed after him, grasping his arm again. "Can't you stay longer this morning? You haven't eaten breakfast."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "You could visit Daniel with me." She laughed lightly. "After Dr. Cooke's dinner he has some special friend he wants me to meet. He won't tell me who it is. Says he wants it to be a surprise. Can you imagine that?" Determined to delay him, she smiled and suggested, "We could dance some more. We"

  "No," he interrupted. He stared down at her with a distinct hardening of his face, then swept his hat from a console and placed it on his head. "I must go now." He moved away, then mined and scanned her, a hint of annoyance in his gaze. "I have work to dopeople depending on me." There was a suggestion of disapproval in his tone that aroused her anxiety, and a troubled silence stretched between them. "Surely you must understand," he added, giving her a last look of regret before he left the room.

  Silky heard his footsteps fading away, and she ran to the window that overlooked an area where carriages waited for customers. Moments later she saw him stride to a hackney, speak with the driver, then duck into the carriage and slam the door.

  How she missed himlonged to be near his side this very second. So many questions rattled about in her head. What was he really doing down at Petersburg, and just what did his mission for the Confederacy entail? If she only had a thinking place here, like the one in the mountains, she might be able to figure everything out, she decided, gnawing her bottom lip.

  Brimming with questions, she ruefully watched the hackney leave the hotel and roll toward the railroad station. Vaguely disturbed, but not completely understanding why, she watched it with her heart as well as her eyes until she could see it no more.

  The sound of clopping hooves penetrated the carriage as Taggart leaned against the seat, his mind troubled. He'd already made his first trip to the Petersburg line, presenting himself just as he had in Richmond. In one sense, things were going fine. He'd made friends with a few of the Reb officers and sergeants, all people who could help him and keep him informed. But there was still so much to do, so many places to see on the long line of trenches and fortifications. And things were piling up on him, weighing him down.

  There was the problem of meeting Caroline Willmott. At this point, all he knew was that she was a dark-eyed beauty who lived by herself in a fashionable section of east Richmond known as Church Hill. Somehow he must make the acquaintance of this important lady in a way that would not reveal her loyalties to the Union or endanger her in any way.

  Then there was that damn dream about Ned that kept disturbing his sleep. He'd had it again just last night, and woke up with the same feeling of despair and desperation. Would the dream never stop? Would the troubling fantasy never leave him in peace?

  Most of all there was Silky. Somehow he had to find a way to make her understand he must keep his professional life separate from their intimate moments together. Since he would probably be with her until spring, when he hoped the war would end, that would be particularly difficult. Even now he thought of her inquisitive gaze and insightful questions and wondered if staying with her was hurting his mission more than helping it. How sharp she was, noticing a tiny bit of red mud on his boots. Now that she knew he was going to Petersburg, she would undoubtedly ask him even more questionsquestions he must refuse to answer, for he was just begi
nning to ferret out what the Confederate command was planning for the months ahead.

  As far as making love to her, he'd accepted the fact that she was so tempting, so fetching, there was no way he could resist her, even though he knew it would be best if he did. But what red-blooded man could? he wondered, remembering her soft auburn hair, those challenging black-lashed eyes, and those satiny lips always waiting to be kissed. Even now the memory of the night of love they'd just shared stirred his passion anew, making him anticipate the night to come.

  The carriage stopped at the railroad station, and he got out and paid the driver. The sound of the chugging engines and shrieking whistles in his ears, he tried to clear his mind of everything but his work. His excitement built at the challenge before him. Surrounded by men in Confederate gray, he walked toward the Petersburg train, knowing one false step on his part could lead to tragedy.

  Nine days after she'd begun her lady lessons, Silky awoke to the sound of rattling dishes. Still half asleep, she struggled for consciousness, thinking it was too early for Delcie to arrive. Slowly pushing herself up in bed, she rubbed her eyes, and through a bleary gaze saw Taggart, tall, handsome, and freshly shaved, approaching her carrying a tray. His eyes danced with life. Even at this early hour, he was dressed in trim tobacco-brown trousers, a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and another beautifully embroidered vest, this one of cream-colored satin.

  With a blink of surprise, she saw the tray contained cups and saucers, a silver pot of coffee, and a small cake free of icing but drizzled with syrup and decorated with pecans.

  Taggart placed the tray on a bedside table, then sank down on the mattress to scoop her into his arms. "Good morning, Fancy Pants," he murmured, the scent of his spicy shaving cologne pouring over her. "Time to get up and eat a slice of your graduation cake."

  "Graduation cake?" she rasped, her voice still thick with sleep. "What am I graduating from?"

  "Your lady lessons," he announced, elevating a dark brow. "Tomorrow evening is Dr. Cooke's party, so for you this is graduation day."