“Victory? He’ll kill Union soldiers!”
Desdemona harrumphed scornfully. “Conscripts, not true believers in a cause. But our Southern boys can truly fight, especially with the rifles I sent them.”
“Rifles?” Viola choked. Visions crowded in on her, of Father clutching his shoulder as blood spurted between his fingers. Of Hal, pale in death as he sprawled across his quarterdeck, a single bullet wound in his temple. “Mother, what if one of those guns shoots Hal or Father?”
Desdemona hesitated for the first time, but quickly recovered. “Impossible. I bought those rifles last summer in New York and had them delivered directly to the right people in Richmond.”
Viola flinched. All the time they’d been in New York, she’d thought Desdemona was thinking about her new grandson, not killing people.
“Besides,” Desdemona continued, “Richard and Hal understand the risks. We simply fight on opposite sides. Someone in this family must ensure we come out on the winning side and keep our property.”
Viola shuddered and buried her face in her hands. Tears welled up until they overflowed down her cheeks. “How could you do this?” she choked. “What will happen if Hal and Father discover you betrayed them?”
“They will never know because neither of us will ever tell them.”
Viola cast an incredulous glance at her mother. “You’re mad.”
“Am I wrong? Will you speak of this to them?”
“No,” Viola whispered, acknowledging the brutal truth. Father’s sanity might survive his wife’s betrayal, but Hal? How could she tell him their own mother had risked his life?
The front doorbell rang, startling them both. Viola’s heart stopped beating, while Desdemona turned white.
Molly tapped lightly on the kitchen door, then came through into the hallway.
“Shall I say you’re at home to callers, Mrs. Lindsay?” she asked calmly, ignoring Viola’s tear-stained face.
“I am not at home but my daughter is. I’ll be in my room.” Desdemona ran upstairs faster than she’d come down.
A man pounded heavily on the door. Viola’s stomach dived for her boots. She gripped a baluster, willing the dizziness to recede.
“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough for callers, Miss Viola?” Molly questioned in a much warmer tone than she’d used for the senior lady of the house.
Viola nodded and released the wooden prop to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes, of course.”
Molly walked slowly to the front door and opened it deliberately, catching the Union officer with his fist raised to knock again. Captain Edward Ross, with a half dozen soldiers behind him. Viola shook and fought to compose herself.
“I’ve come to speak to Miss Lindsay,” he announced, looking past Molly. Five and a half feet of stolidity, he’d done well at Shiloh. Since then, he’d occupied himself, so to speak, commanding the guards at the big shipyards. He came from a poor family in Pittsburgh and reeked of whisky at any time of day. Viola had always avoided him, despite his frequent attempts to court her and flatter her mother.
“Yes, Captain, I am here. What can we do for you?”
“May I speak to you privately, Miss Lindsay?”
Viola gulped but nodded. “In the library.”
Leaving the other soldiers outside the house, Ross shut the library door with an ominous thud, turned to Viola, and held out his hand. A single button gleamed in the center.
Viola’s knees went weak. She held herself upright by sheer force of will.
Ross’s eyes never left her face. He smiled slowly, like a lion surveying an injured gazelle.
Viola wished she’d eaten something, anything, before going to Christmas Mass. Perhaps nausea wouldn’t be so strong if she had a full stomach.
“I see you recognize it.”
“What do you want?” Viola disdained beating around the bush. She’d rather get this over with as fast as possible.
“Mrs. Lindsay’s the one who got him out, isn’t she?”
“I cannot answer that.”
“You’re no hand at lying. I can see the truth in your eyes.”
“What do you want?”
He ignored her question as he smirked down at her. “I can cover it up. Nobody will ever know that fancy reb general was here.”
“How?”
Ross laughed, the sound a mockery of honor and duty to his country. “How doesn’t matter.”
“What if the authorities suspect?”
“They can suspect all they like, but nobody will touch Captain Richard Lindsay’s son-in-law.”
“No!”
“Oh yes. You’re going to marry me and we’re going to have a real fine life together, thanks to your money.”
“What if there’s no dowry? You must know Captain Lindsay is not fond of you,” Viola stammered. Her father had cut Ross dead at church the one time they’d met.
“He’ll come around. No man’s going to cast off his little daughter. I’ve already picked out where we’ll build our house.”
“He is not known for letting sentimentality guide him,” Viola insisted desperately, hoping for a way to escape Ross’s blackmail.
“He’ll give us the money because you’ll make sure of it. Otherwise, I’ll tell him about his wife’s treason.”
“Dear God Almighty,” Viola breathed.
“I’m glad you finally see the inevitability of our union, my dear.”
The next four months had been a long series of fights, both in writing and in person, whenever a Lindsay male visited Cincinnati. Viola had insisted on marrying Ross but she’d never said why. She simply couldn’t bring herself to claim love for Ross, or even a pretense of infatuation.
Finally Ross had set a wedding date, confident her father would change his mind once they were married. He’d been wrong: Father had disinherited her on the same day, swearing he’d never speak to Captain or Mrs. Ross. Hal had done the same, cutting off all contact with her.
Ross had been furious. He’d sworn he’d be richer than her father was, even if he had to dig gold out of the ground to do it. Viola’s decision to marry Ross was privately reinforced by Lincoln’s assassination and the public anger toward all traitors. Her only consolation in the following years was that Hal didn’t know of their mother’s treachery.
After tasting the fruit of her mother’s lies, Viola could hold to William Donovan’s honesty for three months. She turned her attention back to adding up the tally sheets and deliberately lost herself in contemplation of how many barrels of beans were currently in the depot.
She refused to consider the invoices and letters awaiting filing on the shelf next to her desk. They came from nearly every state and territory in the Union, damning evidence of how widespread Donovan & Sons’ connections were. And just how much William sought money.
“Mrs. Ross?” William’s broad shoulders blocked sight of the corrals beyond the doorway as he stepped into the office. “Are you daydreaming?”
“Of course not,” Viola answered automatically. “I’ve almost finished accounting for the gunpowder barrels.”
“Are you sure about that?” He shut the door behind him. He’d shed his jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. He was dusty and sweaty and completely masculine, far more interesting than any proper businessman. A single finger pushed his hat back on his head. His eyes were very intent on her. “You look like an impertinent clerk to me.”
Something clenched deep inside her core at the look in his eyes. She remembered his words about playing games, in a manner similar to a pageant. This must be what he wanted now. Viola tried to think of what an uppity employee might do.
“Mr. Donovan,” she began, as superciliously as possible, “your account books are intolerable.”
His eyes heated while his mouth twitched, then firmed. Encouraged, Viola went on.
“You, sir, must take immediate steps to correct this situation, before I am forced to count barrels myself.” She tilted her nose in the air.
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br /> “I must do something?” he drawled. “I am your employer and you are the one who must do as I say.”
“Impossible, Mr. Donovan.” Viola sniffed and cast a hopeful glance at his trousers. The ridge behind his fly was most pronounced. “You are the one who must act and should do so immediately.”
William vaulted the desk. He grabbed Viola’s hands and held them over her head. She was intensely aware of his strength and yet she felt free to enjoy herself. She was suddenly glad she’d practiced those exercises earlier.
“You are most definitely an impertinent clerk,” he drawled, more casually than the tight grip of his hand around her wrists indicated. “What should I do with you? I warn you, further insolence would warrant a heavier punishment.”
Viola’s ears pricked up. “Why, you…you brute,” she tried a phrase as she twisted away halfheartedly. He leaned against her a bit closer, bracing his free hand on the other side of her head. His wonderful scent enveloped her and her breasts promptly firmed in response.
“Such resistance to my will,” he clucked, and circled his hips against her. Somehow the ridge inside his trousers seemed larger than before. “Mrs. Ross, have you any idea of how foul language could add to your punishment?”
Her eyes widened. In six years around miners and teamsters, she’d heard a great many words unworthy of a church hall. Perhaps he wanted to hear some of those.
She fought him, kicking his shins and cursing him in the foulest terms she knew, even inventing a few phrases. Her struggles didn’t harm him, of course, especially when muffled by her skirts. Finally, he pressed her hard against the wall and bracketed her with his big body.
She could feel every inch of him, from the hard muscle in his chest and thighs, to the fierce erection pressed against her belly.
Words failed her. Her pussy was wet and aching, desperate for him.
He pushed his hips against her. “You are an uppity female, Mrs. Ross. Your behavior demands retribution.”
“No,” she gasped, forcing her eyes to stay open. She needed a kiss so badly. Dew slipped down her thigh.
“Little liar. Your nipples are begging for my touch.” His free hand stroked up her side and teased her breast.
Viola moaned at the echoing pulse in her loins. “Yes, Mr. Donovan.”
“Say my name, as I taught you.”
“William.”
He took the final syllable from her with a kiss, his mouth plundering hers like Stuart’s cavalry. She met him fiercely, angry at him for delaying the passion he evoked so effortlessly. He kneaded her breast until she arched against him, groaning.
William pulled his head back and yanked her skirts up, watching her with a feral stare that burned her veins. She shuddered. Slowly, deliberately, he thrust his leg between hers. The rough wool of his trousers rubbed her aching folds through her fine linen drawers, evoking more dew.
“Are you sorry for your behavior, little clerk?”
“No.” And indeed she was not. She’d speak a few pretty phrases again if he wished, just to reap this reward.
He rocked her hips against him, sensitizing her everywhere but not satisfying her. Heat lanced from her breasts to her womb. Her body craved rapture from this man, immediately.
Viola moaned, her eyelids drooping shut.
“Apologize,” he repeated. “Speak the words or you’ll get nothing further from me.”
“Mr. Donovan, please.” Viola knew that if he’d just shift his leg a bit, he’d rub her clit and she’d gain that tantalizing orgasm.
“Say it!”
“I regret…” She never uttered the final word, nothing. She’d do this again as soon as she had the chance.
His cock slammed into her, finding her through the slit in her drawers. He rode her hard, slamming her against the wall.
Viola sobbed with pleasure, uncaring of any listeners. Her channel gripped and released his cock, using the muscles he’d trained. And all the while, he watched her, sapphire eyes intent and glittering as he grunted with exertion. Their agonized breathing and the wet, solid slaps of their bodies were the only sounds in the small room.
Climax approached. She bit his shoulder hard, like a wildcat being covered by her mate. Her teeth tightened on his clothing’s wool and linen and clenched around his shoulder’s hard muscle.
He stiffened in surprise. Then he threw his head back and growled like a cougar as he climaxed. Answering rapture shook her body to the bone.
Afterwards, Viola hid her face against his shoulder while he cuddled her in his big chair.
Somehow he’d managed to don a condom without her knowledge. She wondered drowsily, in satisfaction’s lazy aftermath, what it would be like to feel his seed flooding her womb or to carry his child under her heart.
She closed her eyes at the thought and didn’t speak.
Chapter Ten
Viola finished tying her bonnet strings and smiled at William. Much as she enjoyed being near William and his men, she also hated the continual reminders of just how big Donovan & Sons’ empire was. “Yes, I’m ready to leave, Mr. Donovan.”
She’d been very busy for all of the two days she’d worked with him. She hadn’t had a chance to slip off to the stables to see his famous stallion, Saladin. Mules worked very well for heavy freighting, but there was nothing like a really good horse. She’d enjoy seeing Saladin close enough to compare him to her grandfather’s prized Kentucky Thoroughbreds. If she had time alone with him, she might whisper a few words about her beloved Muffin, the mare she’d left behind in Cincinnati when she married.
Lost in thoughts of Muffin, it was several minutes before she realized they were walking up Main Street. Her hand tightened convulsively on William’s arm. He patted it and glanced down at her. “Relax, Mrs. Ross, and trust me.”
She gulped, then nodded. No matter what social penalties she encountered, she had to believe he’d protect her. She did hope they didn’t encounter any of the respectable ladies; masculine techniques might not work well against the darts thrown by those women.
Then she realized something else. “Mr. Donovan, we’re walking on the south side of the street. Shouldn’t we be on the north side?”
“Certainly not.” His voice was firm, as were his footsteps and the thud of Evans’s boots behind them.
“But I’m a…” she fumbled for words but couldn’t find one to express what she’d become. “I’m not a respectable woman,” she managed. “I should appear only on the north side.”
“No. You’re a woman who deserves every possible courtesy. You’ll stay on this side if I have to carry you.”
“Mr. Donovan, that would be disgraceful,” Viola exclaimed.
“Then don’t make me do it.”
Viola opened and closed her mouth several times without thinking of a counterargument. Finally she set her jaw and sailed up the street beside him, trying to pretend she was doing nothing remarkable.
A man walked out into the street ahead of them and waited there, squinting against the setting sun. Three other men followed him but remained on the boardwalk. Lennox and his three hoodlums from New York, the ones he’d sworn would keep Rio Piedras’s saloons quiet.
“Bloody hell,” muttered William. “Where are the lads, Evans?”
“A few steps back,” answered Evans as he stepped up on the other side of Viola. “What is the cur up to now?”
“Looks like we’ll find out.”
They stopped abreast of Lennox, facing him from the boardwalk, and a few paces away from his thugs. “Lennox,” William acknowledged.
“Donovan. Mrs. Ross.” He bowed to Viola, who nodded coldly. The atmosphere was as chilly as if they stood at Hudson Bay, rather than in the desert. “May I have the favor of a few words with you, Mrs. Ross?”
She hesitated, but surely there was nothing he could do to her in the middle of a public street. “One minute then, Mr. Lennox.”
She walked into Main Street, careful to stay out of Lennox’s reach. He was carrying neither
sword stick or Colt. Still, she didn’t trust him. He could have a pocket gun or intend to snatch her.
Lennox produced a bouquet of red roses from behind his back and offered it to Viola. She shook her head and stepped back, wary of being lured closer. “What do you want, Mr. Lennox?”
His face flushed scarlet at her refusal, but his voice was civil, too much so, when he spoke. “Mrs. Ross, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I am prepared to overlook your dalliance with that peasant and give you the protection of my name.”
“As I have said before on numerous occasions, I will never marry you. Do you have anything else to discuss?”
“You little bitch, don’t you understand I’m offering to rescue you?” he hissed, his eyes sliding behind her. “You should be grateful I’ve condescended to offer the Lennox name to a slut like yourself.”
“Then keep it for someone else who’ll appreciate it as you do,” Viola snapped back at him. “I myself would rather be dead than your wife.”
“Very well then, go hide behind your Irish scum for now. You’ll learn to mind your manners when you’re my bride.”
Viola snorted. “When pigs fly. Good day, Mr. Lennox.” She marched back to the men waiting on the boardwalk. She didn’t consider his threats to be idle ones, but she’d never let that murderer know she was frightened of him.
“Mr. Donovan, shall we continue on our way?”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
She accepted William’s arm and he nodded to Lennox, still standing in the street holding the red roses. Lennox’s face flushed darker as his chin came up. He made no other move, but his three thugs stepped off the boardwalk, leaving it clear for Viola and her escort.
Viola was still shivering when they reached the compound, shaken by the venom and determination in Lennox’s voice. She’d hoped becoming a woman of ill repute would eliminate Lennox’s interest in her, given his obsessive family pride. Why on earth was he so set on marrying her?
William hugged her tight as they entered his bedroom. She clung to him, gratefully absorbing his warmth and strength. “You were very brave, sweetheart, facing him like that.”
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