Destiny's Temptress

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Historical Romance

Synopsis

Soul-stirring romance and sweeping passion make the award-winning historical novels of Janelle Taylor unforgettable. And her bestselling tradition continues in Destiny's Temptress, as a beautiful Union spy discovers hidden desire in a rebel soldier's forbidden embrace.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 548

Sample

Washington

August 1864

Shannon Greenleaf thought she understood the risks involved in her attempt to sneak into the White House near midnight to speak privately with President Abraham Lincoln. For days she had been denied a meeting with him, and she doubted that her written messages pleading for a short conference had reached his busy hands. As a loyal Unionist, she felt she deserved a show of manners and consideration. She was fatigued and angered at being put off on this crucial matter, for both her money and her patience had worn thin. It was time for desperate and clever action, and Shannon was bold enough to take them.

To facilitate swift movement and concealment, the nineteen-year-old Georgian had dressed in dark blue male attire that almost matched her eyes. She had twisted and stuffed her long red hair beneath a felt hat, then blackened her ivory face and hands with soot. And in order not to pose a threat to Lincoln, she was not carrying a weapon.

Shannon had observed the massive white structure for several hours, knowing that somehow she would have to reach the second floor. By now, she was familiar with the guards’ patterns and felt she could slip past them, but she still had one major problem to surmount. She would have to make a rapid and stealthful entry.

The windows on the first floor had been closed and locked at dusk. Those open on the second floor were inaccessible. Four third-story windows offered hope and excitement. According to what she had learned, the third floor contained servants’ quarters and guest rooms. Yet only one of the four had remained dark throughout her vigil.

Waiting until the sentry had passed, Shannon whispered a prayer and raced behind the shrubs near the eastern side of the building. There was no time for delay. She removed her boots and hid them beneath the bushes, then, with silent thanks for the numerous days she had played tomboy with her brothers and for the countless hours of forest training she had undergone with Hawke—she deftly began climbing a sprawling Magnolia. She gingerly straddled a selected bough and, tightly grasping both sides of it between shaky hands, she lifted her hips and slid her body forward, repeating the process many times as she gradually inched herself along its surface.

Tonight her anxiety hampered her usual skill and confidence. A splintered nub from a broken limb snared her pants and slowed her progress as she stopped to untangle herself. Each time she encountered an offshoot, she would cautiously raise that leg and pass it over the obstacle. She was acutely aware that her daring plot was fraught with many perils—including that of being shot before she could reveal her identity or motive. Inwardly, she cursed the full moon above her, even though its light allowed her to climb more easily.

Shannon was compelled to cease all movement as the sentry made his next round, despite her precarious position. Within a few feet of the tree, the guard halted and leaned against the building while he lit a cigar and leisurely smoked it. To retain her stability, Shannon squeezed her quivering thighs around the bough supporting her, locked her ankles together, and clung desperately to the bark surface with her hands. She kept warning herself not to tremble or disturb her balance and she was almost afraid to breathe, lest the erratic sound be overheard and reveal her presence.

The Southern beauty knew she must succeed. This war had stolen too much from her. Her father and oldest brother were dead, and her other two brothers were missing. Corry could be dead, or dying; Hawke had vanished years ago. As she waited for the sentry to leave, her troubled mind wandered to the past.

Hawke…Shannon’s tender heart surged with love and anguish…They had all been surprised in ’56 when her father, Andrew Greenleaf, had returned from Texas with a half-blooded youth of fourteen who could put many grown men to shame with his prowess, physique, and looks. To everyone’s amazement, he had immediately adopted WindHawke, son of a whiteman and the Indian woman, Flaming Eyes, who was the daughter of one Comanche chief and the sister of another. Two years had passed before Shannon and her brothers discovered that Hawke Greenleaf was their half brother. By then, it hadn’t mattered to them.

Andrew Greenleaf had met Flaming Eyes in 1841, while she was working as a cook and laundress at a Texas fort. She had been using her job as a means of spying on the soldiers for her family, and the tales of her daring feats had intrigued young Shannon. For two months the ill-fated lovers had shared a bittersweet romance and fiery passion.

Andrew had not known of his son’s existence until the Mexican War, when he renewed his liaison with the Indian beauty. And when Kerry O’Shannon Greenleaf died in 1854, Andrew was determined to recover Flaming Eyes and WindHawke. Finally locating them after two years, Andrew had found that his secret lover was dying and that hostilities between Indians and whites were increasing perilously. Flaming eyes had persuaded her son to move to Georgia with his father so that he would survive and benefit from his father’s love and guidance.

Shannon had often recalled the words of Flaming Eyes, which Hawke had repeated to her: “Go, my son; live to see many new suns and to learn many new things. Our lands and ways are vanishing with the slaughter of our people. If it is the will of Grandfather, He will recall your feet to these ancestral grounds.” After Flaming Eyes had died, Andrew had brought his third son home to live and work at Greenleaf, the family plantation, withholding his identity for two years.

Hawke’s birth had come eleven months after Corbett’s, a fact that sometimes troubled Shannon. Hawke had related many secrets to her that his mother had related to him: Andrew had loved Kerry deeply, but had feared for her life each time their lovemaking had conceived a child. The loss of their fourth one had been the cause of Kerry’s death, which had proven Andrew’s fears to have been well-founded. Andrew had not meant to fall in love with a second woman. As was the case with many men during and following their wives’ pregnancies, Andrew had believed that he was merely sating his physical needs while protecting his wife’s health and life. Yet two months later, both he and the Indian beauty knew they had fallen in love.

Andrew had tried to forget Flaming Eyes after he left Texas. He wondered how it was possible to love and need two women desperately. When Shannon was born in July of 1845, he was still dreaming and yearning for Hawke’s mother. Those feelings increased in 1846 when he discovered their love child, who was then four years old. After the war, he stole visits with his second family as often as he could create logical reasons for them.

The fates of all of them had changed dramatically when Kerry and Flaming Eyes died within two years of each other. Andrew’s relationship with women were never the same again. If he saw one, it was usually one he had hired for a few hours to assuage his needs.

Andrew Greenleaf’s four children were more fortunate; they all became fast friends. Hawke taught the three Georgians how to blend into their surroundings, to track, to fight like warriors, to handle knives and countless other defensive measures that he had learned during his warrior training. Since neighbors were ignorant of Hawke’s paternity, they expressed open scorn for the handsome young man who spent too much time with Shannon and attracted too much attention from their daughters, sisters, and sweethearts. Hawke was a male who could easily impassion a woman’s blood and heart—if that woman did not view him as a brother. The sons of those genteel neighbors despised him, though they wisely respected and envied his physical prowess. Shannon often mused that if her eldest brother, Temple, hadn’t been on the front line at Shiloh, he could have used the skills Hawke had taught him and survived.

Honor and courage could be so lethal, so demanding, so confusing at times, Shannon would bitterly reflect. As they had been expected to do, Temple and Corry had accepted their duties to their father and their country without a second thought or a debate. But the nineteen-year-old Hawke had refused to fight to the death for a cause and people that he didn’t know or understand, and her father had reacted blindly and rashly—and selfishly.

Andrew had been raised in the same manner he had raised his two eldest sons. He placed great importance on displaying paternal obedience and respect; on defending loved ones, lands, and the family name; on protecting family pride and honor; and on evincing physical and mental competence. Andrew had been taught that a man did such things, no matter the cost or his personal desires. He had ingrained those same beliefs and traits in his two eldest sons.

Andrew regretted that in a time of weakness and vulnerability, he had made a terrible mistake by yielding to his physical urges and falling in love with the object of his desire. He had paid an enormous price for ignoring the tenets of his upbringing, and his pride had suffered greatly. He had been determined to spare his sons from such mistakes and sacrifices and had wanted Hawke to prove that he was worthy of the Greenleaf name and blood—worthy of their acceptance, respect, and love.

Hawke had not viewed the war in the same light as his father and half brothers. To the half-blooded Comanche male, it was irrational that people battle to the death over slaves or over a division of tribes. Hawke could not see why the whites should kill each other because the southern white tribe wished to split from the northern white tribe. He could not dress in a white man’s uniform and wage lethal battles over such foolishness. How could he fight for the ideals of men who considered him as low as the black slaves? Why should he be forced to prove his honor and prowess?

Andrew had been angry and hurt at Hawke’s decision not to fight. He had insisted that Hawke side with the Union and had accused Hawke of bringing disgrace to the Greenleaf name with his refusal. Andrew had felt it was crucial for Hawke to publicly prove his courage and honor. It had seemed to Shannon that Hawke’s going off to war with his brothers would be some sort of test of his loyalty to and love for the Greenleafs. Shannon believed that her father had felt Hawke’s actions might somehow redeem his lost honor or at least justify the birth of a bastard son from an adulterous relationship. Andrew had wanted Hawke to become a war hero whose reputation and competence could never be ridiculed or denied. He could not understand Hawke’s refusal.

Andrew and Hawke had argued bitterly, and their verbal battle had exposed to Shannon many secrets from their entwined past. Perturbed and disappointed, Andrew had struck Hawke across the cheek as if to provoke his defiant son with a challenge. He had wanted to embarrass or to anger Hawke into obedience. When this ploy did not work, Andrew had rashly disowned and rejected Hawke in a final attempt to gain his son’s submission, ordering Hawke to return to his mother’s people and adding, “If they’ll allow a coward among them.” He then continued, “I will not allow a son of mine to blacken the Greenleaf name. If you do not care enough for your family and home to fight for them, then you do not deserve them. Prove I was not wrong to give you life, to bring you into my home and heart. Prove you are a real man, a real Greenleaf, or leave my sight forever.”

Shannon and Hawke had been crushed by that unfamiliar side of their father. Tragically, Hawke had obeyed that parental command and had left that night in March of 1861. What demons had possessed her father that awful night and had forced him to behave so differently, so insensitively? Shannon had often wondered.

Before sailing to his death, weeping over his dark behavior and his loss, Andrew had vowed to go after Hawke upon his return to Boston, where he had moved the family at the outset of the war. Then, together, they would rescue Corry. After Andrew’s death, his reasons for acting and speaking so cruelly and confusedly that night remained a mystery. Yet Shannon had always felt there must have been some logical reason. She wondered if she would ever see Hawke again. How she longed to soothe his torment with part of the truth. How she wished he would come home…

The guard finished his cigar and crushed it beneath his dusty boot. He stretched and yawned, then moved away. After he vanished around the corner of the building, Shannon exhaled to relieve her tension and quickly resumed her previous actions. As the limb narrowed and lessened in strength, it began to sway. Shannon sighed a prayer of relief for her meager height and weight, although she had always hated being referred to as “that dainty redhead.” She cautioned herself to move carefully, for she was very much aware of the hard ground far below her.

The limb angled to the left, placing Shannon within two feet of the open window to her right. She grasped an overhead branch and slowly pulled her quivering body upright. Before continuing, she steadied herself. Then she placed her right foot on the sill and flung her weight in that direction, stifling a shriek as she landed straddled across the wooden surface, as if she had thrown herself astride a bareback horse with a spine of oak.

Shannon glanced inside and was relieved to find the nearby bed empty. Prussian blue eyes squinted to pierce the darkness. Sighting no threat or hindrance, she threw her other leg over the sill and placed both feet on the floor. As she hesitated a moment to catch her breath and to slow her racing heart, she speculated that the worst part was over; she was inside the White House. Now, all she had to do was locate Lincoln’s private quarters and persuade him to listen to her. Having been reared to respect and follow the orders of her elders, Shannon believed she needed the permission and approval of Lincoln before she could head into Rebel territory, though her solitary flight from Boston had been a different matter.

When her eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, Shannon moved around the bed toward the closed door. Suddenly a powerful arm banded her body just above the waist and her slender back was jerked against a hard chest, driving the air from her lungs. For an instant, Shannon feared her ribs would be cracked. Her right arm was imprisoned at her side and the left one was captured just below the elbow in a grip of iron that mutely threatened to break the bone. The sharp blade of a large hunting knife was at her throat. Her captor had moved without sound and with the swiftness and success of a highly trained warrior, Shannon realized, one whose prowess could challenge and perhaps defeat Hawke’s.

Considering her opponent’s strength, she knew she dared not struggle and incite a battle. From her position, she could tell that he was very tall and extremely muscular. But if she hurriedly explained her behavior, she would be safe, she believed, just as soon as she could breathe and speak.

“Where do you think you’re going, little Reb, sneaking in here like a contemptible Comanche? Davis want his lads to die young?” a surly voice questioned at her left ear. The man’s grip tightened painfully.

Shannon lost her breath again within the vise of his arm. In a strained tone, she replied, “I must…see Pres…ident Lincoln. It’s urgent.”

As the cold blade lightly touched her clammy skin, his grip applied more pressure. “Urgent enough to sneak into my room and risk death?” the voice inquired sarcastically. “Who sent you?”

“No one. When the guards and staff refused to let me see him, I tried to contact him by letter. When that failed, I sneaked inside,” she explained in a muffled voice. “I’m unarmed. I only want to talk,” she hastily added. Shannon tried to inhale and refill her lungs, but his steely grip prevented it. She was alarmed by this unseen peril.

Testing the intruder’s claim, Blane Stevens’s left hand shifted up and down her shapely frame and he was startled that it was a woman’s voice, fragrance, and figure that assailed his senses. Keen perception warned him to be patient with this rash invader. Without a weapon or strength, she posed no threat to him. Blane placed the knife in its sheath and tried to turn her to face him. He had been leaning against the side of the window frame in pensive thought and had caught sight of her slipping across the lawn to shinny up the Magnolia. Now he wanted a look at this reckless vixen who smelled of jasmine and climbed a lofty tree like an agile bobcat.

Shannon used that moment when his grip loosened to pitch forward, then backward, to throw her captor off balance. Then she raced for his door. Before she could open it, she was seized and thrown to the bed. Pinned under a stalwart body, she was powerless. “I must see Lincoln. It’s a matter of life and death,” she panted breathlessly.

“I’m sure it is,” the icy voice sneered. “Who are you? What do you want from the President? You Rebs don’t give up easily, do you?” Why did some females view spying as glamorous and exciting? he wondered in digust.

“It’s personal,” Shannon replied obstinately. “Get off me.”

“Am I dreaming, or are you a woman?” he asked, laughter edging his voice when he realized how helpless she was. He would teach this little wildcat a lesson! When she didn’t respond, his right hand held her wrists captive above her head while his left hand moved over her squirming figure. “Very nice,” he remarked playfully. “Any chance your face is just as pleasing?” he asked to provoke her.

Shannon warned herself not to shout or scream, actions which would alert and summon guards who would carry her off to prison before she could get to Lincoln. This rogue was just another obstacle. She told herself to stay calm and cool, for she would surely find a way to trick him. “Get your bloody hands off me or I’ll kill you when I get free,” she warned.

Blane was amused and intrigued. “Such an attempt would certainly liven up a dull evening.” Blane chuckled, curiously enjoying this crazy encounter. He knew that few women would have the mettle or skill to climb a towering tree and steal into the White House. His previous feelings of exhaustion and ennui vanished. After what he had seen and endured lately, he realized he needed a spark of excitement. Lord, he was tired of the killing and fighting, and tired of his responsibilities to friend and foe.

“I demand to see the President,” Shannon remarked sternly.

“You demand, my little Rebeless?” he taunted. He could smell the soot on her face and hands, and silently admired her daring and cunning. From what he could tell, she was less than five feet five inches tall and weighed a touch over a hundred pounds. He noted that her felt hat had been knocked from her head and he wished for more light to determine her age and looks. A smart man could tell a lot about a woman from her eyes and mouth. The moonlight suddenly streamed across the bed to reveal flaming hair to match the temper he was encountering. And he heard the undeniable inflections of culture and dialect in her voice, which piqued his curiosity.

Shannon wiggled beneath his tall body and pulled on her wrists to free them. He was immensely strong and stubborn. “You’re heavy. I can’t breathe. I told you, brute, I’m unarmed.”

“There are weapons, and there are…weapons,” he teased. “If you want to breathe again, you had best answer my questions.”

“You wouldn’t dare slay a woman right under Lincoln’s nose,” she asserted bravely. Shannon was acutely aware of the man’s rich voice, his powerful physique, his manly scent. She found this battle fascinating, for she had always enjoyed matching wits and wills with men. Let him have his fun and show of power, she told herself. Soon…

As his mouth brushed against hers, he murmured devilishly, “How was I to know you were a conniving female before my knife slipped across this blackened throat? Indian fighters are trained to attack rapidly and lethally, especially if they’re in a foul mood.” His teeth nibbled at her earlobe as he inhaled her sweet fragrance. To intimidate her, Blane remarked casually, “’Course it’s been a long while since I had me a woman, and I could interrogate you later—much later,” he warned deceitfully. If she thought this mission would be simple and quick, he would prove her wrong, he decided. Soon he would have her weeping, trembling, and begging to tell him all he wanted to know. When he finished with her, she would think twice about spying again! “Yep, I could use a tasty woman to soothe my woes tonight.” One hand deftly unbuttoned her cotton shirt, then his tongue flicked over a nipple.

Shannon inhaled sharply. As if it had been a soldier called to attention, her breast responded instantly to his bold action. “How dare you!” she panted in dismay, thrashing angrily beneath him. “Release me this instant. I know important people,” she threatened desperately.

“So do I, love,” he retorted. Concentrating his attention on unnerving and terrifying this Rebel spy, he ignored Shannon’s struggles as he shifted his mouth from one breast to the other several times. Despite her slender figure, she was nicely rounded where it mattered, he found. His mouth covered hers as she was about to speak. Then his tongue darted between her lips and his hand released hers to wander into her hair.

Shannon comprehended his misconception and intended to correct it soon, but now she was puzzled by his sudden gentleness and ardor. She found the mingling of their mouths enticing and briefly allowed the pleasant sensation to continue. Unlike those who had kissed her before, this man possessed talented lips and hands—those of an expert lover, she realized. She wondered about his looks, age, and character. Why was he here and behaving in this brazen manner? What an arrogant, crude rake! She believed that revealing her identity would afford her protection from his vile treatment. When his mouth drifted to her ear, Shannon vowed, “I’m not a Rebel. I came from Boston on a vital matter. Please stop and listen.” Her voice quavered with apprehension and vulnerability.

Blane leaned backward. “If that isn’t a Southern accent, I’m Jeff Davis. You’re playing a dangerous game, little Reb. Surely you know how this break-in appears. I’ll have to hand you over to the guards…unless you give me good reason not to.” Blane’s body was reacting passionately to Shannon’s scent, feel, kiss, and voice.

Shannon panicked. If they tossed her into prison…“I am from Georgia, but I’m with the Union,” she argued truthfully. “I came to seek the President’s help and advice. The Confederates have captured my brother; they’re holding him at Danville Prison. They’ve already slain my father and older brother. I have to get to Danville.” Shannon wondered how far she should go to obtain his trust and assistance. If she lost Greenleaf and Corry, what did life matter? Without family, home, and money, what kind of destiny would she face in a wartorn country, especially if the South were defeated and she couldn’t prove her claims? If she must play the temptress to entice him to help her, so be it! After all, tempting and complying were two different things. And against such a powerful man, those were her only weapons, just as he had teased.

There was something in her voice and words that tugged at him, though he retorted, “You steal into the White House with a wild story like this?”

“It’s the truth!” she protested. “I was desperate. I was going to offer my services to Mister Lincoln in exchange for his help with rescuing my brother. Let me up; I’ll explain everything.”

“You mean you’ll try to escape,” he refuted.

“Damn you, then bind my hands! Just give me time to talk. I’m from the South, so I can be of assistance to the President. I know many important people and leaders. They would never suspect I was assisting the Union. With a little help, I could get in and around. I’m not a fool; I know I can’t do this alone.” Shannon had learned that in some situations it was unwise for a woman to reveal too much courage, aggression, or intelligence. She had to pretend she needed and wanted help. But once she was inside Rebel territory, she would rescue Corry and take him home to Greenleaf. All she needed was a travel pass, weapons, supplies, and the names or locations of Unionists who offered rest and food.

When the man lapsed into silence, Shannon pressed, “I’ve met President Davis, Robert Toombs, General Bragg, John Breckenridge, and Joseph Johnston. I’ve also met Robert E. Lee. They all knew my father from the Mexican War; they’ve visited our plantation. With luck, they’ll remember me. Even if I can’t get any valuable information for President Lincoln, I might acquire their help with freeing my brother before he dies in one of those awful prison camps. To protect our lands from angry Confederates, Father made certain that they believed we were loyal Southerners. I know you think one life doesn’t count for much during a war, but it does to me. Please help me.” She was appealing to his masculine ego, and hopefully to his conscience.

Blane was off Shannon instantly, pulling her to her bare feet. He gently pushed her into a chair, then pulled her arms between the spindles. After removing his belt, he secured her hands behind her back. Then, after locating his mask, he donned it to protect his identity, hoping that this little hellion didn’t already know who and what he was. He lit an oil lamp and visually scanned her features, then frowned as he noticed that the soot she had used had rubbed off on him as well. Blane poured water into a basin, grabbed soap and a cloth, and scrubbed Shannon’s face until it was pink.

Shannon winced in discomfort and wiggled. “Hold still,” he commanded. “I want a good look at you. Faces are one thing I never forget. For your sake, little vixen, I hope you told the truth. If there’s one thing that riles me as much as Comanches, it’s a treacherous woman who thinks her beauty and charms will protect her.”

Blane couldn’t decide why he was taking the time and energy to listen to her. There was no way she could be of any real help to him or the Union. He had gotten into this repulsive war because of his determination to help a woman—the one woman he cared about. Perhaps he listened because this minx had snared his curiosity. Perhaps he wanted a woman’s company and conversation tonight. Perhaps he yearned to gaze upon something unmarred by the war. Perhaps he wanted more…

Shannon clenched her teeth as the man’s keen eyes roamed her features, eyes that appeared the color of maple stain and filled with green flecks. How she wished she could see and study more of his face. He was well built and she estimated that he was probably three or four inches over six feet and weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds. Dark blond waves with reddish gold highlights peeked around the edges of the black mask. Thick, silky hair teased his blue collar and fell over the top of the mask. Shannon noticed that the area of his chest that was exposed by his unbuttoned shirt was hairless and its golden surface appeared smooth and hard. His hands indicated that he was a man accustomed to physical labor, a man of immense dexterity. His shiny, trimmed fingernails told her another pleasing fact—he practiced cleanliness. The timbre of his voice caused her to question his birthplace, for it sounded as if he might be Southern, or perhaps Southwestern.

Blane Stevens was astonished by Shannon’s incredible beauty. Perhaps it was a good thing he hadn’t seen her face and figure earlier! he mused. She had large, expressive eyes, as dark blue as a Federal uniform. She had the kind of eyes that instantly drew another’s vision to them, eyes that would change from a mellow cornflower blue to a Rebel flag blue according to her emotions. Their mesmeric shape and color were in striking contrast to her fiery hair and pale skin. There was a tiny smattering of very light freckles over her nose and cheeks, which supplied her features with an air of innocence and youth. Her skin was the color of heavy cream, its surface unflawed and rose petal soft. Her lower lip was fuller than the shapely upper one, which would give her a sensual pout if she chose. He noted smugly that he had guessed her height and weight correctly.

Her hair once again captured his attention. It fell to her waist in mischievous curls, its texture almost crinkly. The crown’s strands were trimmed shorter and lay in wispy curls across her forehead. Its color reminded him of the mountains in the West, which became vermillion shaded when the rising or setting sun beamed down on them. She was exquisite, highly desirable. And although she appeared delicate, Blane knew she was plucky and resilient. A vulnerable Southern belle who needed help…

His greenish brown eyes helplessly lowered to her partially exposed bosom and a noticeable gleam filled them. Old Jeff Davis sure knew how to pick his spies! What naïve lad could withhold a secret from this disarming angel, this magical temptress? It would be a shame to confine such beauty to a stifling cell. Yet, such beauty and skills could prove dangerous if she were allowed to operate on susceptible Union soldiers.

“If you’ve memorized my anatomy, sir, would you mind buttoning my shirt?” she inquired scornfully, glaring at her arrogant foe whose greedy gaze was eyeing her like a sumptuous treat about to be devoured.

Muffled laughter sounded in the room. Blane knelt before her and obeyed, to her surprise and his. “I sure am sorry you weren’t sent to work on me,” he jested, caressing her scarlet cheek. “Yankee prison can be a rough place for a ravishing, though misguided, Southern lady. Drop this wild tale and give me your name, age, and mission.”

Shannon narrowed her blue eyes and clenched her teeth. She started to refuse but realized that would be foolish. She was trapped in the room of a man who viewed her as a Rebel spy and perhaps as a woman to be used as he desired. To get to Lincoln, she would have to get past this vexing male whose gaze and manner were alarmingly disturbing.

Stalling for time and an opportunity to escape, she gave him a few facts. “Shannon. Nineteen last month. I’ve been trying to see President Lincoln for over a week. If you’ll check, my ignored messages might be lying around somewhere. If not, the staff should recall a pesty redhead who’s been here many times. I have little money left. And I can’t return to Boston for personal reasons. I was hoping to exchange favors with the President—my assistance for his.”

“What about your family? Who’s letting you gallivant over the land disguised like this?” he probed, hunkering before her.

She remarked contemptuously, “Almost my entire family has been annihilated by this travesty. My older brother was killed during the Battle of Shiloh in the spring of ’62. Last May, my younger brother was taken prisoner at Chancellorsville. A friend got a message to my father that he was being held at Danville in Virginia, a horrible place. We kept hoping and praying that the war would end soon, but it didn’t. Last October, my father decided more arms and better pay might give the Union the edge to win this vicious conflict. He sailed from Boston for England to sell future cotton crops of Southern loyalists to earn money for Union supplies. His ship was attacked and sunk by a Rebel blockade runner. I waited and prayed as long as I could, then I had to act. My brother’s all I have left, except for…a few friends. I was hoping the President would help me get through the Rebel lines so I could at least discover if he’s still alive. If so, I plan to find a way to get him out of that wicked place. If I fail, I can work and provide him with food and supplies. Don’t you realize how many prisoners die under those horrid conditions? Is that sufficient, Mister…?”

“You plan to travel through enemy territory for weeks, then single-handedly rescue your brother from a Confederate prison?” Blane queried in disbelief.

“I know how to ride and shoot. All I need is a contact here and there for rest and food. In return, I’ll report anything I see or hear to the President. I read the newspapers and magazines, so I am familiar with the treatment given female spies on both sides. I know they aren’t shot or hanged. Besides, I am…was a Southerner. We have a plantation in Georgia. Please convince Mister Lincoln to help me.” Shannon wondered if she was making a mistake by trying to enlist Lincoln’s aid. She had gotten this far alone; maybe she didn’t need anyone’s help or permission. She could take care of herself under most circumstances, but a ravaged land with crazed soldiers was not a normal situation. If only Hawke weren’t in Texas; he would help her. He wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Why had her father shamed and rejected him? she wondered once again. It wasn’t like Andrew Greenleaf to be so volatile and cruel. Hawke would know what to do. But for Shannon, getting to Savannah would be easier than getting into Comanche territory, and if Hawke returned, she knew it would be to Greenleaf.

Blane eyed Shannon up and down several times. There was a ring of verity in her tone. Yet he sensed she wasn’t being totally open and honest. “If this tale is for real, you’re mighty naïve. Don’t you realize there’s no way you can get to Danville? Don’t you own a mirror? I doubt you could get five miles without being ravished, or at least robbed and left stranded, or captured by Rebs. Then you might join your unlucky brother,” he stated harshly, envisioning this vital creature enduring such an ordeal.

Angry lights flickered in Shannon’s deep sapphire eyes. All she wanted was to get out of this room and this uncomfortable situation. “Why don’t you let the President decide if I can defend myself and be of assistance to him?”

“How could you defend yourself against numerous men when you couldn’t even fight off one?” he challenged to awaken her dreamy mind.

“Not all men are as strong or as mean as you—especially not Southerners! Gentlemen help ladies, not assail them! No Rebel officer would shoot me or attack me!” she fiercely declared.

“Would you like me to prove you wrong?” he speculated as he unbound her hands and jerked her against his chest.

Blane didn’t stop Shannon when she tore off his mask and threw it to the floor. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Despite the sooty smudges, his good looks stormed her troubled senses instantly. His full lips formed a devilish half-grin, as if he recognized his effect on her. She noted that his flesh had been bronzed by the sun and wisps of his thick hair lightened by it. Physical and mental superiority radiated from his strong, angular features. He was freshly shaven, even to the deep cleft in his squared chin, and Shannon saw that a thin, white scar snaked along his left jawline for two inches. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. For a while, Shannon felt breathless and weak.

Blane’s eyes fused with Shannon’s, and neither spoke or moved for a time. It seemed that each was assessing the other, in looks and emotions. Finally, Shannon broke the potent spell when she defensively asked, “Are you saying that you’re a Rebel?” Was he trying to entrap her? she wondered. Did that explain the black mask he had donned? Had he also sneaked inside for some reason, perhaps a criminal one? “What are you doing here? If you’ve come to harm the President, I’ll try to stop you,” she vowed.

He replied mirthfully, “This is my bedroom while I’m here on business. You can’t disturb the President in the middle of the night, and I might not allow you to see him at all.” Blane was confused by her earlier behavior when he was kissing her. Just how desperate or foolish was she? he asked himself. After hearing her sad story, he had decided he wouldn’t take advantage of her, but he did want to understand her. If she truly had been frightened, then why hadn’t she screamed? She wasn’t acting like a normal female at all. Lord, she had guts and a desirability he yearned to explore. His gaze engulfed her with longing. “Since you’re running out of money, I might be persuaded to let you share my room while I decide if your problem is real and worth his time.”

Shannon bristled at his intimate suggestion and highhanded manner. “Don’t be absurd, you vulgar rake! I have a hotel room, and I can work to support myself if necessary. After all I’ve been through, I’ve earned the right to see him! Besides, who are you to prevent me from speaking with President Lincoln?”

“I’m the man who can send you over to Old Capitol Prison if you rile me. Either you can stay here until morning or you can return to your hotel and wait to hear from me. Whatever you decide, you aren’t seeing him tonight. After I check around about you, I’ll be in touch with my answer. Be honest, or be gone before tomorrow afternoon. If you’re lying, I’ll treat you like a blood-thirsty Comanche.”

His last two statements baffled Shannon. “Who are you? What are you?” she questioned. He certainly had a fierce hatred and contempt for Comanches! She wondered why. Without a doubt, she knew that he and Hawke wouldn’t get along. “How can I trust a wicked stranger? Just give me five minutes with Lincoln. Just five minutes,” she stressed.

“I’m a good friend of Lincoln’s. You have no idea what war is like, or you wouldn’t be here. The Old South has vanished forever, Shannon. Lands have been neglected. Towns and plantations have been looted or burned or abandoned. Bridges are down and rail lines have been severed. Rebs who thought this war would be fast and fun are functioning on sheer ego and obstinacy, existing on blind pride. That whole area reeks of disillusionment and bitterness and dissension. A lack of supplies and heavy casualties have inspired staggering numbers of deserters, and they make dangerous men. You don’t want to witness such tragedy. It’s grim and depressing.” He paused for effect. “Still want to play heroine?”

“I have no choice,” she replied sadly, realizing that if it was that bad in the South, Corry and Greenleaf needed her more than she imagined.

He recalled a point of hers. “You said you couldn’t return to Boston. Why? I want some answers, woman, or I call the guards.”

Shannon inhaled and exhaled deeply. The closer she stayed to honesty, the better her chances were of winning over this nettling creature who was too wary and enticing. She was vexed by the fact that her words, looks, and charms were being ignored. How dare he question her word and breeding! How dare he treat her with such disrespect and indifference! “I was…having problems with the man my father left me with there. Since he knew that none of my family might survive, he began pressing me to marry him. It seems father signed some paper that gave Mister Simon Travers control over Papa’s business until either he or one of my brothers returned. I should have been left in charge, not that vile beast. Travers refused to give me money or help me locate my brother. I took cash from my father’s office and left Boston. I’m positive he’s chasing me. If I don’t hurry, he’ll find me and stop me. I wouldn’t marry him if I were destitute and alone.”

“He can’t force you to return to Boston, or to marry him.”

Shannon frowned in dismay. “He said he could prove my family was a nest of Southern spies. He threatened to get me into trouble if I continued to refuse him. I told you, he has control of my finances.”

“Tell me, are you really trying to get to your brother, or just fleeing this man? I want to know more about this Travers,” he demanded.

“Simon Travers. He’s a cotton factor. He and my father were partners. He’s thirty-eight and a mean and ugly scoundrel. He’s detemined to get me and all of my family’s holdings. Please help me,” she urged.

Blane sighed heavily and stroked his smooth jawline. “Somehow you don’t seem as helpless as you try to sound. Why is that, Shannon?”

Shannon blushed at his barely veiled insult. “You’ve never met Simon Travers! He’s despicable. I wouldn’t marry him if he were the only survivor of this ridiculous, bloody war. I can’t help it if my father reared a spirited filly. But I know my limitations.” Shannon tried to avoid Blane’s probing gaze. “Darn you!” she exploded. “Travers has a paper that declares him my guardian. I know it’s a fraud. Papa wouldn’t have dared sign me over to any man. In fact, I suspect those business papers are forgeries as well. I won’t allow him to get away with these deeds. I have to get to Danville. And even if Travers manages to steal all we own, I must help my brother.”

“I see,” Blane murmured, knowing what that particular driving force was like and feeling a curious empathy with her. “Now you’re making sense. Still, you are a purebred Southerner, and I’m not convinced that you’re an honest one. You’d never turn over crucial information about the Rebs. So what would I get for all my time and trouble?” he asked, thinking that if she remained in Washington, she would be available during his visits. He found her to be a fascinating creature, one whose unusual traits and wild spirit appealed to the part of him that thrived on adventure and challenge.

“I have no money or jewels to offer you for your services,” she answered, waiting to see if he would name another source of payment. She was relieved when he did not make the kind of wanton suggestion that would have forced her to terminate their relationship instantly. To save Corry’s life, she would close her eyes and surrender to the repulsive Travers before yielding for the same reason to this man who seemed to inflame her very soul.

“I can’t permit you to enter enemy territory, Shannon, for any reason,” he informed her. “You could get plenty of good men killed trying to assist you or protect you. Death and pillage roam the South like greedy scavengers ravaging a decaying corpse. The best thing you can do is to find a job here until this conflict is over. If your brother is anything like you, he’ll survive. I’m certain President Lincoln will offer you his protection from this Travers. And if you’ll give me some facts, the next time I head south I’ll see what I can learn about your brother and your home. Now let’s get you back to your hotel. I’ll speak with you later.” She was too bewitching, he thought uncomfortably. He would have to get her out of his room.

Shannon stared at the handsome man before her as she speculated about his words. Then she told him, “You have no right to stop me from going home to Georgia, nor from trying to help my brother. If Lincoln and the Union won’t help me, I’ll do it alone. Good night, sir.”

When Blane didn’t release her, she glowered at him as she ordered her brain to think fast. “You said I couldn’t see him, so I’m leaving. Unhand me, or I’ll wake the entire house,” she threatened cleverly.

“I’ll see you back to your room. It’s late and dangerous outside.” Blane grasped her arm and began pulling her toward the hall door.

“No,” she protested. Shannon’s keen mind had conceived a daring plan that would defeat her smug captor and enable her to see Lincoln, She put her ploy in motion. “If those guards see us leaving together this time of night, you know what they’ll think. My reputation would be tarnished. I’ll go down the tree and sneak back to the hotel. My shoes are behind the bushes. Where’s my hat?”

“It’s a long walk, Shannon. You aren’t going alone,” he insisted.

“All right,” she deceptively conceded when his chin and gaze revealed his obstinacy. She would teach him a lesson or two! “Let me climb down the tree and you can join me outside. But if you don’t contact me tomorrow, I’ll be back. I’m not a quitter or a coward.”

Blane knew that he could lock the window after her exit and that she would never reach the ground before he was beneath the tree. He grinned, assuming that if he let her have her way, she might mellow a little, or a lot. “Fine. Just be careful. Oh yes, I’m Blane Stevens.” He released her, scooped up her hat and handed it to her, then approached the window.

Shannon twisted her long hair and stuffed it under the hat. Joining him at the window, she declared, “I’m not being cocky or rash. Will you at least think about what I said?” she inquired, tugging at his arm. “Please, Blane.” She would show him who was smarter and quicker!

Blane glanced down at her upturned face. Moonlight gleamed in her blue eyes and illuminated her ivory complexion, which still bore streaks of soot. Her features had been artfully sculptured. He felt his body warm and his respiration quicken. His hand reached out to caress her cheek and to capture the single tear rolling down its smooth surface. She certainly had a way of appealing to a man, emotionally and physically. Before Blane gave it another thought, he pulled Shannon into his comforting arms and his lips seared hers in an exceptionally tender kiss.

Shannon dismissed any guilt over her actions as she swayed against him and returned the pervasive kiss. He had mentioned going south…She would use every feminine skill she possessed to entice Blane to take her with him. Were conditions as bad as he had described? she wondered. Until she learned what she was facing, she could use Blane Stevens and his expertise.

The contact between them held a surprise for her. Shannon’s head began to spin and her body flamed at his touch. Yes, she decided, this masterful rogue could defend her against any peril. . .