Dearest Enemy. Nan Ryan
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pulled back to judge his reaction.
Mitch Longley was unfazed. Hers was not the first, nor would it be the last, decidedly unladylike proposition he had received from a spoiled, desirable woman. He made no misstep. His handsome face did not change. She might have been commenting on the weather for all that registered in his continuing calm demeanor.
Taken aback, Dawn said, “Perhaps you still don't fully understand me, Admiral. I am suggesting that—”
“I'm not titillated by the prospect of making love to a woman while she's entertaining a houseful of people.” He smoothly danced his brash hostess to the edge of the floor and deposited her there. Speaking loudly enough for others to hear, he thanked her for the dance and for the evening. Dawn Merriweather's face fell with disappointment.
Then Mitch leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Get rid of them. I'll be back at midnight. If you're not alone, don't expect me to stay.”
Without another word, Mitchell B. Longley, wealthy Maryland native, Union naval officer, graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, class of '48, turned and left, with Dawn Merriweather staring after him.
When Mitch returned to the mansion at the stroke of midnight, a uniformed butler admitted him into the silent house and directed him to a set of closed double doors at the end of the wide downstairs corridor.
Pausing before those doors, Mitch raised his hand, then lowered it without knocking. He walked into the white-and-blue-decorated suite and closed the door behind him. She was not in the spacious sitting room, where huge white sofas and overstuffed blue easy chairs rested before a white marble fireplace. Mitch crossed the room. He went directly to the open connecting doors, stepped inside the candlelit bedroom and saw her.
The beautiful Dawn Merriweather, in a virginal white dressing gown, with her lustrous black hair falling loose around her shoulders, stood beside the big feather bed.
“I thought perhaps you weren't coming,” she said, seductively running a thumb and forefinger down the lapel of her shimmering robe to call his attention to the rigid nipples pressing proudly against the shiny fabric.
“You knew very well I would come,” he said. “Take that thing off.” He gestured to her garment.
“No,” she said, letting her arms fall to her sides. “You take it off, Admiral.”
Mitch shook his head and turned to leave.
“Wait! Come back. It's off! The robe's off!” she said, frantically yanking at the sash and sending the slippery covering to the carpeted floor.
Mitch stopped, turned and smiled. She was naked, her voluptuous body as beautiful as her face. She was Venus di Milo in the flesh, yet this goddess of love and beauty had arms with which to hold him.
In seconds Mitch was as naked as she. In minutes they were atop her feather bed going at each other in a no-holds-barred frenzy of raw sexual hunger. Mitch learned on that very first night that Mrs. Merriweather was insatiable. And that, not surprisingly, she was a highly experienced lover who was able to teach him a trick or two.
Now on this hot July afternoon a month after they'd met, the delectable Dawn sat astride the prostrate Mitch and aggressively rode him, determined to keep him hard and hot and here inside her. Her heavy breasts swaying with her slow undulating movements, midnight hair whipping around her face, she gazed steadily into his hooded green eyes and praised his prowess as a lover.
Mitch knew all her games. He knew exactly what she was up to on this particular afternoon. He had informed her the minute he arrived that he could stay for only an hour. He'd gotten his orders. He was to report to the Washington navy yard to board the USS Pawnee at 4:00 p.m. By dusk the Union warship would sail with the tide to Alexandria, Virginia.
Prolonged lovemaking was enjoyable. Still, Mitch had no choice but to take matters into his own hands and bring them both to a hasty release. He rolled up into a sitting position, slipped his hands beneath Dawn's bent knees, pressed them to his sides and firmly clasped the twin cheeks of her buttocks. While she anxiously hugged his head to her breasts, Mitch pumped into her with a fury.
“Nooo!” she protested when her climax began. “Not yet, Mitch, I…I…ooh, yes, yes!”
Seven
Despite the war, Suzanna had lost none of her youthful optimism. She constantly reminded her worried mother that the conflict would soon be over and the South would be victorious. Then Matthew and Ty would come riding home, heroes on horseback.
Suzanna looked eagerly forward to the few short letters she received from Ty. She read them over and over again. Then she carefully placed those precious missives in an empty, ruffle-trimmed bonbon box to keep forever. Her last letter from Ty had come from Manassas, reaching her on July 19.
Dearest Suzanna,
I miss you so much it is a physical pain. But I do have something of you—the rose you placed in my lapel on the morning we parted. I keep it with me at all times, inside my tunic, next to my heart.
Matthew and I have not suffered so much as a scratch. We're fortunate to be together and even more fortunate to serve in the Confederate Army of the Potomac under the flamboyant Brigadier General Pierre G. T. Beauregard.
Dearest, we are bivouacked outside Manassas, near the railroad junction where the massing of Confederate troops continues. We are hoping to engage and vanquish the enemy very soon. Ours is a mighty force, sweetheart. Do not worry.
All my love,
Ty
Even prior to receiving Ty's letter, Suzanna had heard that a buildup of both Union and Confederate troops was taking place in Manassas. She realized a battle was inevitable.
She did not allow herself to worry. She continued to plan for the lavish wedding and for the romantic honeymoon in Paris that Ty had promised her. She happily envisioned the day when she would walk down the aisle on Matthew's arm to become Mrs. Ty Bellinggrath.
Until that much-anticipated hour, she would keep busy and quietly do whatever she could to aid the Confederacy.
Suzanna tirelessly rolled bandages and collected spare medications for the troops from those families she knew to be sympathetic to the Cause.
Since her Virginia home was just across the river from the bustling Union capital and its hordes of uniformed Yankee soldiers, she had to be extremely cautious about declaring her loyalty to the South. Hardly anyone supportive of the Confederacy had remained in the Washington, D.C. area. Most had fled shortly after war broke out.
Suzanna missed her friends, especially Cynthia Ann Grayson, with whom she had always shared her secrets. Now she had no one to confide in. She was lonely for those absent companions, but didn't allow herself a great deal of time to dwell on her isolation.
Since Matthew was away, the responsibility for looking after their mother and overseeing the family businesses had fallen on Suzanna's shoulders. She never bothered her mother with complicated affairs of enterprise. Emile LeGrande, married as a young girl, pampered by her husband and then her son, had never paid any attention to complicated concerns of commerce.
Emile had always taken their wealth for granted and had never been curious about any of her husband's business ventures. Indeed, she had no idea what they owned or how much they were worth. After Lawrence LeGrande's passing, Matthew had rightfully stepped into the role of manager of the estate.
Suzanna was acutely aware that she could not enjoy the luxury of disinterest where their holdings were concerned. In the days prior to his leaving, Matthew had patiently schooled his sister on the diverse LeGrande interests.
Now, in his absence, Suzanna spent a great deal of time poring over various ledgers, attempting to make sense of the neat columns of numbers. Deposits from profits, deductions of payouts for labor rendered. She made every attempt to keep informed on where they stood financially.
Suzanna didn't mind the responsibility. She