Beloved Enemy. Mary Schaller
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in artful piles, savory cheese sticks and anchovy paste spread on wafer-thin crackers, pecan tartlets, flavored gelatins and frozen charlottes, sliced jelly cake, chocolate-dipped lady fingers, glossy cherries in syrup—the bounty was not only endless, but overwhelming. What Rob really wanted was a good cup of strong coffee. Even more, he longed to be back in his own bed.
Reaching for a sugared walnut, his attention was drawn to the stunning auburn-haired miss on the other side of the table. It was not her wasp-narrow waist circled with the golden ribbon or her grass-green taffeta gown that had caught his eye, nor her creamy white arms that moved with the grace of a willow in a breeze. Nor did he pause too long to regard her incredible green eyes made more intriguing by the frame of her black mask. Nor did his gaze linger too long on her moist pink lips that promised passion. Instead it was what she was doing with those lips that had piqued his interest.
First, she slipped a caramel into her mouth. Then she surreptitiously glanced over each bare shoulder. Very provocative, Rob thought, though she was obviously not playing the coquette with an unseen admirer. No, her look was definitely furtive.
Rob stepped behind a large potted palm where, unseen, he could observe her at closer quarters. Once the young woman assured herself of her privacy, she opened her reticule that hung from her wrist. It looked to be a little larger than the usual size worn at a ball. With another glance around, she dropped several caramels into her bag and pulled it shut.
Rob smothered his laughter behind his good hand. He had done that same trick himself at a Fourth of July picnic many years ago at his grandmother’s home in Rhinebeck. Thinking of that reminded him once again of this year’s much different Independence Day. Instead of shooting off a string of squibs among a seated flock of his assorted aunts, a Rebel’s bullet, the size and shape of a marble, had torn into his hand, splintered most of his bones, and severed the main nerve.
This Fourth of July, Rob had lain outside one of the temporary field hospitals in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, enduring both the heat of the sun and the drenching rain that followed while he waited his turn on the surgeons’ butcher table. It was nearly three days before someone looked at his wound. The harried doctor had wanted to take his hand off, even had his knife out, but Rob’s vanity made him object to amputation. How could Miss Lucy possibly marry him with only one hand to hold her?
Muttering “gangrene” and “touched in the head,” the doctor wrapped up Rob’s stiffened hand and left the healing to Providence. The Lord had allowed Rob to recover without infection since the bullet had gone clean through, but divine generosity had stopped there. Since that day, Rob had not been able to move his fingers nor experience feeling below his wrist. The worst injury was not his hand but his heart when Miss Lucy walked away from him in disgust. Ever since, Rob’s passionate nature had turned stone cold.
A soft gasp from the pretty pilferer brought Rob out of his dark reverie. To his consternation, and her delight, she had spied another dish of caramels a little nearer to his hiding place. Feeling like a burglar in his narrow silken mask, Rob flattened himself against the ivy-patterned wallpaper and waited to see what would happen next. Surely she had packed away enough booty to last her until February.
But no, it appeared that the lady still had sugared larceny on her mind. Once again, she glanced behind her. Rob, too, looked over her bright hair that was crowned with glossy green sprigs of holly. Most of the room’s attention was centered around the far table where cups of very potent eggnog were ladled out to the noisy guests. He glanced back at the lady just in time to witness several more caramels dumped into her expanding bag. She pulled the ties shut with a sleek, self-satisfied smile on her lovely lips. Then she turned her back to the table, snapped open her white silk fan and cooled the pink glow on her cheeks.
Rob noticed that a third dish sat near to him, hidden from her view by a large arrangement of purple hothouse grapes. He wondered what she would do if she spied that one. Propelled by his curiosity and a small spurt of mischief, Rob stepped out from the screen of palm fronds, took the dish in his good hand and circled to the other side of the table. He had meant to place the tempting candy within her reach and withdraw before she turned around, but she must have heard him. The auburn beauty glanced over her shoulder at him, then at the full silver plate in his hand.
His breath caught in his throat. A sliver of his once-legendary charm awakened. On a sudden impulse, he bowed his head and offered her the candy dish. “I believe you missed these,” he murmured. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. The startled expression on her face made her look even more alluring in the golden candlelight.
She blushed a little, but did not turn away shamefaced as he had expected her to do. Instead, she beamed a radiant smile. “How silly of me to have misplaced those little rascals, and how clever of you to find them for me! Thank you so very much.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she shut her fan, then pried open her bag and swept a few more caramels on top of the others. The entire operation took less than a minute. She sucked the powdered sugar evidence from her fingers. Her pink tongue curled around her thumb in the most innocently provocative manner. Rob swallowed hard. She smiled at him again. Her smiles, like pure sunshine, warmed his stony soul.
Julia’s vision swam. She blinked to pull it back into focus. Her heart had nearly jumped out of her mouth when the stranger spoke to her. The handsome man’s sudden appearance so surprised her that she nearly lost her composure. Then he smiled.
He was extraordinarily handsome. His Federal uniform concealed his body from neck to boots, yet Julia sensed a strong physical power that lay coiled deep within him. Though the supper room was crowded, his presence compelled her attention, despite the faint air of isolation he wore about his tall figure. Beneath his thin silken mask, his bronze skin pulled taut over his cheekbones. His near-black hair gleamed in the golden light; one rogue lock fell across his forehead.
Julia snapped open her fan and tried to calm her racing heart. She was sure it was only because he caught her red-handed that she felt as though she had a fever. Best to put a good face on the embarrassing situation, and pray that this Yankee possessed manners to go with his good looks.
She started to say “I do declare,” but remembered in time that her colloquialism might give herself away as a Confederate. Instead, she opened with, “I fear that I am plagued with an insatiable sweet tooth, and the only remedy I know is a surfeit of caramels. I hope you will forgive me and overlook my boldness, sir.” She fanned herself a little harder. He had the most enticing dark eyes she had ever seen.
The masked officer chuckled, his voice rich and smooth like hot fudge. “Your secret is safe with me, provided that you leave whatever more there may be for the rest of us poor mortals to enjoy.” His lips twitched into a half-smile.
Julia couldn’t breathe. Heavens! She must have eaten too much or her corset had grown too tight. She willed herself to remain unruffled, all the while fanning herself harder. She gave him a sidelong glance out of the corner of her eye. My, but he was tall, much taller than most of the men she knew. They must grow them big wherever he came from.
“Where do you come from?” she blurted out, to cover her discomfort.
He blinked behind his mask. Were his eyes black or merely dark brown? “From New York, miss,” he replied. “And you?”
I can’t possibly say Virginia. She smoothed her mask. Of course! At a masked ball, everyone pretended to be someone else. So would she.
“Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier,” she answered, quoting lines from the First Fairy’s speech in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “Over park, over pale, through flood, through fire I do wander everywhere, swifter than the moon’s sphere, and I serve the fairy queen.”
Her companion cocked his head, then grinned, displaying a perfect set of even white teeth. In her champagne-befuddled state, Julia found this very attractive.
“Thou speakest aright. I, too, am a merry wanderer of the night,” he replied from the same play, though he changed Puck’s words slightly. Even his grin took on the impish quality of Shakespeare’s “merry sprite.”
Julia