Surrender (29 page)

“Jerome’s
mother
is expecting a child?”

“Yes.” Alaina looked at Risa. “Such things do happen.”

“I know, but—” Risa murmured. How ironic! “Well, it’s getting late. We should probably both get some sleep.”

Alaina rose, hugging her again. “You’re sure you’re comfortable? And there’s nothing else I can get for you?”

“I’m perfectly comfortable, and there’s nothing I need.”

“There’s nothing you want to say, you’re fine on your own?”

“I’m fine. Go to bed!” Risa told her.

Alaina kissed her cheek then, smiled at her strangely, and left for her own little house.

Risa watched her go, wondering why she hadn’t managed to tell Alaina the truth. She’d been too much of a fool regarding McKenzie men.

I
t was far easier being in St. Augustine, than following McClellan’s army.

McClellan was constantly surrounded by death.

The ills that prevailed in St. Augustine were not so constant, nor thankfully, so severe.

Many of the Union soldiers had scurvy, which could be cured with readily available citrus fruits. As fall cooled the temperatures, there were not nearly so many mosquitoes, and there were far fewer cases of heat exhaustion.

Soldiers steadily arrived on the operating table due to frequent skirmishing on the river. But the numbers of wounded seemed far more manageable, the ability to treat them greater. They were not required to move in the middle of surgery, nor did they fear cannon fire exploding overhead as they operated.

On the night that marked her first full week in St. Augustine, Risa went to bed thoughtful and exhausted. Sometimes it was difficult maintaining a normal routine in the city. The Southerners resented her, while the Unionists were too friendly. She had a habit of being very opinionated, and she was far too quick to become embroiled in the local situation. She’d insisted that day that an officer vacate the confiscated premises of a Southern lady, stating the woman had done him no wrong, nor had she been involved in the war effort, nor had she insulted any of the Union soldiers. In the upshot, the colonel had been called in, the officer ousted. He was angry with Risa, though she politely explained that it wouldn’t further their cause if they were to be known as thieves. The aging Southern lady resented Risa for
begging the Yankee to return her property—though that didn’t stop her from moving back into her house.

She should have been in England, Risa reminded herself.

But what then, and what now?

How long would it be until she could no longer hide her condition?

She laced a cup of tea with a few drops of brandy, determined that she was going to sleep well that night, and then somehow decide what to do with her future. She thought wryly that if she had gotten into her predicament just a few months earlier, she might have had Alaina tell the world she’d given birth to twins. But she knew in her heart that there was no pretense she could make, no charade she could play. She wanted her baby, and she wanted to be its mother. But the mere thought of how viciously the world treated unwed mothers and illegitimate babies made her fearful. A marriage of convenience to a good friend just might be in order. Since the baby’s father was marrying elsewhere, the concept of informing him was irrelevant.

Her days were still wearing, and that night, ensconced in her comfortable bed, a fire burning low in the grate against the slight damp chill of the Florida fall, she slept deeply.

Only to awake in panic.

A hand clamped over her mouth. She felt the heat of a human body next to her, but before her heart could completely fail her, she heard Jerome’s whisper, and breathed in his subtle, masculine scent.

“Don’t scream. It’s me.”

He released her and stood, coming around to her side of the bed and staring down at her in the flickering red firelight. He was shirtless, wearing damp breeches, no shoes. His dark hair curled over his shoulders, auburn highlights caught by the fire. His features were hard and set, eyes fierce with a sharp blue glitter.

“I should most certainly be screaming,” she said, “and you’re a fool if you think I won’t. You’ve abducted me, you’ve ravished me, you’ve attacked a ship on which I sailed. Now you’re in my bedroom in a Union-held town. You are the most annoyingly active enemy—”

She broke off with a little gasp because he reached down, pulling her covers away. She sat up, indignant.

“You know, McKenzie, I really will scream! Out of respect to your family, I’d like to keep you from becoming Yankee target practice, but—”

“Get up.”

“Get up? You fool! St. Augustine is being held by Union forces. Didn’t you know that? You can’t order me—no!”

But he had swept her up despite her protest and set her firmly on her feet. His eyes scanned her deliberately.

“Captain McKenzie, get out of my house, and my room. I warn you—” She broke off, a startled cry escaping her, for he ripped her white cotton nightgown over her head, leaving her naked. Furious, she tried to push free from him, tried to grab hold of the fabric he wrenched away.

“Stop it!” she demanded frantically. “Damn you! I won’t let you—I will scream!”

But she found herself lifted and set back on the bed. He didn’t crawl atop her with unbridled passion, but sat at her side, hands exploring the definite rise of her abdomen and enlarged globes of her breasts.

“Don’t!” she whispered, trying to push his hands away. But then his eyes were on hers, blue flames in the firelight, and again, there was no hint of passion about him, just a tightly leashed fury that made her stomach catapult.

“You have a bloody nerve!” she told him, trembling.

His eyes shot to hers. “This is why you were so eager to avoid me aboard ship.”

“Captain, you were busy aboard ship, if you’ll recall. Seizing, plundering, humiliating your enemies.”

“Neither Captain Briggs nor Lieutenant Waylon needed my help to be humiliated. And yet I must be grateful for their lack of seamanship—which allowed me such an easy conquest. Since you were attempting to slip away to England, and marry elsewhere—with my child.”

She could not help but go on the defensive then—even if all the arguments she had waged with herself in favor of leaving had been solid. It didn’t much matter now that she’d entirely made up the man she claimed
she was going to marry. “You—you’ve really no right to be here. You don’t know that it’s your child—”

“I think that I do.”

She swallowed, longing to have his absolute arrogance and assurance, if only for a moment.

Well, she did have it, she could have it—she was a general’s daughter. She pushed up against the bedding, ignoring the chill that touched her bare skin. She met his eyes. “It seemed senseless to bring my condition to your attention since there was nothing you could do. Nor do I blame you, or hold you accountable—”

“Ah, you are so noble,” he interrupted.

His tone was unnerving, as was the way he looked at her.

“Look, there’s a war on—”

“Yes, there’s a war on. And there’s blood and death and dismemberment daily. So I damned well don’t appreciate your attempts to rob me of this new life.”

“I didn’t know what you’d think—”

“You didn’t bother to ask me!” he snapped.

“Go to hell! We are enemies. Besides, you’re engaged, and you must take Miss Thompson into consideration—”

“I’ve taken everything into consideration,” he told her angrily, “including the fact that I can’t take a cat-o’-nines to you—since it could injure the child!”

“Oh, how dare you be so self-righteous—”

“How dare I?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing sharply. “You knew! You knew this when I found you in Virginia. And you didn’t say a word—”

“You didn’t stay very long!” she reminded him.

“Long enough for you to have mentioned the fact that we were expecting a child.”

“To what purpose?” she cried out.

“Get up!” he demanded, rising, and catching her hands to draw her to her feet before him.

“Why? What are you planning to do?”

“Marry you.”

“What?”

“Marriage, my love. That is the purpose.”

“Here? Now?” she queried somewhat hysterically.

“No—in the parlor, in two minutes,” he countered.

He left her standing, turning to her wardrobe to sort through her clothing. “We don’t need anything too fussy—I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion, but coming by river doesn’t allow for much in the way of formal attire. Here, this will do.”

He spun back around with a white cotton day dress, suitable for an afternoon barbecue. He tossed it toward her, and she reflexively caught it. “No corset tonight or in the future. Brent and Julian both consider it barbaric the way women try to hide their condition, while strangling their poor babes. Dammit, get dressed.”

Tears stung her eyes. Despite the fact that he’d scared her to death and his temper was foul, she’d been ridiculously pleased to see him. Yet what had she been expecting? A bent-knee proposal from a man engaged to another woman?

She shook her head. “I can’t marry you.”

“Can’t?”

“You’re a Rebel,” she reminded him, teeth grating.

“I’m a Rebel?” he repeated.

She narrowed her eyes, frightened of his mood, and the animosity he bore her, yet hurt and determined to hurt him in turn. “You’re a Rebel—and worse,” she informed him contemptuously. “You’ve Indian blood in your veins. You do have a savage streak, and you’re the most incredibly rude man I’ve ever met. I simply can’t marry you.”

He came to her swiftly, catching her arms and dragging her to him so that her head fell back and she met the glittering fury in his eyes. “I should make your backside crimson for that, Miss Magee, and I warn you, the temptation remains. Pay attention, lest you tempt me too far. You’re going to marry me. Because you weren’t forced into anything—we’re both responsible for that babe. I will deal with my previous relationships; they are none of your concern. But you will put that dress on and you will marry me—because my child isn’t going to be a bastard, nor will he call any other man father. Now, let’s go!” he snapped.

She wrenched free from him. “You bastard!” she cried.

His eyes narrowed. “Whatever I am, you’re about to
be my wife. Get dressed,” he commanded, and left the room.

Shaking so that she could barely manage, Risa slipped into the white gown. It wasn’t a matter of bowing down to the orders he barked out; she was making her own decision.

He was right regarding their child. The world might be different when the war was over, but she was certain that illegitimacy would still bear a terrible stigma. The baby was innocent, and deserved the best she could give.

She took the time to brush her hair, and he came back for her, dressed now with boots on and a smart navy jacket. His features hard and fathomless, his eyes swept the length of her. “You’ve agreed.”

“I’ve agreed,” she said coolly, absurdly ready to burst into tears and absolutely determined that she wouldn’t do so. He was so tense and hostile that she nearly reneged. She didn’t want to be a despised wife. Not after all that burned between them, the fierce passion and longing that had so seduced her. But passion was a fire that could burn too brightly, and singe all else.

She started toward the bedroom door, then swung back, her hostility as great as his. “I’ve agreed—for the child. But I’ll not tolerate your arrogance, and know that I despise all that you stand for. I’ll give you your wedding vows, if that’s what you wish, but you stay away from me, Captain McKenzie, do you understand? You keep your distance. Am I clear?”

He arched a brow, strode to her, and allowed his gaze to sweep over her once again in a dry assessment.

“The world is full of women, Miss Magee. Young, beautiful—and welcoming. Rebels, if you will. So live in a glasshouse, if you so choose, but let’s get this done. For the sake of the child. However,” he said, enunciating sharply, “you should be fairly warned. Should I desire things differently, neither time nor distance will ever deter me from claiming what is rightfully mine.”

She felt like ice, and it was all wrong, and she was afraid that she was equally the cause of it, but she couldn’t seem to force herself to stop it.

He took her by the elbow, and led her to the parlor. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see that not only
was the local Anglican reverend in her house, but both Alaina and Ian were there as well. Risa realized that it had been a very long time since she had seen the two of them together.

Alaina looked incredibly guilty and uncomfortable, but her long stare at Risa was accusing as well. Risa should have shared the truth with so close a friend.

Ian seemed impatient, disturbed that an infamous Rebel was testing sanity by being in this town.

Risa didn’t hug either of them. She gave them both sharp glares—which they ignored.

“Well, well, under the circumstances, we should get started,” the reverend murmured nervously. “The two of you, Risa, Jerome, before the fire here…ahem!”

He began the ceremony. Risa was aware of the total incongruity of it all. There was Ian—whom she had intended to marry. And Alaina, her best friend. And next to her…

Jerome. Her enemy. And yet he was the man who had so enticed and fascinated her that she had wanted him when wanting was madness. Towering, dark, handsome, an irresistible force. Eyes lowered, she saw his hands, and felt a tremor as she recalled his touch. She thought of his eyes, rivetingly blue against the bronze of his face, made all the more compelling by the richness of his heritage. She heard his voice, clear and strong, as he recited his vows, and she closed her eyes, and thought of the mercy he had shown his enemies when seizing their ship. And she realized then, marrying him, that she was in love with him. The passion they had shared had been overwhelming in its intensity, and the fires had perhaps blinded her from the truth. She hadn’t wanted to avoid this marriage because he was the enemy, but because she was afraid. Afraid that she loved him, and he could not love her. Her eyes and throat burned—she’d had no right to allow her own fears to risk her baby’s future. And yet…