Surrender to the Fury (11 page)

“And we’re enemies,” she finished lamely.

“We’re lovers, sweetheart,” he reminded her.

His rakish grin sent an arrow straight to her heart. Enemies by day, lovers by night. She hoped the information she had stolen for the Confederacy was worth all the anguish she was suffering.

“It can’t happen again. It
won’t
happen again.”

“Look at me,” he told her.

With great reluctance she met the searing green of his eyes.

“You came to me, remember? I tried my damnedest to keep my hands off you.”

She turned away, but his hand shot out to hold her chin in place. “Don’t turn away from me. Look at me and tell me you didn’t come to my room because this is what you wanted. Be honest and admit you wanted me as badly as I wanted you.”

Aimee blanched. The truth would send her to prison and separate her from her son. “I—I—suppose that’s the way it was. But it was a moment of madness; I shouldn’t have …”

“But you did. Now be quiet and let me love you again.”

“Damn you!” Tears stung her eyes. Moments ago she had lost her will to him. What would he demand next?

He demanded her soul.

He wanted to erase the touch of a dead man. He had no idea the memory of Beauregard Trevor’s timid loving had fled from Aimee’s thoughts the moment Nick Drummond touched her.

He took her again, slowly building the fire in her blood. By the time he lifted her to straddle him and thrust into her, no war separated them. They were one, moving together in perfect harmony, the subtle scent of love’s juices spurring them on. He moved constantly, exquisitely, faster, harder, with each thrust, urging her toward climax with hoarse cries.

The delicious thrill of fulfillment came upon her suddenly and she threw her head back and screamed as searing pleasure consumed her. Nick
continued thrusting a few moments longer, until she had given everything she had to give, then plunged one last time, held it, and spilled his seed. It was several minutes before either of them could speak or move.

“I don’t know exactly what happened, sweetheart, but that was the most wonderful loving I’ve ever had,” Nick admitted wryly. He tried to disguise his awe and confusion, but his trembling voice betrayed him. “Go to sleep; we’ll talk in the morning.” Nick’s emotions were too raw to test his power of reasoning. He needed time to come to grips with what he might or might not have discovered about his feelings this night.

Aimee waited until Nick’s even breathing indicated he was asleep before slipping from his arms. Quickly gathering her clothes, she tiptoed from his room. Remaining with him a minute longer than necessary was dangerous. He had caused her too much grief and anguish to fall victim to his seduction. Just being around him had taken a toll on her. She had sacrificed her integrity to the Confederacy, and her pride and her honor to Nick Drummond. Deep in her heart she knew the threat Nick Drummond presented to her placed her in great danger. The danger lay deep in the torrid depths of his green eyes, in the heat of his arms, in his bed …

Nick awoke suddenly, then smiled at the memory of Aimee coming alive in his arms, turning to him in her need, wanting him, loving him. He reached out to bring her back into his embrace and found her gone.

Pale streaks of crimson barely lit the eastern sky, yet he realized Aimee must have left him hours
ago, for the bed beside him was cold. He couldn’t blame her. It wouldn’t do for Brand to find his mother in another man’s bed when he so obviously revered his father. Dammit, he wished with all his heart he were Brand’s father! And the longer and harder he thought, the more he became convinced that his wish might be the truth. The problem lay in getting Aimee to admit it.

Rousing himself, Nick left the bed, his body still tingling with a sweet languor. Loving Aimee had been more pleasurable than anything he had experienced in recent years. He’d had many women in those five intervening years since he’d first seen her, yet when he thought back, none of them had satisfied him as Aimee had aboard the
Dixie Belle
when she had responded to him with the artful innocence of a practiced whore.

Nick dressed quickly, then suddenly recalled that he hadn’t destroyed the latest dispatches from headquarters. Both he and Lieutenant Dill had memorized the message the day before yesterday, and instead of taking the time to destroy the papers, he had replaced them inside the pouch and returned them to the chest. Since he had plenty of time before mustering the men, he moved briskly toward the chest beneath the window. The dispatches were too important to allow them to fall into the wrong hands. Not that he suspected anyone here of spying, but one couldn’t be too careful in times of war.

Opening the chest, he rummaged through his clothes until he located the leather pouch. With great care he drew forth the dispatches, intending to destroy them, something he should have already done. Suddenly his expression hardened
and his heart slammed painfully against his chest. Someone had tampered with the dispatches! One of the sheets of paper bore a stain. Holding it to the light, he recognized the clean imprint of a thumb. And he quickly identified the substance that made the stain as peach juice. He wanted to scream, to shout his rage—to cry. With a certainty that tore at his gut, he knew why Aimee had come to his room last night. And it wasn’t because she felt the same driving need he had. The foolish little chit. Did she have no idea what a charge of spying would do to her and her loved ones?

Placing the dispatches in the washbowl, he set a flame to them and watched them burn. He didn’t welcome the dilemma he faced, nor the position in which Aimee placed him. Spying was serious business, and as an officer in the Union army, he had a responsibility to his government and his men. He was fighting for a belief, for the unity of his country, for equality for all men regardless of race or color. He turned away, knowing there would be no rest for him until he came to grips with what his duty demanded and what his heart dictated.

In the end, duty prevailed.

Aimee carefully avoided Nick that day. Which wasn’t difficult considering the fact that he had ridden out with his men very early and hadn’t returned until after supper. She saw him briefly just before she retired, and the strange, hooded look he sent her frightened her. Did he expect her to come to his room tonight? she wondered. If he did, he was certainly going to be disappointed. Tonight was the night she was to meet with Gar and give
him the information for which she had sold her soul. And after that, she vowed never to spy again. She had too much to lose. She couldn’t be separated from Brand. And Nick was too astute not to realize what was going on.

Suspecting that Nick might be waiting for her in her room again, Aimee had moved her night-clothes to Brand’s room earlier that day, intending to spend the night in her son’s bed. Nick certainly wouldn’t demand her presence in his bed while Brand looked on, would he? And just to make certain, she locked the door. When the household was asleep, she’d sneak down the stairs, out the door, and into the woods. She’d be back long before anyone stirred.

Nick had come to a decision concerning Aimee before he returned to the house that evening. If she was spying, it stood to reason that she had an accomplice or a contact. There had to be someone nearby to receive the information she gathered. Since the only time she had left the house or yard had been when she went to the woods to pick berries, he assumed it was then that she had met her contact. And since, to his knowledge, she hadn’t left the yard since, he knew she would sneak out very soon in order to pass on the information she had stolen. In order to catch them red-handed, all he need do was play the waiting game. So he didn’t insist she come to him tonight—he had to give her every opportunity to meet her contact.

Sweet Jesus, could he send her to prison?

She was a spy.

Dousing the lamp in his room, Nick waited for Aimee to make her move. If not this night, then the next—or the next. He hesitated telling Lieutenant
Dill about his suspicions, but since Dill was second in command, he felt duty-bound to do so. Dill was appropriately shocked; he had held Aimee in high regard. He should have known, once a Reb, always a Reb.

Nick stood at the window. He was to keep watch while Dill listened for footsteps in the hall. The clock in the foyer struck midnight Just as the last chime reverberated through the stillness, Nick saw a vague movement outside in the shadows at the corner of the house. His attention sharpened. He was rewarded when he saw a wraithlike figure detach itself from the shadows and glide toward one of the sturdy oak trees lining the driveway. The figure was clothed in white, and Nick gave a snort of disgust Aimee was obviously so inept at spying, she didn’t realize how easy it was to spot a white object in the dark.

Fearing the sentry would challenge her, she remained concealed behind the huge tree trunk until he passed by. She had no inkling that the sentry had been instructed to ignore her in order that she might lead them to her accomplice. When Nick was satisfied that she was heading toward the woods, he moved swiftly. Fully armed, he sped from his room, stopping only long enough to summon Lieutenant Dill, who had failed to hear Aimee’s light tread when she traversed down the hallway on her secret mission. Together they moved noiselessly through the house and out the door. They followed Aimee’s path, gliding from tree to tree, keeping enough distance between them to prevent discovery. They entered the woods only moments behind her.

Once inside the protection of the trees, Aimee
paused only long enough to catch her breath. She had made it! She uttered a quick prayer that Gar would be waiting for her so she could return to the house before her absence was noticed. Since she no longer felt the need to conceal herself, she hurried through the trees and underbrush toward the meeting place. Her slippers moved softly across the spongy earth, the brilliant moonlight lighting her way. The hoot of a night owl startled her, but she gathered her wits and continued onward. She had been in these woods many times during the years she had lived at Tall Oaks, and had never found anything to frighten her.

She approached the gnarled old oak cautiously, her eyes darting about, on the lookout for Gar. She saw nothing, heard no one. The crash through the underbrush of a nocturnal animal sent her heart racing, but it quickly subsided when nothing menacing appeared from out of the darkness. The sturdy oak was directly in front of her now, and she stood fearfully beside it, waiting, listening. Her fingers clenched the scrap of paper bearing the information she had copied from the dispatches Nick had received, and she grew more desperate by the minute.

Suddenly a twig snapped and she started violently. Spinning on her heel, she saw a dark, specterlike figure emerge from behind a huge tree trunk. Her hand fluttered upward to still her wildly racing heart.

“Gar! You frightened me. I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I’ve been here all along, Aimee. I didn’t want to show myself until I was certain you weren’t being followed.”

Aimee peered behind her. “No one followed me; I’m certain of it But I must get back before my absence is noticed.”

Gar nodded. “Were you able to get the information for me?”

“I got what you requested,” Aimee said with such bitterness, Gar’s interest sharpened immediately.

“Was there a problem?”

No problem, she wanted to scream. Unless you call sleeping with the enemy a problem. “I managed,” she bit out. “Here.” She thrust the scrap of paper into his hand. “I copied the information down just like you asked. I think you’ll find it of vital importance to the Confederacy.”

Gar palmed the paper, slipping it inside his jacket pocket. “The Confederacy is grateful, I’m grateful. And if you’ll let me, I’ll show you how much.” The meaning of his words failed to register until he reached out and dragged her into his arms. She gasped in outrage. “You’re a beautiful woman, Aimee Trevor. Beau’s been dead a long time; I reckon you must be real lonely by now. I can remedy that before I leave.”

His lips came down on hers; his audacity shocked her. Aimee struggled free of his kiss, her eyes fiery with anger and disgust. “Gar, stop that! How dare you assume I’d welcome your attentions.”

Gar slid her a sly glance, his arms tightening around her. “Maybe you’re not as lonely as I thought. Just how far
did
you go to get to those dispatches?”

Nick stood behind the gnarled oak, having just stepped a bit closer so that he could hear the two
talk. He managed to understand Garson Pinder’s last sentence. Intense anger seethed through him when he realized just how far Aimee had gone to spy for her beloved South. She displayed no remorse over making him believe she came to his bed because she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. It hurt, dammit, hurt bad. And he was the biggest fool God ever created.

“She went too far—much too far,” Nick said bitterly as he stepped into full view.

Gar’s hands fell away from Aimee and went for his pistol. His effort proved futile as Lieutenant Dill materialized from the thicket of trees. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Reb.” When he realized he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping, Gar’s hands fell limply to his side. He gave Aimee a withering glance.

“Did you bring the blue-bellies with you?” asked Gar.

Stunned, Aimee couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only drag one shuddering breath after another until the need to faint had passed. Nick! How did he know? When did she give herself away? How? Questions without answers tumbled one upon another as she stared from Nick to Gar. Nick took it upon himself to answer Gar’s question.

“Your little Reb whore didn’t bring us, not intentionally anyway. She’s good, very good. She used great imagination in order to bring you the contents of the dispatches,” he said crudely. “I thought—I hoped—never mind what I thought, it’s not important. You’re both spies, and I’m placing you under arrest.”

“Spies?” Gar said, managing a nervous laugh.
“You’ve got me wrong, Yankee, I’m no spy. Since when is it a crime for a man to meet his lover in the woods?”