Surrender to the Fury (7 page)

“That should be obvious, Lieutenant,” Aimee said sweetly. “I’m going to pick berries. Berry pie will make a nice treat for tonight’s supper.”

“Indeed it will,” agreed Dill. “Has Captain Drummond approved your little excursion into the woods?”

“Of course,” Aimee lied. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be going.”

“Then I won’t stop you.” Dill smiled, easily manipulated by Aimee’s sherry-colored eyes and innocent manner. “I’ll look forward with pleasure to supper tonight.”

The woods was cool and dark. Aimee threaded her way around fallen trees and rotting vegetation as she headed directly toward the berry patch she had discovered years ago when she was still a new bride at Tall Oaks. Beau had enjoyed many a berry pie made from the fruits of that particular patch. Just as she suspected, the vines were heavy with large, succulent blackberries just waiting to be plucked from their thorny vines. She filled the pail in no time at all.

“Aimee.” Her name rustled through the leaves like a disembodied specter. She heard it clearly but couldn’t see its source. “Aimee, over here, behind the tall oak with the twisted trunk.”

Whirling about, Aimee stared at the tree, unable to see through the massive trunk to the voice beyond. The fine hair at the nape of her neck stood on end and a frisson of fear curled down her
spine. “Who—who are you? What do you want with me?”

Several tense seconds passed before the speaker stepped from behind the gnarled oak. Aimee gasped in recognition.

“God, Aimee, it’s good to see you. You’re just as beautiful as ever.”

“Gar! Garson Pinder. I’d heard you’d been seriously wounded and were not expected to recover.” Garson Pinder and his family were friends of the Trevors’. On occasion she and Beau had visited their lovely plantation, located a half day’s journey from Tall Oaks. Only the burned-out hulk of their once magnificent house now stood. Garson’s two sisters and mother were now living with relatives in Savannah. His father had fallen at Gettysburg.

Gar grinned impudently as his eyes raked Aimee from head to toe. He’d always been a cocky young man, and Aimee was surprised to see how little the war had changed him. On more than one occasion he had flirted openly with Aimee, but since he and Beau were such fast friends and no harm had come of his overtures, she had never mentioned the situation to her husband.

“As you can see, I’m alive and well. I’m attached to army intelligence now.”

“What are you doing here? Don’t you know Tall Oaks is swarming with Yankees?”

“At least they didn’t burn it down like Rose Acres and other surrounding plantations,” he said with a hint of accusation.

Aimee flushed guiltily, though in truth she had no reason to feel guilty. “I’m sorry. But you haven’t
answered my question. What are you doing in the midst of Yankee territory?”

“I followed a messenger here yesterday. I’ve been hiding in the woods ever since, hoping to have a private word with you. According to my information, Captain Nick Drummond is in charge of the blue-bellies billeted at Tall Oaks. Is that correct?”

“Your information is correct.” Aimee wondered where this conversation was leading.

Gar moistened his slips, peered at her through hooded eyes, and asked, “Have they harmed you in any way?”

“No, they’ve not touched me. I’m in no danger as long as I abide by Captain Drummond’s rules.”

Gar nodded, apparently satisfied. “I need your help, Aimee. I desperately need to know what those dispatches the messenger delivered yesterday contained, and there is no way I can get inside the house without being caught. It’s essential to the Confederacy that I learn the enemy’s next move in the area. I have reason to believe that dispatches inside that pouch reveal the exact location of the North’s next target.”

Aimee didn’t need an interpreter to know exactly what Gar was asking of her. “You want me to spy?”

“I’m asking you to do whatever is necessary to get that vital information to me. You’re a beautiful woman, Aimee,” he hinted crudely. “You should have little problem finding out what I need to know.”

Aimee paused. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? “Just how far am I expected to go in order to get this information?”

Gar looked at her squarely, stripping her of everything but her pride. “I think you get the picture, Aimee. Do you think Beau would fault you if he knew how desperately the South needs your help? I don’t care how you come by the information, I’m just telling you that without it, the war is as good as lost. You’ve been married; you know about men and how easy it is to beguile them.”

Privately Aimee thought the Confederacy was headed toward defeat, but being as patriotic as the next person, she refrained from voicing her opinion. Perhaps Gar was right. Perhaps the dispatches Nick received would help the South win an important battle. But she had no intention of doing as Gar suggested in order to get that information. She hesitated so long that Gar began to fidget nervously. Fearing capture, he dared not linger in the area longer than necessary.

“Well, Aimee, will you help us? Or will you let Beau’s death go unavenged? It’s within your power to make a big difference in the course of the war.”

With that, Aimee felt she could hardly refuse. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything,” she said hesitantly.

Gar’s lips curled in a slow smile. “I knew you’d see things my way. After all this nasty business is over … well, you always knew you occupied a tender place in my heart. I was Beau’s best friend, and I’ll take care of you like Beau would have wanted me to.”

Aimee had no illusions about Gar’s halfhearted promise. “Gar, I’ll help if I can, but—”

“Meet me here in one week, Aimee. At midnight. I’ll be waiting. If you can’t bring me the
contents of the pouch, then at least read the dispatches and memorize their contents as well as any others that arrive for Drummond.”

“I’ll try, Gar, but …” Her sentence trailed off as Gar turned abruptly and disappeared into the dappled shadows of the forest. “Gar, wait!” But it was too late. He must have tethered his mount nearby, for she heard the horse prancing in the underbrush. Then absolute silence followed as they rode out of earshot.

Never had Aimee been so troubled. She was basically an honest person; spying went against everything she’d ever been taught. Yet Gar made it sound as if the future of the South depended upon the information in the dispatches Nick received. He had boldly intimated that she should do anything inside or outside the bounds of propriety to obtain that information. Her head spinning with terrifying visions of what Nick would do to her if he caught her spying, Aimee slowly made her way out of the woods. She had just stepped into the clearing when a lone horseman rode straight for her, hell for leather.

She tried to flee back into the protection of the forest, but the madman was off his horse and upon her before she could find a hiding place. “What in the hell are you doing out here when I specifically forbade you from leaving the yard?”

“I—I thought you were gone.”

Nick bent her a disgruntled look. “My horse threw a shoe and I had to return. Are you going to answer my question?”

“I wanted to pick berries.”

“So Lieutenant Dill told me. You deliberately
lied to him. You knew I never gave you permission to go into the forest by yourself.”

Aimee held her ground despite his simmering anger. “I thought a pie would taste good tonight.”

Grasping her arm, Nick gave her a vicious shake. “Forget the pie, Aimee; don’t you know how dangerous it is traipsing through the woods by yourself? There are deserters and marauders out there who would make short work of you.” Suddenly his green eyes narrowed suspiciously and he asked, “What are you
really
doing out here?” He peered around warily, his hand resting on his gun.

Aimee flushed, her eyes fearful as she followed the direction of Nick’s gaze. She fervently prayed Gar was long gone by now. “I told you, I was gathering berries. Let me go!”

He released her so abruptly that she fell to her knees. “Where are the berries?”

His question startled her. “I—I must have forgotten them.”

“You ventured into the woods specifically to gather berries and forgot them?” He stared at her doubtfully.

“My mind must have wondered and I walked off without them. I’ll go back for them now.”

“Not without me.” He grasped her wrist and pulled her deeper into the woods, stomping around trees and underbrush until they came to the berry patch. The bucket sat on the ground, overflowing with plump blackberries.

“I told you so,” Aimee crowed triumphantly.

“So you did,” Nick said slowly. His vivid green eyes seemed to pierce into the very core of her, accusing,
menacing—terrifying. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

Aimee drew herself up to her full five feet three. “May I leave now? I should get started on the pie if we’re to have it for supper.”

A tense, awkward silence followed as they glowered at each other, each defying the other to make the first move.

Nick’s control snapped first. He had deliberately kept his distance from Aimee during the past weeks, mindful of the hatred she bore him. But not a minute went by when he was not profoundly aware of her presence, of her icy disdain. He noted the difference three square meals a day had made on her thin body, and he was grateful he had arrived when he did. Her lovely face had grown softer. Her patched gown no longer hung askew on her slim frame. Now it hugged her curves provocatively. There was a fragile radiance about her that no other woman possessed.

She was incredibly erotic. Her eyelashes were dark gold and thick. Her sultry features exuded a potent sexuality that was almost palpable. The aching need that arose in him each time he looked at Aimee suddenly exploded as he spun her around to face him. His eyes darkened and he gave a long, moaning sigh as he pulled her close. Against the softness of her breasts Aimee could feel the rocklike fortress of his chest. Nick gave in to the devils driving him and kissed her. Like it or not, Aimee was quickly becoming an obsession with him.

Aimee was doomed. She felt trapped. She wanted to run from the comforting closeness of his big body, and from the unfamiliar lethargic feeling
turning her legs into lumps of wood. Why did Nick Drummond affect her like this? she wondered resentfully. Why did the memory of Beau fade from her mind as if he never existed the moment this man took her into his arms?

His mouth was hard, hot, incredibly demanding, insulting—tempting. Too damn tempting as her arms suddenly developed a will of their own and crept upward to wind around his neck. She was drowning in his heat, his taste, his delicious masculine scent. Aimee’s tentative response drew a groan from Nick’s lips. When he broke off the kiss, a devilish grin settled on his roguish features.

“I told you before not to touch me!” said Aimee hotly.

“Are you going to tell me you didn’t like that?”

“I hated it. I hate you!”

“Look at me, Aimee.” When she shied away, he gripped her chin between forefinger and thumb and tilted her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes. They stared at each other breathlessly, neither willing to give an inch, before Nick said, “You’re a liar, sweetheart. Don’t you know that the eyes are windows to the soul? And yours, my beautiful Mrs. Trevor, are more expressive than most. You want me, sweetheart, as much as I want you. Why are you fighting me? Your husband has been dead a long time. There’s nothing to keep us from satisfying our hunger for one another.”

She shot him a scathing glance. Memories that refused to die lay like stepping-stones in her mind, leading her back to one inescapable fact. Nick Drummond had taken her virginity and had not even realized it. And he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did know it. She could forgive
him for being a Yankee, pardon him for callously taking her virginity and giving her Brand, but never for thinking her a whore.

“You’re despicable, Captain Drummond!” Those hours of incredible passion he had given her did not exist, she told herself firmly. They were visions from a dream that had no place in reality, over and done with years ago. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“Tell me another lie.” He carefully lowered her to the soft bed of leaves carpeting the ground. His hard mouth smothered her furious protests. She felt the breeze cool her heated flesh and knew he had worked her dress up her legs to her waist. And suddenly all the fight drained from her. She was tired of battling him.

“Very well, Captain Drummond,” Aimee said, struggling for breath, “go ahead, do your worst, rape me. I can see you won’t be satisfied until you get what you’ve been panting after since you walked back into my life. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” Deliberately she spread her legs, offering him free access to that which he had been craving for longer than he cared to admit.

Nick uttered a sharp expletive and sat back on his heels. Though Aimee was tempting displayed before him, he hesitated. Rape? He abhorred rape—detested brutish men who felt the need to force themselves on women. The first time he had taken Aimee hadn’t been rape, and he couldn’t understand why she would think he would rape her now. He wanted to make love to her, to bring her the kind of pleasure she deserved. He was so certain of his ability to make her want him that he very nearly ignored her words. But the look in her
eyes drained all the fire from his body. He leaped to his feet, turning his back while he adjusted his clothes.

His words were cruel as he lashed out at her. “Close your legs; you look like a whore.”

Aimee blinked in disbelief. “Whore! That’s what you’ve always thought of me, isn’t it? No wonder I hate you.”

“Go on back to the house,” Nick ordered roughly. He didn’t look at her. “I’ll bring the berries.” When she didn’t move fast enough, he turned and shouted, “You heard me, get out of here before I change my mind!” Aimee took off at a run.

With ragged breaths, Nick rested his head against a tree, striking his fists repeatedly against the trunk until he drew blood. What was the matter with him? he asked himself bitterly. What had made him lash out at her like that? Why did her hatred pierce his heart like a dagger? Why did he have the feeling that if he couldn’t thrust himself inside her, he would surely die? His own fiancée didn’t affect him that way, and Regina was a passionate woman. Most women he had made love to were quickly forgotten after the first flush of passion was appeased. But after five years, his intimate hours with Aimee stood out in his mind in vivid relief.