The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (10 page)

“Oh, no,” she smiled, playing with one of her hanging curls. “But if you want help getting her, you’ll need my assistance. Daddy won’t take kindly to you Yankee types snooping around her skirts.”

“Caroline,” his voice sounded tense. She’d hit a nerve.

“Jack, I’m not stupid. I know you want to keep your pretty command in the Union. And you’ll be heading back North now that war’s begun. My father won’t support your cause without my help.” She winked at him. She saw the flicker in his eyes as he considered what she said, and she knew she’d won when he swallowed hard. Oh how she’d like him to swallow something else…she shivered with anticipation.

“All right, Caroline, I need your help then.”   

I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those have neither
fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for
more blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is Hell.

—William T. Sherman, 1879

Chapter Nine

The gleam in her eyes should have warned Jack. It was barely visible in the dark hall, but he caught it. His heart thudded madly from wanting to protect Emma and placate Caroline. As he led her back toward the others, his head was foggy from drinking and Emma’s scent, which still lingered. He blinked and tried to steady himself, only vaguely aware of Caroline’s chattering.

“…just follow my lead,” she whispered outside the door to the parlor.

Jack nodded.

“Jack, there you be,” Charles slurred, shoving a glass of amber liquid into his hand.

Jack smiled at his friend. This might be the last time he’d see him. He raised his glass to cheer for Virginia, feeling a tug of regret that his duty called him to the federal side. Those in this room, his family, his home and the South were his heritage. But when he thought of his father, the brandy curdled in his stomach.

Jean Baptiste and tradition. He’d heard about it throughout his childhood. The Fontaines had been here since the French and would remain so by blood. Even if that blood meant pain and torture for a young girl, “sacrificed” for the family. Jack felt anger rolling through him just as Billy smacked his shoulder with a laugh.

He turned.

“You lookin’ kinda quiet, there, Jack,” the young man said.

Jack scoffed and raised his empty glass. “Just noticin’ I’s be needing another,” he drawled.

“Here, let me,” the syrupy sweet voice cooed next to him.

He looked down and found Caroline pouring his glass full. She looked up at him, her gaze hooded as she bent her head and took a sip from his glass. What was she doing? But she flitted away before he could ask.

The rest of the night ebbed and flowed. He put his glass down only to have it thrust back into his hand as they raised another toast. He had a long ride ahead, but first, he must rest before speaking with John Henry about Emma. Emma. He closed his eyes, remembering her touch, and he swayed off balance, barely able to stop his fall. His thoughts were clouded by the whiskey. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his mind.

The world slowly began to spin. Stepping toward the side table, he set his glass down and vaguely heard it hit the floor as the room exploded with another roar for the South. He turned to bid everyone good night, but then everything went black.

#

Emma made it to her room, her chest heaving with each breath as she closed the door. She went to the window, grabbing the frame as she struggled to concentrate.

“Miss Emma…”

Emma’s heart leapt at the timid whisper of her slave, Issy. With her hand at her heart, she fought to breath evenly. “Issy,” she stammered. “Leave.”

Issy looked at her, the whites of her eyes showing in the moonlight pouring through the window. She nodded and scampered out of the room.

With her hand skimming over her neck and down, past her bosom to her waist, Emma’s eyes closed, remembering Jack’s touch. She touched her breasts, and a shiver racked her body as her nipples tightened. The pool between her legs returned at the memory of Jack’s kiss, his groan as his fingers slipped inside her. It was wicked, wanton behavior, but she couldn’t deny her longing for him.

Her legs buckled and she plopped onto her mattress, falling backward on the downy softness. Despite her wine-induced haze, she knew what had happened. Jack had compromised her thoroughly. And he had spoken of making her honorable by marriage. Yet, had he asked her to marry him? No, but his words hinted at it. She sighed, closing her eyes. Yes, she would be all right…

#

Click

Jack heard the sound. Metal, like a gun’s hammer locked into place, the chamber loaded. Naw, he was nowhere near any guns, not yet anyway. The pounding inside his head hurt terribly. His mind slipped back to the place he had been, hoping the pain would stop. He drifted, holding Emma, naked in his arms. She laughed when he pulled her closer so he could nibble at her neck again. That beautiful, elegant neck. He nuzzled her hair, burying his nose in it, kissing behind her ear and tracing her neck with his tongue.

She still wore that contraption of metal and lacing. He was puzzled. When did she put that back on?

“Jack.”

It was a male voice. Plus the smell of metal. And sulfur. He recalled one other time he had heard that metallic noise and smelled sulfur. It was from a gun. His eyes opened wide to find the muzzle of a rifle at his nose.

“What the hell are you doing, Jack?” It was Charles. But he wasn’t the one holding the gun. Jack looked up the gun barrel to its owner, John Henry. A very angry John Henry.

Underneath his arm, Jack felt a soft cotton-clad body move. He blinked, his mind sluggish. Releasing his hold on the woman near him, he focused on who he had been caught with in a compromising situation.

He suddenly knew before looking. Caroline. He jumped out of the bed, astonished when he saw her lying next to him, clad only in her undergarments, corset and petticoats. She was on top of the blanket, he underneath. What on God’s green Earth had happened?

“Get dressed, Mr. Fontaine.” The order snapped Jack’s attention back to her father. The man still aimed the rifle at him.

Jack’s clothing was thrust at him before his fuzzy mind cleared enough to register he was standing there shirtless, his drawers slightly unbuttoned and barely holding up over his hips.

“Daddy?” Caroline squeaked, her head tipped up to stare at her father. Jack noted she didn’t seem worried about being exposed, although her father, her brother and Billy stood around them.

“Caroline, cover yourself,” her father ordered, throwing the bedsheet over her. At least she blushed at the sound of his cold voice.

As Jack buttoned his trousers and shrugged into his shirt, his muddled mind searched for memories of the previous night. How the hell did he end up in bed, Caroline’s bed? But his head pounded fiercely, and he couldn’t figure it out. Frankly, he thought he was going to lose the contents of his stomach. He closed his eyes, his fingers pushing against his temple.

“But daddy, it isn’t what you think,” she argued, her shrill voice piercing Jack’s brain like a dagger.

“Caroline, shut up.” It was Billy. Jack peered through slitted eyes at the man. He was glowering, his voice furious. He wasn’t her father, why was he so mad?

Holding the sheet around her, she scrambled out of bed shaking, her eyes flooding. “Daddy, please…”

“Tilly!”

The slave appeared instantly. “Yes, massa?”

“Take your mistress and get her cleaned up. She’s got a wedding to go to.”

“No, no…” Caroline wailed as Tilly pulled her out of the room.

John Henry glared at Jack, his rifle no longer pointed at him, but Jack saw he kept his hand over the trigger.

“So, you be thinkin’ to take a memory of my daughter with ya’, huh?” the family’s patriarch bellowed. “How dare you touch her, with your filthy Yankee-loving hands?!”

“No sir,” Jack said, searching his fuzzy memories of the previous night. Whiskey and Emma and Caroline and, and, nothing. “I wasn’t trying to do any such thing…”

Billy spat the chewing tobacco at Jack’s bare feet, barely missing them. Jack’s ears started to buzz and his stomach flipped.

John Henry’s eyes burned holes into Jack, and he felt their heat. “Charles, get him ready. Samson’s getting the preacher.”

Jack shook his head. He couldn’t stay here. There’s a war and he needed to get back to Washington. He wobbled, the room swaying before him. Jesus, how much whiskey did he drink? With a deep breath, he struggled to steady himself and felt a hand under his elbow, helping him. Charles.

“Sir, nothing happened.” But was he sure? He thought he had been with Emma. His breath hitched. Emma. Oh, dear Lord…

“Mr. Fontaine, I’ve welcomed you into my house, as a son, and in return, you seduced my daughter,” the man stated angrily. “You will pay for such an offense in the only honorable way.”

“Still think we should shoot him,” Billy seethed.

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at him. Billy seemed overly hostile about this….

“Billy, father,” Charles interrupted. “Let me get Jack cleaned up.”

John Henry eyed Jack from head to foot and back again. “Get him ready. I expect the reverend to be here shortly. Billy, come with me.” And they left the room.

Jack slumped to the bed as Charles looked at him incredulously.

“Jack, what the hell were you thinking?”

#

Caroline allowed Tilly to drag her out the door and down the hall, but at the door to the bathing chamber, she planted her feet firmly on the floor.

“Enough,” she stated, yanking her arm free of the slave’s grasp.

“But massa Henry says to get…” Tilly flustered.

“I know what my father said.” Why did that little darkie call her father Henry? Caroline huffed. No respect from these people! “I can bathe myself. Get my blue dress ready.” She smiled. “We haven’t much time.”

The slave nodded frantically and hurried away. Not so stupid after all, she laughed, walking into the bathing room.

Her plan had worked so well. She was rather pleased with herself. Oh, she had worried she might not succeed because it took so much whiskey to get Jack inebriated and direct him to her room instead of his own. Using Emma’s name to lure Jack, she had brought him to her room. He leaned on her most of the way, mumbling something incoherently, her sister’s name on his lips, which thoroughly disgusted her. But she drove on and barely got him to her bed when he passed out.

Part of her, some dim voice inside, whispered she’d gone too far, but the reason was clear. She’d had her hat set for him since his first visit. And she knew he was attracted to her—she even had correspondence from him that proved it. Well, he never mentioned marriage or love, but she was sure that would come until this silly war had interfered. Another reason why she refused to help run the house was because she needed to avoid marring her beauty with manual labor and fretting about meals and so forth. She needed to be gay and pretty for her husband. She smiled.

But he wanted Emma
.

She snorted as she poured water into the washbowl. Everyone knew Emma was too young for him, too immature and what he needed was a real woman. He needed Caroline. Soon, he’d realize how wonderful they’d be together.

She dampened the wash cloth and ran it over her nude body as she stood in the sitz tub. Her nipples puckered under her hand, and a bolt of desire shot through her body, imagining Jack Fontaine’s mouth on her breasts, his shaft between her thighs. She moaned, feeling herself moisten at the thought. Tonight, he’d be hers.

And poor Emma. Caroline knew most of the men were going to enlist. A wicked smile crossed her face. Emma would do fine in any case. She could have Billy now.

Billy. Caroline’s breath hitched. She’d miss him, but she had to admit, he was beginning to bore her. Things changed between them after he began to demand she answer his notes. That’d never work because she was the one in control. Perhaps, if he didn’t get himself killed, she might play with him again in the future, but not now. She was going to marry Jack and live in luxury because his family was rich.

She finished her bath and dried off. Donning her blue silk gown, Caroline waited impatiently, stomping her feet as Tilly tried to quickly dress her hair. The minister should be here, and she wanted the vows said right away…before Jack realized she had manipulated him into marrying her.

“Oh, enough!” She stood, grabbed her fan and left for the parlor.

As she headed for the staircase, she heard muffled sobs and Billy’s muted voice. She suddenly stopped and strained to listen.

“Emma, Emma,” Billy murmured. “Don’t cry. He isn’t worth it.”

“Oh, Billy,” her garbled voice said. “He lied to me.”

Caroline’s lips twitched. She wished she could see them. But she sighed and went down the stairs. She’d see Emma soon enough. They quieted at the sound of her footfalls on the steps. She pretended she didn’t know they were there, standing off to the side in the hallway. The infamous hallway, Caroline smiled. The one where she had begun to seduce Jack. She’d remember it fondly, always.

Caroline rounded the doorway to the parlor and came face to face with Rev. Jameson talking to her father. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack, looking somewhat greenish. Despite his sickly hue, he was still handsome in his navy blue uniform. The yellow piping down the outer seam of his pants stood out against the dark blue. He clutched his hat, the large black-feathered plume dancing against his sleeve. He was nervous. How divine. The two silver bars on his collar shined in the sunlight. She recalled he was an officer—captain was it? In the cavalry, like Charles. Oh yes, she liked that—the thought of being an officer’s wife.