The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (11 page)

“Why, Miss Caroline, do come here,” Rev. Jameson drawled, stretching out his hand to her.

With a shy smile, she walked over to him.

“Let’s get on with this,” her father growled.

Rev. Jameson gave John Henry a stern look but nodded.

“Come, my child,” he told her, placing her in front of him. She heard her father’s bellowing voice call all the rest in.

Jack stood next to her, rigid and tense. She glanced at his face as Rev. Jameson began to drone about the sanctity of marriage. Jack’s face was stony; he never gazed at her or anyone else. Just stared ahead, his eyes unblinking.

“Do you Jacques Baptiste Christopher Paul Fontaine take Caroline Ann Silvers to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward?”

Heavens, how many names did the man have again? She gulped.

“I do.” His voice was flat, unemotional, his jaw tight.

“And do you, Caroline Ann Silvers, take Jacques Baptiste Christopher Paul Fontaine as your husband, to have and obey, till death do you part?”

Obey? Seriously? “I do,” she answered, smiling broadly.

“Then by the powers invested by St. Paul’s Church and the Commonwealth of Virginia, I announce you man and wife,” the preacher stated. “You may kiss your wife.”

Jack glared at the man for a second before his stony face returned. He bent, and she lifted on her toes to meet him. His lips barely touched her lips before he released her hands.

Her lips thinned, then one side curved upward. He was angry. Well, she’d show him later how good it would be.

Behind her, she heard another muffled sound, and her smile widened.

#

Jack knew he was damned. He barely heard the preacher, his mind still trying to recall memories from the fog of the previous night. Nothing. All he remembered was Emma. And her sweet laugh, how she smelled of strawberries and the honey of her lips. He still felt the taste of her nectar in his mouth.

He saw her before the ceremony, as Charles was still trying to talk to him. She looked devastated. When their eyes met, scorn filled hers, sending daggers his way. He felt them stab him when he uttered the damning words “I do.” And at the end, he heard her moan through her closed mouth. It sliced deep into his heart, destroying it.

His wife was smiling at him. He remembered thinking at one time that she was pretty. Now, she was his responsibility. The one thing he hadn’t wanted, not this way. Their forced marriage was for honor, family name, tradition—everything he had abhorred and run from before now stared him in the face.

“Get your bags. We leave now,” he said gruffly. He saw her flinch and, inwardly, that pleased him. For some reason, he couldn’t shake the thought that he might have seduced her while under the influence of abundant alcohol. Then again, she might have done so to him. The cloud in his mind didn’t help, and he was tired of trying to figure it out.

“But I thought…”

“Caroline, I have to return to Washington. You are my wife and will do as I tell you.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” she countered stiffly and turned, storming off.

He groaned inwardly. He was being an ass. With a sigh, he reached in his pocket and felt the rough edges of the handkerchief inside. Emma’s. He should return it. But he couldn’t. A wave of sorrow washed over him, and he glanced up, finding its source standing ten feet from him.

Emma stood tense, her hands clenching the shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Billy was by her side, his stare at Jack still full of anger.

Jack walked over to her. She stiffened, and Billy stepped to intercept him, but she touched his shoulder. With a shake of her head, he grudgingly moved away.

“Emma, I’m so—”

“No, Jack, don’t.” Her voice was brittle, breaking.

“I want to apologize,” he pleaded softly.

“For what? That I was too good to seduce, unlike my sister? If you had to get strapped with one of us, why not the prettier one?”

What the hell? “Emma, you have it all wrong.”

Her shoulders straightened and her mouth thinned. “No, I don’t believe so, Mr. Fontaine.”

Her eyes betrayed her and she knew he caught it. “Emma…” he wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, but he couldn’t. He was married, dammit. “If you need anything. Ever. Write to me.”

She laughed. It was a hollow, almost vindictive laugh. “Jack, get out of my house. Now. And don’t ever come here again.” She turned on her heel and walked away from him. Out of his life. Forever.

All we ask is to be left alone.

—Jefferson Davis, 1861

Chapter Ten

Washington, D.C., June 1861

Jack pushed Goliath faster the last couple of miles to reach Washington before sunset. Turning down the path into the city, he pulled up on the reins, slowing his mount. Even from a distance, he could see the town was crowded with the Army and more civilians.

“Whoa, boy,” he murmured to the black thoroughbred, patting the side of
his
its neck as the horse slowed to a walk. Jack slackened his grip on the reins and sat up, thinking about recent events.

After his hurried wedding and his failed attempt to apologize to Emma, he had gathered his wife, her slave Tilly and a wagon full of trunks and bags to take to the James River. They hardly spoke to each other after arguing over Caroline bringing the slave. He didn’t want anybody in bondage serving in his house. He wasn’t exactly an abolitionist, but he just couldn’t tolerate being among that particular institution’s standard bearers. Not after what had happened years ago because of his father. And after being at the Point, he had grown even more against slavery. But he had given into his wife just to quiet her rants and because of his need to leave. So he bought her passage to Washington and abruptly left her standing on the dock, complaining that he was deserting her, the words echoing in his head for miles. He hadn’t deserted her. He had to get to Washington and report in. Her luggage was way too cumbersome to transport by land. Plus, he needed the distance from her.

At first, he rode hard through the countryside, searching his thoughts for what had happened. The first night, he dreamt of Emma, of how she felt in his arms, how her skin tasted, but in the midst of those pleasurable memories came her parting words —
leave and never return
.

He woke, battered and torn emotionally. On the second day of hard riding, he finally pieced the fragmented scenes together and found his answer. Caroline had poured him way too many drinks and was always at his side, refilling his glass after every toast. She later lured him into her room with the promise of helping him with Emma. Oh, yes, she had helped him all right. Right into her bed. But there was no memory of actually coupling with her. He must have passed out, but just being in her bed had damned him.

By the third day of riding, it became obvious that the lands around him were devolving into war. More people were on the roads, some moving further inland, others leaving. Groups of men, both militia and armed civilians, marched. They gave him room to pass, probably because he was riding fast and hard and looked so haggard.

At least he was back in Washington, a temporary home until he learned the location of his unit.

Oh, and then there was Caroline.

He jerked in the saddle, bringing Goliath’s head up, breathing hard as the animal sidestepped. Damn, just thinking about her could unseat him. He tried to remember when her ship was docking. Maybe today, or was it tomorrow? With a heavy sigh, he realized she might be in his home even now, waiting for him.

He adjusted himself, the saddle leather creaking beneath him. Checking in with high command had been difficult to endure. The officer he reported to eyed him as though he was the enemy. In fact he asked Jack, because he was from the South, whether he too planned to resign as so many other southern soldiers had. Jack said he had no such plans, but the man’s look didn’t change, although he said nothing more other than to give Jack his assignment under George McClellan. Jack inwardly cringed. He remembered George B. McClellan. A graduate of West Point long before Jack, he was a member of the 2
nd
Cavalry and Jack had met him once. The man’s attitude annoyed Jack. He was a pompous ass. But a strong recommendation from his previous commander, along with his high marks at the Point had been why Jack was assigned to McClellan’s command.

Arriving home, Jack reined in Goliath at the front of the house and dismounted. Straightening his jacket, he looped the reins around the hitching post and strode toward the door.

Virginia

Smack

The dough hit the tabletop again. Stretching the gooey piece out and flipping it half over, Emma pounded it again. She kneaded the dough for a moment and began peeling it off the wood when a pair of black hands stopped her.

“Miss Em, I be thinkin’ it’s ready,” Sally said gently. Taking the dough from Emma, she rolled it and stuck it in the baking pan.

Emma ran her flour-covered hands down her apron and, with an anguished sigh, paced the kitchen. Baking was her latest attempt to fill the hours of the day. Her skills were improving, but she was far from good. She didn’t have to be in here at all with Sally and the kitchen slaves, but she needed something to keep busy so her mind didn’t wander back to that night.

“Sally, what else do you have that I can do?” She sounded desperate. And she was. Another tremble went through her. Exhaustion, she heard Sally whisper to her father. Maybe. She avoided sleep. Sleep brought dreams, dreams about one particular night and the following day, when she went from being in Jack’s arms to witnessing his marriage to her sister. The dreams made her scream out loud. She woke the whole house and yard. So, she stayed up.

“Child,” the elder slave said, shoving a biscuit and cup of cider into her hands. “You need to get some food inside you and sleep.”

Emma stared at the flaky biscuit. She wasn’t hungry. And when she tried to eat, it made her want to retch. But Sally, who helped raise her, knew her well and wouldn’t let Emma leave without eating. She took a bite of the bread and slowly chewed, trying hard not to spit it out.

Sally shook her head. It bothered Emma that the woman felt sympathy for the poor rich white girl who was in love with her sister’s husband. The thought twisted her stomach, and she put the biscuit down.

“Honey,” Sally said, caressing Emma’s cheek. “I’m sorry for ya’, but it’s time to be getting this place ready for the summer. You’ve a whole lotta folk dependin’ on ya’. And a daddy that’s besides himself worryin’ about ya’ too. Be thinkin’ about that.”

Emma gave her a small nod and a wan smile. Inhaling, she straightened her shoulders and stood tall.

“Emma?”

She turned at the deep male voice behind her and saw Billy standing there, holding the reins to Angel and his horse. He smiled, raising his hand with the leather straps, asking her to come for a ride.

With a smile, she gazed at him. He’d been coming every day, trying to coax her out, even if it was only to the porch to talk to her. In his hands usually was the newspaper, and they’d read it together. She appreciated that he was trying to get her to laugh again. But the hole in her heart was too big. She now felt nothing. A mere void was safer. She could live with that as long as the memories stayed away.

What could it hurt to ride Angel again? Maybe a change of scenery would help. Besides, she doubted Sally’d let her do anything more in the cook house.

But she wasn’t dressed for company. Her floured and greasy work dress and aprons made her look poor.
Yes, but the poor had their mates
. She blew a hair out of her face and resolved to join Billy.

“Billy, I’ll go with you but need time to dress appropriately.”

He gave her an exaggerated bow as she left to change. Halfway to her room, she glanced over her shoulder and found him smiling at her. He, too, hadn’t smiled much since Caroline had left. Why, Emma had no clue but figured it wasn’t her place to ask. They were friends, and that was all she needed now. She hoped.

#

Jack heard Caroline’s shrill tongue before he reached the door. Then came the crash of glass. He breathed deeply and had to stop himself from doing an about face to head back to command and request a change in assignment, closer to the enemy. His personal enemy was here in the form of his wife.

Wife.

It was time to atone for his misdeed, he solemnly thought. As he got to the door, it swung open.

“Sir,” the black servant greeted him. Jack smothered a chuckle at the man’s lined, tense face. “Glad to see you’re home.”

More noise came from the back of the house. The sound of a table falling.

Jack raised his eyebrows. He turned to his servant, “George?”

George gave a short shake to his head. “You didn’t send word you’d be bringing a wife home, sir.”

Jack actually laughed. He slapped George on the shoulder. “Didn’t mean to pick one up.” He shrugged.

George glared at him. The man had been Jack’s slave throughout his life. He’d left George and most of his belongings back in Louisiana, but his mother had sent George here with strict instructions to obey his master and report to her anything out of the ordinary. That last command got Jack’s attention. “George, we’ll just keep this piece of news to ourselves, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack walked back to the bedroom and found Caroline and Tilly unpacking.

“Finding everything you need?” he asked.

With her scowl turning into a smile, accompanied by softening eyes, Caroline cried “Jack! Oh Jack, I’m ever so glad you are here.” She looped her arm through his arm and stretched up to kiss his lips, but he turned his head, leaving her access only to his cheek.

“I need you to help me and Tilly unpack. That house slave of yours is worthless, I might add.”

“George is my servant and he’s fine. I just arrived, and I’m tired and hungry. We’ll discuss your things later.”

She frowned at him but didn’t hold it long. “All right. It’s been a long trip for both of us. So we’ll eat and get some sleep.”

He grimaced at her reference to sleeping. In the days it had taken him to get here, he couldn’t remember having bedded her that fateful night. Holding her when the gun barrel was shoved at him, yes, he remembered that. But nothing else.

She led him to the dining table which was set with a linen tablecloth, candles, china and dinner—steak, potatoes, bread, wine and cheese. A meal fit for a king. Tucking Caroline’s chair in under the table, he sat down himself and poured their wine.

Caroline smiled at him. The silence between them hung heavy. He hated being with her. He tried to recall why he used to think she was so pretty and dainty. Looking at her, he could see she still was. But it didn’t matter either way because she was his wife now.

She prattled on about her voyage, but he barely listened. He wanted to drink her away. When George came to remove the plates, Jack ordered a bath for Caroline.

“A bath?” she asked.

“I thought you might want one after your journey.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“Good,” he stood, picking up the bottle and his glass. “I’ll be in shortly.” He strode to the front parlor and dropped into the stuffed wing-back chair near the window. Pouring more wine, he downed the glass in one swallow. Tomorrow, he was off to war. Off to Ohio or wherever McClellan was. He didn’t care, just as long as it was away from here. His eyes closed, and he felt himself drifting to sleep.

“Sir.”

A nudge at his shoulder awakened Jack to find George staring at him. Jack blinked heavily, feeling sluggish, lethargic.

“Massa,” the servant said again.

“What, George?” He tried sitting up straight and cursed. He had dropped the wine glass, and the floor reeked of alcohol.

“She’s been calling for you.”

“Who?” His brain was foggy. Thankfully, he had not slept deeply enough to dream. He was tired of bad dreams, especially about the woman he couldn’t have.

“Your wife, sir,” the elder black man answered.

Jack stood, pulling his waistcoat down. “Night, George.” And walked toward the bedroom.

Inside the door, he stopped. Caroline sat on their bed, a sheet pulled across her lap. She wore a sheer, voluminous gown, giving him a hint of her body beneath it. Her long blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She looked edible. And she was his. He had to remember that.

She patted the space next to her.

With a frown, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Caroline, tell me the truth. Did we actually…” He needed to know.

She blushed. He wondered whether she could do that at will. No, of course not.

Grinning, she responded, “We were together and drink overtook us.”

He sat next to her and caressed her cheek with his hand. “Well, I still seemed the culprit in compromising you.” He touched her hair, which was soft and silky. “Perhaps, this time, we’ll get it right, huh?” 

She smiled shyly.

He bent closer and kissed her. His tongue played at the corner of her mouth, trying to get her to part her lips. She did and his tongue plowed into her mouth, exploring, playing, tasting. It was nice. But not the same. Oh, his body responded as expected. He tightened, his scrotum contracted and his member hardened. He leaned her back on the mattress.