Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (45 page)

“She told you that?” His dark eyes probed hers
in the moonlight.

“I dare not divulge what was said in a private
conversation, Major Carter,” she replied coyly, “but I believe you would not be
disappointed if you were to return.”

Carter was silent for a moment as he studied
her. “I think perhaps I will take your advice, Miss Evans. After all, the night
is still young, is it not?” He leaped into his seat and whipped the horses out
the lane at a speed Andrea concluded was neither safe nor necessary for a wagon
not under heavy fire or in imminent danger of capture by enemy forces.

Smiling, Andrea stood at the bottom of the porch
as she watched the wagon disappear. But the smile turned into a frown when the
sound of hoof beats did not fade away. The noise from the departing wagon
overlapped with the sound of a single horse galloping over the bridge. It did
not take Andrea long to recognize the rider. She started up the steps with more
haste as he reined his horse to a stop.

“Miss Evans,” Hunter said, dismounting. “I’m
sorry you didn’t find the party to your taste.”

“I pray you did not leave the affair early to
offer me your sympathy.” Andrea tried to sound indifferent as she continued up
the steps. “The celebration, after all, is in
your
honor.”

“I didn’t come to offer my sympathy, Miss
Evans.” Hunter tied his horse to a post. “I came to apologize.”

“Then I’m sorry you rode all this way for
nothing.” Andrea heard Hunter’s spurs hit the steps as her hand reached the
door latch.

“It won’t be for nothing.” His hand was suddenly
on the door above her head, holding it closed. “I intend to be heard.”

Andrea turned and faced him. “Colonel Hunter,
your time would be much better spent at the Talberts. It appears the ladies
there are more interested in what you have to say than I am.” She tried to keep
her voice calm, though she felt her heart beating in her throat.

“I disagree, Miss Evans.” He trapped her between
his arms as he leaned both of them against the door. “I think you will be very
interested in hearing what I have to say.”

Overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, Andrea
could barely look at him. Yet neither could she look away, for his probing gaze
held her there as securely as the confinement of his arms.

Swallowing hard when she felt his chest rising
and falling against hers, she finally forced her gaze to the sky over his
shoulder. “That statement defies reason.”

“Everything about you defies reason,” Hunter
said softly. “It’s one of the many things I find so . . . intriguing about
you.”

Hunter stood so close it produced a low roaring
in Andrea’s ears. She was anxious to get away, yet felt powerless to break the
spell that bound her. “I had no idea you found me
intriguing
.” She willed
herself to remain strong, refusing to yield to the seductive influence of his
eyes. “In fact, I find it difficult to believe you find me anything but an
object to malign in front of an audience.”

 “I wish to retract my earlier statement about
your loyalties,” he said, his voice softer now. “And I hope you can find it in
your heart to consider me, once again, a gentleman.”

“Where you and
your men think my loyalties lie is of little concern to me.” Andrea spoke with
cold authority. “And I hardly think your behavior tonight can be considered
that of a gentleman.”

* * *

Hunter closed his eyes and banged his fist on
the doorway above her head. It was as he had expected, the contemptuous enemy
had returned.

 “I don’t know how to rein you in,” he said with
a hint of desperation.

“Perhaps that’s because you’re already holding
the reins too tightly.” Andrea’s gaze continued to focus on the stars twinkling
over his shoulder.

Hunter studied her intently. “Do you not think,
Miss Evans, that when one is dealing with a headstrong beast, one is inclined
to hold it tightly rather than give it free rein?”

Andrea brought her eyes down from the heavens to
meet his, and then looked away again. “I do not know to what you allude. It has
been my experience that many beasts are content only when given free rein and
will behave quite admirably if their master will but have the trust and the
courage to give it to them.”

He tilted his head and squinted at her. “Do you
believe the actions of women and horses are comparable?”

This time she did not divert her gaze, and her
tone rose a notch. “I believe it is natural instinct that the tighter the
restraint, the harder the fight against it.”

Hunter looked at her curiously, trying to figure
out if she had answered his question or carefully avoided it. “But Miss Evans,
I believe it is natural instinct to try to maintain some control.”

“If that is your instinct,” Andrea replied
curtly, “I suppose I will have to leave you to find your own way in taming the
beast. A heavy hand has never worked for me.”

“Do you mean
on
you?”

“I said
for
me, did I not? I trust you to
come to your own conclusions as to whether it works
on
me!”

Her tone belied intense irritation. Hunter felt
like he had just slipped a rope over a horse’s head and it was backing up,
getting ready to bolt and drag him off his feet. He did not know what to say,
and even if he did, would have been afraid to say it. He could see by the look
in her eyes she had already taken the bit in her defiant teeth and was pulling
hard at the restraining hands of her tormentor.

He attempted to slacken the rope. “Indeed I
have,” he said, clearing his throat, “and I would like to apologize for any
embarrassment I may have caused you this evening. I believe I misjudged you. I
spoke rashly and impulsively, and considering your lineage, I hardly—”

“My lineage?” Andrea looked up so quickly that
she hit the back of her head against the door.

Hunter
hesitated, but decided she could be no more surprised to hear what he was about
to say, than he’d been shocked to learn about it.

“If I’m not
mistaken, Miss Evans,” he said, never removing his eyes from hers, “you are the
daughter of Olivia Evans, whose
second
husband was Charles Monroe.

Andrea stared at him unblinking, her lips
pressed tightly together, her expression changing from poised to forced
composure.

“Of course, it is no secret that your mother was
from Virginia, and as such, that a considerable amount of Virginia blood flows
through your veins. However—”

“Good night, Colonel.” Andrea reached behind her
for the door.

“Wait.” Hunter grasped her hand. “I’m not yet
finished. It has come to my attention that your mother’s first husband,
Nathaniel Evans, who died just before you were born, is from a long line of
distinguished Virginians.”

The silence was deafening, the tension palpable.
Hunter did not know if her speechlessness was caused by what she had just
heard, the fact that he knew it, or that it was something she refused to admit
even to herself after all this time. He decided on the latter.

“I-I have never made that claim,” Andrea
stammered.

“You need not claim it for it to be true,”
Hunter said calmly. “Though you pretend to detest us, you cannot deny the
inheritance of an honored line of ancestors. You possess a blue-blooded
pedigree with not so much as a drop of tainted blood in your veins.” He
chuckled. “I dare say there are few in Virginia who can boast flesh that is of
better dust than yours.”

“Who told you this?” she demanded.

“Miss Evans, I dare not reveal my sources.”

“Then you obviously have nothing but imagination
to build your case upon.” Andrea stared broodingly over his shoulder. “I
suppose such interest in my affairs should be complimentary, but I find it
curious that you’ve nothing better to do with your time than attempt to trace
my family tree.” She brought her gaze back to his just as the faint sound of a
carriage reached their ears.

“Oh, it took
no time. If you insist on knowing, one of my men has a lady friend from Unison,
whose brother was acquainted with Nathaniel Evans. This brother told me—just tonight—he
remembered Nathaniel marrying an Olivia Spencer. He further remembered the
scandal it caused when Nathaniel was killed in an accident, and Olivia, with
her husband barely cold in his grave and a child well on the way, married into
a wealthy family in South Carolina. And, well, the rest is easy to speculate.
You were raised as the daughter of Charles Monroe, probably didn’t even know
yourself that you were not. But when you discovered the truth, you ran away,
disassociated yourself from him and his name.”

Andrea met his gaze, but only briefly, as the
sound of carriage wheels grew louder.

“It is not hard to surmise that you are both
Virginian by birth and Southern by instinct,” Hunter continued, “and that you
would rather denounce or ignore your bloodlines to allay the feeling that you
have regrettably placed your loyalty on the
wrong
side of the
rebellion.”

Andrea’s mouth opened, then snapped closed, but
he gave her no time to respond.

“You are made of Virginia soil, my dear, and
will be made of it forever. You can never unmix.”

Andrea’s eyes turned darker than he had ever
seen them. “Allow me to do some speculating of my own,” she spat, nodding her
head toward the approaching carriage. “It would be my guess that your mistress
has noticed your absence and has come to seek you out. She will, no doubt, be
ecstatic to find you waiting up for her. Good night, Colonel.”

Andrea reached behind her with a swift movement
of one hand, opened the door, and backed in, closing it in his face. Revealing
nothing.

Hunter put his head against the door in
exasperation and sighed.
Who are you, Andrea Evans? And why are you
determined to be my foe?

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Victoria’s
high-pitched voice shouted from within, “Alex! Dar-r-ling! How sweet of you to
wait up for me!”

Chapter
44

“Water and words are easy to pour and impossible to recover.”

– Chinese Proverb

Andrea sat on the front steps watching a small
dust cloud move and hang in the air, while a larger one followed along behind.
From the size of the moving mass, Hunter was likely among them. Andrea could
not help herself. She smiled.

The Colonel, after the turbulence of the ball,
made no further comment about her suspected heritage. In fact, he had been
surprisingly charming and mannerly as of late. Andrea found herself trying to
separate enemy from man—admiring the latter and respecting the former. Yet she
still found it hard to admit they were one and the same.

Once the lone rider had approached and crossed
the bridge, Andrea saw it was not Hunter. When she did identify the figure,
well nigh coated with sweat and powdery dust, she greeted him cordially.
“Lieutenant Pierce.”

The officer’s mouth twisted into a confident
smile as he interpreted her look as one of obvious admiration. “Miss Evans—” He
bowed after he dismounted. “It’s
Captain
Pierce, now.” He paused and
tied his horse to the porch. “I apologize for my untidy appearance.”

Andrea’s gaze remained on his horse for a
moment, making it clear it was the animal with which she had been enthralled,
not the soldier who’d been mounted upon him.

She dragged her eyes over to Pierce. “To what do
I owe the pleasure? Are you looking for the Colonel?”

“Uh, no. The Colonel is behind me about a mile
with the men, bringing in some horses I captured today. I rode in advance to …
get some water, if I may?” He took off his hat and swiped dirt and sweat from
his brow with his dusty shirtsleeve.

“Of course.” Andrea grabbed his arm and led him
up the steps, even though it was obvious to her he had seen an opportunity to
arrive before his commander and nearly ridden the legs off his horse to do it.
“How impolite of me. Come rest in the shade on the porch.”

The long-legged soldier followed her eagerly up
the steps with a considerable rattle of spurs and reposed himself on the
vine-mantled banister while she went inside.

When Andrea returned with a pitcher of water a
few minutes later, Pierce held his hand to his eye. “Captain? Is something
wrong?”

“Oh, I seem to have gotten some dust in my eye.”
He blinked hard. “Nothing to worry about.”

Andrea poured some of the water onto a
handkerchief and looked up at him. “Goodness. You’re so tall. If you’ll move
that stool over, I’ll try to clean it for you.”

With one eye closed, Pierce moved a footstool
over to the banister and sat back down upon the railing. Andrea stepped onto
the stool between his legs and wiped away the dirt around the eye.

“This is very kind of you,” he said, staring
into her eyes. “I hope you’ll permit me to repay the favor. I never neglect my
duty to a lady.”

“Don’t talk,” Andrea said. “I’m liable to poke
you in the eye. Now lean your head back a little.” Pierce obeyed, putting his
hands on Andrea’s waist in the process for balance. “I don’t really see
anything.” Andrea leaned forward, her face just inches from his.

“Are you certain?” he asked huskily, looking
straight into her eyes.

Andrea was concentrating so hard that she did
not notice the other horses coming in until they were right in front of her.
She jumped at the sound of spurs clanking angrily up the porch steps.

“Captain, may I see you a minute.” Hunter
stormed up the steps, eyes blazing with indignation. Not stopping to wait for
an answer, he pushed his way through the front door with the strength of a
hurricane wind and disappeared into the house.

Pierce stood quickly to obey and in the process
kicked the stool from beneath Andrea’s feet. He held her body against his
before letting her slide slowly to the porch. “Thank you, miss. I feel much
better.”