You Belong to My Heart (21 page)

She was out of control and knew it. She laughed until she was so weak she could hardly stand and felt almost physically ill.

Finally she began to calm a little. Coughing, gasping for breath, she raised her head and slowly opened her eyes. She lifted her hands and shoved her wild hair off her face. She blinked once, twice, to clear her tear-blurred vision.

And almost had a heart attack.

Titus was gone.

In his place stood the tall, dark Captain Knight with the tray balanced on the palm of his hand.

The laughter immediately choked off in her throat, and Mary Ellen involuntarily trembled under his cool, brazen scrutiny. His pale silver eyes were not on her flushed face. They were on her breasts. Mary Ellen suddenly realized that with her violent shaking laughter the lapels of her blue silk robe had parted to expose her bare bosom.

Frantically she pulled the slippery lapels together over her naked breasts, hoping he hadn’t seen too much.

As if he read her mind, he said, “Only that which can be seen in your most daring of ball gowns.”

Their eyes clashed then. His cold, calm, assessing. Hers hot, angry, mortified.

He said, “Your dinner, madam.”

He held out the tray. She refused to take it.

“Shall I bring it inside, then?”

Her hand shot out and slammed against his dark chest where the shirt was open. Her palm flattened in the crisp black hair covering the hard, sculpted muscle. Pushing against him with all her might, she said, “I’d starve to death first!”

“Then take the tray.”

“I will not,” she said, her hand steadily applying pressure to his chest.

“You’re behaving like a child.”

“I’ll behave any way I choose. This is my home, Captain!”

He said nothing more, but raised a dark eyebrow and pointedly lowered his glance to the pale hand on his dark chest. Mary Ellen’s gaze followed his, and she frowned with distaste when she saw her fingers entwined in his curly black chest hair. She yanked her hand away as if it were burned.

“Stay away from me!” she hissed, stepped back inside, slammed the door in his face, and leaned against it as if to hold him out physically.

Through the door he said, “I’ll leave the tray here. You may get hungry before the night is over.”

Her cold hands, trembling body, and hot cheek pressed flush against the solid door, Mary Ellen said nothing. Just prayed that he would go away and leave her alone. She stayed there for several long minutes, her heart beating fast, her breath coming in short, hurting gasps. She was afraid. Afraid of him. Afraid of the dark allure he held for her.

Finally she moved away. Her shoulders slumping with fatigue and emotion, she sat down wearily on the armless rocker.

She was still as hot and tired and hungry as ever and now upset as well. She wanted to cry.

It was only his first night under her roof, and already the cool, compelling Captain Knight had her off guard, confused, embarrassed, mixed up, and…attracted?

This dark, disturbing stranger who had occupied her home was not the sweet, good-natured Clay of her youth. Captain Knight was handsome, suave, confident, and menacing.

His low voice still had that gentle Tennessee twang, but he now spoke with a slow, measured calm. The beautiful gray eyes that had once shone with such warmth and boyish enthusiasm were very different. Now those chilly silver eyes—eyes that never missed anything—were shadowed, predatory, fearless. But it was the mouth that had changed most of all. Lips that had been soft, sweet, and sensual were now firmly sculpted, touched with cynicism, and threateningly provocative.

His was such a strong masculine presence, it was impossible to ignore. The sight of him bothered her in a terrifying way. It wasn’t just his dark good looks. It was the strangely appealing, icy air of command combined with an underlying, carefully leashed sensuality.

Mary Ellen shuddered and automatically pulled the lapels of her silk robe tighter, feeling her nipples tighten involuntarily. Instinctively she knew that beneath the steel exterior of the unemotional Captain Knight lurked a hotblooded, highly passionate male. And his threatening sexual presence unnerved her.

Mary Ellen was achingly aware that the disturbing Captain Knight was, this very minute, just across the hall. Was he awake or asleep? she wondered. Dressed or undressed? In bed or out?

Captain Knight’s close proximity caused goose-flesh to pop out on Mary Ellen’s arms. Ashamed and terrified of the unwanted feelings he stirred in her, she got up from the rocker, crossed the room, and checked the door to make sure it was locked.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to shut out the handsome, hawklike face and forced herself to remember the kind of man he was.

Unfeeling. Ruthless. Cruel.

She hated him. She hated him and would always hate him. The day would never come when she’d forgive him for what he had done to her.

Across the hall on that warm evening, the object of Mary Ellen’s undying hatred lay stretched out naked atop the wide featherbed, smoking in the darkness. It was a hot, muggy Memphis night, and the Captain was uncomfortably warm.

The sticky heat made him miserable. He felt as if he couldn’t get a breath, and his long, lean body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.

But it was heat of a different kind that most vexed him. He couldn’t forget that Mary was just across the hall, and the knowledge tortured him.

At the mere sight of her standing there in her blue silk wrapper, laughing, he’d felt a wave of the old pleasure and passion wash over him. She wasn’t a girl any longer; she was all woman. The tomboyish awkwardness of youth had vanished. She moved with a natural feline grace and managed, even in the sweltering heat, to look generally cool, unruffled, and demure.

She didn’t look demure in the blue silk robe. She looked warm and soft and desirable. What a sight she made with her magnificent mane of white-blond hair falling about her lovely face. As she’d laughed, the slick silk of her robe had hugged hips that were lush, feminine, rounded. Best of all was the fleeting glimpse he’d had of a soft pink nipple when her robe’s lapels had parted. His hands had ached to reach out and slip his fingers inside the robe.

Captain Knight took a long drag from his cigar.

No woman had so stirred him. He’d been all over the world, and he’d had his pick of beautiful, exotic women. But none had made his blood run thick and hot as Mary did.

Damn her.

Damn her to hell.

She was a beautiful viper who’d stung him badly once. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t avail himself of her charms. She was available to him whether she realized it or not. He’d caught the guarded glances she cast his way; had noted the mixture of fear and fire in the depths of her dark, passionate eyes.

If she didn’t know the full meaning of it, he did. He excited her. Not that she cared for him; she didn’t. No more than he cared for her. But hers was a fiery, sensual nature, and she was a divorced woman who probably missed the comfort and pleasure of connubial bliss.

She was no longer the spoiled, impetuous girl, and he damned sure was not the gullible, worshiping boy. He was a man and she was a woman. Physically he wanted her and she wanted him. It was that elemental.

It looked as if he would be stuck here in Memphis for weeks, perhaps months. His stay would be made infinitely more pleasant if she shared his bed. In his jaded view she was but another spoil of war, another comfort to be enjoyed while he was here, like the spacious mansion, and the home cooking, and the enormous featherbed on which he lay.

Clay crushed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray. He took a corner of the silky top sheet and blotted away the moisture from his hair-covered chest. And he gritted his even white teeth and wrapped the sheet around the hard, straining tumescence jerking on his belly. Cursing the sleeping blond beauty responsible, he vowed that the next time it happened she would be held accountable.

E
ACH DAY MARY ELLEN
dreaded seeing the sun go down.

Each night she lay awake in her bed, tensely aware that she and the Yankee Captain were all alone on the silent second floor of the old mansion. She half expected him to beat on her door in the middle of the night, demanding that she let him in.

It never happened.

Night after night passed uneventfully. Soon Mary Ellen began to feel foolish that she had supposed he might behave so rashly. He had certainly done nothing to make her think he’d even want to get inside her bedroom. He was, whenever she bumped into him, coldly polite, nothing more. He never tried to detain her, never made any attempt to get her alone. He hardly acknowledged her presence. Often his icy silver eyes would flick to her, then quickly dismiss her, as if she weren’t there.

To her chagrin, the enigmatic Captain was unfailingly kind and patient with the old cook and butler. It was evident that they were as fond of him as if he were still the likable young boy who had spent so much time at Longwood.

She couldn’t fault them. Neither Titus nor Mattie knew what had really happened all those years ago. They had been told nothing. Now they were old and childlike. She would say nothing to them.

Surprisingly enough, or perhaps not so surprisingly, the old black couple were not the only ones who showed absolutely no aversion to Captain Knight. The news that he was in command of the naval occupying forces had spread quickly. So had the news that he had commandeered Longwood.

The pro-Union
Press Scimitar
even did a favorable “Hail the Conquering Hero” piece in its Sunday edition.

It rankled Mary Ellen when old female acquaintances, stopping by the hospital with baskets of food and bandages, asked about the Yankee Captain with an accusing gleam in their eyes.

On a brief afternoon visit to the home of her friend Leah Thompson, Mary Ellen learned that Leah had heard gossip about the dark, handsome naval Captain.

“What? What are they saying, Leah?” Mary Ellen asked, a worried expression on her face.

“Now, Mary Ellen, don’t look so troubled,” said Leah. “No one is talking about you. They know you can’t help it that the Captain commandeered Longwood for his headquarters.” Leah inclined her head toward the back of the house. “Isn’t my home full of them, as well as dozens of other Memphis mansions up and down River Road? And all along Adams Avenue, too. They’ve moved into Isaac Kirkland’s big pink granite palace and James Lee’s mansion and even the old Massey house. There’s hardly a fine home in Memphis that hasn’t been taken over by the Federals, and Betsy Graham told me they’ve fanned out and moved into some of the outlying plantations and country estates where…where…well, now, not all the estates. I understand the Lawtons have been spared and—”

Mary Ellen cut in. “Leah, you were going to tell me about—”

“I guess you heard,” Leah went on as if Mary Ellen hadn’t spoken. “Daniel Lawton didn’t join the Confederate Army. No, sir, that able-bodied millionaire’s son has been right here at home all this time. Some whisper that Lawton Sr. might have ties to the North. I don’t know about that, but I do know the Lawtons are living like royalty while the South suffers. How long’s it been since you were able to get your hands on a pound of coffee? Cindy Smallwood said Daniel’s wife’s expecting again. That makes four, or is it five? I can’t keep up with—”

“Leah…” Mary Ellen gently tried again.

“Well, anyway, you can’t take two steps in this town without tripping over a blue-belly. I’ll tell you one thing: If my William wasn’t down in Vicksburg fighting with the Rebs, these Yankees wouldn’t be sleeping in his bed. He’d sweep them all out like a—”

“Leah, Leah, please,” Mary Ellen interrupted again, knowing her friend was such a talker that she’d go on forever if not stopped. “What have you heard about Captain Knight?”

“Oh, yes, the Captain. I got off the subject,” said Leah, smiling. “Where was I?” She frowned thoughtfully, then her eyes lighted as she remembered. “I know what I was going to say. I was going to tell you that if anything, you’re an object of envy, Mary Ellen. Some of our lonely ladies would gladly overlook the fact that the handsome officer wears the wrong color uniform. He’d be more than welcome in their parlors.” Leah smiled wickedly and added, “And I suspect a few of those ladies would like to see Captain Knight
out
of that blue uniform, if you know what I mean.” She laughed heartily.

“Leah Ruth Thompson!” Mary Ellen scolded.

Mary Ellen’s face reddened, and she was inexplicably annoyed with Leah. She found nothing humorous about a bunch of silly women lusting after the Captain.

“Oh, don’t act so shocked,” Leah said, and continued to laugh. “You’ve got to admit the Captain’s a handsome devil, and I’ll bet he knows his way around the bedroom.”

“I have to go,” Mary Ellen said, springing to her feet.

“Go?” Leah stopped laughing and rose, too. “You just got here.”

“I like to get home before dark.” She went to the door.

Leah followed. “What is it, Mary Ellen? What’s the real story here? You’ve said you and Captain Knight were good friends when you were young. Childhood sweethearts. But you never told me what happened. Did he—”

“I married another man,” Mary Ellen said, forcing a smile to her face. “That’s what happened. Nothing more.”

Leah touched Mary Ellen’s arm. “You can’t fool me, Mary Ellen Preble. There’s something between you two, isn’t there? Tell the truth. Aren’t you attracted to him? Aren’t you just a little bit afraid of the conquering Captain Knight?”

“No. No, I’m not afraid of the Captain.”

But she was.

Mary Ellen thought about it as she walked back home. She
was
afraid of him. Afraid of the effect he had on her. There was something about him that filled the hot June air with a crackling electric tension. When he was in the house it was like being caged with a sleek black panther that might spring any second and devour his startled prey.

She could tell when he entered a room well before she caught sight of him. She could sense when he was near her; the blood ran a little faster through her veins. When she heard his deep, compelling voice out in the hall, her heart skipped several beats. When he looked at her with those icy silver eyes, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. When his lean, long-fingered dark hand absently rubbed his blue trousered leg, she felt the touch on her own tingling thigh. When he was present, her clothes felt too tight for her body and it was hard to get a deep breath.