reasoned. If she did not, it could cause her
embarrassment on the morrow. He tapped gently at the door. " Virginia , I must speak with you."
Ginny heard the soft voice, the discreet knock, and realized
that it was for this that she had been waiting. Her voice quavered in response.
"What is it you wish to say to me, Colonel?"
" Open
the door," he replied. "I do not wish to wake the house by shouting
through a yard of oak."
She slipped from the bed, deep in the knowledge of
inevitability, and drew her wrapper around her before turning the iron key.
Alex stepped into the room. He had intended to deliver his
message on the threshold— h adn't he? — b ut, instead, found himself closing the door quietly
behind him. She stepped back, her eyes frightened, except that they carried the
same tormenting yearning as his own. Perhaps that was why she was afraid. He was, himself.
"Where have you been? My men have been searching the
island for you."
"For me!" Ginny sought safety in her tongue.
"I had assumed, Colonel, by all the activity, that you have found a nest
of Cavaliers under a gooseberry bush."
Alex struck a flint against the tinder box and lit the candle
standing on the mantelpiece. " You have
sand between your toes," he remarked, and she remembered his statement in
the dairy— that if he refused to fight, she would be unable to do so. T hey are very pretty toes," he continued with a
curious frown, "even dirty as they are."
“I went to the beach." What sort of a conversation was this? Was she
defending her dirty feet or answering her captor's inquiry?
" The
beach is not contained within the boundaries of the estate, Virginia. You
violated your parole."
"I did not think of it in that way. The beach and the
cove have always been mine. I have sailed the bay since I could walk."
Even as she made the explanation, Ginny realized how much she might have revealed.
She had told this man she was a sailor. It would take little deduction on his part to conclude
her most logical means of escape.
But instead Alex moved toward her, took her hands. "What
else can you do, my indomitable little shrew of the sandy toes, besides battle the invader and the seas?"
Ginny thought of a passionless lifetime, a lifetime of duty.
She had but to speak the word, and this man would leave her, leave her to live
that life, when the world settled, never to have known the glory. In this time
of schism why should she be bound by a self-imposed discipline that had never
been the courtly norm before civil war? She had done her duty, married her
father's choice, taken her place amongst hostile in-laws— d one everything except produce the heir. Why should she
not, just once, allow her mind and body the freedom they craved? All the customary bonds and rules of society
were fragmented. She was no maid, and who would ever know, besides themselves,
that Ginny Courtney and Alex Marshall had, once upon a mad time, enjoyed each
other?
Even as she thought she still had a choice, his hands left
hers to slide around her back, and her skin burned beneath his touch. The iron
bands of a courage that had kept her in antagonism melted in the forge of a
white-hot lucidity— the absolute knowledge that she wanted
this, that if she did not take it now, it would be lost to her forever.
" Oh,
sweet Ginny," he whispered against her hair. " This is lunacy, but I am moon-mad,
bewitched. T e ll me that it is the same for
you."
"It is the same."
His tongue ran gently across her lips, probed the corners of
her mourn, tasting her sweetness. "I cannot imagine why you should taste
of honey and not of vinegar." He chuckled, sliding his hands down to cup
her buttocks. Ginny shuddered at the shocking intimacy. Only Giles had ever put his hands there and then only to shift her into the
position that suited him, or to grip with bruising fingers as heexpended
himself. This was a totally different touch- a hungry touch of passion that
nevertheless acknowledged her and her right to
embarrassment on the morrow. He tapped gently at the door. " Virginia , I must speak with you."
Ginny heard the soft voice, the discreet knock, and realized
that it was for this that she had been waiting. Her voice quavered in response.
"What is it you wish to say to me, Colonel?"
" Open
the door," he replied. "I do not wish to wake the house by shouting
through a yard of oak."
She slipped from the bed, deep in the knowledge of
inevitability, and drew her wrapper around her before turning the iron key.
Alex stepped into the room. He had intended to deliver his
message on the threshold— h adn't he? — b ut, instead, found himself closing the door quietly
behind him. She stepped back, her eyes frightened, except that they carried the
same tormenting yearning as his own. Perhaps that was why she was afraid. He was, himself.
"Where have you been? My men have been searching the
island for you."
"For me!" Ginny sought safety in her tongue.
"I had assumed, Colonel, by all the activity, that you have found a nest
of Cavaliers under a gooseberry bush."
Alex struck a flint against the tinder box and lit the candle
standing on the mantelpiece. " You have
sand between your toes," he remarked, and she remembered his statement in
the dairy— that if he refused to fight, she would be unable to do so. T hey are very pretty toes," he continued with a
curious frown, "even dirty as they are."
“I went to the beach." What sort of a conversation was this? Was she
defending her dirty feet or answering her captor's inquiry?
" The
beach is not contained within the boundaries of the estate, Virginia. You
violated your parole."
"I did not think of it in that way. The beach and the
cove have always been mine. I have sailed the bay since I could walk."
Even as she made the explanation, Ginny realized how much she might have revealed.
She had told this man she was a sailor. It would take little deduction on his part to conclude
her most logical means of escape.
But instead Alex moved toward her, took her hands. "What
else can you do, my indomitable little shrew of the sandy toes, besides battle the invader and the seas?"
Ginny thought of a passionless lifetime, a lifetime of duty.
She had but to speak the word, and this man would leave her, leave her to live
that life, when the world settled, never to have known the glory. In this time
of schism why should she be bound by a self-imposed discipline that had never
been the courtly norm before civil war? She had done her duty, married her
father's choice, taken her place amongst hostile in-laws— d one everything except produce the heir. Why should she
not, just once, allow her mind and body the freedom they craved? All the customary bonds and rules of society
were fragmented. She was no maid, and who would ever know, besides themselves,
that Ginny Courtney and Alex Marshall had, once upon a mad time, enjoyed each
other?
Even as she thought she still had a choice, his hands left
hers to slide around her back, and her skin burned beneath his touch. The iron
bands of a courage that had kept her in antagonism melted in the forge of a
white-hot lucidity— the absolute knowledge that she wanted
this, that if she did not take it now, it would be lost to her forever.
" Oh,
sweet Ginny," he whispered against her hair. " This is lunacy, but I am moon-mad,
bewitched. T e ll me that it is the same for
you."
"It is the same."
His tongue ran gently across her lips, probed the corners of
her mourn, tasting her sweetness. "I cannot imagine why you should taste
of honey and not of vinegar." He chuckled, sliding his hands down to cup
her buttocks. Ginny shuddered at the shocking intimacy. Only Giles had ever put his hands there and then only to shift her into the
position that suited him, or to grip with bruising fingers as heexpended
himself. This was a totally different touch- a hungry touch of passion that
nevertheless acknowledged her and her right to
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