Dearest Enemy

NAN RYAN

DEAREST ENEMY

For

My dearest friend, Heather…

Now, like me, an only child.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

PART TWO

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Coming Next Month

Washington, D.C.

November 1864

Wintertime in Washington.

A heavy snow was falling on that frigid November afternoon when the tall, lean, thirty-six-year-old Union naval officer hurried in out of the cold. Once inside the remote cottage long owned by his wealthy family, the handsome officer hung his musette bag on the coat tree in the small foyer. Then he stamped his booted feet and shrugged out of his heavy greatcoat.

Shivering and rubbing his hands together, he turned and went into the parlor, crossing directly to the cold fireplace. He began tossing logs into the grate to build a much needed fire. Within minutes flames shot up the chimney and a healthy blaze began to warm the chilled room. The officer smiled, pleased with his handiwork.

He turned and crossed to the mahogany bar that stretched along one side of the large room's back wall. He took down a couple of gleaming crystal brandy snifters from a shelf behind the bar. He snagged the glasses in one hand and grabbed a carved decanter of cognac with the other, carrying both to the fire. He placed them at the edge of an enormous fur rug that lay spread out on the floor directly before the blaze.

He rose to his feet and waited.

Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley had slipped away from his fleet command to rendezvous for a brief hour or two with the luscious red-haired, blue-eyed enchantress with whom he was falling in love. It wasn't wise, he realized, to be away from his weary sailors even for a short time. But in this case, it was necessary. He hadn't seen his beautiful sweetheart in weeks and the long separation was making it increasingly hard for him to concentrate. To be as sharp and cunning as a naval commander needed to be in a time of war.

This tryst, he reasoned, was essential. To him and to the Union Navy. After a sweet hour in his angel's arms he would leave this place calm and keen-minded, ready to go back into battle against the hated Rebs. Who would begrudge him a few stolen moments of bliss that might well save his sanity?

Mitch heard her coming up the front walk. He rushed to the door and eagerly yanked it open. And felt his heart hammer against his ribs when he saw her. Native Virginian and irresistible charmer, Suzanna LeGrande stood on the stoop smiling up at him. The hood of her long cape covered her glorious hair, but her brilliant blue eyes were sparkling with life and her berry-red lips were turned up in a dazzling smile.

“Am I late?” she teased, and tossed her hood off to reveal the fiery red hair that framed her fair face.

“Right on time, darling,” Mitch said, drawing her inside and shoving the door closed as he bent and kissed her.

Suzanna sighed and placed her hands on his trim waist. She loved the way Mitch kissed her after they'd been apart. His first kiss was always so powerful, so potent, as if he was starved for the taste of her. Now, just like those other times they had met after being apart for days or weeks, this thrilling kiss went on and on and made her knees weak and her stomach contract.

When at last he took his lips from hers, Mitch said against her perfumed hair, “We haven't much time, my love.”

“Then let's don't waste a minute of it,” she breathlessly replied.

“My thoughts exactly,” Mitch said as he unfastened the hook beneath her chin and shoved her heavy cape off her slender shoulders.

He hung the velvet wrap on the coat tree beside his still-damp greatcoat and bulging black musette bag. And then smiled with pleasure as he watched Suzanna hurry toward the fire, struggling with the buttons going down the back of her blue woolen gown.

The pair laughed and teased each other as they hurried to undress.

“I'll bet I beat you,” taunted Mitch, his dark navy blouse already stripped off and tossed aside.

“Not on your life,” Suzanna retorted, stepping out of her lace-trimmed petticoats.

Articles of clothing flew across the room as the laughing competitors raced to be first to get naked.

“Looks like I'm going to win, Miss LeGrande,” Mitch proclaimed, as he stuck his thumbs into the waistband of his white linen underwear, the only article of clothing remaining on his tall, lean body.

“I don't think so, Admiral Longley,” Suzanna squealed as she kicked off her white ruffled pantalets.

Naked, they stopped laughing. Wordlessly they stepped into each other's arms atop the soft fur rug. Both shuddered at the initial touch of bare flesh on flesh. They kissed passionately and sank to their knees.

Too long denied the kind of ecstasy that was impossible to ever forget, they couldn't wait. In seconds Mitch was making eager, anxious love to Suzanna on the lush dark fur, while the flickering flames tinted their enjoined bodies a pale orange hue. Their shared orgasm occurred almost the minute he was inside her. That's how hot they were for each other. Neither minded that it was over so soon.

In fact, both were again laughing as the spent Mitch fell over onto his back beside Suzanna. Struggling for breath, they kidded each other about their lack of control. But when finally the laughter subsided and the gasping for breath ceased, Mitch turned onto his side by Suzanna, raised up on an elbow and laid a hand lightly on her stomach.

The tip of his forefinger circling the small indentation of her navel, he said with a sheepish grin, “I don't want you calling me the ‘five-minute man.'”

Suzanna smiled. “Then you'll have to convince me that you aren't.”

Mitch did just that.

He made love to Suzanna again, this time taking it slow and easy, stretching out the pleasure for the better part of an hour, each savoring every sweet moment of the incredible bliss.

“I've just enough time for a bath,” Mitch finally said with a yawn. “Care to join me?”

“Mmm, too lazy,” Suzanna replied, not stirring. “I might just take a catnap right here.”

“Good idea, sweetheart.” Mitch kissed her turned-up nose and agilely rose to his feet.

Once he was out of the room and safely in his tub, Suzanna quickly rose. She rushed out into the foyer and took down Mitch's black naval musette bag, which she carried into the parlor and placed atop the mahogany bar. She opened it and anxiously went through the papers, searching for pertinent dispatches.

Her eyes widened in horror as she read a document setting forth the timeline and exact location where the Union Navy planned to launch a major attack on the unsuspecting Confederate Rapidan River stronghold. Suzanna was trembling with emotion as she carefully placed all the documents back inside the musette bag and returned it to the foyer.

When Mitch walked into the room with a towel around his waist, Suzanna was just as he had left her—stretched out naked before the fire, seemingly dozing.

Mitch looked down at her and weakened. “Perhaps I could stay awhile longer.”

“Could you, darling?” she trilled, rolling up into a sitting position and tugging playfully at his covering towel.

Mitch exhaled heavily. “No. No, I really can't. I must get back to the fleet.”

Reluctantly, he got dressed. When he was once again in full dress blues, he came to her, cupped the back of her head, bent from the waist and kissed her goodbye.

When he straightened, he said, “I'm not sure when I'll be able to get away again.”

Suzanna smiled in understanding, laid her cheek against his trousered leg and said, “Kiss me as if this were the last time.”

He crouched down on his heels, kissed her passionately and said, “I love you, darling.”

“Please be careful,” she murmured in reply.

Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley had barely exited the cottage before Suzanna jumped up, took a sheet of vellum paper from the desk in the corner and wrote down everything she had read in the damning dispatch.

She then dressed and trudged two miles through the deepening snow to reach the landmark—a carefully chosen leaning rock near her home—beneath which she consistently hid messages laying out information she had gleaned from the unsuspecting enemy.

A fearless spy for her beloved Confederacy, Suzanna LeGrande hesitated a moment before placing this particular missive under the rock.

If she passed on this vital information, she could be endangering Mitch's life. She could be responsible for her Yankee lover's death. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She felt suddenly dizzy and her cheeks were hot despite the cold of the afternoon.

Suzanna closed her eyes and strongly considered tearing up the note. But only for an instant. She drew a labored breath, hardened her heart and dutifully placed the message beneath the cold stone.

One

On a chilly autumn morning in 1859, the lively mistress of a magnificent mansion came flying down the curving staircase, her lilting laughter echoing throughout the grand residence. Eighteen-year-old Suzanna LeGrande was a happy, carefree young aristocrat who had lived all her life in this stately two-story Virginia manse on the rolling banks of the Potomac River.

The laughing young belle lived with her widowed mother, forty-nine-year-old Emile, and her older brother, twenty-two-year-old Matthew. The frail, quiet Emile LeGrande loved her daughter dearly, but the mercurial Suzanna's rambunctious behavior was prone to give her mother headaches.

The LeGrande siblings were close, and Matthew, being the man of the house, was very protective of his beautiful younger sister. Since the high-spirited Suzanna had turned sixteen, hopeful young suitors had been drawn to the vivacious miss. She was, and had always been, stunningly beautiful, with her flaming red hair, large, wide-set blue eyes and milky-white skin. But Suzanna was not vain about her looks. She had turned heads her entire life and thought nothing of it.

Besides, it was a great deal more than her startling beauty that attracted a growing army of male admirers. She possessed a great zest for life and threw herself into everything she did with such blazing intensity it charmed the young bucks and frightened her sedate mother. Suzanna had a compulsion to dramatize, which made her tremendously fascinating to all her friends.

She was high-strung, sensitive, warmhearted and endlessly entertaining. There was never a dull minute around Suzanna. At an early age she had learned—from her gregarious, red-haired father—to spin yarns that left her listeners wide-eyed and hanging on to every word. It was not only boys who found the outspoken Suzanna intriguing, but girls as well.

She was impetuous and impatient, but so filled with the joy of living that she lifted spirits with her mere presence. Added to her talent for storytelling was her unique ability to read palms and predict futures, an art she had learned from her beloved old nursemaid, now deceased. Naturally, all the young belles wanted to know what romantic adventures lay in store for them. The boys were unconcerned about the future, but looked on the palm reading as an opportunity to hold Suzanna's hand.

Suzanna was totally feminine, yet she had a masculine directness that was captivating. She spoke her mind, was never coy or ambiguous, nor was she particularly diplomatic. While Suzanna took after her deceased father, the lovable, outgoing Lawrence LeGrande, Matthew was more like their mother. He enjoyed a good time as much as the next fellow, but he had no compulsion to race through life as if the world might stop turning should he miss a picnic or party or ball.

An honor graduate of West Point, Matthew took duty, honor and country seriously. And he felt that his most important duty was to see to it no unprincipled male took advantage of his sister. While he was away at the institute, Matthew had worried about what calamity might befall the trusting Suzanna. A scholar who easily excelled in his studies, Matthew had completed his education at the ripe old age of twenty, and had immediately returned home to take up his post as head of the LeGrande household.

“For heaven sake, Suzanna,” Matthew said now, looking up as a laughing streak of flaming hair and lilac ruffles dashed past the open library doors. “Isn't it time you displayed a bit more decorum?”

Suzanna skidded to a stop at the umbrella stand in the foyer. As she reached for a woolen cape and matching bonnet, she said over her shoulder, “Do forgive me, Matt. You see, I'm in an awful hurry and really must fly.” She turned and flashed a smile at her tall, sandy-haired brother, who had stepped out into the foyer.

“At breakfast you failed to mention you were going out this morning,” Matthew casually commented.

“Did I? Well, I have a great deal on my mind, what with next week's reception at Stratford House. That's why I'm in such a hurry. I'm on my way now and—”

“You're planning to be the first guest to arrive?”

“Don't be silly!” Suzanna said as she tied her bonnet's long grosgrain streamers beneath her chin. “I promised I'd help Mrs. Grayson and Cynthia Ann decide on the decorations and finalize the extensive menu.” She added excitedly, “It's a stellar guest list to be sure. More or less the beginning of our upcoming Washington social season. Why, even Colonel Robert E. Lee and his wife, Mary, are expected at the festivities, did you know that?”

Matthew nodded. Colonel Lee, a West Point graduate and superintendent at the Point, was home on leave from his regimental duties on the Texas frontier.

“I'll be very surprised if the colonel attends, Suzanna. You know very well that his dear wife is in poor health and rarely leaves Arlington House and therefore…”

“Colonel Lee with be at the reception, Matthew,” Suzanna stated emphatically. “He's far too polite and too political to disappoint a hostess as powerful as Jennie Grayson.” She crossed to her brother, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “After all, the colonel likely plans to—”

“You have no idea what Lee's plans are,” Matthew interrupted, quickly changing the subject. “Let's discuss our plans. Have you given any thought to what you'll wear this evening?”

Suzanna stepped back. Her well-arched eyebrows shot up and she looked genuinely puzzled. “This evening? Is there something special about this evening?”

“Suzanna, you do try my patience. I told you several days ago we have an important dinner guest joining us this evening. I expect you to be here.”

“Why, I wouldn't miss it for the world,” she said with a shrug of her slender shoulders. “Another unsuspecting candidate for my hand in marriage?”

Matthew frowned. “Just promise me you'll be home in plenty of time to get properly dressed to receive our guest. And that you'll be on your best behavior. Ty Bellinggrath is a fine man, Suzanna, and—”

“You can count on me, brother, dear,” Suzanna said with a teasing smirk. “I'll scrub my face and cinch my waist and be on display when he arrives. Then you may point out all my finer qualities as I slowly pirouette for the prospective bridegroom.”

“Now, Suzanna.”

“Do me one small favor, Matt. Promise that if I'm not married by the time I reach twenty-five, you will give up and stop bringing young gentlemen here in hopes of marrying me off!”

For the first time Matthew smiled as he said, “Bellinggrath will be here at seven o'clock, my dear. And so will you.”

“I shall look forward to a most enjoyable evening,” Suzanna said sarcastically. “Now I really must be going. Poor old Durwood's waiting out in the cold with the carriage.”

Two

Suzanna sighed with pleasure as she settled herself comfortably inside the roomy brougham. Old Durwood, in full livery, sat proudly up on the box, handling the pair of matched bays with ease despite his worsening arthritis. The horses were fine specimens, curried to a high gloss, and the gleaming black, silver trimmed carriage had seats of soft burgundy leather.

With her bonnet off and slapped down on the seat beside her, Suzanna gazed out the window at the natural beauty of her native Virginia. How she loved the broad avenues and the glittering streams. The familiar sights never failed to take her breath away.

Suzanna was eternally grateful that this was her home, the place where she had been born, the place where she would live all her days. She considered herself fortunate to have had a father who had been so forward thinking and such a brilliant businessman.

It was true that the late Lawrence LeGrande had inherited a tidy sum from his British ancestors, but he hadn't been content to simply let the cash lie in the safety of a bank vault. Instead he had invested wisely in land and had, over time, accumulated a vast fortune from varied endeavors.

There were the tobacco fields in northern Virginia, a coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina, indigo crops in northern Georgia and a host of other well-chosen investments in rail and shipping. The holdings were diverse and profitable and afforded the LeGrande family a life of splendid ease in the stately riverside mansion known as Whitehall.

Suzanna loved her life and her home and prayed that nothing would ever change. She wanted everything to remain just as it was on this crisp autumn morning in October of 1859.

Suzanna was halfway out of the brougham before it came to a full stop in the pebbled drive of Stratford House in the heart of Georgetown. Nonplussed at his young mistress's less than ladylike behavior, old Durwood laid the long leather reins aside and gingerly swung down to the ground.

“Why you want to act like a boy, Miss Suzanna?” he scolded, taking firm hold of her arm as she jumped from the carriage. “Folk'll be gossipin' 'bout us if you don't behave and…”

But Suzanna, skirts lifted, bonnet left behind, was already dashing up the front walk, calling Cynthia Ann's name. The dark-haired girl stepped out onto the shaded veranda, spotted Suzanna and came dashing forward to greet her best friend and trusted confidante. The young women threw their arms around each other and embraced as though it had been weeks—not hours—since last they'd seen each other.

“You'll have lunch with us,” Cynthia Ann stated as they walked into the house, arm in arm. “Then spend all afternoon?”

“So long as I'm home by seven,” Suzanna replied. “Matthew is up to his old tricks. He has invited a poor naive fellow to dinner.” She made a face. “Be grateful you don't have a big brother!”

Both laughed, then Cynthia Ann asked, “How does Matthew keep coming up with new prospective beaux? Surely you've met all his friends by now. At least all the ones he'd hope you might marry.”

Suzanna sighed and shook her head wearily. “Hopefully this is the very last one! His name is Ty Bellinggrath. He and Matt were classmates at West Point, but Bellinggrath left home right after graduation. As I understand it, he's been in Europe for the past couple of years. He only returned a week ago and Matthew immediately pounced on him.” She quoted her brother, “‘I'll have you know, Suzanna LeGrande, that my good friend Ty Bellinggrath is the respected scion of an old Virginia family. He excelled in his studies at the institute and is considered quite a catch.'” Suzanna laughed and added, “I can just imagine what he looks like. Matt is so anxious to marry me off he's scraping the bottom of the barrel now.”

Inside the wide foyer of Stratford House, the slender, still handsome Jennie Grayson waited to welcome her. “We're awfully glad you could come this morning, Suzanna,” she exclaimed with a warm smile. To her daughter, she said, “Cynthia, dear, why don't you take Suzanna upstairs, where the two of you can relax for an hour before lunch?” Her attention shifted back to Suzanna. “After we've had a leisurely noontime meal, we'll go over the party menu and give you our ideas regarding the decorations. You're always so innovative, the final decision will be yours.”

In Cynthia Ann's bedchamber, a spacious room at the front of the mansion, the two friends gossiped and laughed and shared secrets. With their slippers and crinoline petticoats kicked off, stays loosened, they lay on their backs atop the canopied feather bed.

“Read my palm, Suzanna,” Cynthia Ann said suddenly, turning onto her stomach and holding out her hand.

“Again? I just read it last week.”

“I know, but perhaps something has changed since then. Maybe Davy is going to propose after the party.” Her brown eyes danced at the thought of marrying her gallant sweetheart.

“I don't understand you, Cynthia Ann Grayson,” Suzanna said, toying with the lace jabot at her throat. “Why would you want to get married and ruin your life? Married women don't have any fun, nor thrilling adventures. Worse, no one pays any attention to what they have to say. They're expected to keep silent on any controversial issue as though they don't have a brain in their head. Such a life couldn't possibly be fulfilling.”

“It would be if…”

“I shall never marry. Why should I? I have no need of a husband to take care of me. I can and will take care of myself. And I'll be free to speak as I please and do as I please without having to seek permission from some domineering male.”

Cynthia Ann just shook her head and laughed. She'd heard it all before. She felt certain that Suzanna would change her mind about marriage when the right man came along.

“You have exactly twenty-five minutes to make yourself presentable,” said an annoyed Matthew when Suzanna raced up the front steps of Whitehall at 6:35 that evening.

Laughing, she patted her brother's stern cheek and said, “I need only twenty, so I'll have five to spare.”

He exhaled heavily and followed her inside the well-lit mansion. While he turned toward the paneled library to join their mother, Suzanna climbed the stairs, struggling to unhook her dress. In her rose-and-cream suite at the head of the staircase, Suzanna's ever-patient personal maid, Buelah, waited to help her young charge get dressed.

Impressive in her black-and-white uniform, the stout, six-foot-tall Buelah didn't scold the girl she often called “my baby.” She admired Suzanna's free spirit and always laughed at her antics. Besides, she knew that with her help, Suzanna would be dressed and ready within fifteen minutes.

“Your tub is drawn and waitin',” said Buelah. She took Suzanna's arm, turned her about and made quick work of unhooking her dress.