Beguiled Read online

  “Oh that?” She grinned. “That was easier than I thought.”

  “But…what about y-your monthly?” I asked, blushing at the mention of such a personal thing.

  She waved her hand in dismissal. “The bloody piles were so common no one thought anything about it.”

  Imagining the lengths she’d gone to in order to conceal her body, to relieve herself, even to sleep at night made my head swim.

  “The only thing they really questioned was my age, but that was only when I enlisted,” Alice said.

  “Weren’t you lonely for female company?” I asked.

  Something flared in her eyes at my question. “I visited the fancy ladies like any of the other soldiers.”

  My mouth fell open. “You what?”

  “When the other soldiers went to the whorehouses, I went along,” she stated plainly.

  “Weren’t you shocked?” I tried to envision her in the room with a…a fancy lady. What on earth could they have done together?

  Alice winked. “The girls were more than happy to keep my secret.”

  I’d hardly had a worldly upbringing. I even bordered on being somewhat naive. But something told me Alice had done more with those women than she admitted. The thought of it caused a strange stirring inside me. My mouth went dry. My channel clenched involuntarily. I shifted on the bed in an attempt to assuage the throbbing under my skirts. The movement only made it worse.

  Had Alice made love with a woman? I couldn’t dare ask her.

  As if sensing my consternation, she placed her hand on my bare wrist and gave it a reassuring rub. “I was joking,” she said. “I never meant to upset you.”

  Relieved, I nodded.

  “You know my name,” she told me. “But I don’t know yours.”

  “Belle Holloway.”

  She smiled. “Belle.” She said my name as if she liked the way my name felt in her mouth. “The name suits you.”

  Chapter Three

  Alice had gobbled the stew and asked for a second helping. I avoided looking in the bowl as I carried it up the stairs on a tray. I didn’t want to be reminded those tiny pieces of stringy meat belonged to one of my goats.

  “Thank you,” she said as I placed the tray across her lap. Already a bit of color had returned to her face.

  The dog barked and alerted me to riders coming up the drive. I rushed to the window just in time to see five Confederates plunge to a halt in front of the house.

  “Who is it?” Alice asked, her cheek bulging with a hunk of stew meat.

  “Soldiers. Confederates.” I quickly averted my gaze to the window. I wiped my hands on my apron. “I’d better go see what they want.”

  Alice’s brow furrowed. “Are they…are they here to take me?” she asked.

  “Don’t be a silly goose,” I told her, starting for the door. “What would they want with you?”

  She gulped. “Well…I did kill Martin.”

  Martin. I’d never known his name until now. I waved my hand in dismissal. “No one needs to know about that, Alice. He was dying anyway. You just saved him several more days’ misery.”

  As I descended the stairs, I thought about Alice. She’d been a Yankee soldier, and for that reason alone, I could turn her in to these Confederates. I could have her out of my house and out of my bed.

  But I knew I wouldn’t do that, and I couldn’t figure out why. My reluctance perturbed me. I realized I was clenching my fists and had to force myself to relax. Alice’s presence unnerved me, but the alternative of imagining life without her unsettled me far more.

  Uncle Hewlett got the front door at the same time I did. He opened it.

  The Confederate in charge tipped his well-worn slouch hat at us. “Ma’am,” he greeted.

  “How can we help you?” Uncle Hewlett asked.

  “We’re pulling out. Prepare for the Yankees to move in again,” the soldier in gray said.

  “Moving out?” I asked, distressed. I’d barely survived the last Yankee invasion.

  “We’ve got no choice,” the Confederate said. “I would suggest you bury all your valuables. What the Yankees don’t take is being looted by a gang of deserters that’s been causing trouble around here.”

  “A gang?” Uncle Hewlett asked.

  “Yes,” the soldier said. “There are about four of them left as far as we can tell. We caught and hanged one of them, but they’re a pretty mean bunch.”

  His gaze drifted down my mourning gown and back up again. “Are there any menfolk besides you on the place?” he asked Uncle Hewlett.

  “No sir,” Uncle Hewlett said, but I imagined Alice could be handy with a gun, and we had the dead Yankee’s pistol and rifle in addition to hers.

  The soldier tipped his hat again but stopped before turning to leave. “One more thing,” he said. “Sherman’s ordered all the civilians out of Atlanta. There’ll be refugees coming through these parts in the next few days.”

  I gaped. “Civilians?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Uncle Hewlett shook his head in disgust.

  A sense of panic seized me. Refugees. Yankees. Looters. I’d struggled to hold on to the few things we had: the goats, the house, the clothes on our backs. I didn’t want to see the things for which I’d worked so hard stolen by brigands and Yankees. Neither did I want to give away the things we’d surely need in the coming days, weeks, years.

  I sighed. Our money was no good. Without anyone to work the cotton fields, there was no way of making more money. All I had was my goats and my house.

  “Y’all be careful,” the soldier called as he mounted his horse. He wheeled around, and the riders were off.

  “I guess we better get together anything we want to hide,” I told Uncle Hewlett.

  Without words, he nodded, still staring at the backs of the soldiers riding away. Finally, he exhaled a deep breath and uttered words from Julius Caesar. “‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; and we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.’”

  Placing my hand on his shoulder, I stared too, watching the bright late-summer sun sink behind the front gates of Rattle and Snap. I didn’t intend to lose any of our ventures to Yankees or thieves.

  * * *

  The first wave of refugees from Atlanta trickled through three days later. Most traveled on foot. A few had all they could carry on rickety wagons pulled by balky mules. All of them had one thing in common. They were angry.

  Every house that still stood along McDonough Road was full to bursting with displaced, disgruntled relatives and strangers alike. We took in five of my distant cousins, my widowed aunt, and three of their servants who planned to travel farther south to Macon. I’d only met them once before, but they were family, and we couldn’t turn them away.

  Everyone had to double and some triple up in the beds. Aunt Mavis slept with Ma, and that left me in bed with Alice, who’d grown stronger and stronger since eating the goat stew.

  “I can’t believe Sherman forced everyone to leave their homes. It’s inhuman,” I ranted as I peeled back the covers and crawled into bed with Alice.

  She scooted over to give me room. I’d never realized just how small this bed was until now.

  “I agree,” Alice said. “What point is there in forcing women and children out of their homes?”

  I turned down the wick on the lamp and settled down on the mattress. Tonight, no breeze wafted through the open windows. We needed no other cover than a sheet and thin quilt. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my own bed, but it felt different with Alice’s warmth next to me. Very different.

  I slept fitfully, afraid I’d unintentionally bump my knee against Alice’s wounded thigh. I’d grown unaccustomed to sleeping in the bed with anyone else. The last person I’d slept next to had been Dalton.

  Missing…

  Dozing again, I dr
eamed of him. In the dream he kissed me and held me and told me I was safe. He lifted me off my feet, lay me in the bed, and then made love to me.

  My eyes snapped open, and reality crashed back over me. My heart twisted at the dream. It had seemed so real. Common sense railed that Dalton might not ever come back. He might be dead. My heart ached—but sexual desire still raged. I swallowed thickly and glanced at Alice. She lay on her back, eyes closed, her breathing even and deep.

  The details of my vivid dream replayed over and over in my head. It had seemed as if I’d actually been with him. Even my body had reacted. Wetness dampened my inner thighs. My channel ached to be filled. With every breath, my nipples brushed against the smooth cotton of my nightgown.

  Would she know if I finished what my dream lover had started?

  I drew up the tail of my nightgown, luxuriating in the slither of the soft cotton sliding up my bare thighs. My heart pounded in my throat as I reached between my legs and swirled a finger over the hardened little hillock there. Jolts of bittersweet pleasure coursed through me. My breath left my lungs in a ragged rush as I glanced at Alice again, hoping desperately that she still slept. That I wouldn’t awaken her with my movements.

  I recalled her pointed stare the day Uncle Hewlett had slaughtered the kid. In my mind’s eye, I remembered the sight of her bare legs and the smoking revolver in her hand…and then, her naked breasts. I inhaled.

  What drove me to think of her when I should be fantasizing about my husband?

  At this point, I didn’t care. All that mattered was assuaging this rampant desire. I’d rarely resorted to pleasuring myself, but tonight I felt I had little other choice. Dalton was away, and the dream had been so realistic.

  And I needed this. God, how I needed it.

  Closing my eyes, I dipped my fingers through my nether lips to coat them with my slippery juices. I forced the visions of Alice away and instead, imagined the scent, the feel, the touch of my husband as I began to rub myself in a circular motion. I dragged in a breath. My thighs parted and lifted. The muscles there strained. I fought the urge to rock my hips. Dalton…

  Almost there…

  Oh yes. But Alice’s angular face intruded once more. In frustration, my eyes snapped open. I expected to find her still sleeping.

  Instead, two eyes sparkled in the darkness. She stared back at me. Humiliated, I froze. My hand stilled. My face flamed. Did she know what I’d been doing?

  I expected to find condemnation or disgust in her gaze, but even through the murky darkness, I recognized something else—something that frightened me.

  She shifted and inched closer. I jumped when her hand covered mine, but she gripped my fingers tight and held them in place over my quaking cunny.

  “Be still,” she whispered, moving even closer.

  My heart fluttered wildly against my rib cage. I gnawed my bottom lip.

  “Be still,” she said again. “Close your eyes.”

  Near tears, I reluctantly obeyed. My body, however, seemed far too willing to comply with whatever Alice wanted to do to me.

  “Spread your legs, Belle,” she said, her breath hot against my ear.

  In spite of the stifling heat, chills rippled up and down my entire body. I opened for her, scarcely an inch. My breaths came in panicky gulps. Her body countered mine from my head to my feet. Her heat. Her soft skin. Her lean thighs and calves. Her toes.

  “Spread your legs.” It wasn’t a request.

  Whimpering, I opened my thighs wider and wider still. Yes… Her hand slid over mine, and she breathed a moan as her fingers delved between my already slippery folds. My heart lodged in my throat. “God—” I choked on my words. My voice sounded desperate. Needy.

  “Shh.” She began to touch me as no other person ever had. Her fingers explored my swollen lips in a slow, maddening caress. I warred with the knowledge that I should depart the room this instant and with the desire to find satisfaction at the hands of another.

  She gave voice to a soft whimper—as if she enjoyed sliding her fingers easily and expertly over my sensitive flesh.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even swallow. One finger sought entry and then pushed slowly inside. I tensed. She was touching me! A woman was touching me as intimately as my husband had! I knew I should demand that she stop or at the very least swat her hand away. I did neither.

  Her caresses dredged up wicked desires in me I never knew existed. Grief and desire and other emotions I couldn’t identify churned within me, and I realized I wanted this. I wanted to forget, to lose myself, to let go and simply feel.

  She gave voice to another husky moan as she moved impossibly closer and worked her finger even farther inside me.

  “I’m inside you, Belle,” she whispered.

  Make her stop! Tell her to quit!

  I stretched open my legs impossibly wider and lifted my hips to give my body to her.

  Her finger slid out, and she palmed me, massaged me, only to push back inside again. Other fingers reached lower to places that shouldn’t have enhanced my desire, but they did. I wanted to look at her, to watch her. I didn’t dare.

  She drew out and this time, plunged two fingers into my weeping cunny. I cried out. She stretched me. She hurt me in ways that made me want more.

  She brought me to the edge of pain and pleasure, and I gloried in it.

  All coherent thought fled as she began to piston me with the two fingers while her thumb beguiled my clitoris.

  My head swam. My body floated. The sound of wet suction filled my ears. The pleasure of her fingers intoxicated me. I tried to think of Dalton, to imagine he touched me with such familiarity. But this…dear sweet Lord, this was so different from Dalton’s touch that I could think of no one but Alice. She seemed to know just what to do, just how much pressure to apply and where.

  The tension melted out of me, and I dissolved into her hand. I lifted my knees as far as I could to give her complete access. Her fingers sought and found some secret spot inside me, and suddenly, bliss rolled over me like summer thunder. Gripping handfuls of the sheets, I arched, grinding against her hand. My toes curled. I heard the shameless sound of my own voice moaning and encouraging her as release came with the most intense quickening I’d ever experienced. Alice wrested every last bit of pleasure my body had to offer before she withdrew her fingers.

  I expected her to snatch her hand away, but instead, she caressed my cunny, my thighs, my abdomen. When she pressed a kiss to my shoulder, I summoned all my courage to turn my head and watch her as she finally moved away from me. Holding my gaze, she lifted her glistening fingers to her lips and tasted them.

  Shocked, I stared. Watching Alice slide the finger into her mouth that had just been inside me was the most erotic, most scandalous sight I’d ever witnessed. Something electric and unspoken hung in the air between us until she finally twisted onto her back.

  I lay there, trembling. I couldn’t believe what I’d just allowed her to do. Not daring to breathe, I watched as she plunged her hand under the sheets. I realized she was touching herself, but I couldn’t bring myself to do to her what she’d done to me.

  Touch her. Touch her, fool!

  I wanted to. But before I could muster the courage, the covers rustled with her trembling. She moaned softly, and the bed shimmied before she exhaled several rough breaths; then she was still.

  Moments later, her breathing became even and slow, and I knew she’d fallen back asleep.

  Long after she had drifted off to sleep, I still lay awake. My body still hummed with what she’d done to me. Her touch had chased away the ghost of my dream, and I didn’t know whether to be angry or happy for the reprieve from the hollow place inside me that would not be sated until Dalton returned home from the war.

  If Dalton returned from the war.

  * * *

  I rose to tend the goats just as an orange glow of sun sliced across the horizon. Wanting to think, I slipped off without Uncle Hewlett, knowing the heavy pails of goat’s milk
would be difficult to manage.

  After the Confederate riders had gone, he’d informed me I should carry Pa’s pistol with me, but I didn’t feel I needed it. Besides, I didn’t know how to shoot, and no one would ever find the secluded spot where we hid the goats.

  Alice.

  The back of my neck blazed when I replayed last night’s events in my head. Alice had caught me masturbating—and then she had brought me to orgasm. The memory of her fingers between my legs, searching, probing, penetrating renewed my desire.

  Perspiration beaded between my shoulder blades and trickled down my back. I blew out a breath. I had to stop thinking about this. About Alice.

  When I arrived at the spot where we kept the herd, the goats filed into milking order. It was the same every day. First, Cinnamon because she had taken the stance as the herd leader—the queen. Then came the twins. The others fell into a line that made no sense at all since age or the order in which they’d birthed kids didn’t seem to be factor.

  After filling their feed bucket, I took my position on the stool and greeted each doe as she presented herself to be milked. I laughed at Jeff Davis, who kept looking up the path for his nemesis, Uncle Hewlett. “He’s not coming today, President Davis!” I called to the ornery buck.

  He blew and bleated and stomped his hooves on the ground, obviously angry because he’d been cheated out of what he considered his morning romp.

  I covered the milk pails, hefted them into a small wagon I used for hauling, and hitched Jeff Davis up so we could take the milk to the springhouse. Jeff and I bypassed the big springhouse we’d used before the war. Fearing Yankees or other thieves would loot it, we used the old one my grandfather had used when he’d built the big house at Rattle and Snap.

  Granddaddy’s first house had been a two-room log cabin with a loft for the children. When he’d moved into the big house, he’d given the cabin to Uncle Hewlett, who stood on the porch now as I passed on the creekside path below. “I’ll get that for you,” he called, lumbering down the porch steps.

  Jeff let out a high-pitched baa, and I held the reins tight to keep him from upsetting the milk cart.