Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Read online

  Her ultimatum was followed by a blood-curdling scream that would make one think she had actually used the cane as a weapon—not merely threatened to do so.

  The next moment, a voice bellowed from the doorway. “Stop this instant!” Hunter strode across the floor to the rescue of Victoria, who gasped and flattened herself against him, sobbing convulsively in his arms as if she’d been struck.

  “Did you hear what she said to me?” she wailed. “She was going to beat me.”

  Hunter gave Andrea a look that she could not quite read. “Don’t you think you owe Miss Hamilton an apology?”

  Andrea let out a small gasp of her own. She looked at Hunter, first with surprise that he should suggest such a thing, then with dismay that he could suggest such a thing, and then with anger that he would suggest such a thing. “Not while I live and breathe.”

  “Make her apologize.” Victoria sobbed, endeavoring to call up some tears. “She has the manners of a b-b-billy goat.”

  Andrea was quiet for a moment, but it was only the type of calm that precedes a violent storm. She lunged at Victoria before Hunter had a chance to react, the mad lust for a fight throbbing in her veins as she responded to the challenge with pure indignation and offense. “Why don’t you make me apologize, you uppity spawn of—”

  “Stop this minute!” Hunter struggled to keep the two women separated.

  Even after being held at arm’s length by Hunter, Andrea made one last, strenuous attempt to reach Victoria’s throat, intent on manually removing the woman’s noisy windpipe.

  “A truce to this!” Hunter tried again to gain control.

  “She’s mad! She’s bloody mad! Keep her away from me.” Victoria fell against Hunter’s broad chest and pretended to faint.

  “I give you fair warning.” Andrea shook her finger at her antagonist who now lay moaning in Hunter’s arms as he carried her up the stairs. “Do not provoke me again.”

  “Enough,” Hunter said over his shoulder. “I expect my command for a truce to be obeyed!”

  “Don’t waste your breath because I’ll obey no such truce,” Andrea retorted. “Heaven knows I did no harm to her.”

  Hunter stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled on the stairs to face Andrea. “We are talking about what I know—not Heaven!”

  Even Victoria ceased her sniveling for a moment to glare through imagined tears and hear what was going to happen next.

  “Miss Evans, I will settle with you properly later,” Hunter said with a threatening tone.

  Victoria grinned over Hunter’s shoulder with a look of sweet victory once he continued up the stairs. Andrea smiled back, pointed her cane like a shotgun, and mouthed the word pow while pulling an imaginary trigger.

  Victoria let out a blood-curdling shriek that caused Hunter to stop and turn around again.

  But by the time he did, Andrea was leaning nonchalantly on her supposed instrument of carnage and smiling innocently.

  * * *

  Hunter’s declaration of “settling” with her later gave Andrea an uneasy feeling about when and in what manner that threat would be carried out. She attempted therefore to avoid him by retreating to the far reaches of the garden, sitting on a crude bench beneath the bowers of an overgrown grape vine. This was her sanctuary, a place where she could withdraw to commune with her thoughts or read.

  But her attempt at seclusion did no good. Hunter appeared without warning, his hands resting on top of the natural doorway, his body leaning forward as he talked.

  “You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?” He greeted her somewhat cheerfully.

  “Why would I do that?” Andrea averted her eyes from the muscles his stance produced.

  Hunter cleared his throat somewhat hesitantly. “I’ve come here to ask…demand the truce that was earlier mentioned.”

  Andrea’s eyes glazed over. “A truce?”

  “Yes. And the truce will begin tonight. I want the three of us dine together…get a chance to know each other.

  When Andrea did not reply, Hunter pushed himself away from the doorway and turned to leave, exhaling with an obvious sense of relief.

  “I find the thought slightly less pleasant than being buried alive,” Andrea said just loud enough for him to hear. Then louder, “Sir, permit me to thank you for your most courteous invitation, but I suddenly have no appetite and therefore must disappointingly decline the honor.”

  Hunter returned in an instant as if fully expecting her predetermined refusal. His look was now that of a warrior preparing for battle.

  “Dinner is at seven. I insist you attend, hungry or not.” He looked her in the eye and repeated his mandate. “Think of it as a privilege, and see that you are there.”

  Andrea coughed as if his words actually choked her. “I regret I must plead ignorance of the privilege of the invitation,” she said coldly, abandoning her feigned indifference to the idea. “It is my understanding that your houseguest is prouder than Lucifer of her family name, but frankly, I see no reason for the tribute.”

  “Be that as it may, it would be most advantageous to your personal well-being if you were to heed my wishes voluntarily.”

  Andrea blinked in surprise. “Would this be an order, Major?” She tried to keep her voice from shaking with agitation. “For if it is, I must earnestly beg you to reconsider.”

  “I do not order it, Miss Monroe. But I advise it. Strongly.”

  “Do not call me Miss Monroe!”

  Hunter gazed at her, somewhat bemused. “That is your name isn’t it?”

  “My name is Evans. I will answer to no other!”

  “As you wish,” he said curtly. “May I remind you that dinner is at seven?”

  Andrea cleared her throat hesitantly. “I…believe I declined the offer.”

  “I don’t recall offering you that option Miss Evans. And may I remind you that the invitation is for an appearance at a dinner table, not an appointment with a hangman’s noose.”

  Hunter’s tone made it clear he believed the latter a more appropriate response to her behavior, and Andrea did nothing to hide from her expression that it was one she found exceedingly more desirable to endure.

  “Heed my words. They are not spoken in jest.”

  Andrea bit the side of her cheek, contemplating his ultimatum and the possible penalties. She decided she would rather cast her lot with the fate of his punishment than spend another minute of her life in the presence of Victoria Hamilton.

  “Then, Major, may I at least go on the record stating that if I had the choice of dining with your houseguest or riding a hundred yards through a storm of Confederate lead, I would, without hesitation, choose the latter?”

  Hunter blinked at her impudence and stared at her so intensely Andrea felt she was being burned alive by his eyes—yet this did not stop her. “Make that on a balky horse. A balky, three-legged horse. A blind, balky, three-legged horse.”

  “I am sorry I’m not in the position to offer you that opportunity at this time,” Hunter said interrupting her tirade in a perfectly calm voice. “But perhaps in the near future that arrangement can be made.”

  Andrea felt a stinging sense of defeat at his latest comeback. He was learning to spar with her a little too well.

  “Ah-h, Miss Evans,” he said. “One more thing.”

  “Yes, Major?” she snapped.

  “Let’s try not to have a battle of wits like this tonight.”

  “Do you mean with Victoria?”

  “Yes, I mean with Victoria.”

  “I’m sure that won’t happen,” she said in a reassuring voice.

  “Good.” Once again Hunter turned to leave.

  “I would never pick a battle of wits with an unarmed person!” Andrea yelled after him.

  She watched him stop for a moment, but he did not return. He shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then strode back to the house, his gait—and his tightly clenched
fists—portraying an emotion he seemed unable to suppress.

  Chapter 32

  Vengeance is mine, I will repay sayeth the Lord.

  – Romans 12:19

  Hunter paced the dining room awaiting the arrival of his two houseguests. He tried to think optimistically—that anything other than a dismal failure would be a splendid success. And success would mean peace. And peace would mean his household would no longer be the scene of constant skirmishes and conflicts that he inevitably had to quell. Yet his heart pounded as if preparing to face a foe of unknown strength.

  Victoria arrived first, walking into the room with the arrogance and sophistication that resembled an empress among her subjects—smiling and glancing right and left as if expecting a standing ovation from an unseen crowd. Hunter escorted her to the table, and then turned to see Andrea standing warily at the doorway, her gaze sweeping the room as if calculating the terrain of an unfamiliar battlefield.

  “Miss Evans, Miss Hamilton,” he said while the two women eyed each other from across the table. “I’m hoping we can enjoy a meal together and would be much obliged if you’d each cease and desist your…warfare.”

  Hunter’s eyes fell on Andrea at the end of his sentence, and noticed that she made no effort to conceal her disdain. Still, as his gaze swept over her, he could not help but admire what he saw. Clothed in a rose-dotted muslin, severe in its simplicity, she looked unpretentious and charming.

  Victoria, on the other hand, was dressed in a shade of shimmering silk that would be hard to describe and even harder to admire. With her hair piled high and her lips a few shades too red to be considered natural, she appeared smug and arrogant, and, as always, reflected a touch of assumed superiority.

  The differences in them were even more apparent tonight than usual. One had a sophisticated upbringing and a commendable line of Virginia blood flowing through her veins. The other, he mused, possessed the look, bearing, and character of such.

  “I’ll have no more of the disruptions like I witnessed today. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Oh, but, Alex, that wasn’t my fault.” Victoria put her hand on Hunter’s arm and blinked flirtatiously. “You heard what she said to me.”

  Hunter glanced at Andrea and determined that the version of events running through her mind was on a collision course with Victoria’s. Indeed, the room turned from chilly to stifling hot with the intensity of contrasting views. “I did not place the blame on anyone,” he quickly noted. “I only demand it not happen again.”

  Andrea sat down stiffly with the air of one being forced to watch a beheading, refusing to give him the benefit of even a simple nod. She made it clear she had gone so far as to submit to his demand, but it was obvious she had no intention of feigning fondness for the woman on the other side of the table.

  * * *

  Andrea took a deep breath while Hunter helped a rabidly mirthful Victoria into her chair. She stared at the food Mattie and Izzie served like it was steaming carrion, and prepared to face an evening that promised to be anything but enjoyable.

  As a defense to Victoria’s steady stream of babble about the latest fashion trends, Andrea’s attention became focused on the far wall, her imagination conjuring up the image of Boonie sitting across from her at the table. The thought of exchanging glances and grins with him at the useless effusions flowing unceasingly from the other side of the table, caused her mouth to involuntarily—and unknowingly—turn into a smile.

  “Is there something humorous you wish to share Miss Evans?” Hunter asked, apparently well acquainted with Andrea’s ability to rely on her imagination when she found herself in a disagreeable circumstance.

  Andrea looked over at him blankly, not sure of his meaning.

  “Is there something that you find suddenly amusing?”

  “It would probably be best if I did not share it,” Andrea responded in a tone that revealed not a touch of remorse—or even concern.

  Hunter blinked, but Andrea noticed it was not an ordinary blinking of the eyes. Rather, his lids stayed closed for more than a few seconds, and they quivered sporadically the entire time. Furthermore his lips moved, but no words came out…and since she assumed he was not saying grace, she wondered why he did not speak loud enough for those present to hear.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and spoke in a tone that indicated he was losing control.

  “Can you attempt to come back from your remote regions of thought and join us?”

  Andrea turned her gaze to Hunter, then to Victoria and back again with a feigned look of confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, are you speaking to me or Miss Hamilton?”

  Hunter’s hand tightened into a fist around a knife. The strain at the table was becoming unbearable. “Perhaps you don’t approve of the topic. Is our conversation boring you, Miss Evans?”

  It was evident to Andrea that Hunter was somewhat perturbed. And since she did not wish to appear rude by answering in the affirmative, or lie by answering in the negative, she did not respond at all.

  “I do declarah,” Victoria said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “A common girl and deaf to boot.”

  “Our conversation…” Hunter hurriedly repeated in a louder voice. “Do you not find it interesting? Or are you just disinclined to talk in our presence?”

  Andrea took his comment to mean she should feel disinclined to be in their presence and was instantly offended. “No, indeed, it’s quite—” She sighed like she was trying to suppress a yawn, “captivating.”

  Hunter leaned toward her and whispered in a lethal, threatening voice. “Miss Evans, if you are trying to conceal your displeasure, may I have the honor of informing you that you are failing miserably?”

  Andrea had no time to answer before Victoria interrupted in a shrill, excited voice. “Where did you get that? How came you to have it? And why?”

  Surprised, both Andrea and Hunter followed her gaze to the ring on Andrea’s finger. Victoria shifted her attention to the similar ring on Hunter’s hand, then fastened her eyes upon Andrea accusingly, drumming her fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for a reply.

  Andrea cleared her throat. “Daniel Delaney. Daniel…was a friend of mine.”

  “But he was a Yankee!”

  Andrea’s gaze went to Hunter’s and Hunter’s went to hers. Victoria’s flicked from face to face.

  Hunter recovered first and turned his attention to Victoria. “Daniel and Miss Evans were friends before the war, Victoria. Such a twist of fate cannot be helped.”

  “But that ring is priceless,” she gasped, as if that justified the immediate retrieval of the heirloom from Andrea’s finger.

  “Nonetheless, it was given to Miss Evans. And agree with them or not, Daniel’s wishes need to be respected.” He looked at Andrea severely, letting her know by his tone that his words applied to her current presence in his home as well.

  Feeling somewhat defeated, Andrea picked up her fork and took her first bite of the dinner before her. Under Hunter’s intense scrutiny, it went down hard, like a mouthful of fish scales, causing her to almost gag. She picked up her glass of water as Victoria began talking again—but this time she heard something of interest.

  “You’re not going to let that beast in the house when he returns, are you?”

  Andrea’s eyes shot up over her glass and landed on Hunter. “You own a dog?”

  “Not a dog,” Victoria interrupted before he could answer. “More like a wolf. And the beast hates women.” Victoria shivered and turned in her chair to summon Mattie to pour another glass of wine.

  Andrea rolled her inquiring eyes toward Hunter and leaned closer, whispering innocently. “I’m curious. Does he hate all women? Or just your taste in them?”

  Hunter glared at her but ignored the question. “Grizz is just a little overprotective. I raised him from a puppy and he thinks Hawthorne is his to do as he pleases.”

  “Where is he now?” Andrea asked. “I’ve never seen him.”


  “John Flannery, next place down, has been using him for hunting,” Hunter answered. “I’ve been away so much, I thought it would do him some good. John’s going to be traveling, so Grizz is coming back—just for a couple of weeks.”

  Somehow the conversation immediately returned to the high price of clothing, despite the fact that Andrea was not yet finished discussing Hunter’s peculiar pet.

  “It’s just terrible the prices of goods.” Victoria spoke loudly, as if there were a dozen people in the room instead of three. “And all because of this unnecessary hurly-burly…this uncomfortable rift between North and South.”

  Andrea and Hunter literally choked simultaneously, and then sat in stunned silence for a moment.

  “Miss Hamilton, I would be disinclined to call it an uncomfortable rift.” Andrea stared incredulously at the one seated across from her. “Do you understand that the Major and his men risk their lives to protect what you have and guard what you could well lose? Are you aware of the noble blood that is spilled unreservedly to preserve your way of life?”

  Hunter choked again, this time a little harder, as he stared at Andrea with a look of bewilderment at the way she’d defended the Southern Cause.

  Victoria was silent for a moment as she looked at the two serious, solemn faces staring intently at her. “Must we always talk of war, war, war!” she raged, the color rising in her cheeks. “I do declare you two are likely to blather about it until the end of time.”

  Andrea looked down at her plate.

  “What are you smirking about?” Victoria fumed.

  “I expected your ideology to be a misguided one.” Andrea eyed her with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “It did not occur to me that anyone outside of a nursery or a tomb would be incapable of having one at all.”

  “Miss Evans!” Hunter pounded his fist on the table and turned to Victoria endeavoring to pacify her… but there was no need. She was simply looking at Andrea aghast, knowing she’d been insulted, but seemingly unsure just what to do about it.