Heavy yet surprisingly soft, the robe chased the chill from my bones. “Bear?”
“Buffalo. The army has quite the treasure trove.” He craned his neck for a view ahead. “There’s a nice spot at the riverfront, sheltered from the wind. You can see across to Virginia.”
“Virginia?” Images of stray Minié balls sailing around us made me shudder.
GK had explained how Wash had saved his life. Wash had heard incoming fire and pushed him out of the way, a bullet just grazing GK’s neck.
“How close is the fighting?”
“Quite far, thank goodness. Two days’ ride at least.”
That didn’t seem far enough.
His gloved hand squeezed mine under the lap robe. He was in a rather precarious position, courting the sister of his superior, although he didn’t seem concerned, chatting jovially and playfully. He had yet to kiss me, and I found myself imagining the feel of his lips against mine. The warmth of his body next to me caused alternating calm and excitement, like riding a horse at full gallop, then slowing to a walk through a sunny meadow.
The city had changed since I lived there during finishing school, transforming from a place to call home to a place to hold business. Dark shanties huddled next to marble buildings with Corinthian columns. Wide boulevards disintegrated into dirt roads with ruts and puddles, notorious for swallowing carriage wheels. In the distance, the Washington Monument rose to the sky in beautiful angled lines, only to be truncated at an awkward spot not quite halfway to the promised point.
True to Wash’s word, we alighted in a small park on the banks of the Potomac, about two miles from the house. He sent the driver away with a scheduled return. My skin prickled in protest, both at the sight of the wide, unforgiving river and the departure of our chaperone. But if I wasn’t safe with someone who had saved my brother’s life, who could be trusted?
We spread the plaid blanket and huddled under the buffalo robe as we enjoyed the feast from the basket: scotch eggs, buttermilk biscuits, and jarred peaches—luxuries I had sorely missed in wartime.
I held out my hand for our shared jug of water. “How did you get all this?”
“I’m a good scrounger.” He produced a flask from his coat pocket and waggled it in front of me. “Care for a wee nip?”
It was not yet nine in the morning. “An indecent hour for a nip.” I accepted the flask and took a swig. Hot. Hot. It was coffee. I sputtered the burning liquid.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you would—” He grabbed back the flask and dabbed a napkin at the errant drips on my face.
I gulped down some water and laughed. “I’m fine, I assure you.”
“Are you certain?”
I nodded. The concern in his eyes drew me toward his strong and beautiful face, making me want to circle my arms around him. Part of me pleaded for protection from future pain. He would, of course, soon return to the war, and I longed to wrap my heart in a layer of armor. But more powerful feelings were making their way through faster than I could keep them at bay.
He removed his glove and traced a finger across my lips, making them tingle. I took his hand in mine and squeezed.
Wash bent closer. “Em—”
I parted my lips, but half of me wanted to push away, to run, to let that suit of armor guard me from heartbreak. But the other half wouldn’t budge from that blanket. An eternity of seconds ticked by until he grazed my cheek with his lips, and then found mine, waiting, wanting. The sweetness of peaches, the bitter of coffee, the soft brush of the tip of his tongue and tickle of mustache combined, overwhelming me and blotting out the world and all reason. The lap robe slipped off, and I closed my eyes and let his mouth, his soul, fill me with warmth while the chill air stung in counterpoint. His hand behind my head, he lowered us to the ground, his lips never leaving mine, his arms shielding me from the cold. At last, he rolled away, leaving me breathless and wanting more.
He groaned as he sat up, chugged some coffee, then gave my leg a few raps of his knuckles. “It appears all is in good working order.”
I gave him a sultry look. “Are you speaking of you or me?”
He coughed. “You are most improper, Miss Warren. I shall have to report you to the general.”
“And shall I report you for sending away our chaperone?” I sat up next to him.
He wrapped his arm across my shoulders. “They will surely jail us both.”
Waves of the river lapped at the banks, reclaiming the snow. I had a sense of the water sucking me in, but it was the cold earth that seeped through the blanket and frosted my bottom.
He offered another opportunity to burn my tongue, then capped the coffee and pocketed the flask. “We had better take our leave before we become an unauthorized monument.” Wash scrambled to his feet, then pulled me up, not a moment too soon before numbness set in.
I repacked the basket while he folded the blanket. “Have you thought about what you want to do after the war? Will you be staying with the army?”
“Don’t tell me my whole ‘uniting the country’ speech was wasted on a bunch of butter bars.”
“You saw me listening?” I tossed a napkin at him.
“Guilty. I’m not usually that much of a show-off. But when I saw you…”
“So I was eavesdropping and you were boasting and making up stories.” I took his free hand as we headed along the river toward our meeting point with the driver. “Well, why don’t you tell me more about these plans, if they’re true, so we can determine who’s the more guilty party?”
“Oh, they’re true.” He squinted at the river, the sun now reflected in it, then fumbled in his pocket for his timepiece. “The carriage should be here any moment.” He placed the folded blanket on a nearby boulder. “A seat for my lady whilst she waits, and a story to keep her entertained.”
“‘My lady…she speaks yet she says nothing; what of that?’”
“Hamlet?”
“Romeo.” Oh my. Had I just compared us to Romeo and Juliet? “Not that you…”
“Shakespeare has some big shoes to fill, but I’ll do my best.” Wash spread his arms wide and took a bow as if there were an audience of hundreds. “I was a young lad of ten years, on a ferry with my father.” He picked up a flat pebble and skipped it across the ice-patched water. “We were heading from New York to Brooklyn on a January day so miserable, today is balmy in comparison.
“Passengers huddled with horses to keep warm on the open boat, with no roof to tuck under. Father paced, oblivious to the cold. I tried to keep up with him, slipping all over the icy deck. Sleet stung my eyes, and a fierce wind lifted my coat and sliced right up my back.”