Deadly Attraction

By Carolyn Hinchy-Wertman

Post civil war Washington is left reeling after the assassination of Lincoln. For Mirinda Caldwell the torment hits far too close to home when her brother is accused and sentenced to hang for his part in the horrible act. Determined to keep him from his fate, she will do whatever necessary to see him

free.

For Heath Falstaff, the beautiful Mirinda Caldwell is both beguiling and mysterious. She is also a murderer, poisoning the men who stand in the way of setting her brother free. Pursuing her through the war-torn south, he is determined to bring her back to face the punishment for her crimes. But will he see justice served, or will she entangle his heart in her silken web.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597052825

Book preview

Dedication

For my husband, who never stopped believing in me.

And for Jodi, who’s Point of View

changed everything.

Chapters

Preface

Washington D.C. June 1865

The leaves were plucked with care, lest any drop of the acrid liquid come in contact with flesh. It would blister the skin, making it raw, with a pain that left the stomach nauseous. Even now, it made the head spin, and left the eyes unfocused. Undaunted, the flower pod was pinched between thumb and forefinger before twisted until it snapped free. At last, left with only the stem, and thick root, it was deposited into a deep pestle and crushed beneath a heavy marble mortar. Extra care was taken to ensure the poisonous root was ground into a fine powder. Trembling fingers held a long slender knife to brush it into a vial, and sealed it within with wax. Lips, drawn and tight from an eternity of concentration, spread into a relaxed broad smile. By this time tomorrow, Washington society would once more be reeling.

One

Mirinda Caldwell clasped her trembling fingers in her lap, and bit back the retort at the tip of her tongue. Angering him certainly wouldn’t make things better, though she longed to vent her indignation. Please, Colonel McDermott, you are the third person I have spoken with today. There must be something that can be done?

Leaning back in his chair, his balding pate red and shining, The Colonel shrugged unaffected by her tears. As I said earlier, I cannot help you. The matter is out of my hands. You have wasted your time journeying here to Washington. By all accounts, your brother will hang for treason. He slipped the cigar he’d placed in the ashtray upon her arrival, back to his lips, and returned his quill to his hand, dismissing her without so much as looking in her direction.

Mirinda rose from the chair on weak, trembling knees and stood with her hand braced to the armrest for several seconds before attempting to move toward the door. Bile threatened at the base of her throat. The portal was ajar before she whirled about to face him in her fury, her breath barely able to be expelled against the tightness in her chest. I will not stand for this injustice, sir. You cannot treat people with such callousness and expect no retribution! She spun on her heels and stormed from the room in a swirl of muslin.

Abruptly, she came against a hard chest, and staggered backward in surprise. The man before her eyed her down the length of his nose. Mirinda assessed for a quick moment, giving him the once over even as she bestowed a glower in his direction. Dressed in the deep blue of an army uniform, brass buttons and belt buckle gleaming, he made a dashing figure. His dark hair curled slightly against his forehead, and was accented by sun-bronzed skin. Even in her misery, she noted the gentle curve of his lips, and the eyes like pools of onyx.

His hand reached for her as she sought to find her balance once more, and she sneered at him. Get your filthy hands off me. I don’t want, or need, your assistance. Forcing her way past him she descended the staircase to the foyer.

Oddly, she was grateful for the rain, which hid her tears, as she craned her neck back to her shoulders and drew a shaky breath passed her lips. Lost in her anguish, she allowed the cool drops to dampen her flesh, and sooth her sorrow. In the recesses of her mind she felt the presence behind her, knew she was no longer alone, and fought a shiver threatening at the base of her spine. Panic welled, ceasing her efforts at normal breathing, and dampening the valley between her breasts with a fine line of perspiration. She tamped it down, drew her shoulders back, and lifted her chin.

Though casual as she turned her head, her heart raced within the confines of her chest. A strangled sigh rose from her throat as she espied an elderly gentleman, spectacles balanced to the end of his nose, who nodded slightly before stepping past her. Feeling foolish, Mirinda curled her lips to a hesitant smile and watched him make his way toward the opposite side of the street. Her gaze focused to him, she gave no notice as another body brushed her hip. Only when fingers molded to her back, did she gasp, attempting to pivot as a firm force was applied to her shoulder blades. Taken aback, she staggered to the muddied road, her feet tangled within the folds of her gown.

The roar of the four-in-hand, heavy wagon in tow, echoed in her ears. Righting her balance, she twisted, stumbled in the mire, and sucked a ragged breath to her lungs as the team of horses plowed through the mud, their nostrils flaring warm mist against her cheek as they inched closer. The scream that lodged just behind her lips went unvoiced as her limbs locked, the image of the team seared to her mind. Unable to move, she released a soft whimper as the broad expanse of the nearest steed’s shoulder grazed her torso.

As if slapped, Mirinda shook herself from the fear that held her hostage. Tucking her chin to her chest, she curled to a tight ball, and rolled away from the sinewy muscles of the draft horse, careening through the sludge, as the air finally rushed from her mouth. A shutter crept along her trembling flesh as the hooves of the animal tossed the mire, where an instant before her face had been. Nearly standing, the coachman applied his foot to the brake beside him, and reined the team, pulling with enough force to bulge the veins on his arms, and one thick one at his neck. Only when the conveyance shuttered to a halt, did she release the sob caught beyond her teeth. For a long moment she held to her place, the wheels of the wagon, no more than a hair’s distance from her quaking hand.

Heart lodged to the base of her throat, she eyed the throng of onlookers amassed at the side of the road. None seemed overly pleased with her predicament, though in truth, none seemed overly upset, either. Yet, Mirinda knew as she scanned their visages, one of them was set upon her death. This attempt, the third on her life in less than a week, was nearly successful. Their hatred for her southern upbringing glinted in their eyes like cold steel. She was a pariah. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and teased at the bottom of her throat. Panicked, she swatted at the outstretched hand of a young lieutenant, who materialized beside her, and staggered to her feet. Her advance to the side of the road, though hasty, was made on limbs that shook violently beneath the sodden material of her dress. She cared little she seemed crazed as she stumbled away from the crowd, mud thick in her hair, and against her clothing. Nor did she look back at their frantic calls, her fear urging her on, as she huddled deep within the dirty shroud of her clothing, her only goal escape.

SHE WAS, HEATH WAS certain, the most annoying and exasperating person he ever had the misfortune of setting eyes on. Like a leech, she clung to whomever was closest, sucking the life from them until they no longer suited her purpose, and were discarded for another. He prayed for that day. Though his commanding officer never asked, or gave an order for such, Heath had the distinct impression he had been assigned as her escort.

God help him! Having Gabrielle Selinsgrove, daughter of Congressman Selinsgrove from Pennsylvania, at his side at every affair was suffocating to his social life. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually left for a secluded place with a charming young woman on his arm, in hopes of an intimate evening. Gabby saw to that with a skill unmatched by any other. She had an ingratiating way of wrapping her hands about Heath’s arm, which told everyone within a hundred miles she staked a claim to him.

But beyond a doubt it was her laugh, which inspired children to cling to their mother’s skirts, and grown men cringe. It was like the sound of fingers on a slate board—raw, raspy—until Heath was certain he could take not one more instant of it, or he would reach his hands to her throat, and choke the life and laugh from her. Only having to inhale caused it to cease, and Gabby could hold her breath for a very long time.

Now, watching her make her way across the ballroom, his hands fisted in annoyance and he felt a wave of panic seize him. Damnedable woman, he sneered beneath his breath. It was as if she had some sort of inbuilt tracking device. His heart lurched as her skirts fair-bowled people over in her eager quest to reach him. Every yellow blond curl atop her head swayed, and matched the frantic beat of his heart with her advance.

Heath ducked behind a large potted plant, and eyed her through the leaves. His breath lodged in his throat as she continued forward, as if knowing where he was. Only a call from someone along her path halted her, and he took advantage of her averted gaze. Sidling behind several chairs and a set of drapes at one of the windows, he made a dash for the other side of the room. He cared little he looked like some madman as he sprinted over the floor; he was. She’d sucked the sanity from him. Almost home free near the entrance, he fought a shiver as her laughter grated on his nerves, and she called out to him in a breathy half shout that could be heard above the din of the room.

Pretending not to have heard, he darted toward a set of French doors in hopes of attaining the escape he sought. To his frustration, it was not to be. The balcony he found himself on allowed no escape, in fact, was above those serene paths, overlooking them by at least fifteen feet. The fleeting thought to jump played at the back of his mind. Instead, he pressed his body to the side of the house, and held his breath. Perhaps if he kept to the shadows, she would miss him in her quest...

Trapped there, he realized for the first time he was not alone. At the far end of the terrace a young woman leaned to the rail, her back to him. He could not readily place a name to her, and studied her for a long moment.

Her hair was a rich chestnut color that sparkled with each ray the setting sun cast upon it. Woven into what was the new height of fashion, a French braid, it was drawn against her head from her forehead back to her nape, then allowed to cascade over her shoulders in free flowing soft curls. Delicate heart-shaped flowers of soft pink laced through the braid, like jewels atop a velvet expanse. Her gown, of the same hue as the flowers, draped off her shoulders, to reveal the soft rose of her skin. The corset beneath was cinched tight, accenting a slender waist and curvaceous hips. She turned for a moment, placing herself in profile to him, and he drew in a slow breath. The gentle line of her jaw, soft slope of her cheeks, and sensual curve of her lips intrigued him, and he leaned out from the shadows slightly, wanting a better look. Had he not more pressing issues on his mind, he would gladly have introduced himself.

It was Gabby’s spine tingling laugh, which ceased his musings. Damnation! He averred under his breath as he sidled back against the wall, and held his breath once more. The woman was part bloodhound! In the hall the cords of the old grandfather clock chimed half past seven as the sweat beaded at his lower lip. When she made no entrance from the ballroom, he peeled his head and shoulders from the building, and leaned by slow degrees toward the doors. Her proximity, no more than three feet from his haven, caused a fine line of sweat to moisten his upper lip, and his neck. Were she to come through those doors, all would be lost. Desperate, he contemplated any avenue, which would give him freedom from her. Once more, his gaze lit on the young woman on the far side of the balcony. His feet moved though the idea barely formed in his head.

He enveloped her in his arms, bent her slightly backwards, and pressed his lips to hers with such a swift motion; she had no time to defend herself. Intent on giving Gabby an eyeful, which would hopefully send her scurrying back to the ballroom, Heath covered the woman’s mouth with fervor. His lips plied hers with almost brutal force. His tongue slipped to her softly parted lips, opening them, and delving to the recesses of her mouth.

Wanting more, he tightened his arms about her, and pressed her to him, molding their bodies together. Beneath the thin material of her gown, he could feel the tautness of her nipples with each breath he drew into his lungs. Inspired, he moved his hands over her shoulders, caressing the delicate skin, and enjoying the silky feel of it beneath his fingers. His heart did a series of chaotic beats within his chest. Lost for an instant in the bliss she evoked, his fingers curled through her hair, and enjoyed the heady scent of jasmine that wafted from her flesh.

It was the soft snort from the French doors that finally brought him back to his senses. Opening one eye, he peered in that direction, a smug satisfaction at the look of aplomb that etched over Gabby’s visage; her jaw slack, eyes wide, and brows raised in disbelief. For an instant her lips moved as if to voice her displeasure, and then abruptly clamped shut. Heath’s breath eased from his lungs as she stiltedly closed the door and retreated back to the ballroom.

Loathe to put a stop to the intoxicating pleasure of the woman in his arms; Heath plied his mouth to hers with fervor once more. His lips twisted over hers, relishing their taste, and warmth. At last, nearly consumed by the deepening desires in him, he drew away, and gave her a sheepish smile. It was clear by her half closed eyes; she enjoyed the interlude as much as he and he reached his fingers to her lips, eager to hold the moment.

The stinging slap that welted his skin instantly broke the spell, and left him with a burning pain against his jaw as he stumbled back several inches in surprise. What he at first attributed to passion was now clear ire. Her eyes, a vibrant brown flecked by gold and green, snapped with indignation; her cheeks fused crimson with her rising anger.

You insufferable prig! She hissed in a silky southern accent that both enthralled and surprised him. With the war just over, southerners were less then welcome in Washington. Once more her hand came against his cheek. How dare you? Advancing on him, she rose on the tips of her toes and leaned close, her breath against the base of his throat. Do you think just because I have no escort, it is open season to set upon me? Another slap reddened his flesh.

Completely rational and far from the strange spell that captured him earlier, Heath latched his fingers about her wrist as she drew her hand up for another strike. Forgive me, madam... my actions were deplorable. I was only trying to set another woman back on her heels.

She tried, but failed to escape his encircling hand, thus instead, ground the heel of her foot to the instep of his, as she drove the tip of her finger to his chest, stabbing at him with every word. Who do you think you are? Nearly spitting at him, she added, Do you assume me some twittering twit, that you can just prance over here, and take advantage of me?

Heath leaned backward with her assault. His knees came up short against the rail of the terrace and he swayed in an attempt to keep his balance. Her eyes gleamed as she assessed his position. Planting her palms to his chest, she shoved with enough force to put him completely off balance. He grabbed for the rail, his eyes wide with disbelief. Good Lord, didn’t she realize how far the drop was?

Madam! He exhaled shakily, Have mercy. Even as the words escaped his lips he felt his knees cave beneath him, and his body careened over the balustrade. For an instant he envisioned his death, and every muscle in his body tensed. Yet, the impact was not as horrific as he imagined it would be; the cool waters of a large pond beneath the balcony, absorbing his fall. He came from the dark liquid sputtering in indignation, and sat, knees to chest, in the three-foot deep pool, dripping from every inch of his person.

Laughter erupted from the woman, who leaned to the rail and nodded smugly at him. Perhaps that will cool your passions, cur! Then she flounced toward the French doors, leaving him to his humiliation.

THOUGH RELUCTANT TO reenter the ballroom, Heath steeled himself as he pulled at his uniform dress coat, and squeezed another round of water from its hem. Had he not left his hat, utility belt, and sword with the servant who greeted him at the door, he would have quietly made his way home, rather than face the crowd. Nonetheless, there was no avoiding it, and he squared his shoulders before stepping through the doors to the room. His advance across the massive chamber was stilted. Each step was announced to those around him as his waterlogged boots squeaked and groaned. They left a trail of the liquid in his wake, as did his dripping clothing. The narrow rivulets of water that formed a path from his hair to his nose, and chin affected him no more than the open stares that followed him as he neared the front entrance.

Another blue uniform materialized beside him, and he leered in contempt at the man, challenging him to say the quip easily expressed on his curled lips. I am in no mood to discuss it, Colin, so don’t even open your mouth.

His companion chuckled softly, as he fell into step beside him. Heath, old man, what happened? You look a fright!

Colin Haversham had been his closest friend for the three years he resided in Washington. Both shared a number of memories, unforgettable, and forgettable. This would be one Colin would be certain to remind him of often. Gracing him with a sidelong glower, Heath continued his advance. Nothing I care to talk about, thank you.

Undaunted, his friend circled his fingers about his arm, and forced him to stop. That may well be true, but the same can’t be said of me. I want every juicy detail. You don’t think you can just waltz in here dripping water and... He reached to Heath’s shoulder and withdrew a long vine of algae covered moss from the spot. A mock shiver shook his shoulders. ...say nothing.

Heath graced him with a curled lip, hoping it would attest to his mood. I do, and I shall! Resuming his pace, he nodded to the servant and tersely asked for his things. Adjusting the belt about his narrow waist, he perused his reflection in a tall silver mirror near the entrance. Moss clung to his hair, his shoulders, and his shoes. He looked like some monster from the swamps children wove tales about. In the glass, he caught sight of Gabby, hastening across the room toward him, and he cringed. Beyond literally running from the room, he found no escape, and squared his shoulders in anticipation of her attack.

Major Fallstaff, for heaven sake what happened? She didn’t even have the grace to lower her voice, which only incurred more stares than he was already receiving.

Settling his hat to his head, he frowned as she neared. I fell... he murmured almost under his breath.

Gabby released that inane laugh on him,

and he steeled himself against its grating sound. More likely she pushed you, she snickered.

At Colin’s raised brows, Heath returned the glower to him. She? His friend queried, the smile twisting his mouth broadening.

I said I did not wish to discuss it, Heath averred from tight drawn lips.

Gabby supplied the answer with far too much relish to Heath’s way of thinking. He was out on the terrace, a mystery woman entwined in his embrace. My guess would be he overstepped his bounds, and she set him back on his heels.

Heath bestowed the same icy glare upon her that singed Colin. Deepest thanks for informing every one of my escapades, madam. I shall endeavor to grace you with the same kindness the moment an opportunity arises.

Gabby released her raspy laugh and caressed his cheek. As I would never be so forward, major, that is very unlikely. Slipping her arm through his, she comforted, Come, sir, allow me to escort you from the premises with what little dignity you have left.

In no mood for company, Heath curled his fingers about hers and gently plied them from his arm. No thank you, madam, I am quite capable of making the journey alone. He turned toward the door, eager to be away from the hushed whispers and blatant stares. From the corner of his eye he espied her, and stiffened. Smiling, she gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, and lifted her glass of sherry in silent toast. Heath planted the same look of annoyance to her that he bestowed on Colin and Gabby. Then he gave a stilted bow, and departed the room.

Two

With rain pummeling the area for nearly four days, the streets were almost impassable, both on foot, and by carriage. Mirinda pursed her lips as she peered from the door of her cousin’s town home, and watched the deluge pensively. Hardly agreeable to venturing out on such a day, she hesitated before snapping her umbrella open, and edging to the stoop. Instantly the water penetrated her thin jacket, and moistened her face. Regardless of how low she drew the umbrella against her person, the careening rain continued to soak her through. By the time she gained the street she was already beyond repair. Seeing no taxi to hail, she squared her shoulders and began the journey toward the army headquarters seven blocks away.

Five blocks into her travels, the weather released its full fury. Thunder roared from the heavens, lightening illuminated the gray sky, and the wind drove the stinging drops of rain against her with brutal intensity. Forced beneath the eaves of a shop, she shrank away from the driving pellets, and turned her face to her collar. Tucked in the corner between the door and the wall, she found a small amount of reprieve, and sighed in frustration.

In the recesses of her mind she heard the chimes as the door opened, but was too involved in her self-pity to pay attention to the exiting person. It was the fragrance of his cologne that assailed her with memories that took her breath away. Images impaled; of his arms wrapped about her, his mouth devouring hers, his tongue... Lord have mercy, his tongue! Panic seized her, and she spun about with such fervor, her umbrella snagged his jacket. He groaned as the slender spokes stabbed at him, and twisted away.

Focused only on flight, Mirinda released her hold on the parasol, and shoved past him toward the street. She gave no notice to the rain, wind and lightening. Her goal was simply to be as far away from him as possible.

His fingers ensnared her wrist as she stumbled past, trapping her. Miss, your umbrella, he murmured.

She twisted about, her breath lodged in her throat, and her body dampened by a fine mist of perspiration that mingled with the rainwater. He gave a slight tug to her wrist. Abruptly, they were against one another. His breath brushed her hair. Her heart threatened to explode from her chest, and pounded at her temples.

His eyes, dark pools, widened in recognition, and his lips flattened to a thin straight line above the ridged set of his jaw. You!

Squaring her shoulders, she hissed tersely, Get your filthy hands off me.

His brows rose as he contemplated her. You were at Colonel McDermott’s office a few days ago, with all the spit and fire of a cat with its tail caught under a rocking chair.

She shivered, though not from the stinging rain that pelted her back, and neck. Ignoring the water cascading over her visage, she hissed, Had I any hope the man was aware of a single thing beyond the tip of his nose, I’d have you brought up on charges for your actions the other night. Once more, her finger drilled at his chest. Rest assured, sir, I found myself disappointed your fall did not result in more injury than to your pride.

Her wrist still encircled by his fingers, he drew her to him, their bodies pressing together, as he peered into her eyes with a flinty annoyance. Though I have no witness to attest other wise, madam, me thinks thou doest protest too much! He quoted the bard of Avon. Your lips and tongue did their fair share of response.

The heat that fused her cheeks made her flinch. She certainly wasn’t about to let him see her discomfiture. Leaning to him, she whispered tritely. Don’t flatter yourself, sir. Your ego would think such a thing. Her finger stabbed at him. The only response was an attempt to get free. Once more she jabbed her finger to his chest. In doing so, the tiny button of her gloved hand tangled with one of the large brass ones of his jacket. Suddenly hooked together, she squirmed in agitation, and whined. Now look what you’ve done.

He huffed at her accusation. Madam, the fault can be placed no where save to your own actions. This time I am the innocent. Grasping her umbrella, he near tore it from his coat, and cast it to the street. The wind immediately snatched it toward the heavens, and sent it whirling down the road. He curled his fingers about hers, and attempted to disengage her button from his.

The scent of his cologne left her dizzy with memories. Flustered by the frantic beat of her heart, the perspiration that moistened the valley between her breasts, and the sudden weakness of her knees, she struggled against him. Unable to draw a decent breath to her lungs, Mirinda chewed at her lip, and dabbed shaking fingers to her throat. He seemed oblivious to her malady, his head bent, and dark brown hair nearly touching her nose, as he worked at the buttons that held them captive. Completely beside herself with panic, she wrenched her hand from his chest, tearing the delicate lace glove, and leaving the small pearl button against his chest.

Free, she found nothing to hold her to her place, and stumbled backward. Off the stoop and into the street, her feet skid in the thick mire beneath them. Teetering, she groped for anything to lend support, yet located nothing. Mirinda felt her knees cave beneath her, and a small whimper escaped her throat as she toppled backward. The dense mud oozed between her fingers as she came to earth. She could feel it cake against her bustle, and her legs. Horrified, she attempted to gain her footing. The action proved her undoing, as her hands slid away from her, and her body flattened to the sludge. A screech was rent from her lips. From the corner of her eye, she watched the man on the stoop advance, his hand outstretched. Humiliated beyond rational thought, she emitted a feral deep-throated growl and kicked at him.

Twisting about, until on all fours, Mirinda clawed her way to her knees. Her victory was short-lived. In the next instant, the wind near picked her up off the ground, and sent her reeling. This time, she landed face down in the dark brown ooze. Sputtering mud from her mouth, and indignant, she released a loud howl as she plied her hands to her visage in an attempt to remove the grime. Once done, she remained to the street, her shoulders rising rapidly with each desperate gasp for air, and her will defeated.

Above her, the man stood with mouth agape. Though his eyes were wide with disbelief, a soft chuckle bubbled from between his parted lips, and he quickly pressed his hand to his mouth to quell it. Once more he reached for her. This time she accepted, though with tight drawn lips, and a glower meant to wither him to dust. Are you all right? His concern needled at her, and she snatched her hand from his, eager to put some distance between them.

No thanks to you, she murmured hotly. Though she knew him innocent, she added, You horrid jack-a-nape! Look at my clothes! Unwilling to hear his denial, she curled her fingers about the hem of her short jacket, and pulled it down her bosom with indignant aplomb. Unable to think of anything to say that would both relieve her mortification, and cast the blame to him, she huffed, and squared her shoulders. Then abruptly, she turned from him, and began to make her way down the street.

His hand to her shoulder stopped her, and she glared at him icily. Madam, please, allow me to escort you home.

Mirinda’s lip curled contemptuously. I believe you have done quite enough, thank you. She lowered her gaze to his fingers at her upper arm. Now kindly remove your hand before I bite it. He lifted the appendage slowly. It remained raised to