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
