continued reading.
I have thrown myself in with a courageous band—heroes that will strike a blow for the south, and pierce the heart of the hated north. You must console yourself with the knowledge that although we may not see each other again, our bond will never be severed. I trust my soul, I give my life, and bind my will to companions of like thought. We are involved in a crusade of the highest order—a holy adventure.
Love, Robert
She slid the letter into her pocket, knowing she should have told Fitz. He knew something was wrong, and his poor attempts to learn the source of her pain did nothing but lead to even more turmoil. But Asia had decided, on the trip to Quebec, that it was not necessary to speak of the letter, or Robert. If she did, Fitz would take it upon himself to do something, and most likely any action he took would be wrong. There was no reason now—Robert had gone south from Washington, probably to Richmond, and was now probably leading troops into battle. A larger stage, Asia thought, so much grander than the day parlor.
She worried about him. He was such a passionate young man, a boy really, if only five years younger than she. She had seen him fight for every measure of respectability due him. She could have been describing Fitz, she realized. Except that Fitz Dunaway had been hardened by adversity, and tempered with the fires of conflict. Fitz fought wars, while Robert played at them.
They were enemies. Fitz was sworn to protect the Union, and Robert sworn to destroy it. Asia loved them both, and she feared her heart could not bear the strain.
The knob clicked and the door opened. It was Fitz, looking tired but happy to see her. She stood and went to him, feeling guilty over her treatment of her husband and her thoughts for Robert.
“You look all in,” she said, slipping his cape from his shoulders.
“I am,” he said, wondering if he was forgiven for whatever wrong he had committed. He watched her as she poured a cup of coffee and brought it to him, looking for any signs that her mood might change and she would fall into the melancholia that had become so much a part of her life. And his as well.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the coffee. After a few sips he decided the coffee at the St-Denis was far superior to that at the American Consul.
“What did you learn?” she asked, settling next to him.
He told her, wishing at the same time the suite had a piano so he could relax as she played. He relayed the War Department’s telegram, and added that he had sent one to Lincoln that said no more than “Arrived Quebec City. Investigating.” For the first day in a strange city, there was little else to be said. He saw the trunks were unpacked.
“Where are my quarters?” he asked, hoping she would see he was teasing her.
“There, Colonel Dunaway,” she replied. Her eyes brightened. “And mine, are there.” She indicated a door across the suite.
“So far away,” Fitz said. “I may have cause to reconnoiter.”
She leaned over him, brushing the dark hair off his forehead and kissing the bridge of his nose. The presence of her breasts so close to his mouth and the sweet aroma of her perfume filled him with desire. He guided her lips to his and kissed her deeply.
Asia stood and shook her head, cautioning him against any ill-considered action. “You are confined to quarters, Colonel Dunaway. Your arm needs time to heal properly.”
“What I had in mind,” Fitz said, “has nothing to do with the condition of my arm.”
Asia answered a knock at the door, saving herself the trouble of responding to Fitz. A white-gloved bellhop bowed, spoke something in French, and handed her a small envelope.
She closed the door and found a letter opener on a desk.
“What is it?” Fitz asked.
“From Inspector De Brule,” Asia replied, reading the note. “He has invited us to the theater this evening as his guests.” She looked up at Fitz, her eyes shining with delight. “Oh, Fitz. We are to see the Januarys.”
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