Mary Schaller - Beloved Enemy

Rob took her hand in his. Julia inhaled sharply at the touch of his warm skin, but did not pull out of his grasp.

“Ahh,” he murmured as he caressed the back of her hand. “I see that they are still cold. I will remedy the situation.”

He gently released her, then he reached inside his coat and withdrew a small package.

She quickly untied the ribbon and pulled away the paper. “Gloves!” she exclaimed, fondling the thick fleece-lined suede.

“But these are quite expensive,” she whispered. “It would be wicked of me to accept them.”

“It would be very wicked of you to reject them,” he murmured.

His seductive voice sent a delicious chill down her spine.

“True, Major,” she replied, pulling on the gloves with satisfaction. “I do try to avoid wickedness whenever possible.”

“Phillips is a new star on the historical romance horizon:

she’s literate, witty and tells a good story.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Dark Knight

“Filled with the turbulent details of religious intolerance

in England, this carefully crafted romance…proves that

love is the most powerful emotion when it resides in the

hearts of strong men and women.”

—Romantic Times

One Knight in Venice

“Intense and soul searching, One Night in Venice swings

from the dark side of human nature through the

treacherous inquisition to the admirable characters

willing to face suffering or even death to save others.”

—Affaire de Coeur

Lady of the Knight

“In this fun tale, Ms. Phillips weaves an

adventurous story of chase and budding love

and puts in some lessons along the way.”

—Romantic Times

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

At my birth, the front of heaven was full of fiery shapes.

—William Shakespeare

King Henry IV, Part I

This book is dedicated with lots of love to our first

granddaughter, Shelby Washburne Williams, who was

born on July 29, 2002—the hottest day of the year.

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

Epilogue

Author Note

“My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.”

—Romeo and Juliet

William Shakespeare

Alexandria, Virginia

December 1863

“I do declare, Carolyn, this is your most harebrained scheme ever.”

Looking up from the cream-colored invitation in her hand, Julia Chandler fixed a properly reproving glare on her younger sister. At least, Julia hoped her expression looked stern, though she had to admit she was secretly as excited as Carolyn. The last time Julia had held such a coveted invitation as this one was two years ago. “How did you get this?”

Her sister fiddled with a broad band of green satin ribbon that circled the skirt of her day dress. Though she studied her fingers, the two bright patches of pink in Carolyn’s cheeks betrayed the girl’s feelings.

Julia silently reread the words written in elegant copperplate script:

The pleasure of your company is requested at a Masked Ball upon the evening of the thirty-first of December at nine o’clock, given at the home of Mr. George Winstead for the pleasure of his family and friends.

She breathed deeply to calm the butterflies that skittered in her stomach.

“I did not realize that we had resumed our friendship with the Winsteads,” she continued aloud in a feigned arch tone. “I am sure that it has not slipped Mrs. Winstead’s mind that our family is still very much in sympathy with the Confederate cause.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Carolyn scraped her slipper over the polished floorboards of the girls’ upstairs bedroom. A sly smile crept across her lips. “Wouldn’t it just make that old Melinda Winstead itch if she knew we attended her grand party?”

Julia could picture the pique of the disagreeable Winstead daughter. Such boldness on the Chandlers’ part would definitely twist the nose of that jumped-up Yankee chit. Melinda deserved a tweaking after all the hateful things she had said about the Chandlers, especially after Frank Shaffer’s death at Manassas. Clearing her throat, Julia fanned herself with the invitation to the premier social event of the Christmas season.

“Tell me, Carolyn. How did you come by this? I don’t believe for a minute that it was delivered to our doorstep.”

Carolyn’s grin broadened. “Found it,” she replied. Her hazel eyes sparkled with unsuppressed mischief.

Julia sighed. Carolyn was notorious for “finding” all sorts of opportune items. “Where exactly?”

Her sister smoothed the dress ribbon that she had worried into a wrinkle. “On the paving stones by Dr. Brown’s carriage step. A big ole envelope was just lying there in the mud. I had to save it, you know. It could have been something very important,” she added with the innocent air of a canary-fed cat.

Julia narrowed her green eyes at her little sister. “And how is it that you happened to be walking past the Browns’ when their home isn’t anywhere near Market Square, where you were supposed to be shopping?”

Licking her lower lip, Carolyn finally looked directly at Julia. “’Cause I saw the Winsteads’ butler drive by in the family carriage holding a basketful of these envelopes.”

“And you followed him like a common beggar,” Julia concluded, picturing the shameless scene in her mind.

Carolyn nodded without an ounce of regret. “It didn’t take the brain of a jaybird to know what he had under his arm. He sat on that carriage box with such an important look on his face. Lordy, Julia, no one in Alexandria can think of anything else except that party.”

Julia hated to agree. Northern-born George Winstead, part owner of the new railroad line into the Federal City, had become very rich during the past two years. He demonstrated his Yankee-bred manners in the lavish way he spent his war-fed wealth. His New Year’s Ball had been the talk of the town both in the streets and behind fans at Sunday church services, even among the most secessionist of families like the Chandlers. Julia admitted to herself that she would love to attend, but since the Winsteads were firmly Yankees, her parents had not spoken to them since April 1861. She looked down at the card again.

“You know we can’t possibly go.” Julia sighed with honest regret. After mourning for her sweetheart for the past two years, she was ready to wear a pretty silken gown again and to dance until dawn as she had done briefly in those far-off days before the wretched war had ended all gaiety and laughter—at least in the Chandler household.