Rachel's Choice by Judith French Page B

fighting to defend the institution.”
    â€œI’m not. I never was. Slavery’s a dying evil. It’s immoral and it’s impractical.”
    â€œImpractical?”
    â€œYes. Few Americans possess the wealth to own slaves, and fewer still have the stomach for it. If this war hadn’t ignited, Congress would have eventually outlawed slavery as England has.”
    â€œYou’ve never owned a slave?”
    â€œNever,” he replied.
    â€œWhy then? Why are you fighting?”
    â€œLoyalty to my fellow Virginians, defending home and hearth against the
War of Northern Aggression.
”
    â€œPretty words,” she mocked. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you believe them?” She shook herhead. “You’re as bad as all the rest. You wanted to wear shiny buttons and follow the drum.”
    â€œMaybe … maybe you’re right.”
    Tightness in her chest made it hard to speak. The air around them seemed charged with the same invisible energy that she’d felt before a lightning strike. “I’ve no wish to argue with you. And if I wronged you by believing you worse than you are, I’m sorry. It’s only natural that I’d believe a Confederate …” She swallowed. “If you’re not a slaver, I’m glad.”
    â€œNeither me nor my parents.”
    â€œThat’s that, then,” she murmured. He kept staring at her, making it difficult to think clearly. “The cow’s been milked, and the horse is stabled,” she managed. “If you’ll come to the house, Mr. Chancellor, I’ll give you something to eat. I want to change that bandage and see if …”
    â€œIt’s Mr. Chancellor now, is it?” He stood there as if he expected something more of her.
    She was conscious of the chirp of crickets from the grass along the creek and the faint yellow blink of a lightning bug in the gathering dusk. The air felt soft on her cheeks, and the clover under her bare feet smelled as sweet as any store-bought perfume.
    â€œRachel …”
    Chance was taller than James; she had to look up to meet his gaze. And woman’s instinct told her that she should run—that she was risking more than her farm and her physical safety. Instead, she moistened her lips and took a step toward him.
    His shirt fell soundlessly from his lean fingers and drifted to the grass. “Rachel,” he repeated huskily. “We shouldn’t …” She could hear the unspoken longing in his voice.
    â€œNo, we can’t,” she agreed. If things were different, if it wasn’t for James and the war …
    Chance reached out and touched her cheek. “You’re shivering, Rachel. Don’t be afraid of me. I’d not hurt you for all the world.”
    But you will, she protested silently. Each time he said her name, something loosened deep inside her. She felt too weak to stand, helpless to do anything but lean ever so slowly into the circle of his arms.
    His lips brushed the line of her lower lip, softly, so softly that tears welled up in her eyes.
    â€œThis is crazy,” he said. “I must be out of my head.”
    â€œYes,” she agreed.
    â€œBut I’ve never done anything more right in my life,” he continued, and the rich timbre of his voice made her tremble even more.
    She couldn’t summon the strength to say anything more, but she made no effort to escape. Instead, she tilted her head to meet his warm lips and sighed as his mouth fitted perfectly to hers. His breath was sweet and clean; he tasted faintly of mint.
    For long seconds he kissed her with exquisite tenderness, and she reveled in the joy of being held and cherished by a man. Sighing with contentment, lulled by the spirals of tingling sensation that ran through her veins, Rachel slipped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against the wide expanse of his bare chest. Then the