Free The Rebel Wife by Donna Dalton

However...” Brady tapped a packet of papers stacked on the corner of the desk. “This report says she was seen kneeling beside a dead courier just north of here with blood on her hands. Field orders were missing from his sack. That’s mighty condemning evidence.”
    Kitty shifted in her chair, white-knuckled fingers clamped around the armrests. Her face had gone pale as the papers stacked on Brady’s desk.
    Damn. She was going to give them away. Jack cleared his throat in an effort to keep Brady’s focus directed on him. “I believe we met the patrol looking for her. Do you have any information on this woman?”
    “Only what we gathered from her Negro’s feverish mumblings. He’s being cared for at the prison hospital. Seems his mistress is from Virginia, and her name is Carleton, Miss Lou Carleton.”

Chapter Five
    Louisa pushed the fried summer squash into a neat pile with the tip of her fork. Jeb was here at the prison. And he was alive, feverish, but still alive. The garden peas formed a smaller hill. It’d make freeing him and Lance all the easier. She slid the crab cake to the edge of the plate. Provided the bluebellies didn’t put two and two together and come up with her.
    All around her, conversation hummed, low and threatening like the buzz in a busy hive. She sat in its center, an intruder in the nest, and any moment they’d spot her. Stomach roiling with unease, she forced a bite of crab between her lips and made herself swallow. It felt as though sawdust raked her throat. She grabbed for her wine.
    The officer beside her on the bench shifted and reached for a basket of rolls. His thigh brushed her skirts. She tried to inch sideways but met the end of the bench. As honored guests, she and Porter were seated at the head of the table with Major Brady, and there was no place to go without landing on the floor.
    She lifted her wineglass and hid her trembling lips as she peered over the rim at the blue uniforms lining the long, linen-draped table. Yankee officers. Two dozen of them at least. Another bead of perspiration trickled between her breasts, adding to the discomfort of her sweat-soaked chemise. Once again she’d trusted a man and now had herself truly trapped.
    “You look oddly familiar, Mrs. Porter,” said the officer beside her, a Captain Riggs, if she remembered correctly. He puckered his brow as he studied her. “Have you ever visited Southern Maryland before now?”
    Her heart skipped a beat. Had he been part of the Yankee patrol chasing her and Jeb? She swallowed and lowered her glass. “No, Captain.” She fought to keep the quiver from her voice and concentrated on speaking like a well-bred lady. “I’ve not had the pleasure.”
    He broke off a bit of bread and continued to look at her as he chewed. “Connecticut, maybe. That’s where I’m from. Middletown actually. South of Hartford.”
    “N-no. I’ve never—” She dragged in a shaky breath. “—never been any further north than this.”
    “Strange.” He brushed crumbs from his neat blond moustache. “You look...” His gaze drifted to her hair. He shook his head. “I’d swear I’ve seen you before.”
    Dratted hair. It always seemed to draw attention and comment, mostly of a non-pleasant sort. Once, in what seemed a lifetime ago, as she’d dressed Fannie’s lank brown locks, the eldest Lawrence daughter had screwed up her face and declared Louisa’s coloring more suited a pleasure house than a lady’s parlor. There were times she wondered if maybe Fannie was right.
    “Perhaps you mistake me for someone else.”
    “Where’re y’all from then, darlin’,” came a drawl from farther down the table. A lieutenant with a cocky grin and looking much too young for his rank leaned forward on an elbow. “Talk s’more so I can hear that lovely voice.”
    Y’all ? Darlin’ ? Her shock must’ve shown for Captain Riggs stepped in.
    “Don’t mind Calhoun, Mrs. Porter. He’s from Texas. Been complaining since he