Winds of the Storm

by Beverly Jenkins

“The country is weary of the race’s problems. They don’t understand why the freedmen aren’t content. After all, they are free.” “Few Northerners realize the issue is far more complex than that.” Wilma sighed

“I’d heard that you Black Frenchmen hold a high opinion of yourselves.” “Only because it is well earned.” “Or because you are legends in your own minds.”

She also willingly admitted that were she not engaged in this charade for Araminta and the president, a liaison with Le Veq might prove intriguing. He was as tempting as any other man she’d ever met—the kind that could make a woman lose her religion—but

provoking a fight and then murdering the victims had become one of the supremacists’ most hated tactics,

how about we discuss something lighter.” “Such as?” “Who you really are. Why you wear the mask and when you’ll let me make love to you.”

For Archer there was something wickedly decadent about pleasuring a woman in a gown. The feel and the sight of her nakedness against the yards of rucked-up silk made him even harder.