A loud pounding came at the door, and Reagan jumped, spilling her tea. "W-who could that be?" She brushed at her skirt.
"I'll go!" Elsa volunteered happily. "Maybe it's Westley come back again. You think he can play my birthday game, too?"
The pounding came again, followed by a man's voice. "Open up in there!"
"No, Elsa. "Reagan stood, setting down her teacup. "I'll go. You stay here with Papa." She heard Uriah crumble the piece of paper he'd been writing on and toss it into the fire.
Refusing to meet her father's gaze, Reagan hurried out of the room. As she neared the front door, the pounding became more insistent. "Open up in there, I say!"
"Who is it?" Reagan demanded in a steady voice.
"Jack Mulligan. "The man banged on the door. "You're to open up under the orders of Lieutenant Litheson."
Reagan rested her hand on the doorknob. Lieutenant Joshua Litheson had been a childhood companion. The Lithesons and the Llewellyns had been friends for years. Everyone had expected her and Josh to marry, but then the war had broken out and he was now an officer with a loyalist regiment. Reagan had never been in love with Josh, so in a way she was relieved when the families had parted, but she still missed him sometimes.
Reagan took a deep breath. She hadn't talked to Josh in months. "And what is it the lieutenant wants, Mr. Mulligan?"
"Open the bloody door or I'll break it down!" the man bellowed.
Then came a calmer voice. "Reagan, it's Josh. Open up."
Unlocking the door, she yanked it open. "What do you want?" she asked coldly. Behind her old friend stood two cloaked, uniformed officers.
"You've been chosen to give aid to the king's men," Josh said in an official-sounding voice. "These gentlemen will be staying with you."
Redcoats! Here! How could she and her father continue their work with the enemy so near? Her brown eyes met Josh's stubbornly. "I think not. We've hardly enough food for ourselves. Your army cleaned our larder out in the name of the king two weeks ago. My father isn't well and Elsa . . ." She dropped her hands to her hips. "You certainly can't expect me to have them here with Elsa the way she is."
"Reagan, it's sleeting. Let us come inside. We can discuss the matter."
"I'm telling you, I'll not have their stinking hides in my house. You take them elsewhere. Let your Tory friends house them."
Josh came up the steps, lowering his voice. "You haven't got a choice, Reagie. It was only because of me that my commanding officer didn't make his request sooner. You've got to lodge them or—"
"Or what?"
Joshua looked away, unable to withstand the scrutiny of her gaze. "Or you'll be arrested, both you and your father for obstructing. "There was a pause and then their eyes met. "Who'd care for Elsa then?" he asked quietly.
Reagan flung open the door in angry defeat. "I never thought I'd see the day British soldiers stepped foot in this house. "She moved back as the officers started up the brick steps. "All right, Lieutenant. I'll let them in, but you tell them to wipe their damned feet!"
Chapter Two
Sterling Thayer walked into the front hall of the Llewellyn home and flung back his elegant cloak. Unlacing the ties, he offered the woolen garment to the young woman.
Reagan lifted a feathery eyebrow shrewdly, her hands resting on her hips.
"My cloak," Sterling enunciated.
"'Tis your cloak," she replied.
Sterling's eyes met hers, and for a moment he was lost in their russet depths. Never in his life had he witnessed such controlled fire and brimstone in a female's face. Reminding himself that he was now portraying his brother Grayson, he gave the bundle of damp wool a shake. "Take my cloak; it's wet."
Reagan tried not to stare. The British officer standing in her entranceway was the most finely formed man she'd ever seen—no enemy redcoat surely, but some Greek god stepping fullblown from the pages of Homer. His classic face was angular with a sloping nose and a chiseled chin. His eyes were a heavenly blue and his hair the color of spun gold.
She blinked, feeling suddenly awkward and foolish. "T-take it yourself," she snapped, glancing away. "And you, see to your own cloak as well. "She motioned to the officer coming in the door just ahead of Josh. "I'll be no man's servant."
The men wiped their polished boots on a reed mat. But when Jack Mulligan stepped through the door, Reagan pressed her hand against his chest. "I have to let them in, but not you," she said stubbornly.
"Reagan," Josh reasoned. "He works for me. It's bitter cold out. Just let him stand in the hall."
She shook her head. "I hear a Tory by the name of Jack Mulligan turned Larry Peabody in just last week."
"The bloke was buyin' King's Army rations on the blackmarket," Mulligan argued.
"Outside," Reagan repeated. "I'll have no such filth in my house. Larry was just trying to feed his family and now he's spending Christmas in the Walnut Street jail."
A twitch of a smile crossed Sterling's face, disappearing as fast as it had come. Remember the role you play, he reminded himself. You're here to infiltrate the British Army and learn what you can of their intentions come spring. General Washington needs to know where and when General Howe would strike. You can't afford to allow anyone to know who you really are. There are too many lives at stake.
Sterling turned to Josh. "Lieutenant, your man can stand in or out, it makes no difference to me, but shut the bloody door before I catch a chill!"
Reagan glanced at the blond officer. "Mind your knitting! The house is mine to leave the door open all night if I so choose."
"Lieutenant," Sterling said. "I think perhaps you should have a discussion with our hostess. She obviously is not aware of my position . . . nor hers."
Josh groaned, snatching his hat off his head. "Jack, outside. "He closed the door, turning to Reagan. "Reagie, the captain is right. You shouldn't speak to him in such a manner. He's an influential man."
"This is my house."
"And if you wish it to remain so—" Sterling spoke with his brother's arrogance—"you will show some respect. This house can easily be confiscated and then it will be you, mistress, and your family, who will be looking for lodging elsewhere."
Reagan lifted her dark lashes to meet the officer's gaze and Sterling nearly took a step back. Her brown eyes were brimming with hatred, and for some reason he found it distressing. Take care, he warned himself. This is neither the time nor the place for infatuations. A chit like her could get you killed.
Stepping between the two, Josh cleared his throat. "Captain Thayer, I've not properly introduced you. This is Mistress Reagan Llewellyn. Reagie, Captain Grayson Thayer of the Grenadier Company, 64th Regiment."
Sterling removed his cocked hat mockingly. "At your service, ma'am."
Reagan turned away, speaking to the other officer. "And you, sir?"
The dark-haired man swept off his hat and took her hand, brushing his lips against it. "Lieutenant Roth Gardener. "He straightened, smiling. "And I do hope that we can all make the best of this situation."
She snatched her hand from his, wiping it on her skirt. His lips were wet and he reeked of whiskey. "Very well, gentlemen. You can hang your wraps in the room behind the kitchen."
"Reagie . . . "Josh rested his hand on her shoulder. "Please . . . Call Nettie."
She stepped aside. "Nettie's gone out for the evening to visit an ill friend."
Exhaling slowly, Josh took the officers' cloaks himself. "Why don't you show these gentlemen into the parlor then, and I'll take these into the kitchen."
Reagan turned to Sterling and Roth and lifted a hand, gesturing in the direction of the parlor. Her smile was painstakingly artificial. "Come right this way. I'm certain my father can hardly wait to meet you."
Hours later Reagan paced the floor in Uriah's bedchamber, her hands tucked behind her. "Father, I don't know what to do. They can't stay here."
"Don't you see, child? We've no choice! We both knew it would happen sooner or later." Uriah spoke in a hus
hed voice.
She shook her head, refusing to give in so easily. "There's got to be a way . . ."
"Give it up!" Uriah exhaled, watching the smoke from his pipe rise in the air. "We're finished. There'll be no more publications coming from you or me. The Cause will have to find a new penman to plead their case with the citizens. Our printing days have come to an end."
Reagan spun around. "An end? What do you mean they've come to end? We've just begun!"
"You certainly don't think we can continue, not with these soldiers in our house."
"We'll just have to be more careful, that's all, Papa." Reagan crossed her arms over her chest, pacing faster.
"And you don't think those men will become suspicious with our deliverers coming day and night to pick up the material?"
"We could work strictly from your printing shop."
"Impossible. The risk is already too great. You know what we've had to put up with to keep our doors open. We should have just carried our press out of the city before the soldiers marched on us, like the others did. Major Burke still thinks we intend to start up that Tory paper; when he realizes I've made no pledge of allegiance he may well close me down. He's suspicious of everyone these days. That piece you wrote on him last month was the last straw. He's now actively searching for whoever is printing so-called treasonous materials."
"That's been the scuttlebutt for weeks," Reagan argued. "We've seen no soldiers actively seeking anything but the nearest ale house."
"They closed John Goodmen down just last week for refusing to print that Tory paper. They thought that because he was Quaker, he'd do their bidding. Threw his press, piece by piece into the street and dumped his ink into the sewer."
"Then we'll print here."
Uriah caught his daughter's hand as she walked by. "Reagan. This is your life you speak of. Yours, mine . . . Elsa's."
She dropped down on one knee before her father, taking both of his hands in hers. "I know. But it's also the life of our new nation," she said passionately. "We may not be able to take up arms for our patriots, but this is something we can do." Her eyes glistened with tears. "Something we must do."
Uriah stroked his daughter's cheek with his ink-stained fingertips. "Aye, Reagie, you're as stubborn as your mother was. She could never take no for an answer, either."
"Papa, you might as well help me because I'll continue with or without you. I don't care if I have to write each and every leaflet by hand. The words of men like Mr. Thomas Paine must be heard."
Uriah sighed, suddenly feeling old. "And tell me, Daughter, how could we manage this?" He held up a finger. "Now I'm not saying I'm in agreement, but if I were. . . ?"
Reagan bounced up. "The secret room below the carriage house."
Uriah yanked his pipe out of his mouth. "The secret room, is it? And how might you know about the secret room?"
"Nettie told me. I'm certain it's big enough."
"You've been down there?"
"A few times. It was dark and dusty, but with a broom and a mop . . ."
"And just what did Nettie tell you about the secret room?" Uriah asked, caught between being amused and angry.
"That Grandpapa had it dug so that he could hide from Grandmama without actually having to go anywhere." She hesitated. "Nettie also said he had assignations with other women there, but I don't know that that's true."
Uriah stuffed his pipe back in his mouth. "Nettie has a loose tongue."
"It would work, wouldn't it?" Reagan stood in front of the fireplace warming her backside.
"I'm not sure that it's safe. The whole thing could cave in. The ceiling joists would have to be checked; I haven't been down there in years."
"Westley could help. He knows a bit about building."
Uriah leaned back in his worn chair, tucking his hands behind his head. "And if I did agree to this crazed idea, and if the building was safe, where on God's green earth would we get another press? I can't very well pack mine up at the shop and carry it over here."
Reagan added another log to the fire. "We could build one."
"Build one!" her father scoffed.
"You said yourself that the soldiers tossed John Goodmen's press into the street. Most of the pieces are still in the alley. He's packed up and gone to New Castle. You know he wouldn't mind." She spoke faster as her excitement grew. "And the pieces that are broken or missing, we can get Westley to replace. You know he can scrounge up anything in this city."
Uriah shook his head. "It will never work, Daughter. You just might as well put the whole idea out of your head."
"I could run the press."
Uriah's yes widened. "You?"
"You . . . you could show me how to do the printing and I could work during the day when the officers are gone. Surely they must have some duties elsewhere."
"I don't know, Reagan. I just don't know."
"You do know. You know I'm right."
"I'd be endangering your life. I'm your father. I should be protecting you, not subjecting you to such risks."
"I'm a full-grown woman. I ought to be out of the house and married by now—you said so yourself. " Her dark eyes met her father's. "I take the risk of my own choosing, just like the others."
Uriah puffed on his pipe. "I suppose I could think about it."
"Oh, yes, Papa!" She grinned. "I knew you'd see it my way. I knew you'd not let our men at Valley Forge suffer in vain."
"I said I would think about it. " He picked up a book from the table. "Now I have reading to do and you need to get to bed. It's been a long day."
Reagan leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. "Thank you, Papa."
"I've agreed to nothing. " He waved her away. "The whole idea is foolhardy at best."
"I know, Papa."
He opened his book at the marked page. "My spectacles! Have you seen my spectacles? I just know Nettie's carried them off again."
Reagan chuckled, removing them from a pocket Nettie had sewn on his waistcoat. "These spectacles?"
He took them from her hand and put them on. "Good night, Daughter."
She turned at the door. "Good night, Papa. I love you. " She heard him give a grunt as she stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.
With a smile of satisfaction, Reagan started down the dark hallway toward the bedchamber she would now be sharing with her sister. Just as she passed her own room, the door swung open and light spilled onto the polished hardwood floor.
Startled, Reagan stopped in midstep.
Sterling's eyes met the young woman's. God, but she's a beauty, he thought. A different time, a different place . . .
"C-Captain Thayer."
Sterling smiled hesitantly. Firelight from his bedchamber filtered through her thick auburn tresses setting them ablaze with color. Her face was so perfectly formed with porcelain skin and a sprinkling of freckles across her aristocratic nose. And her eyes . . . they were enchanting. "I . . . I really don't think it's necessary for you to address me so, considering the circumstances. Please, call me Grayson."
She moistened her lips. There was something about this redcoat that was unsettling. Something in his eyes. "I don't think that's appropriate."
"Appropriate?" He looked away, thinking of his brother he'd had incarcerated in some jail cell somewhere to the north. Sterling knew he had done the right thing, switching places with him for the good of the American Army. Sterling had been assured Grayson would remain safe, but deep in his heart he felt guilty. War forced men to do things they would never do otherwise. "Is there anything appropriate about this damned war?" he asked Reagan.
Reagan lifted her chin indignantly. "Odd words coming from a man who earns his keep murdering innocent women and children."
Sterling glanced back at her. He could see he was going to have to take more care what he said. This woman was too bright for him to be making careless mistakes in her presence. "I . . . I only meant that everything is so inconvenient. I don't appreciate being lodged with others.
I prefer the solace of my own rooms."
The spell of the moment was broken. Reagan chuckled dryly, brushing past him. "You sound as if you think you were invited! Well, I can assure you, sir, that I want you here no more than you wish to be here. " She stopped at her sister's bedchamber, resting her hand on the doorknob. "Another house along the street would surely be more convenient. Let me know when you go and I'll have our wagon brought around to help you move."
Sterling watched until Reagan disappeared from the hall, closing her door quietly behind her. "Damn," he murmured beneath his breath. "That wench's got spirit. Thank God she's on our side."
The following day Sterling walked down the cobblestone street beside Lieutenant Charles Warrington, who'd been sent to escort Captain Grayson Thayer to their unit headquarters a few blocks away. Sterling strode along, his head bent in concentration as he listened to the lieutenant.
"I can't believe you didn't remember me, Grayson! That night in Marseilles! How could you forget it? That blonde, Antoinette. Christ, how could you forget her?"
Sterling chuckled, giving a slight shrug. "So I was in my cups. What can I say?"
"In your cups? You could barely walk, my friend. I was the one who got you back to your room in one piece. Those fellows on the wharf chased us for two blocks. Don't suppose you remember that, either?" The two passed a fellow officer. "Captain. " Charles saluted.
Sterling gave a nod. "I'm afraid I don't recall a thing. You certain it was me?"
"I should think there could be only one Captain Grayson Thayer of the King's Army. " Charles laughed, giving Sterling a slap on the back. "Unless of course it was that whoreson brother of yours impersonating you."
Sterling came to an abrupt stop. "And what do you know of my brother, Lieutenant?" He prayed the panic he felt in his chest wasn't evident on his face.
Charles's laughter died away. "Uh, very little. Only what you said that night. That he's a Colonial. Of course rumor has it the man's a spy for Washington himself."
Sterling's eyes met his companion's. "Charles, I would take it as a personal affront if you were to mention my brother ever again either to me or anyone else."
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 2