Temptation’s Tender Kiss

by French, Colleen

  Elsa grinned, clapping her hands. There was sheer delight on her face. "Oh, Papa, I love you."

  Uriah pulled his pipe from his waistcoat. "Go on with you."

  Reagan waited until her sister was safely out of hearing range. "Trouble you say?" she commented innocently.

  Uriah lowered his voice. "It seems there was a breakout today."

  "Breakout? Whatever do you mean?" She set the porter down on the center worktable. "Who broke out of where?"

  Uriah went to the fireplace to light his pipe. "You remember the St. John boy who went off to be a drummer in the Army?"

  "Ian? Yes, of course. He used to help his papa sell ice."

  "Exactly. Well, with the missus being poorly, it seems that Ian came home after his hitch was up. Only the Brits picked him up and accused him of spying."

  "Spying! That's ridiculous! He's but a child."

  Uriah pressed his fingers to his lips. "Hush, girl. He was spying."

  Reagan's eyes went wide. "No!"

  "Anyway. He kept to his story. They took him down to the jail and meant to hang him this morning. Only it seems somebody, a man they're guessing, came disguised as his mother."

  "His mother!" Reagan echoed.

  Uriah took a long pull on his pipe. "This impersonator walked straight into the barn where the hanging was to take place, held a pistol to the provost marshal's head, and made him take off his clothes."

  "Heaven on earth!" Nettie piped up with a chuckle.

  "But it wasn't just the provost marshal. There were some officers there."

  "And our Captain Thayer was one of them!" Reagan finished, unable to disguise her delight.

  "It's not a laughing matter, Daughter. I don't know who did it," he shook his head, "but the man had nerve!"

  "They managed to get away safely?" Reagan asked.

  "Ingenious fellow he was. I only wish I'd thought of it. He took the officers' uniforms, boots and all, then forced the provost marshal at gunpoint to go outside, and tied him buck-assed bare to the barn. It's the only thing that saved the two of them. Apparently several minutes passed before Captain Thayer got up the gumption to walk across the yard to the jailhouse. " Uriah puffed on his pipe, sending rings of smoke billowing over his head. "This city'll be talking about this stunt a hundred years from now."

  "And they don't know who did it?" Reagan picked up the captain's bottles.

  "Not only do they not know who did it, but our side doesn't know, either! Ian and his friend just disappeared into the streets."

  Reagan shook her head, smiling. "No wonder the captain was worked into a lather. I'd best get this to him before he comes looking for it."

  "You want me to take it?" Uriah put out his hand.

  "No. I told him I'd do it."

  "Watch yourself, Daughter," Uriah called after her. "He's still the enemy and he'll remember even if you don't."

  Reaching her bedchamber door, Reagan paused to smooth the unruly curls at the nape of her neck. She groaned aloud. "What am I doing?" she murmured. What do I care what I look like?

  She rapped on the door.

  "Come in," Sterling called.

  "Your porter, Captain. " She stepped into the bedchamber that had once been hers.

  Various pieces of uniform were draped over two chairs and a bedpost. Reagan's dressing table was littered with Sterling's hair ribbons, silk garters, and stockings. But even with his belongings scattered throughout, staking his claim to her chambers, it somehow still felt like her own room.

  "God bless you. Well, come in and shut the door. There's a damnable draft in that hallway."

  Reagan closed the door, a half-smile on her face. "Papa says you ran into a bit of trouble at the jailhouse."

  Sterling snatched the bottle from her hand. "Trouble, indeed. Damned rebels!" he snapped in his brother's voice. Actually he was angry with whoever had run the operation. Had it been necessary to degrade him in such a manner? Why hadn't he been warned of the breakout? He should never have been present!

  She tucked her hands behind her back. "I hope you don't catch a chill. Bad season for it. Just last week Jason Gaberdine came down with fever. It took to his lungs and he died before the surgeon ever called. They say he got wet drawing water from his well. It doesn't take much exposure in weather like this to kill a man."

  "Thank you for the information. I feel much better now."

  She walked to the fireplace and picked up a poker, stirring the red-hot embers. "I could send Nettie up with a poultice if you like."

  "No. This will be fine. " He poured a draught of porter into a teacup and took a long swallow. The fiery liquid burned a path down his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. He coughed. "Care for a drink?"

  She set the poker down on the hearth. "I don't think I'd like it."

  "Don't think you'd like it? You mean to tell me that you've never had porter? Where have you been living, beneath a continental plow?"

  She shook her head. He was teasing her. She liked that. Josh used to tease her and she missed it. "It's not that Papa ever forbid me. " She shrugged. "I just never had the cause to need spirits. I take care of my problems without it."

  Sterling stared into his teacup, swirling the amber liquid. "I don't think I've ever met a woman like you, Reagan."

  Reagan. She liked the sound of her name on his tongue. Somehow it came out different when he spoke it. It was softer, more delicate. It made her feel more feminine than she'd ever felt before. "It was my grandfather's name."

  "Reagan?" Sterling sat on the corner of her bed. "I thought it was unusual."

  "I was supposed to be a boy, of course, and when I wasn't,"—she smiled—"they named me Reagan anyway."

  "I don't think your father is disappointed in you now," he observed thoughtfully. "It seems you're very close."

  "You're observant for a man who spends most of his time in the corner tavern. " She permitted her gaze to settle on his fine form. He was dressed simply in a pair of navy-blue gabardine breeches and a lawn shirt. His stock hung loosely about his neck. His yellow-gold hair was pulled back in a queue. She wondered vaguely what his hair would feel like beneath her fingertips. Would it be as soft and smooth as it looked?

  There was a silence in the room as they regarded each other, he seated on the bed, she standing a few feet away. Her loden-green lutestring gown tugged at her bosom and waist emphasizing her nearly perfect figure. The penumbra of the oil lamp on the table cast a fiery light, illuminating her magical hair.

  "A pity we didn't meet before the war," Sterling heard himself say. He didn't know what had made him say it. He could feel himself digging a hole, deeper and deeper with each word she spoke, each slight smile she rewarded him with.

  "I was thinking the same," Reagan answered, feeling oddly unembarrassed. "Or at least that you weren't on the wrong side."

  He laughed, his rich tenor voice echoing in the paneled chamber. "It's tempting."

  She shook her head, her dark eyes narrowing. "That's a red uniform you wear. To . . ." Her cheeks colored. "It would be betraying my country. I couldn't do it."

  Sterling came to her, setting his teacup down on the table. She made no advance toward him, but nor did she shun him. She knew it was wrong. She hated him and all he stood for. He was a drinker, a womanizer . . . but he made her feel good somewhere deep inside . . . a place Josh had never reached.

  "May I kiss you?" Sterling asked. He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't help himself. One kiss, he told himself, just one.

  "If I say no?"

  He lifted a heavy lock of auburn hair from her shoulder and brought it to his lips. "Then I won't."

  "Liar. Soldiers, they take what they want. " She lifted her chin, brushing it against his knuckles. There was something about the forbidden that made her pulse race. Standing here in the captain's bedchamber, daring him to kiss her, gave her much the same pounding in her heart that walking into the Blue Boar Tavern had.

  Sterling lowered his mouth to hers as she lifte
d up on her toes to meet him. Her hands rose of their own accord to rest on his broad shoulders. Sterling gripped her narrow waist with one hand, stroking her soft cheek with the other. It was a gentle, exploring kiss that left them both wanting more.

  Reagan lifted her dark lashes, still in Sterling's arms. "I'm not one of your doxies."

  "I never thought you were."

  She touched her lips as if she could feel his kiss with her fingertips. "This is wrong."

  "For both of us."

  "It's dangerous," she whispered. "Nothing but ill can come of it."

  He released her, her words bringing some sense to his whirling mind. "I apologize. " He put up his hands. "It won't happen again."

  She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. "It can't," she whispered.

  An hour later, Reagan tiptoed past the sitting parlor where the Llewellyn family dined together. The door was closed, but inside she could hear men talking. Uriah, Nettie, and Elsa had all turned in early, but Reagan couldn't sleep.

  She felt like a traitor! What had possessed her to go into Grayson's room like that? He had kissed her because she'd wanted him to, not because he cared for her, and she was joking herself if she thought otherwise. What man wouldn't have jumped at such a lurid invitation? The man was a known whoremaster, and if she wasn't careful, she'd no doubt find herself, like other innocent women, victim to his manly wiles.

  Moving noiselessly down the hall, Reagan went to the candle box in the kitchen and retrieved a fresh stick of tallow. Lighting it in the banked embers of the fire, she went down the cellar steps. Work, that was what she needed to keep her mind off the captain and his lips. Work was the perfect solution.

  Walking from chamber to chamber, Reagan came to the secret door. She eased it open, closing it behind her before she entered the room beneath the carriage house. Holding the candle high, she found the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling and lit it. Golden rays radiated from the lamp illuminating the small whitewashed room and the printing press that dominated it.

  Unable to contain herself, Reagan gave a sigh of delight, running her fingers along its smooth wooden frame. Along the back wall, an angular upright table already held the first typeset page of their new leaflet. She ran her fingertips over the type letters and then lifted them to her nose to smell the ink. The pungent smell of lampblack and varnish was comforting.

  With a sigh, she went to her grandfather's desk, lit a second lamp, and bent over the beginnings of a new article on independence.

  Sometime later, a distant, muffled voice startled Reagan. She sat straight up, returning her quill to the ink well. There it was again, someone calling her name! She lit her single candle and blew out both lamps. Just as she was closing the secret door, she heard the voice again.

  My, God! It's him, she thought.

  Panic-stricken, she hurried through the dusty cellar chambers, nearly colliding with Sterling on the steps.

  "What are you doing down here in your night clothes?" He lifted his own candle, studying her startled face.

  Self-consciously, she tightened the tie on her flannel robe. "H-how did you know I was down here?"

  "I met your sister in the kitchen getting a drink of water. She asked me if I'd seen you. She said you weren't in bed. " He lifted the candle higher, illuminating the piles of discarded items.

  Reagan prayed he didn't see Nettie's cloak balled up and carelessly tossed into the corner near the steps. She'd meant to find a better hiding place, but had forgotten in the confusion of the passing evening. Taking a deep breath, she pushed past him and up the steps. Thankfully, he followed.

  Sterling took her candle and put it in the candle box along with his own. "You didn't say what you were doing down there in the middle of the night."

  "Um, rats."

  He lifted a golden eyebrow suspiciously. "Rats, madame?"

  "Yes. I thought I heard a rat. " She made herself busy, tending the fire. "There's nothing I hate worse than a rat."

  When he made no reply, she glanced up at him. "If you like, I can call you next time."

  He grimaced. "That won't be necessary. I probably hate a rat worse than you do. " He paused, watching her stir the embers and add a log. He wanted to say something about what had happened upstairs earlier, but what was there to say? If he in any way grew entangled with Reagan, he'd be risking his life, risking hers, and many more.

  She looked up. "Good night, Captain."

  "Good night, Reagan"

  She watched him leave the kitchen, then picked up the lamp from the table and started for bed. All the way up the stairs, she swore beneath her breath. "I'll never go downstairs when he's in the house, I'll never take a chance like that again."

  Chapter Seven

  Sterling entered the dimly lit Blue Boar Tavern and whipped off his cloak with a great deal of pretense. Several patrons turned to see who the officer was, and a murmur of recognition rose among them.

  He took a seat at a pine trestle table along the far wall and signaled the barmaid.

  A short, buxom brunette hurried over. "Captain! Haven't seen ye in a night or two. " She wiped the droplets of perspiration above her bodice with the hem of her apron.

  Sterling's gaze lingered over the woman's more-than-adequate breasts. Play the part, the survivalist in him warned. "A drink, Annie. The usual. " He smiled, and the wench giggled. He couldn't help wondering if Reagan ever giggled so inanely. He doubted it.

  "Yes, sir. Anything else? I got me a short break comin' up . . ." She lifted her dimpled chin in the direction of the chambers above the public room . . . rooms the tavern rented by the hour for the soldiers' relaxation.

  Sterling tugged playfully at her soiled apron. "Not tonight sweetheart. " He winked. "But thank you for the offer just the same."

  Unoffended, Annie sidled away. "Be right back, love."

  Once the girl returned with his drink, Sterling sipped it, more for appearance sake than to quench his thirst. Inconspicuously, he perused the busy public room. There was a table of rowdy Hessian soldiers to the left, a redcoat and a young woman engrossed in conversation to the right. There were several other clusters of soldiers, but at the far side was a table of eight civilian-dressed men—loyalists no doubt.

  In Sterling's eyes these men were the scourge of the city. They had taken advantage of the British occupation of Philadelphia and were reaping the rewards of betrayal. They lined their pockets with coin earned from turning in neighbors as sympathizers, and selling on the blackmarket. The door swung both ways with many of these derelicts. They were just as eager to sell you a forged pass out of the city as they were to turn you over to General Howe as a suspected spy.

  Taking care to be certain that no one was watching him, Sterling poured the remainder of his rum beneath the table. "Annie. Another," he ordered, slamming down the glass. It was important that he give the illusion of being a drinking man, but still remain sober.

  When the barmaid had brought a second drink, he dropped a half penny on the table. "Those men, who are they, Annie?"

  She glanced over "Them? That's Indian John and his bunch. " She gave a low whistle. "They say the man would sell his own mother to turn a coin. " She lowered her voice. "He's a bad'n if you ask me, Captain."

  "But he knows what goes on in the city?"

  She laughed. "They say nobody knows more, 'cept maybe the rats."

  "Thank you Annie. " Sterling added another coin to the table. "You've been a big help."

  She scooped up the coins and dropped them into her cleavage. "Just let me know if ye need anything else. " She gave a wink.

  Sterling smiled. "I'll do that."

  Once the girl moved on to the next table, he rose and went over to where the loyalists sat. "Evening, gentlemen."

  The man Annie had pointed out as Indian John looked up. "What you want?" He was a half-breed with waist-length black hair pulled into a single braid down his back. He wore a leather patch over one eye.

  "Business," Sterling answered evenly
.

  The half-breed indicated a place on the bench and Sterling took a seat. "Ever seen one of these?" Sterling pulled Reagan's latest leaflet from beneath his coat.

  Indian John picked it up, squinting with his good eye. A long, jagged scar ran from beneath his eyepatch to the corner of his mouth. "Yea, seen 'um, or ones like 'em. " He tossed the pamphlet onto the table and one of the other men picked it up.

  Sterling took his time. These were dangerous men; he could hear it in their voices. "Do you know who's printing them?"

  John gave a snort. "That bit of information is locked up tighter'n a Scot whiskey barrel. Who wants to know?"

  "I do. Major Burke does."

  "Whoever it is, they're tearin' the hide off the major, ain't they?"

  Sterling picked up the leaflet and returned it to his coat. "Do me a favor, keep your ears open. " He stood and reached into his coat. He flipped a coin high in the air and it landed beneath John's nose. "Let me know if you hear anything."

  The half-breed snatched up the coin, grinning. "Can do," he called after Sterling.

  Sterling returned to his table, and was lifting his whiskey to his lips when a red-coated lieutenant approached the table. "I understand you play a little whist, Captain Thayer."

  Sterling took his seat, propping his boot on the table. "I've been known to play a hand," he answered.

  "Mind if my friends join us?"

  "Be glad to have them"—Sterling tucked his hands behind his head, a cocky grin on his face—"As long as your friends don't mind going home poor."

  A week later Sterling rode his brother's horse, Giipa, into the smithy's barnyard. It was a cold, cloudless night; a sliver of a moon hung low in the sky. All was quiet in the blacksmith's yard, but lanternlight poured from the windows of the neat frame house. Sterling tied up his mount and went to the door. He hated to bother the man and his family, but he had a message concerning troop size to be delivered to General Washington. His frequenting the tavern was beginning to pay off. He'd discovered that he could learn more about Howe's army there than he could at the commander in chief's headquarters.

  Sterling knocked sharply on the door. A moment later it swung open and the smithy appeared. He was laughing, his cheeks bright with merriment. "Yea?"