Temptation’s Tender Kiss

by French, Colleen

  "Sorry to bother you, Smith, but I need you to take a look at my horse. I've got a shoe that's just not right."

  Smith glanced over his shoulder. "I've got to take a look at this gentleman's horse. Would you mind sitting with them just a minute?"

  To Sterling's surprise, Elsa's angelic face appeared from behind the door. She smiled shyly. "Even' to you, Grayson."

  The broad grin fell from Ethan Smith's face. "Y-you know the captain, Elsa?"

  She nodded, burying her hands in her skirts. "Grayson sleeps in my sister's bedchamber. " She giggled. "I think she likes him. She's always saying things about him being a stinking redcoat."

  To Sterling's embarrassment, he could feel his cheeks coloring. He scuffed the stone step with his polished boot. "Um . . . you see, I'm lodged with the Llewellyns, me and a lieutenant. I use her sister's bedchamber, she sleeps with Elsa."

  The smith's rosy lips twitched. "Certainly none of my business whose chamber you're in, Captain. I'll be just a minute, Elsa," he called over his shoulder. A young boy ducked between his legs and Ethan swung him up into his massive arms. "It's time they were all in bed. " The child squealed with laughter as his father passed him to Elsa.

  Sterling backed away from the door, waiting for Smith to retrieve his cloak. When the two men were alone, Sterling cleared his throat. "I hope we haven't got a problem here. With Elsa, I mean."

  "I see no problem. " The blacksmith's breath rose in clouds of white.

  "Does Elsa's family know she's here?"

  Ethan handed Sterling the lamp he carried and untied his horse. Together the men walked across the frozen barnyard. "Nope. Elsa doesn't want them to know. She says her sister would never let her come."

  "So she sneaks out of the house when Reagan's gone."

  Ethan opened the barn door and Sterling passed through. "I'm not a deceitful man, but I been lonely since my wife died. My children, they need a woman in the house. Elsa's brought laughter into our home again. " The blacksmith took the lamp from Sterling and hung it on an iron hook hanging from a rafter. "I'd take it as a favor if you didn't tell the Llewellyns you saw Elsa here. " He patted the horse's flanks. "She's of no threat. She knows nothing of the part I play in this revolution. And even if she did, she'd keep it to herself."

  Sterling offered his hand in friendship. "Elsa's a fine young woman. Where she goes is none of my concern."

  Ethan clasped his hand. "The name's Ethan."

  "This job gets more complicated every day. I'm going to have a hard time remembering who knows what and who isn't supposed to know it."

  Ethan laughed. "You're a good man . . ."

  "Sterling. We're supposed to keep our identities hidden according to Captain Craig, but sometimes things get tangled, don't they?"

  "That they do. " The blacksmith pulled a clay pipe from beneath his leather waistcoat. "So what can I do for you?"

  "A delivery. " Sterling slipped his hand beneath his wool cloak and retrieved an ink quill.

  Ethan studied the quill. "You want me to risk my hide getting to Frankfort to send General Washington a quill?"

  Sterling laughed. "The message is on tiny strips of paper. I rolled them up and put them inside."

  Ethan held the feather up to the light. "I'll be damned. Can't tell."

  "A man can't be arrested for carrying an ink quill, can he?"

  "I wouldn't think so, but with General Howe, there's no telling."

  "Well you be careful, friend"—Sterling patted Ethan's arm, taking his horse's reins from him — "and I'll be seeing you again soon."

  Once outside, Sterling mounted his brother's horse and rode off down the street. A few blocks away he turned into the Llewellyn drive and rode around the back of the house to return Giipa to the barn. Just as he was about to dismount, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving in the darkness.

  "Who's there?" he demanded. His hand went to the pistol beneath his cloak and he eased it from his belt.

  There was a chuckle, and then the shadow stepped forward. It was Indian John. "Most officer types, I'd be able to slit their throat 'fore they saw me comin'. " He nodded. "You got your own tail covered; I like that in a man."

  Sterling kept the pistol aimed at John's middle. "What do you want?"

  "Not to rob ya! Lower your weapon. I got no firestick."

  "Right. " Sterling lowered his pistol, but rested it on his thigh. "State your business. I don't appreciate being sneaked up on."

  "Those papers you were talkin' about . . ."

  "Yes?" Sterling swung out of the saddle.

  "Word is, there's a shipment movin' tonight."

  "Where?"

  "I got to be paid for my troubles."

  "Yes, yes, this turns out to be anything and your pay will be more than adequate. Now tell me what you know before I shoot you."

  The half-breed took a step back. "Touchy ain't you, fellow?" He opened the barn door. "Step inside and I'll tell you plenty."

  A few minutes later, Sterling hurried through the kitchen of the Llewellyn house.

  "Evening, Captain," Nettie called from the corner of the room. She sat in her chair, rocking contentedly and smoking her pipe.

  The entire house was quiet except for the sound of the old rocker. "Good evening. " He stopped in the doorway. "Where is everyone?"

  "I don't keep strings on 'em. " The old woman continued to rock.

  "This is important. " If there was going to be any trouble on the street tonight, Sterling would feel better if Reagan was safely at home.

  She sighed. "Mister Uriah, he went over to the widow's to check her loom. Miss Elsa, she said she was turnin' in early. Miss Reagan"—she shrugged—"your guess is as good as mine. She don't tell nobody where she's going."

  "When Reagan comes in, you tell her to stay in, that I said so."

  The old housekeeper waved in acknowledgment and Sterling headed for his bedchamber. Where was Reagan this late in the evening? Did she have a beau she was meeting on the sly like her sister? Was it that Joshua? The thought plagued him as he changed out of his uniform and into woolen breeches and a fresh shirt. Pulling on his riding boots, he slung his cloak over his shoulders and stuffed a cocked hat on his head.

  If he could intercept this shipment of pamphlets, perhaps he could find out who was printing them. Whoever it was, he admired him. It took a lot of guts to print and distribute those leaflets right beneath the enemy's nose. And even if he didn't find the penman tonight, at least he would have something to appease Major Burke with. The man was becoming more insistent with each passing day. He wanted the penman found, and he swore that if Sterling couldn't find him, he'd find someone who could.

  Mounting his horse, Sterling rode out of the barn and into the frigid night air. Whoever this penman was, he prayed to God he could protect him.

  Reagan sat on the cold, hard wagon seat waiting . . . staring into the darkness. Behind her, lantern lights twinkled on Front Street, but the alley she waited in was deserted.

  It wasn't her duty to transport the leaflets, and her father would be furious when he found out, but tonight the usual courier couldn't make it. By the time Reagan had received the message, it was too late to cancel the pickup and her father had gone out. There was nothing else to do but make the meet herself.

  She'd gone to Mistress Claggett's and borrowed her horse and wagon. Then she'd loaded the wooden crate of pamphlets onto the wagon and now she waited. She didn't know who she was supposed to meet, only that it would be here in the alley behind Market Street.

  Reagan shifted restlessly on the uncomfortable wagon seat. The lampposts on the street cast only a few murky rays of light down the long, dark alley. She drew her cloak closer as if she could, by sheer will, chase the demons from her mind. Her imagination played tricks on her in the darkness. She heard voices that turned out to be nothing but the wind; she saw shadows of men that were naught but the sway of a skeletal tree branch.

  "Where are you?" she whispered to the darkness. "I'll not wait much l
onger. " This was just too chancy being out on the street like this. Only a week before, General Howe had decreed that no pedestrian in Philadelphia was permitted out after dark without a lantern.

  Reagan squinted in the darkness watching the street in front of her. Occasionally a horse and rider or a carriage went by, but there was no sign of the horse and wagon meant to retrieve her precious leaflets.

  On impulse, she reached behind the seat and took one of the pamphlets from the wooden crate. She fingered the rough paper nervously. It was times like this, times when she was truly frightened, that she wondered if it was all worth it. Did her essays make any impact on the colonists? She told herself they had to, else why would the British be so concerned about them?

  Reagan brushed the leaflet against her lips, huddling in the cold. She'd wait five more minutes and if the contact didn't come—she was going home.

  Sterling urged Giipa into a trot, leaning forward in the saddle. The frigid night air filled his lungs and mind, giving him a sense of euphoria. This was where he was comfortable, in the saddle, bent on a mission. He wasn't meant for a life of taverns, whores, and endless games of whist. The night air and the thrill of possible danger was what made his blood run hot.

  Sterling chuckled beneath his breath. The night air and the sight of Reagan Llewellyn, that was what made his heart pound. Damned, but he'd be glad when the British left the city. Then he'd be able to return to Washington's camp. He needed to get away from Reagan and her clever wit, her fiery hair . . . her rosy lips.

  Only a block from the place where Indian John said the leaflets would be waiting, Sterling slowed his brother's horse to a walk. He wasn't quite certain how he was going to handle this. He needed the shipment of leaflets, but he wanted to let the person or persons involved escape without them becoming suspicious of him.

  At the sound of hoofbeats behind him, Sterling reined in his mount. He looked over his shoulder. By the light of the streetlamps he could make out the silhouette of Major Burke and half a dozen mounted soldiers. Beside the major, rode the halfbreed, Indian John.

  Sterling waited for the major and his soldiers. "Major . . ." he said, his voice even. "What are you doing here?"

  "This citizen says that a shipment of those bloody papers is coming through here tonight."

  "Yes, sir, I'm investigating it."

  "Then why the hell didn't you inform me? If you spent less time in the Blue Boar and more time on duty, you'd have already found the damned penmen."

  "I don't know how reliable this man's information is. " He glanced up at the smirking half-breed. "And I'm not certain that mounted soldiers is the way to approach this. We'll lose the element of surprise."

  "I really couldn't give a rat's ass what you think, Captain. If this man says he can lead me to the penman, then it's worth a few coins to find the whoremonger,"

  Sterling shifted in his saddle, trying to keep his fear in check. "You paid this man? But I already paid him for the same information."

  "Yes, well"—the major indicated Indian John with a gloved hand—"this citizen has agreed to work with me on a permanent basis. I'll be providing a small sum of money each week to have him keep me posted on the goings-on of this city."

  Sterling glanced down the street. Now what was he going to do? How could he possibly warn the penman of the trap being set?

  Major Burke urged his horse forward, and Sterling fell in beside him. If this man was caught, it would be on his own head. I should have known better than to deal with scum like that half-breed.

  Major Burke and his men moved slowly up the street, trying to appear unhurried. Half a block farther down, Indian John pointed with the muzzle of his flintlock. Then, tipping his hat to the major, he rode off in the direction they'd come.

  The major lifted a hand, and the soldiers drew their weapons. Sterling slipped his hand beneath his cloak and found his own.

  The moment Reagan heard the hoofbeats, she stiffened. Soldiers patrolled the street day and night, but these men were moving too slowly—something wasn't right. This group was large and their movement calculated. Instead of riding down the center of the cobblestone road, they rode close to the buildings.

  The instant the first horse and rider wheeled around the corner and down the alley, Reagan sprang to her feet. She vaulted over the back of the wagon and Mistress Claggett's horse reared in fright. A voice of authority broke the night air.

  "Halt!" Major Burke ordered. "Halt or be shot!"

  Chapter Eight

  Sterling charged down the alley, pistol held high, and fired once into the air. "Halt!" he shouted. "Halt!"

  Reagan heard the musket ball whistle over her head before it buried into the mortar of one of the brick buildings that loomed above. Picking herself up off the bed of the moving wagon, she leaped over the back, her leaflet still crushed in her hand. They won't take me alive, she vowed silently. No one will suffer but me for my own stupidity.

  Reagan hit the ground. She could hear the soldiers . . . their angry muffled voices, the pounding of hoofbeats. One of the soldiers was shouting like a madman as she turned the corner.

  "Halt! Halt, you bloody bastard," the voice demanded. Paralyzed with fear, Reagan ran blindly down the sidewalk. From nowhere a hand came out of the darkness, catching her and pulling her through a doorway. The dark-cloaked man held her against his chest, muffling her voice.

  "Hush, girl. You're safe now."

  Reagan stared up at the man, squinting in the darkness. She could see nothing but the shadow of his face. "Who are you?" she whispered.

  "It matters not. Stay silent until they've passed and then someone will see you home."

  In shocked relief, Reagan slumped against the cold brick of the interior wall. She still held her leaflet clenched in her hand. Who was this man and why had he helped her?

  "I said halt," Sterling demanded, in pursuit. Intentionally, he rode through the narrow passageway between the spooked horse and wagon and the brick wall. Just as the wagon banged to a halt, Sterling threw himself from his brother's horse, adding to the pandemonium.

  "For God's sake, Thayer! Get up! You're blocking the alley! He's getting away!" Major Burke reined in his horse and signaled for the soldiers behind him to back up and go the other way.

  Dazed, Sterling rested his head against the cold brick. His ploy had been so successful that he'd managed to knock himself nearly senseless in the process.

  "Bloody hell, Thayer! You've bungled it!" The major dismounted, offering a gloved hand in assistance. "Can you stand?"

  "My apologies, sir. " Sterling staggered to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. Warm, sticky blood oozed between his fingers. "I don't know what happened. I thought we had him."

  "I'll tell you what happened! You botched it!" Major Burke retrieved Sterling's hat from the ground and hit him in the chest with it. "Who did you think you were, that bastard, Paul Revere? Damn!" He shook his head. "Soldiers like you are the best defense these colonists have!"

  "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again. " Sterling blinked, still trying to get his bearings.

  "Damned right it won't happen again or you'll find yourself eating dog meat in some fort on the Ohio River!" He caught the reins of the horse pulling the wagon. "Men like you don't need a commanding officer, they need a wet nurse!"

  "Yes, sir. " Sterling peered over the side of the wagon. Even in the darkness he could make out the shape of a wooden box beneath the wagon seat. "Sir! I've think we've got some!" Sterling hauled the crate out and lifted its lid. Neatly stacked inside were copies of the penman's latest leaflet.

  "Let me see those. You mind the horses. " Major Burke pulled a pamphlet from the wooden crate, squinting in an attempt to read it.

  A short time later the mounted soldiers came back down the alley. "He got away, sir," called one of the men. "He just disappeared. It just doesn't make any sense; these warehouses are locked up tighter than a drum. I sent some men out to check the taverns nearby. He couldn't have gotten far."
>
  The major tucked the pamphlet beneath his cloak. "All right, gentlemen. I want this wagon brought to my headquarters and the crate of pamphlets left in my office."

  One of the soldiers was already dismounting. "Yes, sir."

  Major Burke turned to Sterling. "You, Captain, are to return to your quarters and have that gash looked at. I want you in my office first thing in the morning."

  Sterling held the major's horse while he mounted and then handed up the reins. "I'll be there. " He saluted and the major rode off with the soldiers and confiscated horse and wagon behind him.

  Reagan leaned against the counter in the Blue Boar Tavern, waiting on the barkeeper. When the soldiers had passed, Reagan's savior had had a covered coach brought around. The man had given his driver instructions to take her home and then disappeared into the night without ever having revealed his identity.

  Frightened by the man and his obvious knowledge of her doings, Reagan had insisted that the driver take her to the Blue Boar. She didn't want the man, whoever he was, to know where she lived . . . if he didn't already know.

  Two soldiers had entered right on her heels and asked the barkeeper if any suspicious-looking man had just come in. When the barkeeper said no, the soldiers had glanced about the noisy public room, then taken their leave.

  Reagan could still feel her heart pounding. She thought she was safe this time, thanks to the mystery man, but what of the next? Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps this was too dangerous.

  The barkeeper, Jergens, set a bottle on the counter in front of her. "Here you are, sweet. Sorry it took so long, but I had to get it out of the cellar."

  "P-put it on his bill," Reagan managed. She was still so frightened that she could feel her knees knocking beneath her skirts.

  He leaned over the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "What's the matter with that captain of yours sending you out without a lantern?"

  So he's my Captain now, is that what they all think? She looked up, taking the bottle. Let them think it, then. Maybe there'll be some safety in it. If these men think I'm his, maybe they'll be more likely to let me be. "I just forgot my lantern."