Temptation’s Tender Kiss

by French, Colleen

  Jergens lowered a burning oil lamp from an iron hook hanging from the ceiling. "Take this one, and bring it back with you the next time. Pretty wench like you don't need any interrogation."

  She accepted the lantern gratefully. "Thank you. I guess I'd best be going. The captain'll be looking for this. " She raised the hood of her cloak and left the tavern.

  A few minutes later, Sterling tied his horse out in front of the Blue Boar and ducked inside. He had to get someone to take a look at his head, but first he needed a drink. This was one night when a pint of rum would do him some good. Besides, he was hoping he'd run into that parasite half-breed.

  "Captain Thayer. " The barkeeper nodded to Sterling. "Good evening to you. What can I do for ye?" He took notice of the bloodstains across Sterling's cloak but said nothing.

  "Rum, and none of that homemade swill!" He leaned on the countertop, glancing about the public room. There was no sign of Indian John or his men.

  "I just sent that Llewellyn girl with it."

  Sterling turned back. "Reagan was here?"

  "Not five minutes ago. She picked up the bottle you wanted and headed for home. She was traveling without a lantern so I loaned her one of mine. I knew you didn't want the wench getting into any trouble on the street."

  What was Reagan up to? he wondered numbly. Had she been dallying with that Joshua and was now using him as an alibi? He lifted his eyebrows. "You say just five minutes ago?"

  Jergens nodded. "I'm surprised you didn't run into her on the street. " He studied Sterling's face. "She's all right, ain't she? I mean, you'll pay the bill?"

  "Yes, yes, of course. The end of the month," Sterling called over his shoulder as he went out the door.

  When Reagan entered the parlor, Uriah looked up over the rim of his spectacles. "Where the hell have you been?"

  Tears stung her eyes. "You're not going to like it, Papa."

  Uriah watched her move to the chair opposite his. "There was a problem with the courier?" he whispered harshly. "You know better than to go out of the house on a pickup night. You should have come and found me!"

  She wiped her eyes, embarrassed by her tears. "It's not safe to talk now. The lieutenant is upstairs, I don't know where the captain is. We'll talk tomorrow."

  Uriah laid down the book he'd been reading and removed his spectacles, rubbing his eyes. This war had come ten years too late; he was too old for this business. "Maybe we should take those passes Westley offered and get out of the city while we still can."

  "No. " Reagan's eyes met her father's. "Please, Papa. No one was hurt. I just lost part of the shipment. " She hung her head.

  "You? You what?"

  "Shh, someone will hear you."

  Uriah stood. "Come upstairs. I want to hear this."

  She stroked the arm of the upholstered chair. "I don't think we should take any chances talking in the house when they're here."

  Uriah sighed. He knew she was right. He studied his daughter's face. She's the image of her mother, he mused. "Reagan."

  She looked up. "Papa."

  "If anything ever happened to you, I don't know that I could go on living. This isn't worth your life."

  "Just wait until I tell you what happened. It really wasn't so bad. Someone helped me."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know, it was too dark to see his face. He said I didn't need to know his name. He was a wealthy man by the look of his cloak."

  "We have many friends out there," Uriah mused. He lifted his gaze to his daughter's dark eyes. "But that doesn't change the fact that you weren't supposed to be out there tonight."

  "Tomorrow," she urged quietly. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

  "Yes, I suppose tomorrow will be soon enough, Daughter. I'm going to bed and I want you to do the same."

  She got up and went to him, kissing his cheek. She smoothed his silver-gray sideburns. "I'll be right up. Good night."

  Uriah patted her arm, then left the parlor.

  Reagan listened to her father's footsteps as he ascended the stairs. He was right. There was nothing to do tonight but go to bed. She hadn't been caught and there was no way she could be connected to the incident. If the redcoats managed to trace the horse and wagon to Mistress Claggett, the elderly woman would simply say it had been stolen. As for the man who helped her, she would probably never know his name.

  Reagan blew out the lamp and went down the hall toward the kitchen. When the front door swung open behind her, she turned in surprise.

  "Reagan. " Sterling closed the door quietly behind him.

  "Grayson. What happened to you?" She rushed to him, helping him with his cloak. His golden-blond hair was stained red, and dried blood caked one cheek. Her heart leaped beneath her breast. There was so much blood!

  Sterling frowned. "I fell off my damned horse."

  "You certain it wasn't a tavern brawl?" she asked calmly, covering her alarm. She threw his cloak over her arm, pushing all thoughts of the confiscated pamphlets from her mind. If she wanted to protect herself and the ones she loved, she'd have to tread very carefully. "You'll have to come into the kitchen where the light's better. It might need a stitch or two from the way it's been bleeding."

  "Oh, no, I'm not letting you get your embroidery needle near me!" He lifted his hands in protest.

  "Don't be a baby, Captain. " She took his hand, leading him into the kitchen. His hand felt good in hers. "Now sit in that chair by the table and let me get a look at your head. It's at least got to be cleaned."

  Sterling sat down to watch Reagan bustle about the warm kitchen gathering a clean linen towel, a bowl of heated water, and a tin of ointment. She moved with an unmistakable grace, as if there was a silent, harmonious tune within her, leading her through each step.

  Reagan perched herself on the edge of the worktable. "Now let me see this. " Her hands shook slightly as she parted his hair to examine the wound. She had never touched a man's hair like this and somehow it seemed very intimate to her. His golden hair was soft and sleek beneath her fingertips. "You fell off your horse?" She laughed trying to ease the tension she felt in her chest. "Quite a fine soldier the king has here."

  "I was on an investigation. " Why not tell her, Sterling reasoned. Perhaps through her or her father, word would be filtered down to the penman. He needs to be warned how dangerously close he was to being caught.

  "Investigating the price of ale in some whorehouse, no doubt?" She dipped the corner of the towel into the hot water and laid it on his open cut. The rumors she'd heard of the captain's escapades angered her. If he was going to play the whoremonger, why didn't he at least be discreet about it? Grayson Thayer's comings and goings seemed to be more popular dinner talk these days than the war!

  "Ouch!" Sterling jumped, laying his hand on his head. "Damn, woman. You murder me here in the kitchen and there's bound to be questions."

  She pushed his hand down and began to carefully cut the hair away from the wound with a tiny pair of silver-handled scissors. "Your mission?"

  "Yes, well, you remember the pamphlets those soldiers were looking for in your father's printshop a few weeks back?"

  Reagan froze, the scissors in midair. She suddenly felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She couldn't breathe; she was certain she was going to faint. "Y-yes," she managed.

  "Well, I confiscated a shipment tonight."

  "You did?" She leaned over his blond head, trying to continue to minister to his wound, but her stomach fluttered and her vision blurred.

  "I nearly caught whoever was driving the wagon. " He paused. "I don't suppose you know anything of these pamphlets or the perpetrators?"

  "Certainly not! You think they would go about town identifying themselves?"

  "If you happened to hear anything, do you think you could let me know?"

  She slammed the scissors on the table. "How dare you!" She began to pace the hardwood floor, shaking her finger, bent on vengeance. "If you think you're going to get any information out of me, y
ou're sadly mistaken, Captain. You know my father is a Whig, and you know our opinions on this damned war, and if you think you're going to weasel something out of me with your fancy uniform and smooth tongue, you're dead wrong!"

  Sterling leaned back in the chair, surprised by her onslaught. His head was pounding, and suddenly nothing made sense any more. His mission was to portray his brother, the English officer, and to say and do the things his brother would. He'd known from the first day what this job entailed. So why was it suddenly so difficult?

  Reagan. It was her. He cared what she thought about his words and deeds and it was getting in the way of the business at hand. He lifted his hands. If only he could tell her who he really was. If only he could make her understand. "Reagan—"

  "Don't you Reagan me! You march into my city, you take over my home, and then you have the nerve to ask me to be your spy!"

  "I didn't accuse you of anything. I just asked if you knew anything about these damned pamphlets! It's my duty!" He got to his feet, putting his arms out to her.

  Reagan shook her head, backing off. Without his uniform it was so difficult for her to remind herself that Grayson was the enemy. The truth was, even when he wore it, there were times when she forgot. "Don't touch me! Don't you ever touch me! You don't understand what this war is about. You only understand the coin you're paid to wear that damned uniform. " Tears formed in her eyes. "What do you think I am, one of those whores at the tavern who'll—"

  Sterling grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her against him. He couldn't stand the disappointment, the shock, the pain in her face. God, what he wouldn't have given to be able to tell her who he really was. But it was out of the question. There were too many people out there, nameless people who gave him aid in his undercover operation. If word leaked out that he was spy, they could all lose their lives . . . the blacksmith and his rosy-cheeked children, the butcher, the girl at the fish market, even Reagan herself.

  Reagan struggled against Sterling, trying to escape, but he was kissing her, smoothing her hair, whispering softly in her ear. His mouth crushed against hers and she whimpered in frustration. Her mind told her he was the enemy. It cried, "Run! run!" But all she could do was return his kisses.

  Sterling stroked the length of her back as he nibbled at the corner of her quivering mouth. The scent of her soft, sweet hair filled his brain, overwhelming him. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders as she returned his kisses with equal abandon.

  Reagan swayed on her feet as Sterling cupped one breast, his thumb finding her peaked nipple beneath her clothing. She moaned softly, entwining his golden hair in her fingers. Nothing mattered at this moment but the two of them and the spark of light he brought to her soul.

  "Grayson," she murmured, stroking the thick cord of his neck. "Grayson. " Her tongue delved deep into his mouth, meeting his. She drank from his strength . . . from the forbidden.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sterling could hear her murmuring his brother's name. It was the strangest feeling, as it was Grayson who kissed her, who stroked her breasts, not him.

  Her hand found his as he slipped it into the bodice of her gown. "No, please, I mustn't," she argued halfheartedly. "You mustn't, else how can I turn back?"

  Her words sank slowly to the pit of his conscious mind and his hand grew still. "Oh, Reagan," he whispered huskily. He kissed her eyelids, her cheekbones, the tip of her nose. "I'm sorry. I swore this wouldn't happen."

  She lifted her eyelids, stroking his stubbled jaw. Those were not the words of a man of Grayson's tinged character. No matter what he said, or did, she suddenly knew in her heart that he wasn't the man he proclaimed to be. His voice was too broken, too regretful. She knew a man could say anything, but he couldn't feel, not with his heart, not like this.

  "Shh. " She pressed her finger to his lips. His hand was hot on her breast, making it difficult to speak clearly. "It's my own fault. I've done it again. There's a part of me that can't back off. I know who you are and I hate you for that person, but there's someone else inside you . . ." She sighed, at a loss for words.

  "I know. I know," he soothed. "I can't explain it. All I know is that I care for you deeply and that I—"

  "Don't say it. Don't say anything else. I don't want to think. I just want to be for a minute."

  "All right."

  She gave him a half-smile, resting her head on his chest. Never in her life had she ever felt this alive, this vibrant. He struck a chord in her no one had ever reached before. Redcoat or not, she was falling in love with this man.

  Chapter Nine

  Reagan sat at the spinet, playing the same melancholy chords over and over again. Bright morning sunlight reflected off the snowdrifts and poured through the windows of the parlor, but it did nothing to lift her spirits. Last night's revelation had shaken her deeply. With Grayson involved in the investigation of the pamphlets, how could she and her father possibly continue to print them?

  This morning she had spoken briefly to Uriah about last night's confiscation of their shipment. Tonight she, Uriah, and Westley, would meet in the secret room to discuss their situation. Today Uriah thought it vital that he remain in his shop and carry on business as usual. The more visible he was, the less likely he would be suspected.

  Reagan didn't hear Grayson enter the room and she jumped when he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Oh! You scared me."

  "Slide over. " Sterling removed his bearskin grenadier cap and set it on the floor.

  Reagan moved over, making room for him on the small bench. "Where have you been this morning, starched and bewigged?" She kept her hands clasped on her lap. For the briefest moment she recalled the feel of his hand on her breast, the taste of him, and her cheeks grew warm.

  Self-consciously, Sterling touched his powdered wig. He hated the damned thing, but since Grayson always wore his in public, he figured he had to wear it on occasion for appearance' sake. "Yes, well, considering the barbarity of Philadelphia, I see no reason to waste good hair powder, but uh . . . I had an appointment with my commanding officer this morning."

  "Major Burke?"

  "Yes. " Sterling's hand ached to caress the soft curve of her chin. Her face was so pale this morning. It was obvious she was deeply disturbed by last night. Another woman might have seen a few kisses as harmless, but Sterling knew Reagan felt as if she was betraying her country. If only she knew . . .

  After a moment of silence, Reagan returned her fingers to the keyboard. She played softly, humming an old ballad her grandmother had taught her. Just go away, she thought. Please, Grayson, leave me be.

  "The major is none too happy with me."

  "I don't see why. You said you confiscated those papers. " She tried to sound uninterested. It was the only way she knew to protect herself and the others.

  "Yes, but I let the penmen get away."

  "What makes you think the penman would be idiotic enough to drive his own wagon through the streets after dark?"

  Sterling frowned suspiciously. "How did you know there was a wagon?"

  She never missed a note. "Nothing goes on in this city that everyone doesn't know by nightfall. Everyone's a gossip these days. " She continued to play, growing more confident in herself with each passing note. What was she worried about? She was certainly bright enough to outsmart one beribboned dandy of a redcoat! "If I was the penman, I certainly wouldn't be so addlepated as to transport the pamphlets myself!"

  He smiled, catching a tendril of bright hair at her temple and twisting it around his finger. "No, I don't suppose you would. You'd be too smart, wouldn't you, my little Continental?"

  She couldn't resist a smile. He was teasing her again. "Haven't you got anywhere you've got to be? Some innocent citizen to arrest, mayhap?"

  Sterling laid his hand on hers and she stopped playing. "Actually, I have got somewhere to be and you're going with me."

  "I am not. " She turned to face him, trying to focus on the powdered wig and scarlet uniform. This man stood for wha
t these united states despised. Grayson was England, he was the king's tyranny. If she could just keep these things in mind, she knew she could resist the desire for him she felt building within her.

  "I've been invited to go sledding with a friend outside the city. It's a beautiful day out. We could take a picnic."

  She shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere with you. I wouldn't be seen on the street with a lobsterback. My neighbors'll be pelting stones at me from their windows."

  "Come on, don't you ever have any fun?"

  "I never thought being stoned to death to be of much fun."

  "You can meet me on the corner of town. No one would have to know."

  "I . . . I couldn't. My father would never—"

  "So, we won't tell him. He left for work early, we'll be back before he's home."

  "I can't. I won't. " I mustn't, she thought, feeling her resolve crumble.

  "Please?" Sterling cajoled.

  Reagan didn't know what to say. How could she even be considering going with him? "Grayson, if any of our friends saw me with you . . ." She sighed. "If . . . if my father . . ."

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing one knuckle at a time. "Come on, sweetheart. I won't wear my uniform. You can pretend I'm Joe Feddlebottom, colonial farmer."

  She laughed. "Can't you get into trouble? Everyone knows my father's on that list. He still refuses to sign the allegiance document. Aren't you already in enough hot water with that Major Burke?"

  "No one will know. " He stroked her palm. "And if anyone finds out,"—he shrugged—"I'll tell them I was involved in an interrogation."

  He nuzzled a soft spot on her neck and she swatted him. "That's not funny. Word got back to some people in this city that I was carrying tales to the Brits and they'd burn us out."

  "Please?"

  Her cinnamon eyes sought his. He had the darkest, deepest blue eyes she'd ever seen. She knew she shouldn't go, but it did sound fun, and who could possibly find out? "Outside the city?"