Temptation’s Tender Kiss

by French, Colleen

  "Go get into something warm and dry, Captain. " She wrung out the flannel cloth 'and stroked Reagan's neck. Black soot rolled off her pale skin soiling the wet cloth.

  "Where's Nettie, Elsa? She should help you."

  "Sick. I sent her to bed. No need to wake her up."

  "Can I . . . Is there something I can do?"

  Elsa turned to him. She had shed no tears. He wondered if the girl understood what death was. "Yes. You can get me some ointment from my room. Her leg is burned. It's in a tin on the mantel. " He started to go, but she spoke again. "Where is he? Papa's body? Funeral arrangements will have to be made."

  So she does understand, Sterling thought sadly. "Someone took him away. I wanted to get Reagan back here as quickly as possible."

  Wiping down Reagan's arms, Elsa nodded. "Papa had many friends."

  "I'll get that ointment."

  Later, Sterling sat beside Reagan on the bed while Elsa attended to the burn on his forearm. He picked up the bottle of rum. "Should we try to give her some?"

  Elsa looked up. "The spirits are for you, Captain."

  He popped the cork and took a deep swallow, then coughed. The heat of the crude Colonial-made rum brought tears to his eye. "Is she all right?" He took another swallow, then set the bottle aside.

  "I think she's just sleeping. There seems to be no fever. " Elsa wrapped a linen bandage around his arm. "You look tired, Captain. Why not go to sleep? There's nothing more you can do for her tonight. " Elsa's voice was soft and pragmatic.

  "No. You go on. " He pulled his chair up beside Reagan's bed. "I can't sleep. I'll sit with her."

  Elsa hesitated. "All right, Captain. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

  After Elsa had gone, Sterling leaned over Reagan's sleeping form. He stroked her forehead, kissing her soft cheek. Her lip was swollen, her eyelid and the surrounding area a deep purple. "Oh, Reagie, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

  She stirred and he stroked her hair soothingly. "I'll make it all right. I don't know how, but I'll do it. I love you, Reagan."

  Somewhere far in the distance Reagan could hear a voice. A soft, husky, soothing voice. It was Grayson. She knew it. But she was so confused. What was he saying? He loved her? She must have misheard. She snuggled against the warmth of his arms. She could have sworn she felt his lips on hers.

  "Grayson?"

  "Shh," he murmured. "Sleep, sweetheart. Just sleep now."

  "You won't go?" Suddenly memories came flooding back. The fire . . . the half-breed. . . her papa lying there motionless on the floor. Her eyes flew open but her vision was blurred. "You won't leave me, too?" She tried to sit up, suddenly filled with fright.

  "No, no, I won't leave you," Sterling insisted. He slid into the bed beside her, drawing her into his arms.

  "He's dead, isn't he?" she asked. Her eyelids grew heavy and she let them slip.

  "Yes. He's dead."

  Reagan rolled against Sterling, bringing her knee up between his and flinging her arm over him. Her body relaxed and breath came evenly again. He eased his head beside hers on the pillow and tucked the coverlet over them both. "Sleep," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Just sleep."

  With the first rays of morning light, Reagan began to stir. A place on her thigh burned and her eyes stung. The left side of her face pounded with pain. Her chest felt heavy and her limbs were slow to move. She remembered the fire and her father's death, but little after that. Her mind was so blurred. Grayson . . . she remembered Grayson carrying her. It was raining . . . then she was warm. He had held her, here, here in her bed. He had told her he loved her.

  "Grayson?" Her eyes flew open. She could barely see out of the left one.

  "I'm here," he answered quietly.

  She squinted. He was dressed immaculately, his hair tied back, his boots polished. She knew the fire was real, she could smell the smoke in her hair, but what of Grayson and his proclamation of love? Had that been a dream?

  He pulled up a chair beside her bed. "How do you feel?" He studied her intently.

  "My leg hurts."

  "You were burned."

  She buried her face in her hands, trying to clear her thoughts. "I can't believe he's dead. There was a fight. They burned the place down around us!"

  "Who, Reagie?" He clasped her hand. "Tell me who!"

  "I don't know his name, but he's a half-breed with a scarred face—a patch over one eye. I've seen him in the Blue Boar before."

  Sterling looked away, her hand still held tightly in his. "Son of a bitch," he whispered. He returned his attention to her. "I know him. They call him Indian John. " His face was stony with anger. "He'll not get away with it."

  She eased her head back onto her pillow. "He said the soldiers sent him."

  "What soldiers?"

  "I don't know, Grayson!" She closed her eyes against the sunlight that pained her head. "They were looking . . ." she hesitated.

  "For what? What were they looking for?" He tightened his grasp on her hand.

  Her lower lip trembled as she fought to gain control. "Those stupid pamphlets. " Do I tell him? she wondered. It's all over now. There'll be no more pamphlets.

  "The ones Uriah was printing?" he whispered.

  "The ones they thought he was printing."

  Sterling smiled, smoothing back a tendril of hair. He was positive Uriah was the penman. It was etched all over her face. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, but before he could withdraw, she caught the back of his head with her hand.

  Reagan lifted her dark lashes. "I didn't thank you."

  He stared into the depths of her cinnamon eyes, lost in their magic. "I couldn't let you die. Any man would have done the same."

  "You're right. " She caressed his smooth-shaven cheek. "But no man would be fool enough to risk his life for a man already dead."

  Her voice was so soft that Sterling had to lean closer to hear her.

  "I'll never forget that, Grayson, no matter where this journey takes us. I'll never forget you or what you did for me. " She rose from her pillow, and kissed him.

  At first the kiss was hesitant, barely a brush of her lips, but then an urgency grew between them. Sterling lifted her, closing his arms around her. She pressed her mouth against his, kissing him deeply.

  "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered against his lips. "When you didn't come out of the shop, I thought you were gone, too. " She hugged him tightly, laying her head on his shoulder.

  For moment Sterling just held her, stroking her thick auburn hair. Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to, but there was no turning back. He loved Reagan more than he had ever loved anyone, but he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

  Sterling kissed her cheek. "I have to go now. Business. But when I'm done, I'll take care of the funeral arrangements."

  "That's not necessary. I can do it."

  He pulled back, but found her hand in the folds of the coverlet. "I know you can, but I want to."

  "Christ's Church, down off High Street."

  He gave her hand a squeeze and then stood, releasing her. "You just rest today."

  "I've got to talk to Elsa. " She rubbed her bruised lip. "God, Grayson, how am I going to tell her?"

  "She already knows. " He slipped his arms into his scarlet coat and she looked away, unable to bear the sight of the enemies' colors.

  "You told her, and she's all right?" Reagan's voice was forlorn.

  "Elsa's a fine young woman. She's smarter, stronger than you think. She took care of you last night. She bandaged your leg, she washed and dressed you."

  "Surely Nettie—"

  "Nettie's ill," he intervened. "Nothing serious, but she was asleep last night when I brought you home. Your little Elsa can take command like a general. " He smiled. "She's quite a capable woman, just like all the Llewellyn women."

  Reagan lay back on her pillow. "Could you send her up?"

  He nodded, going to the door as he buttoned his coat. "I will, now I want you to promise you'
ll stay in bed today."

  "I'm fine."

  "Promise."

  "All right," she answered softly. There just seemed to be no fight left in her. She was empty.

  He winked and then he was gone.

  In his room, Sterling compiled a quick message to his commanding officer using the bell mask. With coded words he told Captain Craig that Uriah Llewellyn had been the patriot penman, but that now he was dead. He also added a request for more funds. He'd spent so much on wine and bribes that he was nearly broke, despite his mysterious benefactor's occasional payment of his tavern bills. He knew Captain Craig wouldn't be pleased with his request, but the funds were necessary to keep up his undercover operation. He finished up the message by asking for word of his brother Grayson. Did he fare well? Where was he being held? The ink smeared as Sterling quickly added words to the "letter" from Aunt Feddlebottom to hide the true nature of the correspondence. Sealing the letter, he took his hat and hurried out of the house.

  When Sterling arrived at Ethan's, the patriot was already waiting for him in the barn.

  "I heard," the rotund man told Sterling once they were in the privacy of the closed stable.

  "How?"

  "Elsa was here early this morning. " The blacksmith took a large handkerchief and wiped his red eyes. "Uriah Llewellyn was a damned fine man."

  "If only I could have told him we fought for the same cause—that I admired him. " Sterling smoothed his horse's haunches.

  "The funeral will be tomorrow, Elsa says."

  "Yes, I'll be making the arrangements when I'm done here. I got a message this morning that one of the Llewellyns' friends took the body and is preparing it. " Sterling slipped his letter from his pocket. "I need this to be passed on immediately. Today."

  Ethan took the folded letter, clearing his throat. "Ah, you weren't thinkin' of going to the funeral tomorrow, were you?"

  Sterling studied the man's broad facial features. "Of course I was."

  The blacksmith ground his boot into the straw. "I wouldn't advise it. Things might get ugly, was there a redcoat there."

  "I hadn't thought of that."

  "Best you stay home. You can pay your respects there."

  Sterling threw his cloak over his shoulders. "I suppose you're right."

  "Word is it was redcoats looking for them pamphlets they say Uriah was printin'. " Ethan tucked Sterling's letter into his leather waistcoat.

  "Word is, he was printing them. " Sterling's eyes narrowed as he studied Ethan's beefy face.

  He shrugged. "I don't rightly know."

  "Elsa never said anything?" Sterling pressed.

  "No. But that doesn't mean he wasn't or that she didn't know. Elsa's a little slow up here"—the blacksmith tapped his temple—"but she's no fool. She knows when to open her mouth and when to keep it shut."

  Sterling sighed, taking up Giipa's reins. "Well, guess I'd better get moving. " He started out of the barn. "You'll be certain to get that message on its way today."

  Ethan slapped his waistcoat. "Today. I'll start it on its way myself."

  "Thank you, friend. " Sterling gave a wave, mounted, and rode out of the barn.

  Hours later Sterling entered the Llewellyn home. It was still early evening, but everyone in the house had already turned in. He removed his cloak and hat and went into the kitchen. The worktable in the center of the room was laden with loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, and savory baked dishes. A tapped cask of Madeira rested on the end of the table.

  Leaving his cloak and hat over a chair, Sterling retrieved a pewter plate and filled it. Seated in front of the hearth, his long legs stretched out, he ate hungrily. Filling his pewter tankard with Madeira a second time, he lounged before the fireplace's flickering flames, sipping the wine. An odd kind of contentment fell over him, seated here in the warm kitchen. He imagined what it would be like to take Reagan as his wife . . . to have their own home, their own warm kitchen. A smile came to his lips as he remembered sleeping with Reagan last night, her warm body snuggled in his arms. His eyes drifted shut as he remembered the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her light breath on his face. What he would give for an eternity such as that!

  But such thoughts were foolery. His life was far too complicated for dreams. He had vowed to defend his new country, to serve her as his commanding officers saw fit. His duty would not allow a wife and a comfortable home. Besides, as long as he remained Captain Grayson Thayer, there wasn't a chance in hell Reagan would agree to marry him. He sighed, tipping his cup. It was too hopeless to even consider.

  Sterling was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Reagan enter the kitchen. It wasn't until she laid her hand on his shoulder that he looked up.

  "Grayson. " She laughed, her voice low and soft. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

  "Reagan. " He felt guilty, foolish even for having been caught daydreaming.

  Self-consciously she removed her hand from his shoulder. "Mistress Claggett came by this afternoon. Thank you for making all of the arrangements."

  "I hope you don't mind that I didn't bring his body here, but Mistress Claggett offered, and I thought it might be easier this way."

  "I think it was wise. I don't know about Elsa, but I don't think that I could stand to have him in the parlor. I want to remember him alive, laughing, arguing, writing, his hands stained with ink. " She brought her kerchief around her shoulders, smoothing the linen.

  A strange energy hung in the air. Sterling and Reagan could feel it. Both had things to say to the other, but neither dared.

  He watched her go to the worktable and cover the cheese with a piece of clean, damp cloth. She was dressed simply in a soft woolen gown the color of sage. Her face was pale save for the purple bruise around her left eye. The swelling had gone down on her lip. It was obvious she had just washed and braided her hair.

  Sterling's gaze fell to the oaken tub banded with copper hoops resting near the door. The wood was still dark with water stains, and he wondered how long ago she'd bathed. He wished he'd come in earlier. He longed to see her standing in the tub letting the warm water run over her breasts and down her long legs. He licked his dry lips.

  Reagan sighed. "Grayson."

  He was up and at her side in an instant. He held her in his arms, stroking the crown of her damp head. She held him by the shoulders, resting her head on his hard, broad chest. Her heart was beating irregularly. No words were necessary. He felt her pain and she felt his sympathy.

  "It's time I turn in," she whispered.

  Her warm breath caressed his ear. "Yes. Tomorrow will be a long day."

  She held tightly to him another moment and then stepped away. She stopped in the doorway and looked back. Their eyes met and her lower lip trembled. Tonight she needed him. Tonight when all seemed lost she needed to feel loved, to be needed. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him, but something in the depth of his brilliant blue eyes made her realize no words were necessary. She turned away and went upstairs.

  In her own bedchambers, Reagan stoked the fire and threw a sprinkling of herbs to the flames so that it would give a rich aroma to the room. She pulled back the bedcurtains and smoothed the soft flannel sheets of her bed. Driven by some inner force, she went to a chest beneath the window and kneeled, lifting its lid.

  It had been a year since she'd studied its contents. The trunk contained the beginnings of the trousseau she had meant to take with her when she married Josh. She laid aside the embroidered table linens, the hand-loomed towels, and down near the bottom she found the sleeping gown she'd meant to wear on her wedding night.

  Retrieving the gown she got to her feet and shook it out. It was made of jaconet, a soft, transparent linen. It was bleached a pale white with delicate blue-and-green flowers stitched across the bodice. Pale-green satin ribbons made a closure in the front between her breasts.

  Moving dreamlike, Reagan removed her woolen gown and underthings. She hung her dress on a peg and neatly folded the other clothin
g. When she slipped the gown over her head, it fell over her lithe body like a sheet of silk. She smiled, smoothing the wrinkles set in with time. No matter what happened tomorrow or in the days that followed, she would always have tonight to remember. She loved Grayson as she knew she would never love another man. Tonight she would give of herself, in return for his warmth, his comfort. Tonight she would lay aside the war, her and her father's beliefs. She would lay aside his scarlet coat and they would love as only a man and woman could love.

  Sitting at her dressing table, Reagan unbraided her damp hair and brushed it over her shoulders in a fan of brilliant red and gold highlights. In the reflection of her mother's gilded mirror, she saw her doorknob twist and Grayson enter her room and close the door behind him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "You knew I would come," Sterling said hesitantly. He felt like a boy at Eaton again. He stared at his bare feet. He wore only his breeches and an untucked shirt. His palms were damp; his mouth was dry. By God, he had never wanted a woman like he wanted Reagan.

  "I knew you would come. I wanted you to. " She thought to stand but she was too frightened. Her knees knocked beneath the bridal gown.

  Sterling slid the bolt on the door and came to her, his arms outstretched. He kissed her damp temple, breathing in the sweet smell of her freshly washed hair. She no longer smelled of smoke and cinders, but like springtime.

  "I love you, Reagan," he whispered.

  She lifted her dark lashes, covering his lips with her forefinger. "Shh, don't say what you do not mean. I want no lies. My love for you is enough. I know what you are and what we can never be, but tonight I just want to pretend."

  Tears formed in Sterling's eyes and he looked away. There was a lump in his throat that kept him from speaking. She loved him! But that only made their situation all the more desperate. He felt like the scoundrel his brother truly was. How could he deceive this woman who had been so honest with him? She hid nothing, baring her soul, laying her heart out to him, yet he faced her with lies, one piled on the other.

  Sterling closed his eyes, nuzzling the soft spot on her neck. "I've dreamed of this, Reagan."