"Uh, well, yeah, I guess so."
"So there's your answer."
"It's not the same thing, Reagie."
"It's precisely the same thing. End of discussion. " She hiked up her skirts and started down the ladder into the secret room. "Now are you going to help me bring those damned pamphlets up or am I going to have to do it myself?"
Chapter Seventeen
"Captain, you denied my transfer. " Sterling stood at ease, his hands tucked behind his back. Captain Craig's headquarters were a small frame farmhouse in Frankfort, just outside the Philadelphia city limits.
"That I did, Lieutenant. " His superior officer gave a nod. He sat on a bench at a trestle table in the center of a large, cozy kitchen. In this unimposing room he trained the American Army's finest spies.
"I don't understand, sir. I'm about to be found out. It's no longer safe for me to remain Captain Grayson Thayer."
"Have you revealed to anyone your true identity?"
"No, sir."
"Not even to the woman?"
"No, sir," Sterling answered, his voice lowering in pitch. "You know me better than that, Captain."
Charles Craig sighed. "I'm sorry, Sterling, but I had to ask. Have a seat. " He indicated the bench across the table from him. "And cut the captain crap. You and I have known each other too long for that."
Sterling sat down and leaned his elbows on the table. The suspended oil lamp above cast streaks of golden light over the table illuminating his face. "It's not me I'm worried about, and you know it, Charlie. It's the others who support me there in the city. If I'm caught, it won't only be me who goes down."
"Burke doesn't have any idea who the spy is, right?"
"Thank God, no. Not yet. " Sterling looked up to see a young woman entering the kitchen through a back door. Captain Craig gave an easy nod, and Sterling went on with what he was saying. "But there aren't that many officers beneath Burke's command. Twenty maybe. By process of elimination . . ."
"You won't be in the city that long. Once Clinton gets his shoes on straight, he'll be moving. It's vital that General Washington know in what direction, north or south. You're too close to the action for us to let you go now, Sterling."
Sterling accepted a mug of spiced, mulled wine from the dark-haired woman. He glanced up at her; she was pretty in an earthy way, but lacked the sophistication or Reagan's form. It was funny how he compared every woman he saw to Reagan these days.
Sterling turned his steady gaze to his commanding officer. "I'm scared, Charlie," he said honestly. "It's gotten to the point where I don't know who I am anymore. I'm afraid I'm going to make a blunder. So many lies. " He stared into his tankard. "I can't keep it straight in my head when I'm Sterling and when I'm Grayson."
"You knew this was going to be difficult when you took the job. You knew the chances you were taking. " The captain waved to the woman and she exited the room as quietly and inconspicuously as she had entered it.
"True enough. But you said you'd take me out if things got too tight. " Sterling leaned forward, his blond hair brushing his shoulders. "Charlie, I'm squeaking."
Charles shook his head. "We take you out now and Burke'll know for sure it's you. You'll be of no good to us the remainder of the war. Besides, we'd have to move the woman and her family at the Army's expense. She'd be held accountable. They'd never believe she didn't know who you were."
"Burke's still got that half-breed working for him. He's got it in for me. I think he's already suspicious. " He paused. "But you're right, I'd best stay put."
"You're doing fine, Sterling. Captain Grayson Thayer's the talk of the city. Your exploits are what keep people chuckling at the supper table."
Sterling grinned wryly. "I see now how a man can gain a false reputation. I spread a few coins, tipped a few jacks of ale, pinched a few asses, and suddenly I'm a legend."
"Which is exactly what we counted on. It's the perfect guise. How can you be a threat when no one takes you seriously?"
"Yes, well there was one thing I hadn't counted on. " Sterling took a deep swallow of the warm, spicy concoction.
"The woman?"
Sterling gazed at the burning embers stoked in the deep fireplace. "Does a man have no secrets in this Army?"
Charlie laughed, his rich voice filling the warm chamber. "I make it my business to know what my men are about."
"She's very clever, Charlie. She could probably be of some help to us. " Sterling glanced up hopefully. "You recall it was her father who was responsible for those damned fine leaflets. Her heart's certainly in the right place."
Charlie began to shake his head before Sterling was finished. "You can't let your emotions control you, friend. It is imperative that you keep your true identity a secret. There'll be time enough for courting when we beat these pettifogging redcoats."
Sterling drained his tankard in silence. Not with this girl there won't be, he thought. There'll not be another chance with Reagan.
Charlie watched Sterling rise and stretch his long legs. "I'm sorry I had to deny your request for transfer. I'd do it if I could, but this comes from the top. I'll be keeping a close eye on you. We'll get you out if things blow."
Sterling nodded. "All right. Now, what of the spy, Murray? Any clues to his identity?"
"No. " Captain Craig rose to see Sterling out. "But we're going to find him, I promise you."
He laughed. "Before he finds me, I should hope."
Charlie patted Sterling on the back. "Someday, we're going to sit our grandchildren on our knees and tell them what a great hero you were."
Sterling's blue eyes met his commanding officer's. "I don't want to be a hero, Charlie. I just want to get out with my neck. I don't want anyone dying for my sake. I want to go home to Virginia, prop my boots on the veranda rail, and watch my tobacco grow. I want to get old."
"We all do," Charlie answered as Sterling walked out the door. "We all do, my friend."
Reagan tapped softly on Sterling's bedchamber door with the toe of her shoe, a pitcher of water in her hands. It had been well past three in the morning when she had finally heard him come in last night. She had wanted to go to him, but she was afraid to. She was afraid she would smell the scent of cheap perfume on his fresh, clean skin. She was afraid his clothes would be rumpled, the taste of hard rum on his lips. Though she'd never seen him drunk, she heard the tales passed from citizen to citizen down at the market. They said he knew every whore's petticoat in the city and a few respectable ladies' as well.
That didn't sound like her Grayson. The man she loved was thoughtful, responsible, kind. He loved her, she knew he did. He had promised there'd be no whoring as long as she shared his bed. Reagan tapped again. "Grayson?"
When she heard him reply, she entered his bedchamber. His clothes were thrown haphazardly on the floor. She picked them up, one item at a time, thinking how odd it was. Grayson was always so fastidious.
"You were out late last night," she remarked. She hadn't intended to be so forthright. She didn't want to be accused of being an old fishmonger's wife. After all, what claim did she have to him? The words had just slipped out before she had time to check them.
Sterling squinted as she pulled open the heavy drapes, letting the sunshine pour into the room. "Business," he murmured, pulling the counterpane over his head. The truth was that after he'd left Captain Craig he'd gone to the Blue Boar and overindulged in claret. He didn't know what time it was when he'd stumbled home.
"Business, is it?' She poured fresh water from the pitcher into his washbowl. "Funny how you lobsterbacks think a roll in the hay is business," she accused tartly.
Sterling pushed up on one elbow. "Reagan, I told you I'd not do that and I've kept my promise."
"That's not what I hear down by the wharf. " She shook a slender finger at him. "I swear, Grayson Thayer, if I come down with some disease, I'll blow your head right off your shoulders."
Sterling sat up, swinging his feet onto the floor. "What's made you so vicious t
his morning?"
She shrugged, leaning over a cane-bottom chair as she watched him pad across the floor nude. She felt a familiar twinge deep in the base of her stomach as she admired his striking form. His shoulders were broad and rounded, his chest muscular with a sprinkling of blond curls across it. His stomach was flat; a trail of hair led from his navel to his groin. She stood unabashed, watching as he turned to splash cool water on his face. She had never imagined a man's body could be so beautiful . . . so tempting.
Sterling turned to her, drying his face with a flannel towel. "What are you staring at?" He glanced down at himself, throwing his towel over his shoulder. "Am I missing a vital part?"
She laughed, coming to him. "I was just thinking how happy you've made me. How sad I'm going to be when you go."
Sterling took her in his arms, stroking the back of her head. Her hair was pulled back girlishly over the crown of her head and tied with a ribbon so that it hung in a heavy curtain down her back. "Don't think about it. No one's going anywhere yet."
"But you will and soon, I think. The Army's getting restless. " She stroked the corded muscles of his arm. "Do you know when yet?"
He nibbled the lobe of her ear. "What are you, a lady spy now?" He pressed a kiss to a soft spot on her neck and felt the goosebumps rise beneath his lips. "You know I'm not privy to such information and if I was, I certainly wouldn't tell you, Continental."
She laughed, pulling away. "Just trying to keep you on your toes. " She patted the damp spot on the bodice of her lutestring gown. "You got me all wet."
He snatched her hand, pulling her roughly against him. "I can make you wetter."
She took the flannel towel off his shoulder and hit him with it.
"Ouch! That stings!" He rubbed his chest where she'd left a red welt.
"That's what you get for taking liberties with an innocent!" she snapped, feigning injury. "And before breakfast," she finished in a low, sensual voice.
"What time is it?" Sterling stepped out to capture her again, but she darted behind a worn upholstered chair.
"Time to get dressed. You left a note on the table saying you had an appointment. You asked me to wake you up so you wouldn't be late."
Leaning over the chair, he traced her breast through the material of her gown with his finger.
"And that"—she smacked at his hand —"will make you late, soldier."
Both of them laughed and Sterling gave in, sitting down to roll on his stockings. "You make a man want to give up his life as a soldier, Reagie, my sweet. You make him think of a wife, children, and other such silliness," he dared tentatively.
Casually, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Not me. I have no desire for a husband—not anymore at least. " How could I marry, she thought. Now that I've known your love, life is spoiled for matrimony. No man could ever meet my expectations, not after you, Grayson.
He looked up. "No husband? No children?"
"I can't very well have children with no husband, now can I?" She offered him a freshly pressed shirt and he pulled it over his head.
"What if . . . what if you were to become pregnant?" he asked, his voice muffled by the folds of the shirt.
"Have no fear, Captain. I'll not strap you down with a bastard. " She watched him push his head through the shirt and smooth the soft linen. "I had an illness as a young woman. My father's physician said I was probably barren," she lied. Reagan had considered what she would do if she became pregnant, and she had decided that she'd just have the baby. Grayson, wherever he might be, need never know. She'd deal with the social repercussions as best she could.
Sterling took that bit of information in, chewing it slowly. He knew he should be relieved to know she ran no risk of getting with child, but a small part of him ached at the thought. How sad to know that she would never have a babe, that they could never have had one, even if circumstances had been different . . . or they changed.
Reagan wondered what had brought on Grayson's silence. Relief, she supposed. "Where are you going this morning?" She changed the subject not wanting to dwell on unhappiness this morning.
"Major Burke's. Why?"
"I was thinking about what you said about the gingerbread. I have some made and I thought maybe you could escort me to one of the barracks so that I could see it."
"You'd be seen with me on the street? A stinking redcoat" he imitated.
"I need the money, Grayson, and it's barely safe for women to walk the street unattended. I just thought that if you were going in the same direction . . ."
He pulled up his white breeches. "You'll have to wait for me outside Major Burke's office, but then we could go."
She smiled, handing him his vest. What better way to safely distribute her leaflets than with a uniformed British escort? Certainly, she'd sell the bloody redcoats her gingerbread, but she'd make a few stops at patriot homes on the way!
Reagan eyed the private home that served as Major Burke's headquarters. Friends of Mistress Clagget, the Rolands, owned the stately brick home, but they had fled like so many other patriot families and now resided in York with the Continental Congress. "I think I'll just wait outside," Reagan told Sterling quietly.
"Nonsense. Come in and wait in the parlor. I'll only be a minute. " He hurried up the front steps and opened the door for her. "It'll look worse, you standing there."
She looked up and down the street. People hurried along, bent on their own errands. No one seemed to notice her and her redcoat. "All right, she conceded. Clutching her basket of gingerbread, she went up and into the front hall.
Sterling closed the door behind her. "This way. " He rested his hand on her hip, steering her into the parlor.
"Thayer!" Major Burke's voice boomed from his inner office.
"Sir," Sterling answered. He pointed to the damask settle near the window, and Reagan nodded.
"You're late! Get in here!"
"Yes, sir. " Sterling winked at Reagan and disappeared into his commanding officer's office, closing the paneled door behind him.
Reagan set her basket on the floor and took a deep breath. Somehow it seemed sacrilegious to sit here in Mistress Roland's parlor and wait on her lover, the British officer.
Sighing uncomfortably, she smoothed her blue-green silk taffeta gown. Glancing out the window, she fiddled with the fine lace of the neck handkerchief tucked modestly into her bodice. She could hear Grayson's voice and that of the major.
The echo of footsteps sounded on the front step and she rose off the settle to see who was entering the major's offices.
Terror rose in Reagan's throat.
It was him. The half-breed who had murdered her father.
Indian John strolled into the parlor, coming to a halt inside the door. He removed his battered three-cornered hat and bowed stiffly. He was dressed in a tattered pair of buckskins and a torn brocade vest. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting, ma'am."
Finding her voice, Reagan half rose in anger. "I believe we have, sir. " Grayson had said there was nothing that could be done about the man. He was Major Burke's pet. Even if the major could have been convinced that the half-breed had burned Uriah Llewellyn out, it wouldn't have made a difference. Justice was a funny thing to an occupying army.
He tossed his hat onto the secretary's desk. "Nope, don't believe we have. I'd remember a face like yours. " He reached out to touch her cheek.
Reagan slapped his hand as hard as she could and he pulled back, rubbing his hand to ease the sting. "You shouldn't've done that, wench."
Tears pooled in the corners of her dark eyes she came to her feet. "You killed my father."
"You're mistaken. Must've been another man who looked like me. " His scarred face turned up a jeering smile.
"You can't get away with murder."
He was so close that she could feel his sour, hot breath on her lips. "Looks like I did, girlie. " Catching the scent of her gingerbread, he kicked at her basket on the floor with the tip of his leather boot. "What yo
u got in there?"
She reached for the basket but he was too fast for her. She lifted her gaze to stare at his eyepatch. Beneath the layers of gingerbread were two piles of leaflets. "Give them to me," she managed, tight-lipped.
He lifted the clean cloth cover, inhaling deeply. "Pretty face and the lady can cook, too. " He raised his head. "I could use some woman-flesh like you."
Reagan's cheeks burned. "Give it to me!" She grasped the basket, but he held it fast, refusing to give it up.
"Gingerbread. I want me a piece."
"Over my dead body, you bloody redskin," she hissed.
"Can talk dirty, too," Indian John quipped.
Reagan held her breath as he slipped his hand beneath the cloth. The moment he brought out a chunk of the fragrant cake, she snatched the basket from his hands. Slowly, she began to back out of the room.
"Where you goin', little lady?" He stalked her, stuffing the gingerbread into his mouth.
"If I were you, I'd mind my back," she said vehemently.
He tipped back his head in laughter.
At that moment Reagan turned and ran out into the hall, through the door, and down the front steps. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her basket clutched to her chest. Behind her she could hear her name being called, but she ran, still frightened.
"Reagan! Slow down! Wait for me!" Sterling called.
Recognizing Grayson's voice, she slowed to a walk. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.
"Are you all right?" He spun her around, holding her by the shoulders.
Reagan nodded. She trembled, more from anger than from fear. "Son of a bitch," she whispered beneath her breath. "Bastard. He killed my father and there's nothing I can do about it. He knows there's nothing I can do!"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't expect him to come in."
"He killed my father!"
"Shh, it's all right now," he soothed, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Let's get a drink. You'll feel better."
"I don't want a drink! I want to kill that man!"
"No you don't, darlin'. " I want to kill him for you, Sterling thought. "People are beginning to stare. Let's go into the Blue Boar. " He led her down the street.
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 18