Sterling watched sheepishly from the shadows of the street. He hadn't wanted to intrude on such an intimate moment between Elsa and Ethan, yet he couldn't turn back. It was necessary that he see the blacksmith tonight. Turning discreetly away, a smile came to his lips. He had suspected that they had continued to see each other, yet neither had spoken of it to him. Reagan was sure going to be furious when she found out. He turned back to the lovers who were parting in farewell. If only Reagan could see them together like this, she could never deny her sister this happiness.
Elsa hurried past Sterling. "Evening, Captain," she said as she passed him. "You and Ethan have a good meet. " She didn't appear to be surprised that he was hiding in the shadows of the street.
Sterling frowned, his forehead creasing. "God sakes, Ethan, you haven't said anything to Elsa, have you?" He walked through the blacksmith's front gate.
"You know I wouldn't do that. Elsa don't ask questions and I don't tell her anything. " He watched her disappear into a neighbor's back garden. "But Elsa, she's got smarts where others don't. She always knows what's going on, even when we don't."
Sterling shook his head. "Sometimes I think the little lady's got more upstairs than that pigheaded sister of hers."
The two men laughed, starting for the barn. "So tell me," Ethan said, touching Sterling's shoulder. "What have you got for me? Another message?"
"Yes. But it will have to be passed on by word of mouth. With that spy among us, I'm afraid to write anything. I think I've got some clues to his identity."
Ethan pushed open the barn door. "Then step right in, friend, and tell me what you've got. The word'll be to Captain Craig before dawn."
After Sterling was gone, Reagan had returned to the parlor. She had intended to finish her mending, but she'd been too restless. All she could think of was Grayson and his true identity. The cards just didn't fall into place. She was beginning to wonder if she had wanted it to be true so badly that she had warped the facts in her own mind to suit her needs. She knew full well that she was allowing her feelings to eat at her logic, and that was dangerous. Westley said she was on the edge and that she'd better take care. He'd even accused her of sympathizing with the British. Was her love for Grayson coloring her beliefs? The thought frightened her.
Staring out the window, Reagan watched people walk down Spruce Street. A carriage rattled by. Two greencoats carrying a third sang a German ditty in drunken voices as they passed by. Then Reagan spotted two redcoats. She leaned closer, pressing her nose to the thick glass. Was that Lieutenant Warrington? It was! Hadn't Grayson told her he'd been playing cards at the Blue Boar all afternoon and into the night with Warrington?
She ran down the hall and out the front door, not taking time to get a wrap. "Lieutenant Warrington!" she called.
The two men stopped and turned toward her. Reagan's face fell as she realized that it was Joshua standing beside the lieutenant.
"Reagan!" The lieutenant smiled with a familiarity that made her uncomfortable. He draped an arm over her shoulder. "Reagan dear, this is Lieutenant Joshua Litheson."
Reagan lifted her dark lashes. She had spurned Josh because he was a Tory, because he'd joined the king's troops, and now she was a redcoat's lover. She knew he knew. It seemed everyone did.
Joshua returned her gaze, and in his eyes she saw pain . . . anger. "Mistress Llewellyn and I already know each other, Charles. " His voice was cool.
How could she explain it to him? How could she tell him why she had turned down his respectable offer of marriage and now slept with the British soldier who took quarters in her home? How could she tell him that she had never loved him, never could have come to love him? How could she tell Josh that she loved Grayson beyond reason no matter who he was?
"What can I do for you, sweetness?" Charles rubbed her shoulder briskly. "It's cool out here. We're headed for the Blue Boar. Want to come?"
Reagan was slow to answer. Joshua held her attention with those dark, accusing eyes. "Um, sure. The Blue Boar it is. We could use a bottle of port. You know how Grayson likes his port. " Guiltily, she glanced over at Joshua.
"It's late for you to be on the street, Mistress Llewellyn," Joshua intoned.
"She's safe enough. The men on this street and the next know she's Thayer's. They'll keep their hands to themselves."
Reagan was beginning to think that going to the Blue Boar was a bad idea. She should have stayed at home and held onto the hope that Grayson was not a British officer instead of sticking her nose into it. But she was her father's daughter and lived by the truth, not by fantasies, however badly she needed them.
Charles and Reagan chatted as they walked to the tavern two streets over, while Joshua took up the rear in silence. Inside the tavern the three chose a table near the front. Charles said he liked to see who was coming and going. It wasn't until Reagan had sipped half of her claret that she got up the nerve to ask Charles about yesterday.
"Charles."
The officer lifted an eyebrow, watching a barmaid sashay by. He tugged at her sleeve as she passed and she squealed with laughter.
"Charles, you played cards with Grayson yesterday, didn't you?"
"Beat the breeches off me, he did. I'm surprised you're not decked out in a new gown and bonnet."
"He was here all afternoon?"
Charles took a drink of his rum. "That he was. " He looked at her. "Lord, sweetheart. You don't think he'd be seeing another wench, not with a face like yours."
Reagan blushed, but her insides tumbled, her heart fell. Perhaps it hadn't been Grayson who'd closed the hatch on the secret room. Perhaps she'd been wrong, perhaps he was nothing but what he appeared to be—a redcoat.
Joshua tipped his cup, shadowing the anger on his face.
Reagan swallowed against her rising fear and pressed forward, taking Charles's lead. "He says he isn't, but I hear tales."
"Christ, Reagan. He got here about three and we left him by your house after midnight. You happy now?"
She leaned over the table, offering her prettiest smile. She had to know the truth even if the truth wasn't what she wanted to hear. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Charlie, not even for an old friend?"
"Hell no, because if he doesn't treat you right, I'm going to take you for my own!" He glanced up at Joshua sitting off to the side of the table. "Josh was here all night, weren't you, old boy?" He snickered. "Except of course that half an hour while you were upstairs with Molly Loosedrawers—"
"Your captain was here all night," Joshua interrupted.
Numb, Reagan stumbled to her feet. They were telling the truth. She could see it in their eyes. "I . . . I have to get home."
"So soon?" Charles stood, but she was already heading for the door. "Hey, you forgot Grayson's port!"
Reagan ignored the lieutenant calling her name. She didn't see the man rise from his seat in the corner of the tavern and start for the door behind her. She had to get out of that tavern before she was suffocated by those soldiers' presence. Grayson was no patriot spy! Was she mad?
She stepped out onto the street and started for home. She felt light-headed . . . disoriented. She tried to remember all of the reasons she had thought Grayson might not be a Brit, but she couldn't think of one, not one. She had built this entire foolish hope on one silly unexplained incident. She had almost told Grayson she was the penman. Months ago she remembered him telling her he would turn her in for any wrongdoings. She didn't think he could possibly do such a thing—but she wasn't sure. The thought that she almost risked so many lives with her schoolgirl dreams was shattering. How had her love for Grayson made her so blind?
From nowhere came a hand. Reagan had heard no footsteps, but suddenly she was being pushed back against a brick wall. She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand clamped down so sharply on her lips that it knocked the wind out of her.
You! she thought wildly. It was the half-breed.
"Y'ere real smart for a wench, you know that?" Indian John brought his face
inches from hers. The scarred tissue of his flesh moved up and down as he spoke. "But you ain't as smart as I am"—he pulled her toward him and then slammed her against the wall—"bitch!"
Reagan squeezed her eyes shut, her head spinning from the force of hitting the wall.
"'Tween followin' you and that captain of yers these days, I can't hardly get time for a drink and a screw."
Reagan lifted a knee and shoved it hard into his groin. He gave a groan, cursing foully, but didn't release his iron grip on her.
"I don't know what you two are up to, but I'm workin' on it. I told you before, I don't like being bested!"
Reagan trembled, her eyes fixed on the halfbreed's leather eyepatch. When he moved quickly, pulling a knife from his belt, she stiffened but kept her gaze locked on his. She'd not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Determinedly, she narrowed her eyes, clenching her jaw beneath his hand.
Indian John held her pinned against the wall with his knee while keeping his hand over her mouth. Slowly, he took the tip of his knife and pressed it to the rise of one of her breasts. Reagan flinched as the steel bit into her. Blood stained her pale skin.
"You know, I could kill you now and be done with it. " He licked the blood from the tip of his knife. "But see, I look at this as kind of a challenge. I won't be outsmarted by a pair of tits. " He slowly began to loosen his hold on her. "So you go—"
The moment Reagan felt him let up on her, she dodged beneath his arm and took off down the empty street. Her heart pounded in her ears as she ran. Behind her she could hear the half-breed shouting.
"You go," he hollered after her. "But I'm gonna have yer ass if it's the last thing I do, woman!"
Chapter Twenty-one
Reagan pressed her cheek to the damp leather wall of the covered carriage. Grayson's deep tenor voice echoed in her ears as he called good night to a fellow officer. Rain fell rhythmically, drowning out the man's reply.
Sterling leaped into the carriage and closed the door with a resounding bump, sliding onto the narrow seat beside her. He gave a tap on the roof and the carriage lurched forward. His hand found hers in the folds of her brocaded gown and she turned to him, unable to resist a smile. "I thought you were never coming."
He kissed her bare shoulder and then covered it with the soft wool of her evening cloak. "I'm sorry. I know I told you we'd make it a short evening, but you know how that goes."
They'd attended a party given by the officers of the Grenadier Company, 64th Regiment of Foot, in honor of Major Burke's birthday. It had been a lavish event with imported delicacies, expensive French wines, and soft chamber music. It had also been a profitable evening—the flow of wine had loosened more than one tongue. Tonight Sterling had found himself only inches from discovery when General Clinton intended to move his troops out of Philadelphia and where they were bound.
Reagan sighed, holding tightly to Sterling's hand. She still couldn't believe she had almost given herself away to Grayson. She had wanted so badly to believe he was not who he appeared to be that she'd fabricated a story. She nearly laughed aloud. Imagine! Grayson a patriot spy!
Sterling lifted Reagan's hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. The thought that he would soon be forced to leave her was nearly more than he could bear. Without her there seemed to be no reason to go on. But he had given his word to his father, to his comrades who'd died on the lonely dirt banks of the Long Island Sound. He had given his pledge; his personal life was of no consequence.
"I watched you tonight. " Sterling's voice grew husky. The closer their inevitable separation became, the more obsessed he became. He couldn't get enough of Reagan and the sweet things she did to him.
"Oh?" She lifted her dark lashes. In the darkness, she felt rather than saw his smoldering gaze. Theirs was a love born on the wings of hopelessness. Each day, each hour, each moment that passed brought them closer to the end. They could sense it in each other's touch, they could taste it with each kiss.
"You're an intimidating woman, Reagan Llewellyn."
"Intimidating? How so?" Her eyes drifted shut. Enemy or not, she couldn't deny the feelings he aroused in her.
"There you stand in a circle of men," he kissed her eyelids, "speaking your mind, while the women stand back tittering behind their fans."
"My father taught me to say what I think. " She lifted her chin, allowing him to kiss the soft spot on her throat.
"Yes, but in front of the enemy?" He laughed deep in his throat. "Major Burke tells me you're a dangerous woman."
Her eyes flickered open. "Dangerous how?" She smoothed his clean-shaven cheek. With Captain Thayer as her escort she'd become dangerously bold. Her essays were being read far and wide. Her words were making an impact on the Colonies, fueling the revolution. The more obsessed Major Burke became with discovering the pamphlets, the more she produced and distributed.
"I don't know. He told me, and I quote, 'Tits and brains can be a dangerous combination'."
Their laughter filled the cramped carriage.
"Do I seem dangerous to you, Captain?"
He studied her face in the darkness. "Quite."
She brought his head down to the valley between her breasts. "Let's go home," she whispered, "and make love."
"Why wait?" Sterling dared, tugging on the strings of her brocaded bodice.
Reagan laughed. "Not in the major's carriage!"
"Why not?" With one swift motion, he lifted her into his lap, cradling her in his arms. He slid his warm hand beneath her bodice, cupping one full breast.
"Because," she breathed in his ear, "Major Burke's expecting his carriage. He only let you take me home because it was raining."
Sterling set Reagan down on the leather bench and leaned to stick his head out the door. "Driver! A tour of the city!"
Reagan pulled Sterling back in beside her. God, but she'd miss his spontaneity when he was gone. "The major will have your head," she warned, unbuttoning his uniform coat. The thought of making love in the major's carriage sent a thrill down her spine.
"Witch!" He took her mouth with his, pressing her roughly against the the leather wall of the carriage. She could taste the desperation of their love on his lips. He slipped his hand beneath her skirts and she curled instinctively against him.
He brushed the velvety flesh of her thighs and she moaned softly in his ear. She tugged at the velvet ribbon that held back his hair, releasing it in a golden curtain about his face.
"Oh, Reagie, my sweet Reagie," he whispered, stroking her. She was soft and damp and pliant beneath his fingertips. He lowered himself to his knees and lifted her yards of starched petticoats.
Reagan gave a gasp, stiffening as his mouth touched that secret place, and then she sighed, melting against the wall of the carriage. Her hands found his head and she guided him, crying out with pleasure.
When she could take no more of his silken torture, she took him by the shoulders. "Sit," she heard herself tell him.
Sterling moved to the opposite bench seat, watching through half-closed lids as he saw Reagan lower herself to the floor. She stroked the confining pristine cloth of his breeches and then began to unlace him. A moan escaped bis lips as she slipped her hands over his tumescent shaft.
"Reagan," he managed. "You ask too much of a man."
She smiled wickedly, raising up. With his hands resting on her hips, she allowed him to guide her. She straddled him and then sank down, accepting the evidence of his love deep within in her. The sound of the carriage wheels died away as she began to rock with the sway of the rolling vehicle.
Sterling and Reagan moved as one, their passion for each other hard and driving. The desperate hopelessness of their love fueled them as they strove for ultimate fulfillment while still sharing in the give and take of mutual pleasure. Higher and higher they climbed until with one great shudder of ultimate ecstasy, they fell back to earth. Tears of fulfillment rolled down Reagan's cheeks as she slumped against him, burying him in her mountains of petticoats.
"In the major's carriage," she whispered when she finally found her voice.
Sterling slid her off his lap and onto the bench beside him. His breath still came in short gasps. "I'm beginning to think you had this planned all along."
She laughed, fumbling with the ties of her bodice. "Let's go home," she whispered through the darkness. "And do it again."
When the carriage pulled up at the Llewellyn house on Spruce Street, Sterling emerged, handing down Reagan. He flipped a coin to the major's driver. He and Reagan stood in the lamplight, watching the carriage roll down the street.
He stroked her hair, brushing an auburn lock behind her ear. Though she'd straightened her clothing as best she could, she was still gloriously disheveled. Bright pink spots burned on her pale cheeks, the afterglow of their lovemaking.
"Let's go in," she urged. "I'm tired. " She was weary and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with Grayson, but tonight she had a delivery to make with Westley. He was expecting her at three. She had to get her captain to bed and asleep so that she could sneak out.
Sterling raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Odd, he thought, turning her hand in his so that the golden light of the oil lamp touched it. He'd never noticed those dark stains on Reagan's fingers before, but they seemed familiar. He kissed her fingers one at a time. What would stain her fingers black? What was that odd smell?
Reagan suddenly pulled her hand from his and hurried up the steps. "Are you coming to bed or aren't you?"
He looked up at her and smiled, feeling that familiar tightening in his groin. Her stained fingers forgotten, he took the steps two at a time. "I'll race you," he dared.
Indian John crept noiselessly along the cold brick wall of the warehouse, the steel blade of his hunting knife clenched in his teeth. Somewhere in the distance a watchman called the time in a haunting, singsong voice, "Two o'clock and all is well."
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 22