Sterling nursed his jaw, staring at Reagan in shock. She'd hit him! Goddamnit! she'd nearly knocked him over!
Gaining momentum, Reagan slammed her palms against his chest, pushing him backward. "You don't think it tore me up inside to know that I was betraying my father, my friends, my new country by sleeping with you . . . by loving you. But I couldn't help it, you worthless son of a bitch. I couldn't help it! I loved you!" Tears ran down her cheeks, falling to dampen the torn bodice of her gown. "I hate myself for it, but by God I love you!" she cried.
Reagan's breasts heaved breathlessly up and down as she stared into Sterling's blue eyes. Suddenly her lower lip began to tremble and, against her iron will, she burst into tears again. Embarrassed, she turned and ran, up the ladder that led to the carriage house.
Sterling stood stunned for a moment, watching her shimmy up the ladder. It wasn't until she disappeared through the hatch that he started after her. "Reagan! Reagan!" he shouted. He climbed up the ladder, amazed to find himself in the carriage house.
Spotting Reagan running for the door, he took off after her. "Wait!" he cried. "Christ, will you wait, Reagan?"
She ran like a frightened animal, scrambling for the door. He caught her around the waist and she screamed, pounding him with her fists. "I hate you," she shouted. "I hate you for saying those things!"
Sterling ducked, trying to avoid her blows. She kicked and clawed at him until he lifted her off her feet and dropped her into a pile of straw on the floor and threw himself on top of her.
"Let me go!" she shouted, her struggle starting anew.
Sterling pinned her wrists to the ground above her head, amazed by her strength. "I'm sorry, Reagan," he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things. " He wanted so badly to tell her who he was, but he didn't dare. Not after tonight. After the hornet's nest they stirred up tonight he'd be lucky if he lived to get out of Philadelphia. He couldn't risk telling her, not now. "I was so damned scared for you."
Reagan ceased to struggle. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears that still ran down her cheeks. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn't mean to love you," she cried.
"Shh," he soothed, kissing her neck. "I know you didn't, sweetheart."
"I didn't want to love you. You're the enemy. Papa told me you were the enemy. I knew it. I just couldn't help it. " She lifted her wet lashes. "No man has ever made me feel inside the way you make me feel."
Sterling drew her into his arms, his own eyes beginning to water. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I understand."
"No. " She clung to him. "You don't understand what it's like to be torn in two like this. I love you, I love you more than life, but I was committed."
Commitment, Sterling closed his eyes, burying his face in her sweet, damp hair. If only she knew. Because of his commitment to the patriot cause, he couldn't give her, his beloved, any commitment, no promise of happiness, or even a future together. His days ahead were too uncertain.
"He didn't hurt you, did he," Sterling crooned, smoothing her hair against her cheek. "Tell me Indian John didn't hurt you."
"He didn't hurt me. " She closed her eyes against the flood of memories . . . the sight of the halfbreed's leering scarred face . . . the smell of his rancid breath on her cheek. "You caught him, I guess. He's dead, isn't he?"
Sterling brushed his lips against her trembling ones. "He's dead, sweetheart," he lied. "He can never harm you again. " At least that was the truth. Captain Craig had promised he'd be imprisoned somewhere far from Philadelphia, far from Reagan. But Sterling couldn't tell her that he'd taken him to his commanding officer . . . one of General Washington's own.
Reagan reached out to stroke Sterling's stubbled chin. "I hit you hard," she said quietly.
"That doesn't sound like an apology. " He kissed her gently, bringing a hand up to caress the soft curve of her breast. How could he have accused her of scheming like that? How could he have accused her of not loving him? No one had ever looked at him with such love in her eyes.
"That's because it wasn't. " She stirred under him, brushing her hips against his. This was madness! This man was the enemy! He held her life in his hands and all she could think of was touching him, being touched. "You deserved it," she went on, her voice growing husky. "You called me a whore."
"No," he whispered in her ear. "Never that."
"Are you going to turn me in?" she asked, finally gaining the courage.
"For hitting me?" he teased, tickling the lobe of her ear with his tongue. "No, I don't think so."
She grasped a handful of his blond hair. "Don't make this any harder for me. For the pamphlets. Are you going to tell Major Burke that I'm the penman."
He slipped his hand beneath her petticoats. "No."
"Why not?"
"What kind of animal do you think I am?" He left a trail of kisses down her throat to the swell of her breasts. He kissed the reddened spot where Indian John's teeth had marred her skin. "He did this to you," Sterling asked angrily.
"I'm all right. " She held his face between her palms. "Why aren't you going to turn me in?" she whispered.
"Hush your mouth and love me," he crooned. "I came too close to losing you last night. Love me, Reagie."
Later, when their passion was spent, the two sat on the floor of the carriage house, one across from the other, regarding each other speculatively. Their relationship had taken a new turn, one that would take some time to adjust to. "I've got to get to the Blue Boar," he told her, plucking a piece of straw from her hair. "That'll be the best place to hear what's happened to Westley's body. If anyone knows what happened after you got away last night, it'll be somebody at the Blue Boar."
She shook her mane of bright, tangled curls, running her fingers through it. "I'll go with you. It'll only take me a minute to get ready."
"No. " He shook his head. "Absolutely not."
She narrowed her dark eyes. "Don't be a fool. Everyone is used to seeing us together. Nothing will look out of place. I have to hear for myself."
"Reagie," he clasped her hand, "this is no child's game. We're talking about the hangman's noose here—you and I both if the major finds out I aided your escape."
She stood, brushing the straw from her striped petticoats. "I can be ready in ten minutes. We'll have dinner so that we can sit and listen a while."
He laughed, getting up. "You're the most pigheaded woman I've ever met. I said you're staying here."
"And I said I'm going, with you—or alone. It's up to you. I just thought we'd be safer going together. That way nothing will appear out of the ordinary."
"It's too dangerous."
"I can't just sit here and wait for the red-and greencoats to come knocking on my door. " She went to the hatch in the floor of the carriage house and went down the ladder. A moment later her head popped out again. "Are you coming?"
Sterling gave an exasperated groan and followed her back into the printing-press room. He closed the door overhead and locked it soundly. She had already taken the lamp and was hurrying down the narrow passageway that led into the cellar. He grabbed his rifle and ran to catch up. He stepped into the cellar and watched her close the door behind him. "Amazing," he murmured. He ran his fingers over the cracks in the mortared wall. "If I didn't know what I was looking for, I'd never have found it."
"Let's go, Grayson. " Reagan lifted the lamp and stepped back to let him lead the way.
"As soon as it looks safe, we'll get down here and start dismantling the press and carry it off."
Reagan gave a snigger, falling into step behind him. "Dismantle it, hell," she murmured under her breath. As long as he wasn't going to turn her in, she was going to keep printing her pamphlets!
An hour later, Sterling entered the Blue Boar tavern with Reagan on his arm. She'd changed into her green lutestring gown and added a honey-colored caraco jacket. Sterling had bathed and allowed her to tend the wound on his arm. He was dressed immaculately as alw
ays, sporting his scarlet uniform coat, white breeches and vest, and impressive grenadier cap.
Sterling led her to a far table and she sat on the far bench, her back to the wall so that she could see who came and went. He slid in beside her, and made an event of placing his cap on the trestle table.
A moment later a barmaid came to the table. She looked at Sterling, seeming to recognize him. "What can I get fer ye, Captain?" She ignored Reagan, grinning shyly.
Intent on watching the public room, Sterling didn't even look up. "Just a bottle of port for now."
The girl gave a nod, but remained at the table-side, squirming. "I . . . I wanted to thank ye fer the coin, sir."
Sterling frowned, growing annoyed. The girl was blocking his view of the steps that led to the second floor. "What coin are you talking about?"
She blushed. "You know, from the other night. I'm Sally Morris. It weren't here. " She leaned forward, baring her pockmarked breasts as she lowered her voice. "I jest work at Miss Kate's on Saturday nights. I got a man an' three babes to feed. You was so nice to pay even though I couldn't do exactly what you wanted."
Reagan turned to watch Sterling's reaction, listening intently for his reply.
"I don't have the foggiest idea what you speak of, girl. You obviously have me confused with another fellow. Now could you get the port?"
The barmaid chewed her lip in indecision, then looking up at Reagan, she bobbed a curtsy and scurried off.
Reagan laid her hand on Sterling's arm. "What was that all about?" She kept her voice even.
He glanced at her. "I said I don't know. She obviously has me confused with someone else. There are a few of us here in the city, you know."
Reagan arched an eyebrow. "You swore you'd not whore on me, Grayson Thayer."
He took her hand, rubbing it and then kissing her palm. "And I haven't. Look at these eyes. Are these the eyes of a lying man?"
Reagan studied his face. If he was lying, he was damned good at it. She pulled her hand from his. "All right, Captain. I'll take your word on it, but I swear, I catch you, and I'll cut off that bit of anatomy of yours that we're both rather fond of."
Sterling threw back his head in laughter. The funniest thing was that he believed her! He draped an arm over her shoulder. What would his days be like when she was gone? He couldn't bring himself to think about it.
The barmaid appeared again with a bottle of port and two glasses. Setting them on the table, she glanced cautiously about the room and then slid a piece of foolscap across the table. "For you, Captain?"
Sterling took the paper, turning it in his hand. It was sealed with an unfamiliar family coat of arms pressed into the wax. "From whom?"
The girl shrugged. "Don't know, sir. The barkeep tol' me to deliver it."
Sterling pressed a half penny into the maid's hand and she curtsied, took a step back, and then curtsied again before she turned away. The moment she was gone, he broke the seal on the message. He read it quickly and then tucked it into his coat.
Reagan's stomach knotted. "What? What does it say? Who is it from?"
Sterling shook his head, his face grave. "I don't know. All it says is for me to lay low for the next few days. " He didn't tell her that it also said that Murray was close. Murray the British spy.
"And you don't know who it's from?"
"No. It's signed with a 'C. ' Nothing more."
Reagan reached for the open bottle of port and poured him a healthy dose. "Drink up and then we'll go. Everything's quiet here. I've not heard a word about Westley's body or the pamphlets. If there's anything to hear it will be in Major Burke's office tomorrow morning. " Her eyes sought his. "I think we're safe enough. The axe would have fallen by now."
Sterling lifted his glass to his lips, taking her hand in his. "I hope so, sweet," he whispered. "I sure as hell hope so."
Chapter Twenty-three
"Thayer!" Major Burke bellowed from inside his office. "Get in here, boy!"
Sterling bounced up off the settle in the parlor and hurried through the door. He saluted smartly. "Yes, sir. I'm here, sir."
Major Burke pushed back from his oak desk. "Shut the door," he ordered, returning the salute.
"Yes, sir. " Sterling closed it, returning his gaze to the major. If possible, he seemed thinner than he had been a few months ago when Sterling had first come to Philadelphia. His oversize powdered wig now dominated his painfully narrow face and sunken cheeks. Duty this winter in the confines of the city had obviously taken a toll on his health. "What can I do for you, sir? Those reports are almost done."
The major slapped two sheets of paper on his desk. "Bills, Thayer! God damn it to hell, can't you keep out of trouble?"
"Bills, sir?"
"It seems there's an establishment by the name of Miss Kate's over off Vine and Fourth. According to the lady, and I use that term lightly, who owns the place, you got into a brawl with a sailor over some little 'poxbox' and broke," he began to read off the list, "two twelve-paned windows, a caned chair, a Venetian beveled mirror, and two glass oil lamps, and you apparently stained a Turkey carpet with blood before being tossed out on your ear. " He tossed the slip of paper, letting it sail through the air.
Sterling caught it in midair.
"And this one," the major went on, "is from some whorehouse down by the docks. "Mattilda's, I believe. Only one window, which I must say is commendable, but two tables, a bedstead, and a vase from the Orient. Before that brawl, you and your companions apparently consumed five roasted ducks, four pails of oysters, three pigeon pies, and twelve bottles of port!" He looked up. "All of which must be paid for!"
Sterling caught the second paper, glancing over it in disbelief. "Major," Sterling shook the second slip of foolscap. "I stand falsely accused. Look, sir. This is dated the night of your birthday party. It says ten o'clock. If recall correctly, sir, I was rolling dice at your birthday fete."
The major frowned, crossing his arms over his pressed coat. "That you were, weren't you? So what do you make of it?"
"I . . . I don't know, sir. I just know it wasn't me."
"Some ambitious tavernkeeper trying to cash in on your reputation, I suppose. Which reminds me. Where the blast did you take my carriage? I stood in the rain for fifteen minutes waiting to be taken home!"
"I just returned the lady to her residence, sir, as you instructed."
Major Burke sighed, running a hand over his wig. White hair powder rose in clouds above his head. "All right, Thayer, onto the next matter. " He snatched a folded sheet of paper off his desk and thrust it in Sterling's hand. Sterling immediately recognized it as one of Reagan's political pamphlets. "We had a mess on Dock Street two nights ago. Two wagons found, a dead body, and two crates of this confounded triteness. We found the body of an old man a few blocks away. No identification on them of course."
Sterling lifted a blond eyebrow.
"I thought you were on this, boy! You told me that Llewellyn man was printing this trumpery. What's he done, Thayer, come back from the dead?"
"No witnesses, sir?"
"I had men question up and down the street, but it's mostly warehouses. No one saw or heard a thing. " He slammed his fist on the desk. "No one ever hears or sees anything!"
Sterling treaded carefully. "The horses and wagons couldn't be traced?"
"I haven't got that far. I was going to put the half-breed on it, but so far he hasn't shown up. You think you can take a little time from your busy social calendar to look into it?"
Sterling never flinched at the mention of Indian John. "Yes, sir. I can take care of that. I'll check all of the livery stables first."
"You do that and then report back to me. I'll free you from your other duties if you swear to me you'll get on this right away. I want to see you by the week's end with some solid information. The general's breathing down my back on this, Thayer. I want the penman found before we move out of the city!"
Sterling rested his hand on the doorframe. "So you think we'll be m
oving out soon?"
Major Burke lifted a goose quill pen from an inkwell and began to scrawl across a document. "General Clinton has already got ships on the way," he said absently. "We've got to do something with the citizens who want out of the city before we turn it back over to the rebels."
Sterling nodded. "I'll see you by the week's end, sir. " He saluted and then strode out of the office heaving a heavy sigh of relief. A miracle, he mused. He and Reagan were safe . . . at least for the time being.
Reagan hurried down the street, her arm wrapped around Sterling's. On the other arm swung a basket of fragrant gingerbread. A mockingbird soared overhead, screeching as it dove for a scrap of apple on the street. "So turn me in," Reagan said calmly. She nodded to two green-coated Hessian officers passing by.
"Reagan, you're not being reasonable. " Sterling tried to keep his voice low. "You can't expect me to be able to protect you."
"I don't want you to protect me. All I ask is that you keep quiet and pretend you know nothing more than you knew a week ago."
"You make it sound so simple. " They stopped for a passing carriage and then crossed the street. "But it's not. Major Burke wants to know who the penman is. He wants answers and I've got to come up with some."
She bunched her quilted yellow petticoats to step over an open drain that ran sewage into the street. "Stall. Give him a few nibbles. Identify Westley if you have to. He had no family. He had no place of residence. Major Burke won't be able to find any evidence against anyone else."
"He must have lived somewhere."
"Lived somewhere, of course," she admitted. She glanced up at him from beneath her straw bonnet, secured under her chin with a yellow grosgrain bow. "But he was never in one place very long. He liked to keep the authorities guessing."
"Just what did Westley do for you Continentals?"
She tightened her grip on Sterling's arm thinking that she would never get used to the sight of the scarlet coat he wore. "He dabbled in this and that."
"You've done it again."
"Done what?"
She smiled at him, but he resisted the urge to smile back. This was all a game to her! The danger didn't seem to daunt Reagan. God, but he admired her. Few men would have had the guts to do what she'd been doing on her own these past months. If possible, he loved her even more for it. But it had to stop. The pamphlets weren't worth losing her life over. He tightened his grip on her arm. "Changed the subject of course. You've been doing it all week."
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 24