Reagan knitted her brows. "What have you been drinking?" He's acting so odd, she thought. "You smell like you've been doused in it."
He clasped her hands, bringing them around his waist. "A kiss, my love, before I shatter."
She pulled back, studying his familiarly handsome face. Something wasn't right. "Are you certain everything went all right?"
His breath was hot in her ear. "Enough talk. Kiss me."
Hesitantly, Reagan rested her hands on his broad chest and leaned to kiss him. The moment their lips touched she stiffened; her head spun in utter confusion. Holy saints in hell! This isn't Grayson!
Sterling pulled up on the reins, easing Giipa into a trot. It was twilight, that eerie time between day and night when sounds and shadows deceived even the most observant of men.
Two red-coated patrolmen rode by, saluting as they passed. Sterling returned the salute and rode on. Front Street was deserted now save for a stray cat or two and a few sailors here and there. It was Saturday night and men with a spare coin were either playing their luck at cards at a corner tavern or trying their luck with a lady. The city was buzzing with a strange energy. Everyone knew the British Army would soon evacuate Philadelphia, but only a chosen few knew when.
Sterling smiled in the semidarkness. This afternoon he'd become one of the chosen. All of these months of work had finally paid off. Now, if this contact could identify the spy, Murray, then the threat of being caught would be gone . . . or nearly gone. In his excitement, Sterling had forgotten his brother.
Yes, there was still Grayson to contend with. What was his purpose in tantalizing him like this? Playing this deadly cat-and-mouse game? If the British caught on, both of them would most likely be hanged. They would never believe that Grayson had been kidnapped and held prisoner.
No, Sterling didn't have things wrapped up here in Philadelphia. There was still Reagan. Would she come with him? The thought of having to ask made him want to reach for a stiff drink . . . a palm toddie even! He laughed to himself. Everything was going to be all right. He just knew it. He could feel it in his bones.
Sterling turned the corner at the storehouse and stared into the long, dark alley. It was wide, with an assortment of wagons, carts, and wooden crates lining the brick building walls. A lone man stood, waiting.
Sterling urged Giipa off the street and into the alley. He stopped a good distance back. "By the king's cod," he called, then waited for the password.
"We'll overcome by God," answered the man in a low gravelly voice.
Sterling gave a nod and rode in. "You wanted to see me?"
The gray-whiskered man with a bulbous red nose shook his head. "Not me, him. " He pointed to an overturned wagon.
Before Sterling could reach for the pistol in his coat, a man popped up from behind the wagon aiming two loaded matchlocks. It was the man who had been in Captain Craig's office. It was Murray.
At the same instant the barrel of a rifle pressed into Sterling's side. The man who had lured him into the alley ran off. A familiar cackle rose on the night air and Sterling turned to see Indian John. "You son of a bitch," Sterling muttered. "How did you get away?"
"A little help from me," Murray said, coming to Sterling, his pistols still aimed. He was dressed in the blue coat of one of the New England regiments. "Liberty or Death" was emblazoned across his cap. "I was asked to transport him, a few others, and myself. A pity we ran into that patrol of Hessians. We never had a chance."
Sterling rested his hands on the saddle horn, forcing them not to shake as Murray snatched Sterling's pistol from beneath his uniform coat. "How dare you wear that uniform!"
Murray laughed, throwing back his head. "How dare you wear that uniform, Captain Thayer. " He tucked Sterling's pistol into the waistband of his own breeches.
Sterling glanced over his shoulder wondering how much they knew. It sounded as if they believed he was Grayson. He knew he only had moments to live; his only regret was that he would never grow old with Reagan at his side. "So why isn't Major Burke here? No trumpets? No fanfare?"
Murray signaled to Indian John to bring Sterling down off his horse, and Indian John grasped his arm, pulling him roughly off Giipa. Sterling tumbled, his head hitting the ground, but he rolled up into a sitting position.
"We didn't know for sure who it was," Murray said, staring down at Sterling. "The major swore you were innocent. He said you were too busy trying to catch the French pox to be a spy."
Indian John lifted Sterling's cap and wig off his head with the barrel of the rifle he held. "Me, I knew you was up to something, you and that Llewellyn bitch. " He threw the cap and wig into a pile of wooden crates.
Sterling flinched. "She doesn't know anything about me."
"Right. I'd sure believe anything you had to say, Capt'n. Couldn't catch her at it, but I guess she was printin' them pamphlets all along. Mighty cozy the two of you, writin' your little essays."
Sterling glanced over his shoulder at Indian John. "You and Murray are quite a pair. Where do you get your facts? Both of you are off the mark."
"We caught you, Thayer," Murray said. "We tracked you down by way of a baker, then the blacksmith. We knew that whoever came to get information on me was the spy. " He grinned. "Now all of you are going to fall and I'm going to get myself a promotion."
Sterling felt his hands tremble. Not Reagan, not Ethan! Dear God, no! he thought. He lifted his gaze, eyeing the pistols Murray held on him. "So no one knows but the two of you that it's me?"
"Not yet they don't . . . know soon enough, though. " Indian John caught Sterling by the collar of his coat and jerked him to his feet.
"So what you're telling me is that if I kill the both of you, I'll be safe. No one will ever know."
"Bold bastard for a man who's about to turn belly-up, ain't he, Murray?"
"That he is. " Murray lifted his foot and kicked Sterling in the groin.
Sterling gave a groan, stumbling backward. Only the hold Indian John had on his coat kept him on his feet.
Indian John cackled. "You hold him now and give me chance."
"No. " Murray shook his head. "We need to get him over to the prison."
"The prison? I thought we were going to take care of him ourselves. I figured we'd get the Llewellyn bitch with him for bait. Two dogs with one stone."
"I'm not getting involved in any personal vendettas. " Murray shifted his weight. "We take him in now."
Sterling lifted his head, blinking to clear his mind. It seemed that Murray and Indian John didn't quite agree on what was to be done with him. Just the advantage Sterling could use to make an escape!
Indian John tightened his grip on the back of Sterling's scarlet coat. He was quiet for a long moment. "Nope, sorry, but that ain't what I planned," he said finally.
Sterling watched Murray's eyes narrow. "What you planned is of no interest to me, half-breed! You came along to assist, and your assistance is no longer needed. I'll take the prisoner now. Captain Burke wants his spy alive so he can have the pleasure of seeing him hang. " He waved one of his pistols.
Indian John took a step back, dragging Sterling with him. Sterling thought to try and make a break for it, but with both of them aiming primed firearms, it would be a stupid risk.
Indian John gave a grunt. "So we just tell the major that we had to kill him—got right violent, he did. " He gave Sterling a vicious shake. "Sure looks violent to me!"
"I said, release the prisoner," Murray ordered through clenched teeth.
"He's mine!"
"If you don't back off right this minute, redskin, it'll be you strung up right next to him. You understand that?"
"I understand this . . ."
Before Sterling knew what was happening, Indian John raised his rifle and fired point-blank at the spy. Simultaneously Murray fired his flintlocks.
Sterling saw a flash of light, and suddenly he was reeling backward. His left temple seared as he felt himself hit the ground. In front of him he saw Murray lying in
a pool of blood, his head blown off his shoulders.
An eerie cloud of confusion settled on Sterling's mind. Beneath him he could feel the half-breed struggling to get up. Sterling willed his own limbs to bend. He knew he had to make his escape, but his legs refused to obey. He heard the shout of a man, but it wasn't Indian John.
Then there was pounding of horses hooves. Soldiers! They were coming down the street!
Sterling felt the half-breed shove him aside and then heard him scramble to his feet. A pistol or a rifle fired again and Sterling heard the half-breed howl. Sterling blinked. He was losing focus. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly.
Suddenly there was an older gentleman leaning over him. "Grayson. " The man felt for Sterling's pulse. "Grayson, can you hear me? We've got to get you the hell out of here!"
Sterling tried to speak but no sound rose from his vocal cords. Who is this gray-haired man? he wondered, feeling oddly at peace. Somewhere in the distance he could hear gunfire and men shouting. Who was firing on the soldiers?
"Grayson! Listen to me! Hold on, boy, we'll get you to a surgeon!"
"No," a soft feminine voice said.
Sterling tried to focus. Was that Reagan? Reagie? No, this woman was dark-haired with a heart-shaped face. An angel sent from heaven to retrieve him? No, it was Elsa!
"No," Elsa repeated firmly. "No surgeon, sir."
Sterling could feel her lifting him by the shoulders. "You've got to help me get him into the wagon. Ethan and Jeremiah can't hold the soldiers off much longer."
Sterling felt himself being raised and then lowered again. He smelled damp wood and horseflesh. He could feel Elsa's soft touch on his cheek as the wagon bounced forward, and then slowly he sank into a comforting blackness.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The wheels of Reagan's mind churned as she withdrew from the stranger's kiss. If this wasn't Grayson, who was he? She looked up at him through a veil of dark lashes; her fingertips went instinctively to her lips. The man who held her in his arms was a mirror image of her Grayson. He had the same striking blue eyes, the same perfect form, and she knew that beneath his powdered wig, his hair was a glorious golden-blond. But he didn't kiss like Grayson, When Grayson's lips met hers, she felt his love radiate through her. This man tasted of pure lust.
She lowered her gaze, not wanting the imposter to realize he'd been found out. A conversation she had with Grayson months ago while ice-skating replayed in her mind. A brother. He'd said he had a brother . . . a patriot brother. What was his name?
The stranger caressed her cheek.
Sterling! That's what Grayson had said his name was! She met the stranger's gaze. Was this Sterling? It had to be. Why hadn't Grayson told her he and his brother were twins? Because his brother hadn't died at Long Island! That was why!
She smiled at Sterling. "I'm ready to go home if you are," she whispered huskily. She didn't know what game Sterling and Grayson played, but this was not the place to find out.
Grayson's mouth turned up in a handsome smile. "Sounds like an invitation I couldn't possibly turn down. Let me just say a few hallos and then we'll be on our way, lover."
"Now," she said softly, covering her fear with the sound of desire in her voice. "I want to go home now."
His grin turned to a smirk. "If you insist. " Lusty wench, he thought to himself. It seemed he was in for a treat. Not only would he take his revenge on Sterling, but he'd get a good lay in the process!
"Let's go out the back way."
"Out the back?" He lifted a blond eyebrow. "How will we call a rig?"
"Let's walk," she insisted, leading him down a set of stairs off the balcony and into the garden behind the major's residence.
"Walk!" He scoffed. "It'll ruin the finish on my new shoes!"
That sounded like something Grayson might say. But Reagan always had the feeling that Grayson was putting on a show when he made such silly comments. This man who walked beside her was serious!
She laughed aloud, knowing she mustn't let "Sterling" know she knew who he was, not yet. "Oh, come on. The exercise will do us good. " She smoothed his coat sleeve. "It'll give us energy."
Grayson gave a chuckle. "Sounds like I have quite a night ahead of me. " His voice was low and filled with sensual overtones.
"Quite a night, indeed. I can promise you that, Captain!"
Once they reached Reagan's home, she led him in the front hall. The house was quiet and dark.
Grayson grabbed her around the waist, kissing her bare neck, but she managed to maneuver away from him. "You go upstairs and I'll get a lamp," she whispered.
"Up-upstairs?"
She smiled in the semidarkness. He was so much like Grayson, yet so different. "To your room, of course."
Grayson found the thought of bumbling around in the dark looking for his brother's room rather unappealing. "Why . . . why don't you come with me, sugar?"
She chuckled to herself. Just how would he find the right room in the dark? "No, you go first and get things ready. You know the way I like it. " She paused and then looked up at him. The yellow-white light of the streetlamp shadowed his face. "Be sure and take everything off—except the cap."
Grayson cleared his throat. "The cap?" His hand went to the fur-trimmed grenadier cap perched on his head. What kind of woman had Sterling hooked up with?
She smiled seductively. "The cap, of course. " Giving a wink, she went down the hallway, leaving him to find his way upstairs alone.
In the kitchen Reagan lit an oil lamp. She didn't know what was going on here, and though she felt she was in control of the situation, she was frightened. Where was Grayson? Captured? A pang of sympathy flowed through her veins. She prayed he hadn't been hurt.
The question was, what was Sterling up to? Did he mean to trade places and infiltrate the British Army? That had to be it! He meant to step in and take Grayson's place as a captain in the British Army and in her bed as well! How dare he! If this was a decision made by the Continental Army, then she should have been informed!
She glanced at the flintlock rifle that leaned in the corner of the kitchen. That wouldn't do, too obvious. After a moment's hesitation, she slipped into Nettie's room in the lean-to off the kitchen. Locating the old housekeeper's sewing box, she dug through the fabric scraps to the bottom and was rewarded by the feel of cold metal. She lifted the ancient matchlock pistol out of the box. It was primed and ready to fire.
Minutes later, Reagan stood outside Sterling's bedchamber door, the lamp in one hand, the pistol in the other. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. She set the lamp on the table near the door, tucking the hand she held the pistol in behind her back.
A smile rose on her lips when she caught sight of Grayson. He was standing stark-naked in the corner of the room . . . save for the bearskin grenadier cap on his blond head.
"This is what you wanted?" He spread his arms, offering his most seductive smile.
Reagan's eyes narrowed. "More or less. " She pulled the pistol from behind her back and waved it toward the chair. "Now have a seat."
He laughed uncomfortably, eyeing the pistol. She was kidding, right? "This . . . this is how you like it?"
"I said, sit down!"
Grayson took the seat quickly, crossing his legs as if he protect his vital parts. He'd never realized his brother had a taste for this sort of thing! The girl played the part well, though. She actually had him rattled! He wondered if she intended to tie him to the bedposts. "Now what?" He tried to sound causal as if he always made love to fully clothed women while they held a gun on him.
"Now start talking."
"Talking, madame?"
She came to stand a few feet from him. "Yes, talking. " Anger rose in her voice. "And it had better be fast and good because I'm not a good shot. Instead of hitting you in the head or the chest, I might accidentally hit lower. You catch my meaning?"
Grayson blinked. He looked at her face, then the pistol, then her face again. Slowly he reached for his cap on his
head and lowered it to his lap. "Yes, I catch your meaning there. What I don't catch is the rest. What should I talk about?"
"Don't play coy with me! I want to know what's going on here! I want to know where the hell Grayson is!"
So she didn't know Sterling's true identity! A lazy smile worked its way across his face. Damn, but this redhead was a ball of fire! She was obviously too much of a woman for Sterling . . . definitely more his own type. "How did you know I wasn't Grayson?"
"Because you're a lousy kisser!"
His smile fell. "Gads, love, no one's ever complained before!"
She shook the pistol. "I want to know what you've done with Grayson. If you've hurt him, so help me, I'll string you up! I should have been notified you were making some sort of exchange! You had no right to try and take advantage of me like this!"
"It was all in jest. " He spread his hands, then catching sight of the pistol lowered them to the grenadier cap on his lap again. "But I don't know where my dear brother, Grayson is. I thought he was supposed to be at the ball. I was hoping to meet up with him there."
Reagan's eyes went round. "You mean you didn't have him picked up?" Her hand fell to her side. "Oh, God, he said he was in trouble, you don't suppose something could have happened to him?"
Grayson moved slightly, and she lifted the pistol again.
He threw up his hands. "Easy, easy, girl. Where was he going when you dropped him off at the blacksmith's?"
"You followed us?"
"Where was he going?"
"I . . . I don't know. " Her dark eyes met his. It was such a strange feeling to stand there looking at Grayson, knowing it wasn't him. "He said it was business. It's what he always says."
Grayson started to stand up and she stepped back, taking aim.
"Look, Reagan, can I at least put my breeches on? It's difficult for a man to think clearly exposed like this."
She hesitated, sizing him up. "You meant to take advantage of me."
"My apologies. " He stood cautiously. "I meant you no harm. This is between Sterling and me."
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 28