"Sterling?" Her brow creased. "I thought you were Sterling."
He took a deep breath, slowly reaching for his white uniform breeches folded neatly over the back of the chair. "I hadn't meant for things to get this sticky."
"Sticky!" Reagan exploded.
A sudden bang of the front door downstairs drew both of their attentions.
"Reagie!" Elsa cried frantically from below. "Reagie! Come quick."
"Elsa?" She turned and ran out of the bedchamber. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached the upper staircase landing. Below, Ethan, the blacksmith was carrying Grayson into the house. Both men were covered in blood. Elsa led the way. A middle-aged, gray-haired gentleman followed, closing the door behind them. Reagan recognized him in an instant. It was the man who'd saved her from the redcoats so many months ago!
Breaking from her daze, Reagan flew down the steps. Grayson followed behind, barefoot and bare-chested, tugging on his breeches. Ethan and the gray-haired man stared at Grayson, then at the unconscious Sterling, then back at Grayson again.
"Oh, is he still alive?" She laid her hand on Sterling's ashen cheek.
His eyelids fluttered. "Reagie," he breathed.
She pressed her lips to his. "You stinking redcoat, what have you done to yourself?" she demanded softly.
Sterling looked up at Ethan, fighting against a black void. "The message, did you send it?"
Ethan nodded. "Our commander-in-chief will have it in hours."
Elsa grabbed Reagie's arm. "We've got to get him downstairs, Sister. " She glanced up at Grayson, just noticing him. "Look at him, he looks just like the captain. " Her gaze went back to Reagan's stricken face. "The soldiers'll probably not be far behind, we've got to hurry."
"Elsa, you're moving too fast for me! What happened? What do you mean downstairs? What soldiers?"
"Your secret room, Sister. We'll take him there. The redcoats, of course, you didn't really think he was on their side, did you?"
Reagan was so light-headed that for a moment she thought she might faint. But Elsa pushed her way down the hall and everyone followed her into the kitchen, including Reagan, not daring to question Elsa's authority. Elsa snatched a lamp, lit it, and started for the cellar door. "Ethan. You have to get rid of the wagon. Give the captain to him, he can carry him. " She pointed to Grayson.
"I have to talk to him," the gray-haired man said.
"Your business will have to wait, Mr. Carleton."
Reagan watched the exchange between the two men, dumbfounded.
Grayson turned to the middle-aged gentleman. "So you're Carleton!"
"That I am, but who's—"
Elsa lifted a finger, interrupting the two men. "Right now, you get me hot water and clean cloths to bind the wound, Mr. Carleton. You can talk later when the captain's been taken care of."
Ethan passed Sterling into his brother's arms and gave a wave. "I'll hide the wagon and be back as soon as it's safe."
Elsa was already starting down the steep wooden steps. "And Mr. Carleton . . ." she called over her shoulder.
"Yes."
"Liquor, sir. Rum, whiskey, whatever you can find in the captain's room upstairs. The wound's going to have to be stitched."
Carleton removed his cloak and tossed it onto a kitchen chair. "I'll bring blankets to lay him on."
Giving a nod, Elsa led Grayson down the steps and through the dark chambers. Reagan followed numbly behind. When they reached the far back wall, Elsa stepped aside. "You'll have to open it, Sister, I don't know how."
Reagan swung open the door. "I . . . I didn't know you knew this was here, Elsa."
"You never asked me. " She stepped past Reagan. "Bring him this way, sir," she told Grayson.
Inside, Elsa lit the lamp that hung from the ceiling, filling the small whitewashed room with bright light.
Grayson knelt, lowering his brother to the floor. "Sterling," he murmured, his face etched with concern. "You hanging in there, old boy?"
Sterling opened his eyes, then smiled. "You son of a bitch," he managed good-naturedly. His speech was slightly slurred. "What are you doing here?"
Reagan fell to her knees. "I don't understand what's happening here. " She looked at Sterling. "Your name's not Grayson?"
Sterling licked his dry lips. "No"—he managed to lift a hand—"he is. I . . . I'm Sterling."
Reagan wiped his face with the corner of her green silk petticoat. "If you weren't already half dead, I think I'd kill you."
He laughed weakly. It felt so good to hear Reagan's voice, to feel her touch. He had thought sure he was a dead man. "I suppose you're going to want an explanation."
She sat down, lifting his head so that it rested on her thigh. "Damned straight. " She held her cream silk skirting against the wound on the side of his head. His beautiful blond hair was stained red with blood. "But right now, I just want you to shut your mouth while we clean you up. " Her words were harsh, but her voice was soft and soothing.
The man called Carleton appeared and Elsa moved about busily. When she knelt beside Sterling's head, she held a needle and thread and a bottle of whiskey.
"Captain . . ." Elsa said quietly. "You have a bad head wound. The bullet went along your skull and cut the skin. You've got a big piece here that has to be sewn."
Sterling nodded. "Sew, then."
"First have a good drink. " Elsa touched his lips with the rim of the whiskey bottle and he took a sip.
Reagan looked at Elsa. "You want me to do it?"
Elsa shook her head. "No. You just sit there, Sister. You don't look like you feel good."
Reagan nodded, taking Sterling's sticky hand. She was amazed that the head wound could have caused so much blood.
With the first stitch, Sterling stiffened, Reagan went green. With the second, he relaxed slightly, but kept his jaw tense. Reagan swayed. On the third stitch, she jumped up and ran from the room.
Reagan rested her head on the cool wall of the cellar chamber. When Grayson walked up behind her, she barely glanced up. She thought sure she was going to be sick.
"Are you all right?" He laid a hand on her shoulder, then withdrew it awkwardly. It was obvious to him in the other room that this brave young woman and his brother were deeply in love.
"I'm fine," Reagan managed.
"Did you tell him?"
"Tell him what?"
"That you're breeding?"
She took another deep breath, holding her stomach. "Don't be silly. Women are supposed to faint at the sight of blood."
Grayson chuckled, his voice reverberating in the small, dark chamber. "Not women who tell men to strip their drawers and then hold guns on them."
Reagan closed her eyes. "I really don't want to have this conversation with you, whatever your name is. " It wasn't until this moment that she'd finally admitted to herself that she might be carrying Grayson . . . Sterling's child.
"Grayson."
She looked up. "What?"
"My name is Grayson."
She crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her gaze to meet his. Light from the printing room shone across his face. "So who's actually Captain Thayer of the Grenadier Company, Grayson or Sterling?"
Grayson took a deep breath. "Actually, neither of us, madame."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Reagan looked up at Grayson. "Now I'm really confused," she said softly.
"You think it's safe to tell her?" The gray-haired gentleman intervened from the doorway.
Grayson twisted his bare foot on the dirt floor. "Christ, I don't see why not, Carleton. She's into it up to her teeth. I'd say she's been damned good about the whole thing."
Reagan looked from one man to the other. Her nausea had passed and her head was clearer. "I'd say I deserve an explanation. A full explanation. Everyone seems to know what's going on but me!"
Grayson eyed Carleton, and the man shrugged. "Be my guest, Grayson. You are Grayson, the man I hired?"
Grayson broke into a grin, nodding formall
y. "That I am, sir, and it's good to finally meet you. I'm just sorry my brother made such a mess of things. " He clasped the gentlemen's hand.
Reagan gave a snort, dropping her hands to her hips. "Can we make introductions later? I'm waiting for my explanation. What do you mean, neither of you is Grayson Thayer? You just said you were him."
"No, what I said, madame, was that neither of us was actually Captain Grayson Thayer of the Grenadier Company."
She lifted her hands, shaking her head in utter confusion. "I'm still lost."
"I am Grayson Thayer, but I'm not—"
A loud, insistent pounding upstairs startled them.
"Oh, God, soldiers," Reagan breathed. "They've come to get him!" She lifted her petticoats and ran through the dark cellar, headed for the stairs.
"You stay here, Carleton, and keep them quiet," Grayson ordered over his shoulder as he ran after Reagan.
Reagan stepped into the kitchen and Grayson slammed the door behind them, throwing the lock. The pounding continued on the front door.
"Open up," a man shouted. "Open now or we break in the door!"
Reagan's hands flew to her cheeks. "What do I do?"
Grayson grabbed her hands. "Calm down, love. Now listen to me. They're looking for a man with a head wound. " He touched his forehead. "I've no wound. Just play along with me."
"All right. I can do that. I just pretend you're Grayson. " She looked up at him anxiously. "Of course you are, but I have to pretend you're—"
Grayson laughed. "You've got it, love. " He caught her hands, studying her attire. But this won't do. You've got entirely too many clothes on."
Reagan's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon, sir!"
The pounding on the front door started again.
"Look at me. " He spread his arms. "I've nothing but my breeches on. We have to be able to convince these knaves that we've been too busy to be participating in any kind of ruckus."
Reagan's cheeks colored, but already she was turning around to let him unlace her bodice. "Oh, thank God you thought of this," she murmured as she stood while he pulled her gown over her head. "My skirting is covered in blood!"
Grayson balled up the heavy cream silk gown and flung it through the door to the lean-to. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall. "God's bowels," he shouted as they passed the front door. "Can you hold a moment?"
He stopped at the staircase and began to unbutton his breeches. "Run up to the landing and just peek around the corner," he ordered.
Reagan obeyed. When she reached the polished case clock on the landing, she looked back at Grayson. He was running a hand through his blond hair to tousle it as he slid the bolt on the front door. "Saints in hell!" he cried. "What is it you want?" He swung open the door.
It was Major Burke himself, still dressed for the ball. "Thayer?" The major took a step back, startled.
Grayson lifted a blond eyebrow. It was obvious this officer knew him . . . knew Sterling. "Sir?"
The major glanced over his shoulder. There were six uniformed soldiers standing behind him, weapons drawn. Another ten were mounted out on the street. "Good God, Nellers! I thought you said this was our man!"
A young soldier stepped forward, blinking as his eyes grew accustomed to the lamplight in the front hall.
"I . . . I thought sure it was, sir."
"I thought you said he had a massive head wound!"
The young man stared at Grayson. "He . . . he did, sir. I saw him in the alley just before I went for reinforcements."
The major caught a glimpse of Reagan standing on the landing, half hidden by the railing. He slipped his pistol back into the red sash of his uniform. "Does that look like a man with a futtering head wound, Nellers?"
"No, no, sir, it doesn't. But there was a woman, too."
The major exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. "Mayhap that woman, Nellers?" He pointed to Reagan on the staircase.
The man squinted. "No, no sir. I don't think so. This woman was dressed and she had dark hair. I don't remember exactly what she looked like, but that's not her."
Grayson leaned on the polished doorknob, taking in the conversation. "Obviously a mistaken identity," he glanced at Burke's insignia, "Major. You were looking for one of your own men?"
"Goddamn you all straight to hell! I'm sick of your incompetence!" The major glanced up at Grayson. "Well, don't just stand there. Get out of the doorway before I have you arrested for indecency!"
"Does that mean you're through with me?"
Reagan nearly giggled. This was just how Grayson . . . Sterling acted with the major. She wondered who was copying whom.
"Yes, I'm through, but I want you in my office tomorrow morning by seven."
"It's Sunday, sir. I've church to attend."
"Don't give me that horseshit, Thayer. You be there tomorrow. I lost a man tonight who supposedly had some damned important information for me. I guess I'll have to put you on it. You're the least incompetent in a sea of incompetence."
"Yes, sir. Tomorrow then."
The major turned and went down the stoop steps, the soldiers following behind him. The front door closed, and Reagan gave a squeal of delight as she came racing down the stairs. She threw herself into Grayson's arms, hugging him. "You did it," she breathed. "He's safe!"
Grayson laughed. "Now let's get you a wrap and go see how that brother of mine is faring."
Downstairs, Reagan and Grayson found Sterling resting comfortably on a makeshift bed on the floor.
Elsa rose when they entered the secret room. "Is it all safe?"
Reagan smiled. "Grayson took care of the soldiers. They'll not be back tonight."
"Well, I'm going to make the captain some tea. Just make sure he lies still."
Reagan watched her sister gather some bloody rags off the printing press and then leave the room. When she was gone, Reagan knelt. "Hey, there," she whispered, brushing back a lock of Sterling's damp hair. Elsa had cleansed and sewn the wound, then bound it with clean strips of flannel.
"Hey there," Sterling answered weakly. "I'd get up, but I think I'd fall flat on my face."
She took his hand, rubbing it between hers. "If you got up, I'd knock you on your face."
Grayson chuckled, kneeling beside her. "Tough wench you've got here. She just scared off a regiment of redcoats."
Sterling raised a hand to rub his eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't invite them in. " He blinked, suddenly aware that Grayson was bare-chested and wearing nothing but his breeches. Reagan was in her nightrobe, but it was obvious she was wearing her shift and corset beneath it. "What the hell are you doing, Grayson? Where're your clothes?" He looked at Reagan. "And where are yours?"
Reagan looked at Grayson, then back at Sterling. "Can you blame me? I thought he was you."
Sterling's mouth dropped open. "Jesus, Grayson, you didn't."
Grayson went along with Reagan's little game. "You shouldn't have had me locked up in that fort. " He waggled a finger. "I had nothing but corn-pone and bad ale to sustain me for months! I never thought I'd lay eyes on a palm toddy again!"
Sterling squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. "I never meant for all of this to get so complicated. I just wanted to do the right thing for the country."
"Heroism is terrific, Sterling, I just wish you'd checked to be sure which side I was on first."
Sterling's eyes widened "What?" He looked at Reagan. "What's he talking about?"
She shrugged. "I'm the last person to ask. " She added sarcastically, "But Elsa probably knows. She's figured everything else out."
Sterling raised up from his bed on the floor. His gaze met his brother's and he saw his own eyes looking back at him. "What are you talking about, Grayson? You're going to have to go slow. My head's in a muddle."
Grayson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Carleton, who stood in the far corner of the room examining a page of Reagan's proofs. He gave a nod of approval.
Grayson turned his attention back to his brother. "I'd made my
choice before you had, you fool. Some solicitors representing Mr. Carleton, a merchant here in Philadelphia, approached me way back in '74 when I was in London."
"Four years ago? I was working the fields with Father."
Grayson helped Sterling into a sitting position, propping him against the whitewashed wall. "Mr. Carleton, would you like to take over?" Grayson gave a sweep of his hand.
The gray-haired man walked toward them. "A group of merchants here in Philadelphia were concerned how a war would affect us. We needed to know what was happening, what military decisions were being made. After all, our business was trade . . . though our hearts were with the Colonies. So, we hired a young man, Grayson Thayer."
"They bought my commission and paid me a healthy salary," Grayson offered.
Reagan sat back on the floor, listening in awe as the story unfolded.
"As a captain in the army, Grayson was to report any pertinent information to us. When the war broke out, we all agreed to continue the charade. " Carleton smoothed his finely embroidered sleeveless waistcoat. "Only we decided to let Thayer pass the information onto us, to our men, and we would then pass it to the Continental Army."
Grayson grinned boyishly. "We decided I'd be safer that way."
"Only what you didn't count on," Reagan joined in, remembering what Elsa had said upstairs, "was that Sterling, a patriot, had become a spy, too."
Sterling rested his head against the wall in shock. "And that I'd come up with this clever idea of trading places with Grayson when he was transferred to Philadelphia."
Grayson took a swig from the whiskey bottle. "Doesn't sound confusing to me."
"But if you were one of us, Grayson, why didn't our Army rescue you?" Reagan asked.
"Because we didn't realize he'd been captured and held in an American prison," Mr. Carleton answered for him. "Grayson arrived in Philadelphia on schedule."
"But he didn't report to you."
"No. We got word that he was reporting directly to Captain Craig of the Continental Army in Frankfurt. My associates and I assumed that the military had taken over the operation. We didn't want them to know that information had been coming from us. We had families to consider, you know, so we didn't say anything."
Reagan turned to Grayson. "Why didn't you tell the men who were holding you imprisoned who you really were?"
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 29