Less Than a Gentleman

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  Thomas crouched beside her. “A Brown Bess?”

  She nodded. “We brought it with us. It seems like a long time ago, though I know it is not.” She scooped up pine needles and heaped them on top of the musket.

  Thomas helped her bury the musket and gunpowder. “A great deal has happened in the last few weeks.”

  “Yes.” She had sworn to avoid soldiers, to avoid any heartache to do with the war, yet she had become a spy. And fallen in love with another spy.

  Sticky resin coated her fingers, and she wiped her hands on the hem of her gown. How could she have allowed this to happen? She glanced at Thomas and her heart stilled. It was too late. He was the one. God help her, she couldn’t imagine not loving him. Her soul cried out for his.

  As if he heard her, he met her gaze. Desire flared in his eyes. “Caroline.”

  Should she fight it or surrender? It was tempting, so tempting to pretend the war didn’t exist, that they would be safe for years to come. But it wasn’t true.

  The ground vibrated beneath her.

  “What’s that?” Thomas jumped to his feet and peered through the pine branches. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” She joined him.

  A group of horsemen emerged from the woods across the lawn and galloped toward the front door. Dressed in green jackets, they sported tall helmets that accentuated their tall height. “Who are they?”

  “Tarleton and his dragoons.” Thomas turned to Caroline. “He’s known to like the ladies. Stay away from him.”

  She nodded. “I hope he doesn’t intend to stay long.”

  “The horses look worn. He’ll want to feed and rest them a bit. Damn, is that—” Thomas pulled his telescope from his pocket and peered at the men. “Bloody hell.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Thomas cursed softly. “Greville.” He jammed the telescope to its smaller size and dropped it in his pocket. “Dammit. Tarleton will go inside to talk to Hickman, and I won’t be able to hear it.”

  “I can do it. No one will think it odd if I go in the house. And I’ll be safe in the secret passageway. They won’t know I’m there.”

  Thomas gave her a worried look. “You don’t know how ruthless these men can be. Tarleton is called the Butcher, and with good reason.”

  Caroline swallowed hard. “It needs to be done. I’ll tell you what they said later.”

  Thomas grimaced. “Fine. I’ll meet you tonight in the passageway. And Caroline—”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re beautiful in the morning.” He grabbed her shoulders, planted a kiss on her brow, then slipped away into the woods.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Tarleton demanded as he entered the library. His eyes narrowed on Ezra. “You look familiar.”

  Ezra stood at attention. “Captain Hickman, sir. We met before. At Camden.” He glanced at Pugsley, who stood gaping at the famous lieutenant colonel. “Pugsley, take care of our guests.”

  “Yes, sir!” The guard saluted and dashed from the room.

  Tarleton paced across the library, leaving a muddy track with his boots. “I remember. You’re that . . . Loyalist fellow.” He lounged on the settee, smearing mud on the blue damask. “We’ve been chasing Marion and his pack of traitors all night. God, I’m parched. Pour me a drink, man.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ezra strode to the sideboard. “The partisans made a strike last night?”

  “Yes. At Georgetown.” Tarleton removed his brown plumed helmet and dropped it on the settee beside him. “The bastards slithered into the swamp like a swarm of cowardly snakes. Did they come by here? Did you see anything?”

  “No, sir.” Ezra presented him with the glass of brandy. “It was quiet here. We had a shipment of supplies by the dock. I had five guards posted there all night.”

  “And they saw nothing?”

  “Nothing, sir. The supplies left this morning without incident.”

  “Hmm.” Tarleton took a sip of brandy, then set the glass on a nearby table. “You’ve had no trouble at all with the partisans?”

  “No, sir. We’ve been very careful.”

  Tarleton rose to his feet. Even without the tall helmet, he towered over Ezra. “The partisans are all over this area. Why haven’t you captured any of them? You wouldn’t be protecting them, would you?”

  Ezra gulped. “No! I assure you, sir, I am loyal to the king. And I have devised a plan for capturing the wanted partisan, Matthias Murray Thomas.”

  “Why him in particular?” Tarleton’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “You want the reward money?”

  The reward and the plantation. Ezra focused on Tarleton’s cold, dark eyes. “I want to serve my king.”

  “I always wonder about you Loyalists. Loyal to the king, but willing to kill your neighbors.” Tarleton grabbed his helmet off the settee. “If you discover where the patriots are hiding, you will tell me first. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tarleton stepped close. “You can have Thomas, but Marion is mine.”

  That evening, Caroline crept silently down the secret passageway to the china room. She placed her candlestick on the table in the center of the small room. How sad the shelves looked with half the crystal missing.

  During the midday meal, Captain Hickman had once again asked Jane the whereabouts of her son. When she refused to answer, he had gathered up some of her prized crystal glasses and smashed them into the fireplace. Then he had announced he would spend the afternoon questioning the inhabitants of the local village. He had returned at sunset, still in a foul mood.

  Caroline paced around the table. Poor Jane was worried sick about her husband and son. It was difficult for Virginia, also. With her baby due any day now, she despaired of ever hearing news about her husband, Quincy.

  The door to the china room opened. Caroline exhaled with relief when Thomas slipped inside the room. Dressed in black, he moved about like a shadow.

  “Did you see the partisans?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” He lifted one shutter of the lantern and looked at her. “Your father sends his love.”

  “Thank you. Did Jacob make it back home safely?”

  “Aye.” Thomas slipped off his shoes. “Did you hear what Tarleton said this morning?”

  “He told Hickman that he chased Marion all night, and Hickman claims he has a plan to capture Jane’s son.”

  “Indeed. Well, let’s see what the bastard is up to now.” Thomas strode into the passageway and set the lantern on the floor close to the library peephole.

  She quickly joined him, then he closed the shutter on the lantern, casting them into complete darkness. When he opened the peephole, a rectangle of light acted as a beacon. She eased closer. He was warm and smelled of soap. When he bent over to look through the peephole, she noticed the wet gleam of his hair. He must have just bathed.

  She had remained dressed this evening to help them maintain a business-like relationship. But now, as she tried to sidle up close to him, her skirt and numerous petticoats proved to be an encumbrance.

  Voices sifted through the peephole—Captain Hickman and the guard, Pugsley, but she found it difficult to distinguish their actual words. She leaned closer. As intent as Thomas was on the peephole, she hoped he wouldn’t notice that her bosom was pressed against his arm.

  When he turned his head slightly, she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. His gaze dropped to her low neckline, then returned to her face, lingering on her mouth. Her lips felt suddenly dry, too dry, and she moistened them with her tongue. He closed his eyes with a pained expression.

  A sudden noise burst from the library. Thomas turned back to the peephole, and Caroline concentrated on her sense of hearing. It sounded like someone was pounding a fist on the furniture.

  “I cannot have Tarleton questioning my loyalty!” Hickman shouted.
“I must find a way to make Mrs. Thomas talk.”

  “Well, you can hardly blame her for protecting her son,” Pugsley muttered.

  “Her precious son is a murderer,” Hickman snarled. “I cannot threaten her with the fate of her husband much longer. Sooner or later, she’ll learn the truth. The old fart is already dead.”

  Thomas straightened with a jerk.

  “Really?” Pugsley asked. “When did he die?”

  “A few days ago. The news came in yesterday with the supply barge.”

  Thomas turned and leaned back against the wall. Caroline could hear his breathing, fast and agitated. No doubt he knew Mr. Thomas personally and found the news disturbing. Her heart filled with sorrow for Jane. Poor Jane would need to know the truth, so Hickman could no longer use her husband as a means to torture her.

  “Did you learn anything from the villagers?” Pugsley asked.

  Caroline peered through the peephole. Pugsley was sitting on the blue settee facing the desk.

  “No, they were totally uncooperative.” Captain Hickman strode by, a glass of brandy in his hand. “It seems the British soldiers in the area have been sampling the local wares without their consent.”

  Pugsley snorted. “You mean they’re rogering the wenches?”

  “Aye.” Hickman perched on the edge of his desk and calmly sipped from his glass.

  Caroline caught her breath. The redcoats were assaulting the local women?

  “You might expect the fathers to object,” Hickman continued, “but the women themselves were screaming at me.”

  “Humph.” Pugsley sneered. “Most unladylike.”

  “Exactly.” Hickman set his glass down and picked up a handful of papers. “They insisted I take these formal complaints to Cornwallis himself. As if I’d waste the general’s time with the rantings of a few silly women.”

  Caroline dug her fingernails into the wall. Her blood pounded so hard in her head she could hardly hear.

  Pugsley shook his head in disgust. “The women here in the colonies don’t know their place.”

  “Indeed.” Hickman held the letters of complaint over a lit candlestick ’til they caught fire.

  As the flame grew, so did the heat in Caroline’s veins. She snapped the peephole shut, then opened a shutter on the lantern so she could see. She stalked toward the door to the china room. By God, she would show these bastards just how tough an American woman could be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  His father was dead, dead in a British prison. Matthias breathed deeply, willing himself to remain in control.

  Dead. Somehow, he had thought his father would survive, that nothing could actually kill the old bastard.

  Dead. He’d never see his father again. No more awkward meetings. No more painful memories. No more possibility of reconciliation. It was if a book had ended in mid-chapter. No resolution. No good-bye. Nothing.

  Dead. How would Mother feel? Would she mourn or secretly bless the day that the man who had betrayed her over and over could never hurt her or humiliate her again.

  Jacob would mourn. Damn, he would have to tell Jacob.

  Matthias clenched his fists and slowly relaxed them. He needed to retain control. He was a soldier fighting for liberty. His passion for the cause was perhaps the only thing he had ever shared with his father.

  Next to him, Caroline stiffened with a gasp. She shut the peephole, opened a shutter on the lantern, then rushed toward the door.

  “Caroline,” he whispered, catching up with her as she slipped into the china room. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll kill them,” she hissed.

  “What?” He grabbed her shoulder and turned her toward him.

  “Let go.” She shoved his hand off her.

  He’d never seen her this angry before. “What happened?”

  She grasped the candlestick off the table. “I could clonk them on the head while they sleep.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” He wrenched the candlestick from her hand. “You cannot attack them.”

  She paced around the room. “I’ll slip one of Dottie’s potions into their food and make them ill.” She opened the door to the dining room.

  He shut it and seized her by the shoulders. “Dammit, Caroline. What is wrong?”

  With a strangled sob, she pulled away from him. “Didn’t you hear them? They’re raping the women in town. The British soldiers are raping them.”

  “Oh.” No wonder she was upset.

  “Oh? Is that all you can say?” Her voice rose in anger.

  “Quiet.” He glanced back. The door to the secret passageway was still open.

  Her eyes shimmered with tears. “We have to do something.”

  “I know you’re upset.” She snorted, but he continued, “Listen to me. Killing them now will bring repercussions against this house and the nearby villages. The British could retaliate by killing everyone, including women and children. We must remain calm.”

  She glared at him, her eyes narrowed.

  “We have to remain focused on our mission. We can’t hurt them right now, but we can use them.”

  She clenched her fists and made a sound of frustration. “I know you’re right, but I’m so . . . angry.”

  “I can see that.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think you should spy anymore. You’re too . . . emotional for this kind of work.”

  “Too much like a woman, you mean?” Her voice sounded strained.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m fighting for freedom, Thomas, just like you. Freedom to make my own choices without some tyrant of a man dictating to me.”

  He grasped her shoulder. “I’m not a tyrant. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t need your protection.”

  “Well, you bloody well have it whether you like it or not. Don’t you know I’m in love with you?”

  She gasped.

  He released her. Bloody hell. Of all the stupid things to say.

  She moved away from him.

  He shook his head. Damn, he had terrible timing. She was far too angry to leap into his arms and declare that she loved him, too.

  He swallowed hard. She was awfully quiet. She might not have anything to declare. He loosened the black cravat around his neck. What if she didn’t love him?

  He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. It was better if she didn’t love him. He was a wanted man. With all probability, he would soon follow his father to the grave.

  “Wait here. I’ll fetch the lantern and take you to bed.” He winced. “I mean, your bedchamber.” Good God, he might as well dig his own grave and jump in.

  He slipped back into the passageway and picked up the lantern. Back in the china room, he found the door to the dining room standing ajar.

  Caroline had left.

  Sunday, October 1, 1780

  Pugsley sped into the library. “He’s come back!”

  “Who?” Ezra Hickman hurried to the window. Green-coated men on horseback charged toward the house, the plumes of their brown helmets waving in the breeze. Tarleton? His last visit had only been two days ago.

  “See to the men and their horses,” Ezra ordered.

  Tarleton marched into the library. Pugsley saluted, then hurried from the room.

  “How many inhabitants in this house?” Tarleton demanded.

  Ezra stood at attention. “Five females, including an indentured servant. Two children. Another female in the kitchen.”

  “Any men?”

  “No, sir. Just myself and two foot soldiers. There are slaves, of course, but they live a distance from here.”

  “Then it is as I suspected.” Tarleton stopped in front of Ezra. “You are a traitor.”

  With a gasp, Ezra swayed on his feet. “Sir, I am loyal. My sole desire
is to destroy the rebels. I have long craved the honor of joining you and your men so I could prove myself—”

  “Enough,” Tarleton cut him off, slashing a hand through the air. “Did you think no one would notice what you did to the last supply shipment?”

  “The supplies? Sir, they passed through here safely.”

  “Oh, they arrived, all right, but the barrels of gunpowder were filled with ashes! And the sacks that were supposed to be potatoes and corn were full of rocks and pine cones!”

  Ezra gaped. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Cornwallis is livid. He ordered a full investigation.”

  “It . . . it must have happened in Charles Town.”

  “No. When the shipment left, it was in order. This was the only place the supplies docked on the way.”

  Ezra gulped. “But I had five guards out there all night.”

  “Did you inspect the supplies yourself?”

  “No. I—I never touched them. I thought it best not to tamper with them.” Bile rose in Ezra’s throat. He could end up swinging from a tree over this.

  “There is evidence the barrels were pried open.” Tarleton stepped closer ’til he was inches from Ezra’s face. “There is something rotten going on between Charles Town and Camden, and I believe the stench starts here. We will hold you responsible.”

  “I will investigate the matter thoroughly. It will never happen again. You have my word.”

  “Would that be the word of a Loyalist or a traitor?” Tarleton stepped back. “I’ll be watching you, Hickman.” He swiveled on his booted heel and marched from the room.

  Ezra strode to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy. His hand shook so badly, he splashed brandy all over the embroidered doily.

  “Damnation!” He clunked the decanter down. Someone had played a trick on him, and if he didn’t figure out who the bastard was, he would pay the price himself. It had to be some sort of partisan plot. Were the ladies here in on it?

  He paced across the room. Those damned women. He’d get the truth out of them one way or another.