Revolutionary Temptation

by Silvia Violet

  “I’m going to tell you something, which may shock or anger you. Promise to hear me out, and then you are free to judge me as you will.”

  “Constance, is this really—”

  “I’m not a woman given to exaggeration. When I say that someone’s life depends on what I have to say, I mean it.”

  “I should have a drink.”

  “We both should,” she said.

  He gestured toward a pair of chairs by the fire. She sat down while he poured two glasses of whiskey.

  She took hers, tossed it back, and set her glass on the table.

  He watched her warily. “I promise to listen, but I really—”

  “I’m a spy.”

  His eyes widened, and he set his whiskey down untouched. “A. Spy.”

  “Yes, I’m sending information to the rebels.”

  “Christ.” He grabbed his drink and drained it in one go like she had.

  “If you choose to arrest me, I will go with you, but I’m here because a friend is in danger.”

  “He’s also a spy?”

  “He’s been taken by someone who intends to kill him,” Constance said.

  “Taken? You mean arrested?”

  “He’s not in any of the prisons where gentlemen are placed.”

  “So your friend has been arrested for crimes you admit he’s guilty of.”

  She hesitated a moment, but she knew she had to be honest. “Yes, but it’s my fault. I brought him into this. I encouraged him.”

  Randall blew out a harsh breath. At least he wasn’t yelling, nor did he seem particularly shocked.

  “Please, help him. Colonel Stephens has taken him somewhere, and I know he’ll kill my friend when—”

  “Stephens? The man who attacked you?”

  Constance frowned. “How do you know about that?”

  “I was headed to rid you of him when Captain West did so for me.”

  Constance froze. “Captain?”

  “Captain West of the Second Continental Light Dragoons.”

  “You know who he is?”

  He nodded.

  Constance’s heart banged against her chest as she fought not to show the shock she felt. How had she misread Randall so badly?

  “Is this the real reason you turned me down?”

  Randall considered the question for a few moments. Constance didn’t breathe.

  “Yes and no. I wasn’t certain you were involved until you confessed, but I did not want you to mistake my reasons for desiring you.”

  “Why would I? If you’re working with—”

  “Let’s concentrate on your friend who’s in trouble.”

  Constance didn’t understand why he was being so reticent. If he was also acquiring information for the rebels, then they would be perfect allies. “Elias Ashfield is his name.”

  “The bookshop owner. I suspected he was working with you and West.”

  “He is.”

  “And he’s taken Stephens’ wife as a lover, to get information.”

  Randall was good. “Yes, but she’s working with us too. She called on me to say Mr. Ashfield had been taken.”

  “How much does Stephens know about your operation?”

  “I’m not sure,” Constance said. “He found some notes Eli had taken.”

  “Vital information?”

  “Yes, but the way it was written, I doubt Stephens understood the significance.”

  “Explain what he learned.”

  Constance hesitated. Something about Randall’s tone, about the stiffness that had come over him since he’d admitted to knowing who Jack was, alarmed her.

  “You trusted me enough to confess to treason, but you won’t tell me what you’ve learned?”

  “It doesn’t signify. I’ll be passing it along to Washington as soon as we make a plan to save Mr. Ashfield.”

  “You’re going to Washington’s camp?”

  She nodded.

  “Alone?” He sounded truly horrified.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “No, you are not.”

  “Randall, you will not stop me from this.”

  He growled. “Must you be so stubborn?”

  “Must you be so…unrelenting and annoyingly honorable?”

  He smiled for the first time that evening. “I’ll find him.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes. I’ll have any charges against him dropped and make certain he will not be bothered again, but please wait for me so I can escort you out of the city.”

  “Washington will move his troops soon, and I must reach him before he does so. Howe plans to draw him out, to decimate his army before attempting to take Philadelphia, but I suppose you know this already since you’ve gotten close to Howe.”

  “Howe isn’t my target.”

  Constance frowned. “Then who are you watching?”

  “Captain West.”

  Oh, God, no. Despite the roaring fire, she went cold down to her bones. She’d played right into his hands.

  Randall spoke before she did. “I’m a spy, like you, but for the British.”

  No. This isn’t happening. She’d fallen for this man, and he had been playing her the entire time, using her, for information for…

  She rose, but the room spun, and she had to grab the back of the chair. She’d been such a fool, thought herself so skilled, so able to read everyone that she’d been blind to Randall’s true nature. It was too late to save herself and Eli, but Mrs. Stephens deserved better. “Please, at least allow me to go free long enough to get Stephens’ wife to safety. He will kill her if she returns to him.”

  Randall took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Constance, I’m not going to arrest you. I will save Mr. Ashfield as I promised. Stephens is a scoundrel, and we’d be well rid of him.”

  “And then?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Everything you said to me, was it all lies?” She would not dissolve into tears. Not here. Not now. She’d suffered enough humiliation this night.

  He raised a hand to stroke her cheek as he shook his head. “No. I told you I couldn’t marry you because I didn’t want you to believe I merely wanted to pry information from you.” Exactly why she’d told Eli she could never accept an offer from Randall. “I care deeply for you, and I wish… I wish that circumstances were different and I could…”

  She had to test his resolve. “You truly believe we are better off under British rule?”

  “I have a job to do. I signed on because it was one of the few ways I could make a name for myself.”

  “But you’ve seen what they’re doing here, how they treat the citizens of New York.”

  He nodded. “I have seen atrocities and a lack of decency that is shocking. But not all the king’s men are bad, and the rebels are far from perfect.”

  She couldn’t argue with his point. “I still don’t see how you can—”

  “Constance, what do you want? I’m doing as you ask. I will see that no harm comes to you or any of your associates. I’m committing treason for you. What more can I do to prove that I…” Love you. The words hung in the air, but she was glad he had not spoken them.

  “What I want is a fairy tale.”

  “You hoped I was a rebel spy, like you.”

  That notion sounded absurd, but she wouldn’t deny it. “Yes.”

  Several moments passed while they watched each other, both of them wary and unsure. Finally, she broke the silence. “I own a property north of the city.”

  Randall nodded. “I am aware of it.”

  Apparently he’d been watching her as much as he had Jack, but now was not the time to worry over that. “Bring Eli there. If you have not found him, send word to me.”

  “You are certain you will not wait for me?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Then for God’s sake, be careful.”

  She wanted to kiss him one last time, to hold him against her and beg him to cha
nge his mind about the war and about the two of them. “You too.”

  She pulled up her hood and left. By now her servants would’ve packed what she needed for the journey and readied the horses. As soon as she let Mrs. Stephens know that things were going according to plan—she bit back a hysterical laugh at that thought; according to plan in essentials, she should say—she would be on her way to see the general.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When Eli came to, he was on a stone floor in a tiny room. A sliver of moonlight coming in through the narrow window near the ceiling allowed him to make out the walls surrounding him.

  He tried to remember what had happened. Stephens had hit him. He’d blacked out, and…

  Nothing about how he’d gotten to this place, wherever he was, came to him.

  He listened carefully but heard nothing except the faint call of birds outside. This wasn’t one of the crowded prisons in the city. There was no one in his cell. Was there anyone else here at all?

  He sat up slowly. His head ached, and the world wavered for a moment, but eventually he was upright, leaning against the wall. Once the cell stopped spinning, he’d see about finding a way to escape.

  A few moments later, he heard someone coming. Footsteps. A jangle of keys.

  He turned to see if there was anything in the cell he could use to defend himself. The movement sent pain shooting through his head. He fought the urge to retch.

  The lock turned, and Stephens stepped into the cell.

  Eli straightened, unwilling to let this devil’s spawn see how badly he was hurting.

  “I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them, or I’m going to hurt you. Is that clear?”

  Eli gave no response.

  “The whore you’ve been cozying up to is a spy, isn’t she?”

  “I told you, sir. Your wife—”

  He slapped Eli so hard pain exploded along his jaw, but he refused to let Stephens enjoy it. He spit blood on the floor. Then he looked back at Stephens and smiled.

  “Don’t you dare speak of my wife again. I’m talking about the whore you’ve been working with for months.”

  “I’m not working with anyone, sir.”

  “Mrs. Sullivan.” He was obviously too impatient to keep trying to get her name out of Eli.

  “I am acquainted with her.”

  Stephens snarled at him. “Like you’re acquainted with my wife.”

  “No, sir.”

  “That slut has surely lain with you and half the rest of the town.”

  “But not you, sir. Is that the problem?”

  Stephens hit him again. This time the world darkened, but he fought the blackness. He had to stay conscious.

  When he looked up, Stephens kicked him. He slid to the floor. Get up. He pushed himself to hands and knees. He did not want to lose consciousness with this man in his cell.

  “Let’s see how a few days without food or water work to loosen your tongue. I will have Mrs. Sullivan and the rest of your filthy associates before I let you die.”

  “I work alone.” He barely got the words out before another kick from Stephens sent him back down. He heard a crunch and pain sliced through his chest. He didn’t get up again.

  ***

  Based on the pattern of light and darkness, Eli guessed he’d been in his cell for two days. Darkness was falling once again, and he dreaded the night when he would feel even closer to death.

  He’d still not seen or heard anything to indicate there were any other inhabitants of the building where he was being held. If he’d sensed anyone’s presence, he’d have begged them for water. Any sense of dignity was long gone. Despite having a dislocated shoulder, some broken ribs, what felt like a cracked jaw, and possibly a concussion, his hunger and thirst were now far more agonizing than his injuries.

  What would he be willing to do for a sip of water? Sell out his friends?

  No! He would never do that. Never.

  If Stephens wanted the pleasure of killing Eli, he needed to come quickly. It was growing harder to stay awake, and Eli was certain that the next time he fell asleep curled against the cold stone, he wouldn’t wake up.

  Though the pain from moving his broken ribs nearly made him lose consciousness, he managed to pull Jack’s cravat—the one he’d wrapped around his bleeding hand after their encounter in Constance’s stable—from his waistcoat pocket. Like a sentimental fool, he’d kept it, and after Jack left, he’d taken to carrying it with him, a form of self-flagellation. He rubbed it along his cheek and pretended he could still smell Jack’s scent on it.

  When it was fully dark, he heard footsteps. Keys rattled, and then one scraped in the lock on his cell door.

  Stephens opened the door and stepped inside. If Eli could just summon enough strength, he could fight back…

  He was kidding himself. He could barely sit up.

  Stephens placed a pitcher by the door.

  Eli reached for it before he could stop himself. Stephens brought his boot down on Eli’s hand. The crack of bone was audible. Eli cried out, but little sound came from his parched throat.

  He shrank back, cradling his broken hand. Pain radiated to the tips of his fingers, but he knew it didn’t hurt as much as it should. He was too cold to feel properly.

  “Answer my questions, and you’ll get water,” Stephens said.

  “If you let me die, you’ll never get the information.”

  “Oh, you’ll talk.”

  Eli turned away from the pitcher and shook his head.

  “Tell me what you and Mrs. Sullivan have been up to.”

  “She isn’t involved.”

  “I went to find out what she thought of your current predicament, but she’s left town,” Stephens said. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  Eli said nothing.

  “She went to meet your rebel contact. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only communicated by letter.”

  “Where is Mrs. Sullivan?”

  “Why would I know?” Was she aware of what had happened to him? Had she run to save herself? He hoped so. He hoped she’d gotten far away and would deny anything she was asked about him. That’s what he deserved. To be left to rot.

  Stephens poured himself a cup of water and drank it down in one go. “Mmm. So refreshing.”

  “Go to hell.”

  He poured the contents of the pitcher onto the floor.

  Eli would’ve licked it up like a dog, but Stephens kicked him away.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours to try again. We’ve seized your shop. My men are going through your papers now. Interesting stuff you’ve written. If you tell me what I want to know when I return, I’ll put you out of your misery. Otherwise, you can lie there until you starve.”

  “I said go to hell.” His voice was so weak it was barely audible.

  “You’ll get there first.” Stephens’ laughter echoed in the cell as he walked away.

  Eli curled around his injured hand. He would’ve sobbed if his body had enough moisture to make tears. He realized his hand no longer hurt at all. His entire body was numb.

  Jack had been right. Eli’s recklessness was going to get him killed. He should never have gone to see Rosemary in her own house. And now he was going to die for it, and he’d put Constance in danger as well as Rosemary. He hoped to God they both escaped.

  What about Jack? Would Stephens figure out he was Eli’s contact? At least he was far away in Philadelphia. Maybe they would all be better off without Eli.

  ***

  Eli heard footsteps again. He had no idea how much time had passed since Stephens had been there. Maybe he’d found what he needed at Eli’s shop and come back to shoot him. He was ready to be put out of his misery.

  He tried to sit up, but he’d forgotten about his hand. When he put pressure on it, he slipped and fell back to the floor. He didn’t have the strength to try again.

  A key slid into the door. Could he take another round of pain and taunting? What if
he broke? Jack. Think of Jack. I won’t let you down. Not ever. I love you.

  The door swung open.

  At first Eli thought he was hallucinating.

  “Ashfield? You alive in there?”

  “Bradford?”

  The man bowed. “At your service.”

  Bradford was working with Stephens. No wonder Stephens knew about Constance. “You son of a bitch.”

  “That’s quite a way to greet your rescuer.”

  “My…what?”

  “I’m here to release you, though it doesn’t look like you’ll be leaving without help. My God, what did he do to you?”

  “Starved me. Tried to kill me. Wh-where am I exactly? Where’s Stephens?”

  “Stephens has met with an unfortunate accident, but hopefully no one else knows that yet. I have an order from General Howe himself to release you. He acknowledges Stephens made an error. You should never have been detained.”

  Eli managed to sit up, but he didn’t trust himself to stand. “How many of you are there?”

  “What?”

  “I see two of you. I assume that’s not right.”

  Bradford laughed. “No. There’s only the one of me. Come on. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we need to get you somewhere safe before it gets light outside.”

  “Mrs. Sullivan? Is she all right?”

  Bradford nodded. “Yes, she’s on her way to the rebel encampment.”

  “What? Alone?”

  “She said she had vital information for Washington,” Bradford said as he slid an arm around Eli and tried to help him stand.

  “Wait. Are you on our side?”

  “I’m doing a favor for Mrs. Sullivan.”

  “She told you about us?” Eli’s legs didn’t want to cooperate, and Bradford had to take most of his weight.

  “Yes, she trusts me.”

  Eli’s head hurt too much to figure out what was going on. Bradford was here, and Eli didn’t have to deal with Stephens anymore. That was what mattered.

  “Come on,” Bradford encouraged, half dragging him into a dark corridor.

  “Where are we?”

  “The cellar of an abandoned farm outside of town. You’re not the first man he brought here. It seems he regularly used the property to illegally detain and torture captive soldiers.”