The front door opened and she looked up expecting to see her father returning for something he’d forgotten, but instead Nicholas Grey stood there. She slowly rose to her feet. “Good evening.” Looking over at him filled her with the oddest sensation. She knew she shouldn’t be affected by his handsomeness, but it was difficult not to be. His dark eyes were so intense she wanted to look elsewhere, but forced herself to hold his gaze.
“Good evening, Faith. I came to talk about the reception and to offer you something in compensation for your cancelled fishing expedition earlier today.”
“That isn’t necessary. I left because I assumed you thought I might be spying, especially knowing how you feel about my father, as misguided as it might be.”
He let her see a brief smile. “Regardless, if you would wait for me to return while I go out to the wagon.”
She nodded. Once he was gone she exhaled, unaware that she’d been holding her breath. She knew they had an appointment this evening but she wondered if he was also intent upon discerning whether she’d shared what she’d seen in his woods today with her father. The night she found him spying on her from the trees, she’d made a vow to find out more about him, but other than Blythe there was no one in her sphere who would know the truth. He hadn’t lived in Boston in over a decade. She’d been assured by Blythe that he could be trusted, but how could anyone really know?
He returned carrying a small copper’s barrel that he set on a table. Curious, she walked over and looked inside. Fish. They were gutted, scaled, and packed in snow. She looked up at him with muted delight. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Is this ample compensation?”
The timbre of his voice and the look in his eyes made her pause for a moment before replying, “Yes.”
“Good. I don’t wish to be at odds with you.”
Another pause, and she seemed to feel the heat of him on the front of her body beneath her blouse and skirt. She felt compelled to say, “My father played no role in the arrest.”
“If you’re correct, I’ll bring you more fish.”
She couldn’t hold back her smile. “This is more serious than fish.”
“Men bring you fish often then?”
“No.” No man had ever brought her fish or anything before, but she had no intention of revealing that fact.
He very boldly reached out and turned her chin so she faced him again. His finger slid slowly down her cheek. Shaking from his warm touch and the heat in his gaze, Faith took a small step back. “You’re very bold, sir.”
“I don’t bring fish to just any woman.”
She had trouble breathing, and so said softly, “I believe it’s time for us to discuss your menu.”
“Is your father here, so that we may get his approval?”
“No, he’s out courting,” she replied.
“Courting?” he echoed with a small chuckle. “Is she someone you know?”
“He says yes, but is keeping her name a secret until the contract is worked out.”
“Which means she is a young woman with parents.”
“I believe so.” Faith gestured for him to take a seat.
He obliged. “How do you feel about having a stepmother?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “My father’s life is his own.”
Faith closed the ledger that lay open between them. Next thing she knew he had a gentle hold on her hand and she froze.
“Lye?” he asked with concern.
Embarrassed, she pulled her red, roughened hand free. “Yes.”
“Your father doesn’t have a hired washerwoman?”
“No.”
“Most inns do.”
“I know, but he has me to do the wash, so why waste the coin.”
The displeasure on his face was plain. “So, do you do all the chores?”
“Yes, and have done so since my mother died.”
“How long has that been?”
“Since I was eight.”
Nick knew that her answer was common. Many children were worked from dawn to dusk, but that didn’t make it right or something he wanted to hear. “He should hire some help.”
She shook her head. “We really can’t afford it, and even if we could, I doubt he’d want to waste the coin when he has me.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
She shrugged. “It’s my life, Mr. Grey. There’s no changing it. There are many women in far worse situations.”
Nick agreed, but finding out she was being worked half to death didn’t sit well.
“What would you like to serve at your reception?”
He didn’t want to talk about the reception; he wanted to talk about easing her burdens. “I’ve been looking for a housekeeper. Would you consider working for me?”
“My father would never allow it. Besides, word is you’re looking for a wife.”
“Would you consider that?”
Amused, Faith shook her head. “The menu, Mr. Grey.”
They shared smiles and got down to work. As they talked about his choices and the logistics involving purchase and transport of the food to Blythe’s home, Nicholas found himself discreetly observing things like the tattered thin band of lace on the top of her high-necked blouse, her red and blistered hands, the weariness in her shoulders and eyes. Her faded overblouse was patched beneath the arms and the cuffs were frayed. She was too beautiful to be wearing rags. Although her garments were clean, they should have been banished to a dustbin long ago. The tiredness he saw in her face troubled him most, however. Were she under his charge he’d make certain she never worked another day in her life.
Her voice cut into his thoughts. “Mr. Grey, are you listening?”
He shook himself back to the moment. “My apologies. What did you say?”
“I asked how long you intend the reception to last. Blythe told me the time to arrive, but not how long I might have to stay.”
They discussed that and decided on two hours at the most.
“That’s fine,” she responded. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
Nick settled his eyes on the beautiful woman that he knew was not for him and replied, “No, Miss Kingston. I believe we have covered everything of importance.”
“Excellent. Remember, I must still obtain my father’s approval, so you may wish to place another iron in the fire, just in case.”
“I have faith in your powers of persuasion and in the power of the coin I’ve promised you for your help.”
“You think so little of him that you believe he’d be moved by your money.”
“I believe we will deal better if we don’t discuss your father.”
Faith eyed him. He was right of course. “Then I shall refrain.”
“Thank you.”
There was a hint of tension in the air, so Faith decided now might be the time to wish him good night. “If we are done, I’ll let you get on with your evening.”
Nick didn’t want to go, but knew she was correct. He stood. “Thank you for the conversation and the help. I’m looking forward to Saturday.”
“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”
He bowed and departed.
Faith took the fish outside so they would stay frozen. She could still feel his touch against her cheek and no matter how much she tried to banish it, the memory remained. Walking back into the kitchen, she checked on the two loaves of bread she had baking on the fire and then returned to the ledgers.
Her father returned an hour later looking pleased. Faith wanted to know more about this courtship, but knew better than to ask. He’d tell her in his own time and not a second before.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did. Make sure you get that floor in the cellar room mopped first thing in the morning. If the general comes, I want it clean.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good night, Faith.”
“Good night.”
And he made his exit. She supposed they’d have to talk about Nicholas’s reception some other time. Looking over at the clock, she closed the ledgers and checked on the bread. In two hours he’d be sound asleep and Lady Midnight could make her way into Boston. Hopefully by then she’d be able to forget Nicholas’s warm touch and the heat in his eyes because she couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Chapter 7
Astride Hades and filled with memories of Faith Kingston, Nicholas rode towards Boston. He hadn’t intended to touch her, but now that he had he wanted to further explore the satiny skin of her cheek and the texture of her shapely lips. He also hadn’t expected to be moved by the challenges in her life, but he had and she was proving to be quite the distraction. He was supposed to be focusing on what he was on to next, not imagining what she’d feel like in his arms or how she’d looked perfumed and nude in his bed. She was the daughter of his father’s nemesis and he had no business being attracted to her but damned if he wasn’t. He’d always preferred his women tall and bearing curves that filled his hands. Faith didn’t fit the model, but her spirit would do an Iroquois clan mother proud and he supposed that was what drew him. Docile, meek women didn’t appeal to him. He preferred those who challenged him and then denied him even if it wasn’t for long. He sensed all those attributes in Stuart Kingston’s daughter, and a growing part of him wanted to know more. However, he noted again that he wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her even as he mused upon how he might relieve her of some of the work she was carrying on her slender shoulders.
It was dark and the wind was blowing briskly when Nicholas tied up his horse and entered the shadowy confines of the noisy Boston tavern. Apparently those inside had left their politics at the door because there were uniformed soldiers seated around the tables raising tankards of ale, while commonly dressed locals occupied others. Once the ale flowed, anything might happen, though, so he planned to conduct his business and depart.
As he made his way through the noise and fiddle music, a few of the barmaids gave him smiles, but he didn’t tarry. He found the two men he was seeking seated at a back table near one of the few windows.
Seeing him, both men smiled, and Nick smiled in response as he greeted them. “Dom. Gaspar. How are you two?”
Dominic LeVeq grinned. “Nicholas. It’s good to see you, old friend.”
Gaspar nodded. “Nick.”
Nicholas sat down. He’d met sea captain Dominic LeVeq and his blood brother Gaspar the night of the mutiny that freed Nick from his impressment with the Royal Navy. They’d rescued him and the stallion now named Hades, along with a few other men who were in the water as the burning British ship sank. Nick was fairly sure at the time that Dom and his crew were more intent upon saving the admiral’s prized stallion than anything else, but he owed them his life.
Dominic asked, “I assume you got my letter?”
“Yes, this morning. How long will you be in Boston?”
“Long enough to conduct some business, but we wanted to see how you fared. Are you and your father reconciled?”
“No.” They knew his story, just as he knew that Dom was the bastard son of a French duke.
One of the barmaids walked up carrying a tray holding three tankards of ale. She set one vessel down in front of each of them. Gaspar paid her, but before leaving them, she said slyly, “We offer more than ale here, gentlemen, so if you are in need of a more personal service, my name is Ginny.”
They acknowledged her with nods, but no one took her up on the offer.
Once they were alone again, Nick told them the story of his father and all the intrigue swirling around his arrest and death.
“My condolences,” Gaspar said solemnly.
Dom offered the same. “So you are looking for this Lady Midnight?”
Nick nodded. “She’s the only key I have.”
Dom cracked, “You could threaten to slit Kingston’s throat if he doesn’t offer up the truth.”
Nick chuckled. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it, but I’m sure his daughter wouldn’t care for that approach.”
Gaspar shook his head. “Why is there always a woman involved with the two of you?”
Dom drawled, “Possibly because Nick and I are always involved with women.”
Nick grinned and saluted his former captain with his ale. “However, this one is a good woman.”
Dom shook his head. “Good women are nothing but trouble, my friend. It’s best to avoid them, always.”
“True, but in this case easier said than done.”
Gaspar and Dom searched his face, and Dom asked, “How serious are you about the daughter?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Dom and Gaspar shared an amused look before Dom declared, “You’re doomed, Nick.”
Nick didn’t dispute the fact. “Maybe you’ll be doomed sometime in the future, too, Dominic.”
Dom shook his head. “I’m too wily for that.”
They shared the smiles of men who’d come to know each other well, then began a discussion of the business Nick hoped they could help him with. “I need muskets.”
“How many?”
“As many as you can provide.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Dom replied, “There’re rumors that once the war starts the colonial government will be issuing letters of marque, and I’d love to be able to legally poke the British in the eyes as often as possible. As for the muskets, I’m certain it won’t take long to get you what you need.”
Nick was pleased with that answer. He happened to look towards the window. A woman passed by. The brisk wind blew her hood back from her face. She quickly raised it back over her head again but not quick enough to keep her familiar face from widening his eyes. He immediately jumped to his feet. “I have to go. Right now.”
Dominic and Gaspar looked confused.
He hastily put on his coat. “Get me those guns.”
While Dom and Gaspar stared, Nick all but ran from the tavern.
Once outside, he sprinted down the alley that led to the street that the tavern window had looked out on and glanced wildly back and forth, but he didn’t see her. Had he imagined her? he asked himself. He began walking quickly in the direction he’d seen her heading in hopes of catching another sight but saw no woman in a gray cape. Suddenly, a few feet up ahead, he spotted her crossing the street. He grinned and followed, but kept a safe distance. What are you up to tonight, Faith Kingston? Fetching eggs again, no doubt.
Faith kept her steps quick and measured. At that time of night the streets of Boston could prove dangerous for a woman alone, from both soldiers and brigands, and she wanted no dealings with either. Her destination was the home of rebel leader John Hancock. She knew where he lived, as did every other citizen in the area. It was her hope that British spies would not be watching his home at this hour but there was no guarantee. She kept casting discreet glances behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed but even though she saw no one, there was no guarantee she wasn’t. With her hood up, she doubted she’d draw attention, and if she did, passersby would see nothing more than a woman hurrying home. As she turned the corner onto the street where Hancock lived she casually looked around for soldiers. Seeing none she kept up her pace. However, as she approached his home, she saw three uniformed men posted out in front of the entrance. Gathering her nerve, she approached them. “I’m here to deliver bread to Mr. Hancock. May I do so?”
She reached into the sack and withdrew one of the two loaves inside to show them. It was still warm and the fresh-baked scent drifted fragrantly in the wind.
“A bit late for deliveries, miss.”
“True, but the regular delivery woman took ill and won’t be able to come in the morning. I told my employer I’d make sure Hancock got these on my way home.”
“He’s not in,” one of them pointed out.
Another soldier cracked. “He’s over in Concord getting his neck measured fo
r a noose.”
They laughed. Hancock not being home was to her advantage but by the light of the fire they had burning in a barrel to keep warm, she could see them eyeing her with suspicion. She added emotion to her performance. “Please, I’ll have nothing but trouble tomorrow if it isn’t left tonight. In fact, you may have one of the loaves if you just let allow me to leave the other.”
And with that she was certain she had them. Everyone knew how poorly paid and underfed the soldiers were. In fact, many had taken side jobs at taverns and other businesses just to make ends meet. It was her hope that these three were hungry enough to take the offering and let her go on her way.
One of the soldiers took the offered loaf and motioned her forward. “Go on.”
“I was told to leave it around back.”
They were already dividing the loaf between them. One nodded his approval, so she drew in a sigh of relief and hastened to the back of the large home. In the darkness she lifted her skirt, pulled the coded message free of her petticoat, and stuck it into the sack beneath the bread. Placing the sack at the foot of the steps, she quickly made her way back to the street. “Thank you. Long live the King.”
The soldiers offered farewells around the mouthfuls of bread, and a pleased Faith set off into the darkness to retrieve the mare she’d left tied up outside the church.
Watching her depart from his position in the darkened doorway of a closed shop down the street, Nick didn’t know what to make of what he’d just witnessed. Why was she delivering bread at such a late hour? Was it another one of her many chores? He wasn’t yet familiar enough with present-day Boston to know who might be living in the home she’d visited but the soldiers posted out front offered two possibilities: either a high-ranking British official or someone needing to be watched, such as a rebel leader. He tried to make out the address so that he could ask Prince about the residence the next time they were together, then left the doorway to follow her.
As he remained careful to keep her in sight, the conundrum surrounding her continued to plague him. On one hand her actions could have been simply what they seemed, nothing more than a delivery; he’d tasted her bread and it was superb. Or was there more to this than met the eye? He now had two choices: either stop her and confront her, or let her go and make himself batty trying to figure it out. He chose the former.
Midnight Page 8