A laugh escaped her lips. "If he heard you say that, he would surely tell you to have your head, as well as your eyes, examined."
"How can you jest, while I am dead serious? You must know that you are lovely. Why else do you think you have been so successful for us?"
"In all modesty, I would like to believe it could have something to do with my intelligence."
He could hear the amusement in her voice and he raised her hand and laid it against his cheek. "Someday when this is all over, Lavender, I will have something to say to you."
Tonight she was feeling vulnerable, and she wanted to hear a man acknowledge that she was beautiful and desirable. "What will you have to say to me then, that you cannot say to me now?" she boldly asked.
He slowly pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment. How good it felt to be in his arms, she thought, closing her eyes and allowing peacefulness to envelop her whole being. Yes, it felt right to be in Brainard's arms.
He gently raised her chin and stared into her face. "I lay my heart at your feet, Lavender. Do you not know by now how I feel about you?"
"Yes," she whispered. Somewhere deep inside, she did know that Brainard cared for her, even though this was the first time he had spoken of it. "Yes, I do know."
He smiled down into her face and she realized he was going to kiss her. When his mouth covered hers, she was touched by the sweetness of his kiss. Was this love? she wondered. She felt so safe in his arms, as if nothing could harm her.
She was startled when he jerked away and nervously put some distance between them. "I am sorry, Lavender, forgive me for my boldness. I had not intended this to happen until I could speak to your aunt."
Why was he apologizing? Wasn't it a natural act for a man to show what was in his heart? "I saw nothing wrong with what happened between us, Brainard."
He sighed nervously. "Don't you, sweet one? Do you have any idea what goes on inside a man when he is with the woman he loves?"
She was confused. "I agreed that you cared about me, Brainard. I did not know that you loved me."
He softly touched her cheek. "If only you knew how much. Do you not understand how it tears me apart inside to send you on such dangerous missions? I can never rest easy until I know you have returned unharmed. Can ... is it possible that you have some feelings for me also?"
She could feel the tenseness in him, but how could she answer him? She was too inexperienced in matters of the heart, and did not know what love was supposed to feel like. Certainly she felt none of the unsettling turmoil she had felt moments ago when Julian West had touched her. "I do care for you, Brainard," she admitted.
He enclosed her in his arms and gently rested his chin against the top of her golden head. "That admission will have to last me until this war is over," he said softly. "I will live on your words and my hopes for now."
Her mind was in a turmoil—she needed time to think. "Perhaps you are right, Brainard, and we should wait until normalcy returns to the world." She felt his hand enfold hers and was relieved when he began to speak of other matters. "Tell me about my new assignment."
Brainard was silent for a moment, as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I fear you will be away for several days. You are needed in Charleston, South Carolina. Cornwallis is giving a gala which 1 want you to attend."
Lavender had often attended General Cornwallis's galas. The general had come to believe she was indeed Madeline Lowell, the sister of one of his aides. "So I revive Madeline again," she said softly.
"I'm afraid so. It was a stroke of genius when 1 happened onto this identity for you. No one on the general's staff will ever dispute the claim that you are Daniel Lowell's sister—certainly not Lowell, since he is deceased."
"I have done everything you have asked of me, Brainard, but 1 do not like pretending to be a dead man's sister. Is there no other way?"
"I will let you judge for yourself, Lavender. It is your brother who has been taken prisoner! Your mission is to rescue him!"
Lavender clutched at Brainard's hand in desperation. "Has Chandler been harmed? Where is he? When can I go to him?"
Once more he drew her into the circle of his arms, this time to comfort her. "As far as we know, Chandler has not been harmed, but we cannot wait much longer to rescue him. You will leave before sunrise in the morning."
She raised her face to him. "How did Chandler fall into the hands of the English?"
"He was taken in the battle of Charleston, along with several others." Brainard's grip on her tightened. "It is most imperative that we get your brother out, Lavender. He was caught behind enemy lines, out of uniform. I don't have to tell you what that means."
The weight of the world came crashing down on Lavender's shoulders. "He will be executed as a spy," she said between trembling lips.
"Yes, I fear so."
Lavender shook her head in disbelief. "I pray that God will keep my brother safe until I can reach him. Then I pray I will be able to rescue him."
Brainard placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You must go in the house now. You are going to need your rest. I will inform Nicodemus about the mission. Take heart, sweet one, you will be able to free your brother."
Julian glanced at the note Jackson handed him and dismissed the servant with a nod. He moved closer to the candlelight so he could read the coded message. His heart was drumming, and he realized he was holding his breath, hoping the note would contain some knowledge of the Swallow. Peering at the note, he read:
"The art supplies you wanted can be obtained in Charleston, South Carolina. If you are interested, you should leave for Charleston at once.
Your obedient servant
C.W."
Julian's eyes became smoke-colored. The note was from Cleave Wilson, and Julian read between the lines. So the Swallow would be in Charleston. Julian held the note over the candle, and when it ignited, he dropped it into an empty wineglass to watch it burn.
"On my oath of honor, I'll soon have you, Swallow," he pledged aloud. "The devil himself could not keep me away from Charleston!"
6
General Charles Cornwallis was in high spirits as he looked around the room filled with his officers and the most elite of Charleston, if they were loyal to the Crown. He was pleased that everyone appeared to be having a good time. Thus far the campaign in the South had been so successful that General Clinton had left him in charge and returned to New York. Cornwallis was confident that his troops could sweep over the Carolinas and on into Virginia with little resistance.
General Cornwallis glanced toward the card room and saw the Duke of Mannington seated at a card table. He had been friends with the Westfields for years, and he thought it was a sad business about the death of young William Westfield. Cornwallis knew about the duke's desire to catch the Swallow, and hoped he would be successful. He was sure the duke was glad to put his disguise aside to spend an evening with loyal friends without having to hide his true identity.
Julian was holding four queens in his hand when Cleave Wilson came up beside him. Julian threw in his cards, excused himself, and left the table. "Have you news, Wilson? Is she here?" Julian bit out in irritation. "I have been here since the festivities began, and I have seen nothing of your elusive Swallow."
Wilson drew the duke aside so no one would overhear their conversation. "My informant was certain she would be here, Your Grace."
"What informant is that?"
"We have a new man who works at the Public Hospital in Williamsburg. He assured me the Swallow would be here tonight. The problem is, which one of these lovely ladies is she?"
"Pray I have not come on a fool's errand, Wilson. I can assure you I will not easily be pacified if your so-called 'informant' has passed on inaccurate information."
Wilson glanced at his pocket watch, shook it, and held it to his ear. "It is still early; perhaps she will yet come, Your Grace."
Julian arched a dark eyebrow. "I hope, for your sake, that she does."
"It is po
ssible that she is here now and we have overlooked her. How can we know, Your Grace, since we don't know what she looks like?" Julian's dark eyes bore into Cleave Wilson, and the man stammered nervously. "You .. . know she has often posed as a man. Suppose we walk through the rooms again just to make certain. It's possible that she is right under our noses and we have missed her."
When Julian nodded in agreement, Cleave Wilson let out a long sigh of relief. He prayed that the Swallow would put in her appearance tonight, so he wouldn't look like such a fool and invoke the duke's wrath.
Julian and Cleave Wilson had inspected three of the rooms, without success. They now passed through the solarium on their way to the morning room when they heard the haunting sound of a woman singing. Julian paused in the doorway, allowing his eyes to move over the occupants, mostly men, and he saw adoration in their eyes.
Julian's glance rested on the singer's face. Golden hair spilled down the woman's back but for the one curling tress that fell across her breast. Julian felt his heart skip a beat as he looked into her lovely face.
The woman was so stunning that everyone was mesmerized by her graceful movements and deep, husky voice. In her lap she held an English guitar that was made of ebony, trimmed with ivory and inlaid with brass. He had never seen a more beautiful woman. And her voice had the ability to touch a man's heart. Julian closed his eyes, allowing her song to fill his whole being.
My clearest love, why wilt thou ask if I am constant yet? dost think 'tis such an easy task thine image to forget? My soul retains thee still in sight when thou art far away Thou are my vision in the night, my dream by day . . .
Sweetly her voice was weaving a spell on every man in the room, Julian included. Surely this woman was an angel, otherwise how could her voice tug so at his heart?
And when the time of absence past, once more see thee near, I start to find my dream at last, an earthly form can wear. When far, thou seem'st some power above, to guard my soul from harm; when present, thou'rt my own dear love, that gives my life its charm.
Julian, like all the others, was disappointed when her voice trailed off and the last cord of the guitar faded away. The woman's musical laughter caught and held her audience as they begged for still another song, but she refused with the shake of her lovely, golden head. Had there ever been such a lovely enchantress? Julian wondered.
When she stood, all eyes fastened on her—the men were intrigued by her, and the women felt jealous of her beauty. Her white silk gown was embroidered with a large peacock; its head slashed across the bodice of her gown, while the brilliant, multicolored tail feathers fanned out across the wide skirt.
"Who is she?" Julian asked Wilson.
"She is sister to one of our dead captains. I have never been introduced to her, or I would present her to you now, Your Grace. She attracts a crowd of admirers wherever she goes, which is understandable."
Julian's eyes moved across her face, and his voice was hardly above a whisper, as if he were reluctant to ask the question that nagged at him. "Is there any way she could be the Swallow?"
"No, never, Your Grace. It was Cornwallis himself who once explained to me that her brother had been his trusted aide. Even though the family consider themselves Americans, they were also staunch Tories."
"Who was her brother?"
"Daniel Lowell. I believe he was killed in a battle somewhere in Pennsylvania, and was something of a hero. I understand she has no family left."
"Ask General Cornwallis to attend me here. He will present her to me." Julian was unable to tear his eyes away from the bewitching creature. For the moment his reason for being here was forgotten—lost in a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He was so entranced with her that he had not heard General Cornwallis come up beside him.
General Charles Cornwallis, the second Earl Cornwallis, was a stout man of medium build. It was apparent from the smile that lit his hawklike face, that he was delighted to have been singled out by the illustrious Duke of Mannington. "You wanted to see me, Your Grace?"
"Yes, I do, Charles. It is my wish that you introduce me to that lovely creature," Julian said, nodding toward Lavender, who had a circle of men who were dancing attendance to her.
"It would be my pleasure, Your Grace," Cornwallis said happily. "Madeline is of exquisite beauty, is she not?"
Lavender felt the laughter die in her throat as her eyes moved across the crowded room to lock with dark, smoldering eyes. Even from across the room, she had no trouble recognizing Julian West! Her heart thundered in fear as he walked slowly toward her. What was Mr. West doing here? Was he indeed the British spy she had thought him to be? Had he discovered that she was the Swallow?
Nothing must stand in the way of her brother's rescue tonight. She considered running, but it was too late—already Mr. West stood before her! His dark good looks were enhanced by his powdered hair. She knew he was a man of considerable importance when she saw the gold crest embroidered on the front of his gray silk court coat. She had always suspected that he was not who he pretended to be.
Unlike the other men in the room, who wore knee breeches and buckled shoes, Julian wore full-length pants with gray knee-high boots. She knew he was a man who flaunted convention in favor of his own preference—whether it was in his manner of dress, or his personal life.
She tore her. eyes away from Julian's probing gaze, wondering how she would be executed. Would the fact that she was a woman stay their hand from hanging her, or would they be merciful and place her before a firing squad so it would be over quickly?
Charles Cornwallis spoke, giving Lavender time to clasp her trembling hands to still them. "My dear, you look lovely tonight. I am so glad you could make my little gathering. Where have you been keeping yourself?"
She tried to pull her thoughts together. Was this some kind of cat-and-mouse game—or was her secret still safe? If it was a game, perhaps she could buy time for herself by acting unsuspecting. "My lord, I will always make one of your galas when I am able." Her eyes moved back to Julian and she gave him her most innocent smile. "You always have such intriguing guests." She wondered where she found the courage to flirt with Julian West, when she was so frightened. As their eyes locked, she saw something she hadn't expected. She had seen that look in men's eyes too often not to recognize it for what it was: Julian West was interested in her as a woman!
General Cornwallis took her hand and raised it to his lips, thus pulling her attention back to him. "I wonder if I might present to you a friend of mine, my dear?"
Lavender nodded her consent, knowing at last she would learn Mr. West's true identity.
"Your Grace, may I present to you Mistress Lowell. Madeline, His Grace, Julian Westfield, Duke of Mannington!"
Lavender felt her head swimming and her throat felt dry. She felt a ringing in her ears, and feared that she was losing control. Dear Lord, how could this be? In her wildest imagination she could never have guessed how important he was. He was a duke! No wonder she had thought him arrogant. He was from the English nobility. Why had a man of such importance passed himself off as an artist? Surely the Swallow could not be important enough to induce a royal duke to track her down. Had he learned her secret? And if so, how? Was this the day she always dreaded? Would he insist on arresting her here, or would he take her into some private room to pronounce her doom?
Somehow in her turmoil she managed a curtsy. "I am honored, Your Grace," she murmured, unable to say more. Her hands were trembling so badly she was sure everyone in the room was witness to her distress.
"It is I who am honored, Miss Lowell. I understand your brother was an exceptional soldier."
Which brother was he speaking of? she wondered. Her own brother Chandler Daymond, or Daniel Lowell? "You are most kind, Your Grace," she replied in a husky voice, knowing she must bide her time until she found out what was expected of her.
Julian realized he was staring at the lovely goddess, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He, a man of considerable experien
ce with highborn women. Now he was completely besotted by a young lady he had just met, and an American at that. Even if her family had been loyal to the Crown, she was still a provincial. His eyes moved over her creamy shoulders and up her sweetly arched neck. His mind dwelled momentarily on what perfection must lie beneath her white gown. In his opinion, if there was a model for the perfect woman, surely Madeline Lowell was her.
There were other people in the room, but they were not important. Even though Lavender feared Julian Westfield, she was drawn to him with an overpowering awareness. She knew when General Cornwallis excused himself, and she made the appropriate reply to him. But dark eyes held her captive as a strong hand took hers and raised it to his lips.
"1 feel we are not strangers, and have met before . .." He hesitated as if groping for the right words, something Julian Westfield had never had to resort to. ". . . because you have woven your enchantment about me, Miss Lowell. Are you aware of that?" He wondered why he was acting like some callow youth. His eyes moved over her creamy shoulders, and he stared at the tiny mole just above the curve of her breast. He must be mad, because he had the strongest urge to gather her in his arms and crush her to him.
Lavender thought he might be testing her to see if she would confess they had met before. "I. . . believe you jest, Your Grace. We have just now met for the first time." She had to act as if she did not know him.
His sensuous lips parted in a smile, while his pulse raced madly. "How can this be, when I feel I have always known you?"
Her blue eyes widened in astonishment. Again she wondered if he was playing a game. Was he hinting that he knew who she was? "Surely you have me confused with someone else, Your Grace. I do not know you."
He realized he had not released her hand, but neither had she pulled away. He dared to grow bolder still. His gaze intensified. "I wonder if you would consent to walk with me in the garden? I assure you I will be on my best behavior—you can trust me."
Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 8