Once he had told her that when everything else was gone, all there was left to hold on to was loyalty. Without family, without plans, without future, the one thing he had left was allegiance to his country.
She had begged for the life of her brother, and he had given it to her. Had she asked too much?
She went to him and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. He shuddered in response.
"Jon?" she asked softly.
His shoulders heaved once, then he stood and turned to her. The expression on his face was stony and remote—unreadable. When his gaze met hers his eyes were cool, glazed, a perfect, shallow reflection of the silver moonlight. They revealed nothing.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, the rough rumble of his voice unemotional and atonal.
"I read the letters before I delivered them to Washington."
"You read the letters." He shook his head. "I should have known."
"You suspected my family!" she said defensively. "I didn't know what you'd written there! I only knew what you'd told me."
"But I said nothing about who I suspected."
"True." She bit her lower lip. "But you requested that you come here tonight alone, completely without backup."
"I always work alone, Beth. I really am quite competent, you know."
"And last time you tried that you were shot and ended up nearly bleeding to death in our stables!" she protested.
"So you thought you'd come to my rescue again." A faint, brief glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes, and her heart swelled slightly.
"Well... yes."
Then the tentative spark faded, and once again the starkness filled his eyes. She could feel him becoming detached from her, retreating into that place inside himself where there was no warmth, no emotion, no pain. The part that maintained a role and valued a job above all. She nearly cried for the absence of his life and warmth.
"Jonathan." Carefully slipping her arms around his waist, she lay her head against his chest. He made no move to return her embrace, but neither did he shrink away.
The familiar warmth of his body seeped through her clothes. The thudding of his heart was steady and strong beneath her ear. Try as he might, he was not inhuman, could not be free of painful things like emotion and wants and desires. She would not allow it.
"You're not a traitor, Jonathan."
"The British wouldn't agree with you," he said flatly.
"You but did your job."
His body went rigid. "That wasn't the real betrayal. It was... all those men who died, Beth. Oh, God!" Anguish seeped into his voice, breaking through the toneless control. "All those men!"
Her arms tightened around him. "And how many did you save, Jonathan?" she asked fiercely. "Do you count those too?"
"Beth!" The word seemed torn from him, coming from some place hidden deep in his soul. His arms came around her then, crushing her wildly, almost savagely against him, but she welcomed his fervent embrace. She knew then that everything was going to be all right.
She held him while he shook in her arms like a great oak buffeted by a mighty storm. Finally, his arms relaxed their grip. He cradled her head, touching her with a gentleness that bordered on reverence, and lifted her face.
"Beth," he said urgently. "I've played a role so long that even I am not sure what is underneath. I think it's time I found out. I'd like to do that with you."
"Yes."
He smiled at the speed of her answer. "Wait a minute. Once we strip away the layers, there may not be much left underneath. And it probably isn't pretty," he warned her.
"I know what's beneath."
"You do?"
"Yes." She reached up to touch his face, lightly trailing her fingers down the clean, powerful line of his jaw. "The man I love."
"God, Beth!" There was no hesitation in his kiss, no hint of restraint or subterfuge or shadow. There was only passion and gentleness and fresh, clean emotion.
There was only love.
When he raised his head, all the coldness had left his eyes. They gleamed, alight with fire and intensity. "I do love you, Beth."
Her smile was as powerful and warming as the sun on the first true day of summer.
"Come on, soldier. Let's go home."
CHAPTER 28
Cadwallader and Mary Jones were somewhat surprised to see who their daughter brought home.
It was well after midnight by the time Beth and Jon arrived. No welcoming light glowed from the dark windows of the quiet house. It looked peaceful and homey, and Jon was suddenly reluctant to disturb the hushed tranquillity, unwilling to bring the untidy and painful currents of war into Beth's home.
Beth reached out to open the door, but Jon put his hand on hers. "Maybe we should wait until morning," he suggested softly.
"Why?"
"Your parents probably need their rest. We shouldn't disrupt their sleep. The morning's soon enough."
She studied him quizzically for a moment, and then grinned. "You're not afraid to face my father, are you?"
"Well, I am bringing home his only daughter in the middle of the night. I don't want every male in your family to come after me at once."
She gave him a mock scowl. "Are you trying to tell me your intentions aren't honorable?"
"It would probably be a lot more honorable to let you go." He tenderly brushed the curve of her cheek. "My intentions are to love you for the rest of your life."
"Oh, Jonathan." She lifted her face to kiss him, her lips feathering over his, a kiss that had little to do with heat and everything to do with warmth.
He angled his head and opened his mouth, tracing the delectable curve of her lips with his tongue. What extravagance, to be able to kiss her without urgency, to explore slowly and without greed, knowing that there would be other times and other kisses. He'd never before had that heady luxury with her.
The snarl could have come from an angry bear or rabid dog; the only certainty was that it was a creature lost in the grip of fury or madness. Jon whirled and shoved Beth behind his back for safety, his hand automatically groping for his pistol as he readied himself to face the wild beast.
Her father thundered across the yard between the tavern and his house. His eyes were wide, dark, and snapping with rage, his fists clenched. He charged Jon, slamming him up against the side of the house next to the front door.
"Just what the bloody hell are you doing with my daughter!"
Slowly, trying to be as unthreatening as possible, Jon lifted his hands. There was no conceivable way he was going to do anything that might possibly injure Beth's father. If he got the tar beaten out of him, well, he figured he probably deserved at least that much.
He looked steadily down at Cadwallader. "It's not what you think." That wasn't precisely true, either, but there was certainly more to it than Jones undoubtedly thought there was.
Cad's beefy forearms were crossed over Jon's chest, one just under his neck, keeping him solidly pushed against the rough stone wall. Then Beth wriggled between them, pushing her father away and ordering him to back off. Spreading her arms wide protectively, she planted herself in front of Jon.
Oh, God. She was rescuing him again. He was really going to have to do something about this particular penchant of hers.
"Now, Da," she said soothingly. "We've got a lot to tell—"
"What is going on out here?" Mary Jones's voice was unruffled, as soft and musical as if she were asking a neighbor in to tea.
"Mary, it's that idiot redcoat again," Cad shouted. "And this time, he's put his hands on our Bennie!"
Mary had a white shawl drawn securely over her voluminous nightrobe, and a lacy little cap was perched daintily over her smooth braids. She seemed completely unconcerned about both her attire and the scene in front of her house. "Elizabeth?" she asked.
"It's rather complicated, Mother."
Mary smiled slightly. "I'd imagine so. Well, you all may as well come in. No need to discuss it out in the yard."
"But, Mary, my
love—"
"Come along, Cadwallader."
The whale oil lamp Mary lit in the parlor cast eerie, dancing shadows against the walls. Jon perched uneasily on an upholstered settee, and Cad forcibly hustled Bennie to the chair farthest away from where Jon sat. Mary glided over to sit next to Jon, while Cad took up pacing back and forth across the room. His footsteps thundered on the polished wood floor.
"Now then, Ben, give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the regulars and have him arrested right this moment."
Bennie quickly glanced over at Jon. At his small nod, she straightened her shoulders and looked steadily at her father. "Because he's been working for the Americans all along."
"Oh, Bennie." He shook his head sadly. "You don't truly expect me to believe that, do you?"
"Beth is quite correct, sir. I was born in the colonies, in Philadelphia, and lived there until I was ten, and I have always considered this my home. I have only tried to help in any way I could."
Cad spun around, his jaw agape in shock. "You talked!"
"I believe you have heard me speak before, sir," Jon said in his most respectful voice.
"But—" Cad clamped his mouth shut and studied Jon carefully.
Superficially, he certainly looked like the man Cad remembered. His clothes were rumpled and torn, streaked with dirt and what looked suspiciously like blood. He'd seen Jon's clothes in that state many times, although before he'd always worn a British uniform.
But there the resemblance ended. This man was taller, his head held proudly and his posture perfect. He radiated indefinable but absolutely tangible power, the kind of power that led men and accomplished impossible things. His eyes, alert and assessing, sparked with exceptional intelligence. And, when his gaze fell on Bennie, they softened with equally uncommon tenderness.
"So," Cad said slowly, trying to reconcile the man who'd stumbled into the Eel with the one who sat in front of him now. "No stupidity?"
Jon's mouth quirked in amusement. "Well, sir, your daughter might choose to disagree with that."
"All right." Cad stopped his pacing, crossed his arms, and glared at Jon. "That explains why I shouldn't turn you in to the militia. But considering what I saw outside my own front door, can you give me one good reason I shouldn't grab my musket and haul you both off to the nearest man of the cloth?"
Jon met Cad's gaze squarely. "Sir, there's nothing I'd like more."
Cad's mouth popped open again.
Mary took over. "Elizabeth! How wonderful!" Beaming at her daughter, she rose, her nightrobe settling gracefully around her feet. "I knew you didn't mean it when you said you never wished to get married."
Cad was still standing in the middle of the room, his stunned gaze darting back and forth from his daughter to Jon and back to Bennie again.
"Sit down, Cad," Mary said briskly. "We need to celebrate. I'll just go and fetch—"
"Mother, I really think you should sit down too."
The serious note in Bennie's voice must have alerted Mary. She glanced uncertainly from her daughter to Cad, then slowly complied.
"Now then." Beth swallowed heavily, her eyes nearly black with pain. She lifted her shoulders, preparing herself, and determinedly plunged in. "There's something else we have to tell you—"
"It can wait," Jon broke in. Beth looked at him questioningly, and he nodded. Perhaps her parents need never know their son had been a traitor. He could ask Washington to keep it quiet, to let them all believe Brendan had simply deserted. Maybe this much, at least, he could spare them. He could certainly spare Beth the burden of telling them. "It can wait," he repeated implacably. "We're all tired. We should get some rest. The morning will be here soon enough."
Beth felt the tightness in her chest ease. Not completely—just a notch—but enough so that it was bearable. He meant to help her, she realized. This she didn't have to handle alone. Although she found the pain didn't dim, the pressure had lessened. The responsibility, the duty to stand completely alone was gone. Now there was someone to share it.
Now there was Jonathan.
"Well." Cad slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up, a signal to the others to rise also. "I guess you're right. No reason to be sitting around hashing it out in the middle of the night when there are perfectly good beds upstairs. Jon, I'll show you a room over to the Eel you can stay in."
"The Eel?" Jon said in a strangled voice. He looked at Beth, and she could see the yearning in his eyes, his reluctance to leave her, and even a little disbelief that he had to, and she had to work to stifle her laughter. "You want me to sleep in the tavern?"
"Of course," Cad said jovially. "That's where my boys sleep. You'll be perfectly comfortable, I promise. And Isaac doesn't really snore all that loudly."
Cad had Jonathan halfway out the door by this time. Jonathan planted his feet, bracing his hands against the door frame, and turned to look back at Beth. "Beth?" he asked plaintively.
She knew her amusement showed in her voice. "I'll see you in the morning, Jonathan."
"Yes." Mary tucked an invisible hair back beneath her cap. "It will be a busy day tomorrow. We'll have to start planning the wedding. If we get right to work, I'm certain we could have it in no more than a month."
Jon's shoulders sagged. "Beth," he begged. She smiled at him innocently.
"Now then," Mary was going on, "I believe I saw just the fabric for a wedding dress over at Rupert's store. Beth, do you want to go see it tomorrow? A month will be plenty of time to make something truly stun—"
"A week," Jon said sternly.
"What?" Distracted from her plans, Mary focused on her prospective son-in-law. "We can't possibly be ready in a week. I've waited for so long—"
"A week," Jon repeated, his jaw set.
Cad looked Jon up and down once before shoving him out the door. "I'll tell you one thing, Mary my love," he called as he left. "What grandchildren these two are going to give us!"
***
Jonathan and Beth were married a week later in the First Congregational Church of New Wexford, the church where her grandfather had presided for so many years and where Cadwallader had first laid eyes on the prettiest, most feminine bit of woman he'd ever seen. It was the church where her parents were married, and where four of her brothers had wed.
Since the young minister who'd replaced Mary's father had gone off to do his duty to country as well as God, they'd had to fetch the elderly reverend from Middleton to perform the ceremony. In Mary's opinion, he'd managed things adequately, if not exceptionally well.
There'd been no new dress after all. Jon had spent most of the week in Cambridge, giving his report to General Washington, but he'd stayed around long enough to decree that Beth should wear the forest green dress he liked so much. And Mary, who'd spent a lifetime moving large, immovable people, found she'd finally run into one she couldn't budge. Amazingly, she seemed to like him even more for it. Or perhaps it was just that her daughter was finally getting married. She was willing to yield the battle, for she'd already won the war.
Cad and Mary had taken the news that their second son had deserted with surprising equanimity. Cad, although shamed, had also declared he'd always known the boy hadn't the stomach for war. Mary had paled and turned in on herself, saying little. Bennie suspected her mother had always realized she'd lose Brendan someday and also thought Mary was perhaps a bit relieved to have at least one of her children out of harm's way. Sometimes, when Mary went very quiet, Bennie wondered if her mother knew more about Brendan's disappearance than Jon had told her.
Now, after every scrap of food her mother and all her brother's wives had spent each and every minute of the past week preparing had been devoured, after her father's private stock had been seriously depleted, and after they'd finally been able to roust the last of the guests from the tavern, the house, and the yard between, she sat on the bed in the room she'd had as a child, waiting for her husband.
She smoothed the fine lawn of the nightgown Hannah, Adam's wife, h
ad given her, fingering the delicate white lace her sister-in-law was famous for tatting, and wondered if a bride had ever been less nervous on her wedding night.
There was no room for trepidation when she was so completely overwhelmed with anticipation. She'd spent the week docilely doing whatever her mother told her to do, lost in dreams of what it was going to be like to have Jonathan beside her the whole night long. When her mother had, with calm detachment and absolute precision that was belied by the dreamy gleam in her dark eyes, informed Elizabeth what to expect on her wedding night, it had been all Bennie could do not to burst out giggling—and she never giggled.
And when they'd stood in the front of the church, Jon had looked down at her and quoted his vows in a voice that fairly vibrated with strength and commitment. If she had never before known that he loved her, she would have believed it absolutely at that moment. Sunlight had streamed through the high stained glass window, painting him with jeweled tones of sapphire and emerald and ruby light that glowed and sparkled like gems too precious to be real. But his eyes had shone even brighter, gleaming with satisfaction and exultation and love, emotions that reverberated in her own heart like the purest note she'd ever imagined.
So where was he? She bounced off the bed and began to pace the room impatiently, the hem of her new gown whispering around her ankles. There was sensual pleasure in the feel of the fine cloth against her naked skin, and she realized her skin was primed, anticipating a touch of another sort.
The door slammed open and Jon rushed in. He shoved the door closed and weakly leaned against, his eyes brimming with light and humor.
"God, Beth, why didn't you warn me?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a mock frown. "Where have you been?"
"I've been getting lectures. From your father, from that pipsqueak of a little brother of yours, and from that old storekeeper. Not to mention your mother, bless her dainty little steel-edged soul, as well as all the ones I got from your other brothers when I was in Cambridge." He loosened his collar, exposing a wedge of smooth tawny skin. "Why didn't you tell me what I was getting into?"
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