Heads turned their way.
Beads of sweat sprang upon his forehead.
Rose took his arm and swung beside him. “Mr. Snyder. I fear you are unwell. Would you care to sit down?”
He shook his head as if to rid himself of whatever ailed him. His breath became labored, and he nodded. “Perhaps I should.”
Rose led him to one of the velvet stuffed chairs that lined the walls, but he refused to sit. Instead he began to pace, placing a hand over his heart. The dance ended, the music stopped, and the room instantly filled with chatter.
Noah led Marianne from the floor, and Mr. Heaton did the same with Cassandra. They headed toward Rose who was helping a pale Snyder walk without stumbling. People began to stare.
“It would appear your Mr. Snyder has partaken of too much spirits.” Cassandra cocked her head, a devilish smile on her lips.
Rose stared at the councilman. So unlike him.
“Pure madness! I had but two glasses of wine.” Mr. Snyder hissed and tugged upon his cravat.
A few ladies at the outskirts of the crowd moved away.
Luke crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.
Rose resisted the urge to chuckle. At least she wouldn’t have to dance with him again. Perhaps if the man drank himself unconscious, she could convince her aunt and uncle to leave early.
Mr. Snyder halted his pace, drew a deep breath as if he were choking, and then sank into a chair.
The chattering subsided as if a predator had entered the forest.
Heads swerved toward the door. Fans began to flutter. Gentlemen and ladies leaned toward one another in whispers.
The announcer’s voice rang through the room. “Mr. Alexander Reed.”
CHAPTER 23
Mr. Alexander Reed.”
The name drifted through the air like sweet music, a glorious tune from Rose’s past. Until it sharpened and shot straight through her heart.
Was this some cruel joke? Rose shifted her gaze between the grins on Marianne’s and Cassandra’s lips.
Mr. Snyder muttered something then dropped his head into his hands.
Rose stood on her tiptoes and peered over the crowd.
Then she saw him. Standing at the entranceway, a head above most of the other men. A gold satin waistcoat, trimmed in black velvet, peeked out from beneath his dark coat. A pair of black pantaloons were tucked into Hessian boots. His hair was tied behind him, revealing the strong set of his jaw. Hazel eyes as rich as the velvet of his coat locked upon hers.
Rose’s breath shot into her throat. Her head spun. She stumbled. Marianne and Cassandra gripped her arms, steadying her.
“Alex is here? How … Why …?” Alarm tightened the skin on her hands, her arms, her neck until they tingled. “He shouldn’t be …”
“Go to him.” Marianne gave her a gentle nudge.
Rose gaped at her friend. “You knew?” She swept her gaze to Cassandra on her other side. “You too?”
They both smiled.
A thud sounded behind her, and she swerved to see Mr. Snyder slumped onto the floor. “My word.” She headed toward him, but Noah and Luke hoisted him up between them.
“He’ll be all right, Miss Rose.” Luke winked. “He just needs to sleep it off now.”
Sleep what off? The crowd parted amid a flurry of gasps and condemning glances as Noah and Luke dragged the councilman away.
Rose faced forward, her mind reeling with confusion. The throng split again. This time for Alex, who glided toward her with the authority and ease of a ship parting the sea. Her heart raced.
He gave her a sultry smile, then bowed and took her hand. “Miss McGuire, you look lovely tonight.”
Rose wanted to laugh, to cry, to fall into his arms. “Why, thank you, Mr. Reed.”
Music began and laughter and conversation joined in a chorus around them as the party resumed. Rose opened her mouth to ask the thousand questions rolling on her tongue, but nothing coherent emerged.
“Would you care to dance?” His deep eyes drank her in as he gestured toward the dance floor.
The haze in her mind refused to form a logical thought. Rose nodded as she kept her eyes fastened upon him, expecting him to disappear at any moment. Alex couldn’t be here. He’d be caught—locked up as a prisoner of war. Strong fingers curled around hers, and a jolt of heat coursed up her arm and into her head, adding to her dizziness.
Either she was dreaming or she had gone completely mad. She’d gladly accept either option as long as she never woke up or regained her sanity.
Alex led her onto the floor and entered the parade of couples moving in a country dance. The music, the candlelight, the jewels, plumes, and colorful sashes all swirled around Rose in a blur as she gazed at the man she loved.
They stepped toward each other.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
He arched a questioning brow.
“Why? How?” Rose asked.
“Does my presence displease you?” He swung her around, leading her across the floor with the skill and grace evident of his nobility.
“Quite the contrary.” Rose dipped and swung around the gentleman to her left.
Alex took her hand once again. “Then let us enjoy the moment.” A speck of sorrow stained his otherwise jovial tone.
Rose did her best to silence the questions, the fears, and embrace the seconds of pure bliss as Alex moved her around the floor. Dare she hope he had decided to stay? She gazed up at the firm cut of his jaw, his regal nose, and dark brows above eyes that scanned the throng for possible enemies. Always ready. Always alert. His masculine scent filled the air between them. The brief moments of contact with him heated her skin, leaving it cold when he moved away, only to be warmed once again by his presence, his touch, the adoring look in his eyes. If this was a dream, it was a dream that brought all her senses to life.
He spun her around another couple and then allowed his gaze to travel over her face as if he was memorizing every inch of her. As they passed the edge of the crowd, dozens of curious eyes followed them. Jeweled heads leaned together behind fans in heated whispers, no doubt trying to guess the identity of this dark, handsome stranger, all the while wondering what he was doing with an unsophisticated girl like her.
The music stopped. Alex released her, and the room suddenly chilled. He proffered his elbow. “Would the lady care for a stroll in the gardens?”
Rose laid her hand on his arm. “The lady would.”
Ignoring the stares of the crowd, they sauntered from the floor as if they were king and queen. Rose searched for her friends, but they had conveniently disappeared. Instead, at the far end of the hall, her uncle smiled her way before ushering Aunt Muira into the next room. Was he part of this scheme as well? So many questions. But they would have to wait. All that mattered now was Alex.
He wove his way through the crowd with ease toward the door. General Smith and two officers stood to the side of the entrance. Rose stiffened, but then remembered Alex had been introduced to the general as their footman. Though Alex’s presence with her would be considered unusual, it would not raise undue suspicion.
Fresh evening air swept over her, cooling her skin and fluttering the lace at her neckline. A crush of people filled the garden. Laying his hand over hers, Alex led her through the back opening into additional gardens behind the inn where only a few couples lingered in secret assignations.
He stopped beneath an arbor of climbing roses and slowly turned to face her. The light from a nearby lantern reflected a mixture of agony and admiration in his eyes. He brushed his fingers over her cheek, and Rose closed her eyes, hoping, wishing to keep him with her forever.
The sweet scent of roses, honeysuckle, and Alex wafted about her. “I hope I never wake up.”
Alex said nothing, though a tiny smile graced his lips.
Alarm snapped Rose from her dream. She glanced over her shoulder. “If Mr. Snyder sees you …”
“He won’t. Your friends have seen t
o that.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I had no idea they even knew about Snyder or my feelings toward you.”
Threading his fingers through hers, he kissed her glove, all the while keeping his eyes on her. “I thought I would never see you again.” His voice deepened in sorrow.
“I fear for you, Alex. I do not know who Mr. Snyder may have told.” She gripped his hand. “Why have you come back?”
Whispers from a couple sitting on a bench across the way drew his gaze. He scanned the surroundings, then turned to her and smiled. “I have something to show you.”
“What could be so important that you risk your life?” She fell against him. Strong arms engulfed her. His strength washed over Rose like an elixir that soothed away all her fears. If only she could bottle it and save it forever. “I could not bear to see you imprisoned … or worse.”
He kissed her forehead and took a step back, then lifted the flap of his coat. A flicker of gold glimmered in the lantern light. The hilt of a sword. Why had she not seen it before? He drew it from its scabbard.
His service sword. A giggle bubbled in her throat but never released. “How did you get this?”
He slid the blade back into place. “I stole it.” His eyes sparkled mischievously.
“From Mr. Snyder?”
“I had some help.”
Rose threw a hand to her throat as realization struck her. “Noah and Luke?”
“Indeed.” Alex nodded.
“And they didn’t turn you over to General Smith?”
“Your uncle convinced them to help me in order to save you from Snyder.”
Rose drew in a breath. “They risked being arrested for me.”
Alex nodded and brushed a thumb over her cheek. “And they allowed me this one last chance to see you, to tell you in person that you don’t have to marry that beast.”
Pain stabbed her heart. “Before you leave.”
“Yes. They are allowing me to go back to my ship, and for that I am grateful.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “I know they could all be arrested for treason should anyone find out.”
“And my uncle too. What a dear man.” The air around Rose grew warm as she began to understand what her friends had risked for her. Tugging off her gloves, she gazed up at Alex and stroked his firm jaw, memorizing the scratchy feel of it.
He placed his hand atop hers. “I could not leave knowing you would be forced to marry that vile man because of me.”
A tear slid down Rose’s cheek. He gazed at her for a moment then leaned toward her. His warm breath tickled her throat and sent a quiver through her. Then his lips found hers. Lost in his taste, Rose melted into him, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill once again from her eyes.
“He’s here. I know I saw him!” Mr. Snyder’s slurred voice shot into the garden. Rose jumped from Alex. Her wide eyes met his. A chill enveloped her.
“I assure you, sir, the Drummond servant left their employ last week.” Noah’s urgent tone sped past them. One glance over her shoulder told Rose, the councilman headed toward them, Noah and Luke on his heels.
Alex pulled Rose into the shadows.
“Go!” she whispered, her tears flowing freely now. She pushed him away. “Go.” Agony rent her heart in two.
Gently clutching her face in his hands, he kissed her once more. Then releasing her, he turned and ran into the night.
Alex plodded down the weed-infested trail, his heart so low in his chest it felt as trodden as the pebbles beneath his feet. The rhythmic stomp of boots and beat of war drums reminded him that he was back among his people. Brushing aside a vine, he gazed through the thick forest toward the west where the setting sun wove bands of auburn and gold through the trees and across the path. He stepped through one of the glittering rays but felt none of its light and beauty. In fact, he’d begun to wonder whether he would ever feel joy again.
Two days had passed since he had left Rose at the Fountain Inn. After he’d slipped into the shadows, he’d turned for one last look at her as she stood, tears spilling down her cheeks, staring into the darkness. He’d nearly shed his own tears at the anguish on her pretty face—at the pain in his own heart. But naval officers did not cry. Especially not British naval officers.
Which was what he was once again.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself. For as he marched through the Maryland countryside alongside British soldiers, he felt none of the patriotism, pride, or loyalty toward his country that had been inbred in him since his youth.
Truth be told, he felt more like a traitor now than he ever did when he lived with the Drummonds.
Sweat dripped down his back beneath the dark coat of his uniform. Save for the shade of a few trees, the sun had pummeled the men mercilessly as they marched all day with barely a respite. Forbidden to shed the outer coats of their uniforms, many had fallen by the wayside, too exhausted from the heat to continue. Alex pressed onward, embracing the scorching heat, the blisters on his feet, the ache throbbing in his thigh, hoping the discomfort would dull the pain in his heart. He shifted his musket into his other hand and shook out the cramp that had formed in his arm. The smell of unwashed bodies along with the occasional groans filled the air around him.
He tried to shake off his ill feelings. He must forge ahead. He must do his duty. He must not allow foolish sentiments to lead him astray. Yet something deep within him had changed. Something at the core of his being. His very beliefs and values had been turned upside down, and he doubted he’d ever be able to set them aright again.
Nor did he want to.
No, he was no longer the same man. It was as if he had been blind his entire life only now to be given sight. Doffing his hat, he dabbed at the sweat on his forehead as orders ricocheted through the trees, sending the band of men turning to the right.
He must keep his focus. He had his family’s honor to think of.
Yet the word family in connection to his childhood home seemed blasphemous when compared to what he’d come to know of the true meaning of the word with Rose and the Drummonds.
At least after Alex had left Baltimore and traveled all night, he had no trouble finding a boat to row him back to the HMS Undefeatable. He supposed he should thank God that Captain Milford accepted his woeful tale of being shot and cared for by a Loyalist farmer for nearly three weeks until Alex had been able to walk on his own. The captain posed no question as to the whereabouts of Lieutenant Garrick. No doubt most of the men on board, including the captain, were not sorry to see the first lieutenant gone. Alex felt a pang of sorrow for the man who had inspired not an ounce of mourning for his loss.
Yet, no sooner had Alex settled into his berth than he’d been ordered to join a group of marines and seamen who were to rendezvous with a band of troops under the command of General Ross at Marlboro. Their orders were to drag one six-pounder and two three-pounder cannons over the asperous terrain to an undisclosed battlefield. Unable to convince the captain he had not regained his full strength, Alex now found himself, once again, trudging across American soil. Something he had promised Noah and Luke he would do all in his power to avoid.
Last night when they’d camped at Marlboro, the British soldiers had helped themselves to the American settlers’ homes and food. They’d stolen sheep and horses and stripped crops and fruit trees like a swarm of locusts. At least they had not murdered or ravished any of the farmers’ wives in the process. For that, Alex was grateful. And surprised. Since Admiral Cockburn had joined General Ross, Alex had expected far worse, for the admiral’s insatiable lust for American blood had claimed many lives along the Chesapeake.
Alex’s agony increased with each step he took. Perhaps if he prayed, God would hear him. Yes, he would pray to Mr. Drummond’s God. Not the God Alex had grown up with in the Church of England. No, Alex had come to see that the true God was a God who loved unconditionally and who heard and answered prayers. Bowing his head, Alex could think of no appropriate words to start the dialogue. Yet,
oddly a powerful presence encompassed him as if a good friend had stepped into the ranks beside him. A voice spoke, an internal, soothing voice that Alex realized must be the voice of God, repeating the same words over and over again.
“Trust me, trust me.”
No matter what happened, Alex determined to do just that. Yet he also prayed that part of his destiny did not entail firing upon the American people he’d come to admire as if they were his own countrymen.
His own countrymen. The words rang so loud and clear within him that he nearly shouted them out loud. Not only did the revelation burst in his heart, but it settled in his reason as if it were pure wisdom.
God, are you telling me to become an American? Excitement heightened his steps.
What of his family? What of gaining their favor once again? A flurry of letters filled his vision—letters he had sent back home begging his brother and his father for forgiveness.
All of them unanswered.
“There is One more whom you must ask.”
Alex swallowed and stared down at his muddied boots as he marched onward. He had never asked God to forgive him. In fact, Alex had never forgiven himself. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry for what I did to my brother,” he whispered.
A weight seemed to roll across his shoulders and fall to the dirt beside him. He stretched his back and gazed upward into the blue sky. Unexpected joy filled him. His skin buzzed with excitement. God had forgiven him. God had forgiven him! How could Alex not forgive himself?
He bowed his head. Thank You for Your forgiveness, God. I forgive myself. Please help me never to do something so foolish again.
He cringed and raised his gaze. Yet wasn’t staying with Rose just another foolhardy, irrational move?
No. It wasn’t just a frivolous sentiment. Though Alex’s heart was elated, becoming an American also rang true in his mind and in his spirit—the spirit that now was connected to God Almighty.
Alex chuckled out loud, drawing the gaze of a few of the soldiers. Perhaps he was the half-wit his father had so often called him. Here was the proof. What son of a wealthy viscount would turn his back on his family, his inheritance—egad, even his country—for a farm girl who spoke to pigs and cuddled chickens? A woman who feared everything and yet saved the life of an enemy whose people had killed her father.
Surrender the Night Page 27