“I’m sorry, Rose.” Mr. Snyder coughed. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
Rose flattened her lips and stared at the man who had threatened her family, who had sent her beloved Alex away, forever destroying Rose’s chance at true love and happiness. She searched her heart for any animosity and strangely found none, as if his life-threatening injury or perhaps God Himself had swept it all away.
A flash of lightning lit his face, and Rose nearly gasped at the gray pallor of his skin. Beneath her hand, his heart still beat, though its pulse had weakened. A tear slid down her cheek. She bit her lip. No, Lord. No. Please do not let him die.
Yet … a shameful thought skipped across Rose’s mind. If Mr. Snyder died, Rose and her family would be safe from his threats. She sighed and wiped the blood from Mr. Snyder’s lips. Even still, she did not wish him dead.
Withdrawing her right hand from his wound, Rose placed her other one upon it, then shook out the cramp in her palm. Not that holding the wound was doing any good. This amount of blood indicated a major organ or artery had been penetrated. If only her aunt or Dr. Wilson were here. Then again, what could any of them do in the middle of an enemy-occupied city?
“I have been a beast, Rose.” Mr. Snyder’s voice cracked. “I wanted your land. And I wanted you.” He attempted to smile.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“But it does. I want you to understand.” His voice rasped like the scraping of wood on wood. “I longed to be a man of importance, of prominence. I wanted recognition, status, I wanted to be admired.” He coughed and another stream of blood spilled from his lips. “And someday, maybe even loved.” His sorrowful eyes met hers.
Thunder pounded on the walls of the house. Rose’s heart collapsed in anguish for Mr. Synder’s pain. “A man’s true value is not measured in his wealth or status, but in his honor and charity,” she said.
Understanding flashed in Mr. Snyder’s dull eyes. “Yes, I see that now.”
Somewhere a window shattered. Hideous laughter ensued.
“You must leave, Rose.” Mr. Snyder’s tone grew urgent. “Before they find you. I am done for.”
Rose gripped his hand. “I won’t leave you.”
His forehead wrinkled. “After all I’ve done?”
The patter of rain sounded on the roof like the march of a thousand soldiers.
She squeezed his hand.
His eyes misted. “Forgive me, Rose?”
Rose dabbed at the sweat beading in the red whiskers that lined his jaw—the ones he always kept so expertly trimmed. “Yes, of course.” A sudden fear gripped her as she watched his life ebb away—fear for his eternal destination. “But it’s God’s forgiveness you need to seek.”
He nodded, coughing. Sprinkles of blood flew from his mouth.
Rose smiled and wiped the tears spilling down her cheeks.
He coughed again, then expelled a deep breath.
And went completely still.
A flash of lightning revealed eyes devoid of life.
Releasing the pressure on his chest, Rose curled up into a ball on the floor beside him and began to sob.
Thunder cracked the sky with a loud boom.
The door squeaked open. Swallowing a sob, Rose peered beneath the sofa. A breeze wafted around her with the scent of rain and sweat and smoke. Boots, immersed in a circle of light, thudded over the wooden floor. Black Hessian boots. Rose held her breath.
Oh Lord, make him go away.
Inching to the edge of the sofa, Rose dared a peek around the corner. She gasped.
Alexander Reed stood in the center of the room.
CHAPTER 28
Too shocked to move, Alex stared at the woman he loved. He shook his head. He’d gone mad. There was no other explanation, for Rose would not have traveled this far from home. Holding up the lantern, he took a step toward her. Rain tapped an eerie cadence on the roof. Lightning flashed outside the window, coating her in silver. Alex blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to settle his heart. Only a vision. Just a vision conjured up by his despair.
Thunder rumbled through the walls. He snapped his eyes open.
The vision moved. It gripped the sofa and slowly stood. Wide, lustrous blue eyes gaped at him.
He inched toward her. “Rose?”
She flew into his arms. He wrapped one arm around her and dropped his face into her hair. The smell of hay and honeysuckle confirmed what the warmth flooding his body told him.
She was real.
She began to sob. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Withdrawing, he set the lantern on the floor, then gripped her shoulders and glanced over her, looking for any injuries, as sudden fear dashed away his joy. “What the deuces are you doing here?”
Sadistic laughter barreled down the hallway.
Rose wiped the tears from her face and fell into him again. “My aunt and uncle were at the orphanage. I came to warn them.”
Alex bundled her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You foolish, wonderful lady.”
Lantern light flickered over her face as her eyes, bounding with love, sought his. He stroked her cheeks and lowered his lips to hers. They tasted of salty tears and Rose. She moaned, and he pressed her against him and ran his fingers through her hair. “I love you, Rose.”
“You love me?”
“Yes.” He brushed the hair from her face. “And I want to stay with you. Become an American.”
She blinked and took a step back. “Then what are you doing here?”
“Trying to find your military so I can desert mine, trying to stop the destruction.” Alex ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure anymore.”
“I can’t believe you want to become an American.” Rose approached and cradled his face in her hands. “Is it true?”
“Truer than anything I’ve ever known.” Alex smiled and leaned his forehead against hers.
A loud blast from inside the house jolted him back to reality. Releasing Rose, he gripped the hilt of his sword, stepped to the door and peered out. Fear tightened his gut. “Your aunt and uncle?”
“They were already gone when I got here.”
“Then what are you doing in this house?”
“I came in to warn the president’s wife.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “Mr … Mr …” Her voice quaked. “Mr. Snyder.”
Alex turned to give her a questioning look. “What of Mr. Snyder?”
“He followed me.” Her eyes snapped to the only piece of furniture in the room. Thunder growled outside. “He’s dead.” Rose shuddered and stared at the sofa.
Picking up the lantern, Alex skirted the velvet couch. Blank eyes stared up at him above a blood-soaked cravat and waistcoat. He tore his gaze away and looked at Rose. “How?”
“A British soldier shot him.”
Alex swallowed as realization settled. Yes. The soldier who had died by Alex’s side. More footsteps pounded outside the room, joining the tap of raindrops atop the roof. Alex grasped Rose’s hand once again. This time he noticed how cold and moist her skin was. Terror like he’d never felt before consumed him. He must keep Rose safe.
“We have to get you out of here. Soldiers are searching the entire mansion. They will find you.”
The ominous clap of a footfall sounded behind him. Alex spun around.
The dark figure of a British soldier stepped inside the room. “Ah, I see you’ve found a sweet American tart, my friend. Care to share?”
The soldier sauntered into the room, pistol in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other. All hope fled Rose before an advancing onslaught of fear. Her pulse roared in her ears. No matter what happened, she would never forget these final minutes God had allowed her with the man she loved.
Alex moved in front of her as if he could shield her from this man. From the world. She wished he could. Oh Lord, please protect him. Please don’t let him do anything foolish. She glanced over the room, sea
rching for anything she could use as a weapon, but found none. Mr. Snyder’s pistol was in the dining room where he’d dropped it beside his ever-present cane.
Alex’s hand flew to the hilt of his service sword. “The woman is my prisoner.”
“Egad, man. She’s a rebel wench.” The soldier, a sergeant, evidenced by the three strips on his red coat, peered around Alex. “And a comely one at that.” Desire burned in his dark eyes. Rose’s stomach soured.
“Besides.” The man wobbled past Alex. “Admiral Cockburn has given us his leave to take whatever we find in the house.” The smell of alcohol emanating from the brute burned Rose’s nose.
Alex moved in front of her again. His muscles seemed to ripple beneath his dark navy coat. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a sigh of compliance. “Very well. I suppose I’ll oblige you, sergeant.” He gave a chuckle that would have convinced Rose of his sincerity if she didn’t know him better. He pointed toward the soldier’s pistol. “No need for that, is there? We are on the same side, after all.”
The sergeant glanced at the weapon in his hand as if he’d not realized he held it. Stuffing it in its holster, he hefted the bottle to his lips and took a big draught. He wiped his mouth and handed it to Alex.
Alex took a sip then gestured toward the hallway. “Do get the door, sergeant, while I get the wench ready. We don’t want to be disturbed, do we?”
Lightning flickered outside, flashing an eerie gray over the sergeant’s angular face. His wide grin reminded Rose of a row of dead bones standing at attention. “Aye, I like the way you think, sir.” Removing the tall black shako from his head, he set it on the sofa, scouring Rose with a salacious gaze before he turned and started toward the door.
Alex didn’t hesitate. Drawing his sword, he struck the man’s head with the hilt. With a moan, the sergeant folded to the ground like a used piece of foolscap.
Rose gasped and stared at Alex.
Thunder roared, rattling the windows.
Alex flashed a smile her way, then knelt by the man and began unbuttoning the brass buttons on his coat. “Quick. Take off your clothes.”
“What?” Rose shook her head as if Alex’s words had somehow become jumbled.
“Your clothes, Rose.” His voice was urgent. “I’ll turn my head.”
Slipping into the shadows, Rose hesitated for a moment until she realized what he intended to do. She wanted to protest the mad idea, but her voice once again would not cooperate. Instead, she clutched her gown and lifted it over her head.
Alex made quick work of the man’s brass buttons and tore off his coat, then began fidgeting with his fatigue jacket beneath. “Your petticoat, Rose. I need your petticoat.” His voice was gentle, but commanding, brooking no argument—just as Rose assumed he sounded when he shouted orders aboard his ship.
Lifting off her petticoat, she tossed it to him. It landed by his side as he removed the man’s linen shirt. Shouts and laughter echoed through the house. Rose’s fingers shook as she attempted to unhook her stays. Without success.
Rain pattered on the roof, matching the frenzied beat of her heart. Smoke filtered into the room. An off-key ballad chimed from somewhere in the house. She cleared her throat. “I need … I need help with my stays.” Too embarrassed to face him, she turned around and stared at the cracks in the dark wall.
She heard his boots clap over the floor, felt his warmth at her back, his breath on her neck, and his fingers groping at the laces. “Upon my honor, how do you wear these infernal things?”
Rose suppressed a giggle, felt her stays loosen, her breath release, and heard him depart. She swerved about to see him with his back to her again. Such a gentleman. He removed the man’s shoes then began tugging down his trousers as Rose shrugged out of her stays. They fell to the floor, leaving only a thin chemise between her and the world. Between her and this man. A chill struck her and she hugged herself and receded farther into the shadows. Two months ago, she would have been horrified to be so scantily clad in a man’s presence. But she trusted Alex more than she’d ever trusted anyone. And despite their terrifying circumstances, she found an odd comfort in that realization.
Alex gathered the man’s clothing in a pile and pushed them toward her. “Put these on.”
Rose stooped to pick them up. “Surely they won’t fit.”
“We’ll make them fit. It’s the only way.”
The shrill tear of fabric echoed through the room from Alex’s direction. Rose donned the trousers, then slipped on the linen shirt, fatigue jacket, coat and shoes. Her feet swam in the buckled black boots, and the coat hung nearly to her knees. She had to hold the trousers up to keep them from falling. How would she ever pass for a British soldier?
Using the strips of torn petticoat, Alex bound the man’s feet and hands, then stuffed a gag in his mouth. He stood. “That should hold him until we get away.”
“I’m dressed.” Rose said, her voice emerging as a squeak.
Alex spun around, grabbed the man’s tall shako from the sofa and handed it to her. “Do your best to stuff your hair into this.”
Rose placed it atop her head and began forcing her thick tresses inside it while Alex tightened her belt around her waist and buttoned the coat buttons. Even with her hair stuffed beneath it, the silly hat kept slipping down her forehead.
Alex stepped back, shook his head and chuckled. “We must keep to the shadows and pray most of the men are well into their cups.” Lantern light twinkled in his eyes and gleamed off the brass buttons lining his coat. “For I doubt any man with half his wits about him would think you are anything but an alluring female.”
Amazed at his nonchalant attitude, Rose searched her heart for even a speck of courage to match his. Instead, fear knotted in her throat. “Are you sure this will work?”
Alex grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door. “No.”
Not the answer she wanted to hear.
Stopping, he faced her. “Stay behind me. Say nothing and keep your head low.”
Rose nodded. Air seized in her throat. “Lord, help us.”
“Yes, indeed.” He gave her a half smile, cupped her chin, and kissed her. “It will be all right.” Then he lengthened his stance, threw back his shoulders, and marched from the room as if he owned the night.
Rose followed him down a long hallway to a flight of stairs. He led her down them as the sounds of mayhem and madness assailed her from all directions: crashes, thumps, and the crackle of fire. Smoke stung her nose. Thunder bellowed and drunken laughter grated on her nerves. A mob of soldiers passed on their left, torches in their hands. The smell of alcohol wafted over her. Rose’s knees quaked. But the men seemed more intent on setting fire to the house than on paying her and Alex any mind.
Rose’s teeth began to chatter. Perspiration slid down her back beneath the heavy coat. She tried to keep her eyes on Alex’s back, to gain courage from the commanding cut of his uniform, from his confident gait. He led her down another hall to the main set of stairs. Down below, the front entrance of the house beckoned to her. Freedom. Escape. But it might as well be as far away as Baltimore, for a crush of sailors and soldiers mobbed the foyer.
Yet Alex didn’t miss a step. No hesitation. No fear.
Heat swamped Rose, and she turned to see flames bursting from the dining room. A lump formed in her throat. She fought back tears. There would be time to mourn for her country later. They started down the stairs. Two sailors brushed past them, laughing. A band of marines huddled near the front door.
They reached the foot of the stairs. They were almost there. Almost free.
Alex nodded at the marines by the door and exited the house. Rose lowered her chin, raised her shoulders, and stepped out behind him. Not until they reached the outer gate did she feel the rain pelting down on her or the breath returning to her lungs. One glance around her told her that Valor was no longer tied to the post. Sweet Valor. She hoped some British redcoat had not confiscated the poor horse. Please take care of Val
or, Lord. A gust of wind whipped over her, and she pressed a hand upon her hat and followed Alex down Pennsylvania Avenue.
Hurrying her steps, she eased beside him. The clomp of her oversized shoes echoed her betrayal. Rain misted on her, cooling her skin. Bright lights plucked at her curiosity, yet she kept her face down, hidden. When they had walked at least two blocks and the cacophony of destruction had lessened, she dared to lift her chin and scan the surroundings. Fires raged across the city. Unaffected by the rain, flames leaped out of windows and shot from roofs toward heaven. Smoke rose like prayers into the night sky, obscuring the stars and moon.
Rose’s heart collapsed. Her throat burned, and a shiver overtook her despite the heat of the night and the fires. “Dear God, how could this happen?”
Alex started to take her hand, then pulled it away. “I’m sorry, Rose.” Light from the flames flickered determination in his eyes. His jaw tightened. “I’m ashamed of what my countrymen have done.”
Musket shots peppered the sky. An explosion shook the ground.
Alex cast a worried gaze across the scene. “Follow me.” Turning down Thirteenth Street, he plodded forward, head down.
The drum of boots and the clomp of horses tightened Rose’s nerves. She dared a peek at a band of troops heading their way, led by two officers on horseback.
A pig crossed the path in front of them. It stopped, stared at them for a moment before grunting and ambling away.
“Friend of yours?” Alex teased.
Rose flattened her lips. “How can you joke at a time like this?”
“It relieves stress.”
“It’s not working.” Rose glanced down at the oversized attire and her massive footwear that clomped over the sand so loudly—they’d no doubt betray them to the passing troops. She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry. Instead she softened her step, lowered her chin, and kept her mouth shut. The soldiers passed.
A gust of wind blasted over them. Before she could stop it, Rose’s shako flew from her head. It clunked to the ground, releasing her long golden tresses down her back. She shrieked.
“You there, halt!” A voice blared over them from behind.
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