Ruse of Love

by Jerri Hines

  RUSE OF LOVE, Winds of Betrayal Series, Book Two of Three

  The tides of war have shifted. When all eyes turn south, Doctor Jonathan Corbett finds himself once more thrust into the war’s turmoil. On assignment from General Washington, the dashing doctor discovers his mission has taken him straight into a conflict where the British are not the only ones to be feared. Rebekah Morse has no time to contemplate the exploding war around her. Caught up as a pawn in a deadly conspiracy, she finds her only hope lies with her old friend, but things have changed since they last saw each other. Yet destiny has not intervened in their lives without cause. Rebekah’s strength, courage, and breathtaking sensuality sets within Jonathan a desire he swore never to feel again. When Rebekah’s life is threatened, Jonathan is determined to save the stubborn woman whether she wants to be saved or not. Now Jonathan and Rebekah must face the perilous threat together—only to discover a passion they never imagined...

  PATRIOT SECRETS, Winds of Betrayal Series, Book One of Three

  Praise for RUSE OF LOVE

  "Ruse of Love weaves together a fine tapestry of romance and history. With intense emotion and passion the characters come alive on the page and engage you from the opening chapters. Author Jerri Hines has cleverly crafted her story around the war torn south with such rich detail it makes you feel as though you are right there in the midst of the American Revolution."

  —Cynthia Vespia

  Winds of Betrayal Series, Book Two

  RUSE OF LOVE

  by

  Jerri Hines

  http://jerrihines.blogspot.com/

  http://twitter.com/jhines340

  Copyright:

  Copyright 2012 by Jerri Hines

  Published by Jerri Hines 2012

  Cover Art by Calista Taylor www.calistataylor.com

  Edited by Faith Williams, The Atwater Group

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  To Bob

  For allowing me to follow my dream.

  Prologue

  Philadelphia

  Spring, 1775

  Rain poured from the angry sky as if the heavens cried for the loss of an angel. The wind howled; lightning lit the dark sky. Thunder roared with the rage of the storm. Despite being midday, the day seemed as night, but Rebekah Morse cared little for the severity of the weather. She remained unmoved from her spot.

  Drenched, her cloak had done little to protect her from the harsh elements. Fresh dirt from the burial spot splattered her sodden feet. Rain dripped off her hood and down her cheek, mingling with the tears she cried. Her eyes stared at the lonely grave…so bare…so cold. Her mother, her precious mother, lay beneath the cold barren ground.

  Only a few months ago the whole of her world encompassed the woman now dead. How quickly all changed in her young life, her brief fifteen years! Now her mother lay beneath the ground and her father…she wasn’t certain where he laid his head at night.

  She told no one she had overheard his intention…their intention, the small group of her father’s closest friends working feverishly for the Patriot cause. The whole of the thought scared and frightened her beyond belief—her father, her beloved father, risking his life for the cause. She could not sleep with worry.

  Oh, Mother, I don’t know what to do. Why did you go away? I need you so.

  “Rebekah? Rebekah Morse?”

  Rebekah swirled around to the sound of her name in the pouring rain. A tall figure walked toward her, his face hidden from view with his rain-soaked hat hanging over his forehead. He clung tightly to his coat, giving little to his identity, but Rebekah recognized him immediately.

  “Jonathan? What are you doing here?” she asked over the weather.

  “Mrs. Jenkins sent me looking for you. She said she thought you might be here. Come. Let’s get out of this rain.”

  Rebekah accepted the arm he offered. In minutes, he led her into the home she had grown up in. It lay empty and unearthly quiet. She didn’t know when her father would return. He insisted before he left that the lot of her siblings and she stay with Dr. Jenkins and his wife. She argued with her father. She was fifteen and capable of looking after her five younger siblings. She had watched over them during her mother’s illness when he had been gone, but her father would have none of it.

  Unconscious of her movements, she took her cloak off. Her eyes swept across the small drawing room. Suddenly, comprehension sank deep within her. She clutched her stomach, for a pain stabbed her. Her mother…her dear, sweet mother was gone forever.

  Behind her, Jonathan stomped his boots and shook his coat. “Rebekah, what is wrong? Are you sick?”

  Rebekah turned back to Jonathan. He stood in front of her, tall, handsome, oh…so handsome. Even drenched in the rain did little to hide the fact. His cerulean eyes looked at her uncertainly.

  “I am fine. Why, look at me. I should offer you refreshment. I have no fire to warm you from the rain…”

  Jonathan walked to her, taking her by her shoulders. “Sit. I have no needs. It is you that is worrying me. Mrs. Jenkins is deeply concerned. She says you aren’t eating.”

  “I am fine. Truly. I…oh… Jonathan…I miss her so.”

  A moment later, she wept into his strong shoulders. He stroked her hair and talked to her in a soothing manner. In that moment she took comfort in his arms. Choking back her tears, she tried to regain her composure. She had to. She had to push herself away from him, afraid he might see. She swallowed hard. At least she could salvage her pride.

  Of all people to break down in front of. Jonathan Corbett! Not that it was the first time he had comforted her. He had the moment her mother had taken her last breath, being one of her physicians and close family friend. Jonathan had been a constant presence those last few weeks.

  Though, in those dreadful weeks, her girlhood adulation of the man next to her turned into a sensation new to her. More than adoration of the way he teased her mercilessly or the compassion he illuminated from his being, her heart swelled with his presence. Her mother had seen before she died. She recalled the last words she had spoken to Rebekah alone before Jonathan called her father and siblings into the room.

  “He is a good man, Rebekah. It eases me to know you will be cared for…”

  Rebekah had wanted nothing more than to ask her mother the meaning of her words, but as fate dictated, the chance dissipated. She watched helplessly while her mother struggled with her words and then her breath. The woman who loved her above all else closed her eyes, never to open them again before Rebekah could tell her.

  Before Rebekah could tell her beloved mother, she was wrong. Not that Jonathan wasn’t a good man. In Rebekah’s eyes, except for her father, she knew of no one better. No, she wanted to tell her mother that Jonathan could never care for her…Jonathan had married…to the most beautiful and flamboyant Catherine…and with the action Rebekah’s dreams died. The man she loved from afar…and oh, she loved him…could never be returned. No, she would always be as a younger sister to him. She wanted only her mother’s arms around her to comfort her…not Jonathan’s. For she would never find comfort in his arms.

  She broke from his embrace. Pushing back her hair,
she sat back. “Oh, Jonathan, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I will be fine. It is only Father. I know. I heard what he has gone to do. I shouldn’t have, but I heard Dr. Jenkins giving him instructions before he left.” She looked up at him into his caring eyes. “And you…do be careful, Jonathan. It is dangerous.”

  A smile emerged on his face. “You need not to worry on my account, young lady. I have only signed up to be a surgeon in the Continental Army. Yes, I expect to serve, but far from the battlefield if it comes to that. Catherine would allow nothing else. As for your father, have faith in him, Rebekah. He knows what he is doing. You have enough upon you.”

  She lowered her gaze. “He’s sending us away, Jonathan.”

  “Away? Where?”

  She reached to her cloak and pulled a letter from within a pocket. Soaked, she could not open it, but gripped it tightly. “A letter came from my uncle in Charles Town. My mother’s family. He answered Father’s request. Father must have asked him to care for us. He feels…” she paused, choking on the words. “Father feels there are too many of us to impose on the Jenkins’ and he wants to keep us together.”

  “Wouldn’t that be better, Rebekah? Alleviate one worry upon him. And in all, this dispute in all likelihood will not play out long.”

  “I don’t know, Jonathan,” she said. “Uncle Adam wrote he had no issue with my siblings, especially Daniel and Paul. I do believe he sounded quite excited to have them.”

  “So you are worried about the younger ones. Don’t. I’m certain if your father believes it’s for the best…”

  “No, you don’t understand, Jonathan,” she said, interrupting his words. “It is me he has issue with. Father must have written Uncle Adam before because my uncle responded he would relent but with only with the greatest reluctance. He said that Father should well understand why it would be impossible…”

  Jonathan shook his head. “You must have misunderstood. It could not have been you he has issue with, Rebekah. It couldn’t be. You are only a child.”

  “A child no longer.” Her voice wavered. She breathed in deeply. “No, it is more. Things Mother said which had no meaning at the time makes me wonder.”

  Jonathan pulled her to him once more. He lifted her chin to look into her eyes as one might do a small child to gain his attention. “Your father would never send you to a place you were not wanted. Trust your father, Rebekah. He is one of the finest men I know. And you are right. You are not a child any longer. You have your whole life in front of you. I think you should go to Charles Town. A new life awaits.”

  January, 1778

  Valley Forge, Pennsylvania

  Chapter One

  A burst of bitter wind gusted. Dr. Jonathan Corbett yanked his cloak across his chest to protect against brutal cold. A war raged. No drums thudded or guns blazed, but death abounded around him. The pines moaned in the darkness, but offered scant protection to the elements in this godforsaken winter camp. Valley Forge! Never had he expected to see the conditions that now lay before him.

  Jonathan had served well more than two years as a physician for the Continental Army under George Washington. Seemed a lifetime ago when he answered the call for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. How eager he had answered that call…a lifetime ago.

  Morale that had been so high back in October with the glorious victory at Saratoga had dissipated to a point where hopelessness enveloped the rag-tag army. Never had he imagined the sight that welcomed him into camp when he met up with the army after Christmas. The spirit of the men had dwindled lower than the scarce supplies. Small huts that housed the soldiers lined the fields, but the men had no proper clothing for the brutal weather, no meat, limited drinking water, much less any yellow soap to bathe infections. Pray God, how was he supposed to doctor the ill without medicines!

  Shivering, Jonathan bent to the frozen soldier who lay against a tree stump. Jonathan pulled the end of the ragged blanket the solider clutched tightly to his chest. Taking time to say a small prayer, he studied the poor soul. Hatless, white crystals powdered his hair; his face seemed like it had been carved in stone. The soldier’s eyes, eerily open, stared back at Jonathan until he laid the blanket across the dead man’s face.

  “Like he just went to sleep. Ain’t it, Doc?” a scantily dressed solider spoke from behind Jonathan’s shoulder. “I told ’im. I said don’t go to sleep. Ain’t goin’ to wake up. ”

  “He didn’t,” Jonathan answered the soldier dressed no better than his dead counterpart. Speaking was difficult in this weather. Goddamn cold! He rubbed his hands together. “Who is his commander?”

  The soldier shuffled his feet, attempting to keep warm. “Major Gabriel Witherspoon.”

  “I’ll inform him.” Jonathan grimaced. He wished to God he didn’t have to have any interaction with Gabriel. At one time, the two had been inseparable, but much had changed since Gabriel had been engaged to his sister, Hannah. Given Gabriel was a commanding officer, he had little choice. Thank the good Lord, Gabriel was out of camp more often than not; he might luck out and give the information to his lieutenant. “What of his family?”

  “Got a mother and sister up in Albany.”

  Jonathan made a mental note to write the dead soldier’s family; it was the least he could do. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t taken the time to eat this day. He hadn’t stopped, having been given an impossible task in treating the sick in this camp. He had little medical supplies; even the ones he could treat faced a long recovery battling the freezing temperatures and lack of nutrition.

  The fact that General Washington desired to inoculate the entire army against smallpox did little to ease the burden on his shoulders. His old professors, Dr. John Cochran and longtime family friend, Dr. Benjamin Jenkins from Philadelphia, were overseeing the long, secretive project. All seemed an impossible task.

  “See that he gets buried,” Jonathan said to the sentry. “And you can take his boots. He’s not going to be needing them.”

  Tucking his head down, he fought against wind-whipped snow that had begun to fall. He trudged back toward the camp silently through the small grouping of bare trees where the sentries had been stationed to watch over the encampment. The cumbersome winter gave no indication of letting up. With an early arrival of the blistery season back in December—with freezing temperatures and relentless snowfall—to the January thaw—with water and mud soaking everything—to the present, where the cold and freezing temperatures returned, the army had lost many a good men.

  His eyes slit as the frosty wind whipped around him. In the distance, he saw an immense bonfire blaze near the artillery park. He plodded up to the fire, taking, as the others around him, a moment to soak in a semblance of warmth.

  “Hey, Jonathan,” a voice called to his side. Millard Hawes, a short, wide-shouldered young man with dark eyes who scarcely looked as a soldier much less like the physician he was, hurried to Jonathan. Rubbing his hands in front of the blaze, he continued. “Where have you been? Dr. Jenkins been askin’ for you.”

  “Called out to look at a sentry that froze to death,” Jonathan responded despondently. His eyes fixed on the fire before him. “Soon as I warm up a bit, I got to go report it to his commander. Makes me so mad time and time again when you attend to men who don’t even have adequate boots!” He stopped. Useless talk. How often had he reprimanded the men on their attitude? But something had to turn for the men. He glanced back to his friend. “Am I supposed to be on duty? Thought it was tomorrow…”

  “Can’t say about your duty roster, Jonathan. Just Dr. Jenkins wanted to talk to you. Heard him talking to Cochran. Washington wants to send a couple of doctors down to the Carolinas to begin the inoculation sequence we began up here. That is, if I heard right…”

  “They’re not sending me down there!” The words escaped Jonathan before he caught himself. He had no desire to go south. No, he thought, not with the rumors circulating about the tension not only against the British, but between the colonists themsel
ves. It was as if they were in a civil war. Cruel and vicious acts committed by both sides, if the rumors were to be believed.

  The only blessing Jonathan mustered at this hellhole was the distance between him and his family. Williamsburg lay three hundred miles south; compared with Saratoga or, for that matter, the Carolinas, the three hundred miles was a cakewalk. A vision of his small son flashed before his eyes. Little William, the reason he continued on, lived with Lydia, his sister-in-law back in Williamsburg. His only reason. He had lost so much over the last few years…

  “Lord Almighty! The men would riot if they lost their Fightin’ Doc. After the way you tore through Saratoga, don’t think Washington wants you out of camp.”

  Jonathan focused on the flames, recalling the time when he cared for nothing, not even his own life. When word came of Catherine’s death… oh, beautiful, tragic, Catherine, his adored wife until… he couldn’t think of her still without an oppressive grief enveloping him.

  “Then who?”

  “If I heard right, Dr. Jenkins volunteered. And Floyd Keyser. He’s from North Carolina someplace. Wants to go back that way.”

  “Makes sense,” Jonathan said simply. A sudden blast of icy wind swirled around, flaming the fire. “Can’t believe I would choose this over the warmth of the South.”

  “What we’re used to, I suppose,” Hawes put in. “But even though I can say I’m used to the snow and cold up in Boston, I didn’t have to live out in it.”

  Jonathan nodded in agreement. Winters in Williamsburg never seemed this brutal. Glancing up, he caught sight of officers walking up to one of the far huts. “Is that Phil Smithson? Ah, the day’s not as bad as I feared.” He slapped Hawes on the back. “I’ll quickly give him my information and then go find Dr. Jenkins. I’ll see you back at the hut or are you on tonight?”