She didn't like him. Not from the first sight of his bulging eyes and ruddy face. "Pleased to be here," she answered. She looked up at Grayson. "It was kind of Captain Thayer to invite me."
Mason gave Grayson a slap on the shoulder. "Horses won't be racing for another hour, so feel free to show the lady around. I've just purchased another Reni. The painting arrived from France only yesterday." He brought a chubby hand to his cheek. "It's so exquisite it will bring tears to your eyes, Thayer."
"I'm certain it will," Grayson answered politely.
"Well, you know where my art gallery is. First floor, just through the solarium. If you find yourself thirsting, have one of my niggers fetch you a glass of port or a tankard of Madeira from down by the water. The food will be out directly."
Grayson grasped Maggie's hand, steering her away from their host. "Thanks to you, Mason." He waved. "I'll let you know what I think of the Reni."
"I've got ten pounds riding on Riker's bay," Mason called after Grayson. "You interested in a wager?"
"Not when it comes to that black devil. I'll keep my coin, thank you."
"Riker's here?" Maggie whispered the moment they were out of earshot of Pickney.
"Don't worry. We'll stay clear of him. He's not likely to cause any trouble here."
He dropped a hand casually on her bare shoulder and Maggie's mood lightened. What was wrong with her? What did she care if Riker was here or not? She wasn't afraid of him or any other man!
Grayson led Maggie down a brick path around the enormous house and down the sloped back lawn. From the crest of the hill she sees the enormous Chesapeake Bay spread before her in all of its wonder. Bright sunlight reflected off the blue-green water like a thousand twinkling skies in the heavens.
Everywhere Maggie looked there were new sights and sounds to behold. Tables and chairs shaded with colorful awnings were casually placed across the manicured lawn. There were fiddlers playing a merry tune seated beneath a white-and-red striped canopy. White-garbed Negro servants, as many in number as guests, walked from group to group offering an assortment of refreshments from fresh lemonade to a fine French wine.
As Grayson led her from table to table, introducing her, Maggie relaxed, beginning to enjoy herself. It was like a dream come true to walk on Grayson's arm and have men bow to her and ladies curtsy. Heeding Elizabeth's words she remained silent for the most part, speaking only when spoken to. To her amazement, she found herself catching tidbits of potentially beneficial information here and there.
According to the drunken Major Marlboro, an error had been made. Clinton and Cornwallis were arguing over troops. Cornwallis insisted he needed more men before marching onto the peninsula. Clinton, still in New York, saw no need for so many troops in the South when the war was still being waged in the North. A lovestruck Lieutenant Ladkin explained to her which rebel armory near Williamsburg he was about to destroy just before asking her to marry him. And then of course there was Captain Perkery, who, while escorting her to her chair, had explained his theory of how the Yorktown rebels causing all of the fuss were not Yorktown locals, but actually Mohawk savages shipped in from the New York colony.
The hours slipped by like minutes as Maggie sopped up information like a crust of bread in a plate of milk. But she actually had fun doing it! When Grayson left her side, instead of being fearful, she found herself asking bold questions, plying answers from smitten, drunken redcoats. Men ushered her from table to table of delicacies like jellied calve's feet and pickled eel pie. And when the musicians' instruments were tuned and the music struck up, she danced country dances until she was breathless. There was so much to see, so much to absorb!
The guest of honor, a thousand-pound bull, was roasted in a huge pit lined with brick and then skewered and toted around the lawn by twenty young Negro men before it was finally sliced to be consumed by Pickney's guests. There were horse races, tennis, gaming tables, and even a dancing girl to entertain the redcoats.
Sights and sounds whirled Maggie into a state of confusion until finally, well after dark, she told Grayson she was ready to go home.
"Home?" Grayson moaned, aghast. "But the night is young. I'm not ready to let you go."
He brushed his lips against hers and she laughed, as intoxicated by the soft waltz drifting up from the bay as by the nearness of Grayson. "Holy Mary. I've got to get home. Father Rufus will have my head if I'm not in church come tomorrow morning bright and early."
"Father Rufus!" He backed her into the shadows of a great oak tree. "What about me? Father Rufus never took you to a bull roast!"
She felt the rough bark of the tree against her bare back. "What about you? I've been here with you for hours."
"Ha!" he challenged. "I've barely seen you. Every man on this lawn has danced with you at least once."
"Every man but Riker. I never saw him after the race."
"Too busy whoring upstairs I should suspect." Grayson caught her around the waist, his fingers aching to caress her soft curves. "Now tell me, you don't really want to go home."
She smiled, lifting her hands to rest on his shoulders. "I fear you've had too much to drink, Captain."
He grinned boyishly. "Unlike my fellow officers?"
She had to laugh. By nightfall there were already several handsomely dressed redcoats sprawled unconscious on the lawn. "It's been a night I'll never forget, but I tell you the truth when I say I have to get home."
He caught a handful of her bright-red hair and brought it to his lips, inhaling the sweet, fresh scent. "Ah, Maggie mine. What am I to do with you?"
"Do with me?" Her dark eyes met his as she felt him draw her closer. "I don't know," she said softly. "Kiss me, I'd suppose."
"Kiss you?" he echoed huskily "Like this?" His lips met hers, gently.
"Yes . . ."
But he didn't stop with one kiss. His lips met hers again and again. "Like this?"
"Yes."
"And this?"
"Yes, yes," she whispered. Her flesh tingled with response as she met his mouth again and again. His tongue met hers and the kisses deepened. She couldn't get enough of him. It had been so long since she'd felt a man's touch, and even then, Noah had never stirred her like this man stirred her. There was heat deep in the pit of her stomach that rose, fanning out to light her limbs on fire. Grayson brought his hand up under her breast and she moaned softly. With his fingertips he stroked her breast through the satin of the gown teasing her, sending thrilling sensations through her until she felt her nipple grow hard against her shift. She knew she shouldn't be doing this. She knew she couldn't be get involved, but she couldn't help herself.
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie," he whispered, his tongue teasing the lobe of her ear as he thrust his hips against hers, making her feel the hardness of him against the mound of her womanhood. "I could take you here, now on the grass."
She laughed, his words bringing her back to reality. "No," she murmured, "No more, Grayson." She covered his hand with hers, resting her head on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. "I can't."
As Grayson stood holding her in his arms, his thoughts began to clear. What the hell do I think I'm doing here? he chastised himself. Maggie's no whore to roll in the hay with and then walk away. Don't get yourself involved with her. You'll be sorry. You'll regret it till your dying day. The word "love" hovered in the recesses of his mind, but he pushed it aside, knowing how utterly ridiculous the thought was. Grayson Thayer in love with a bootmaker? Hah!
Another minute passed and Maggie lifted her head from Grayson's shoulder. "Let's go," she said softly. "I want to go home." She was shaken to the bone by her response to Grayson. The idea was to use him to aid her patriot friends, but she feared the plan was crumbling. Her job was to use him, not fall in love with him.
Chapter Eight
Maggie meandered down the dirt road, dragging a stick behind her with one hand. She'd promised her sister and Manny that she'd come by the tavern and help at the supper hour, but she wasn't anxious
to get there. She was afraid she would see Grayson . . . she was afraid she wouldn't.
It had been nearly two weeks since the bull roast, and in that two weeks, so much had changed. July had come and Cornwallis had taken Hampton Roads, then Yorktown, and finally Gloucester Point on the opposite shore of the York River. Though Yorktown would not due for a naval base for Clinton, Cornwallis chose the old tobacco port and proceeded to move his entire force of men onto the peninsula.
The bull roast had turned out to be profitable for the rebel band led by John Logan. He and the others had been thrilled with the information she'd brought back to them, so thrilled that they urged her to see Captain Thayer again soon. But she didn't know that she wanted to see him. It was too dangerous; he'd somehow dug into a place very close to her heart and she was scared.
Holy Saints! It was hard to believe she'd only met Grayson a few weeks ago. It seemed like an eternity. Only a few short weeks ago her life had been orderly, if not a little dull, but suddenly everything had changed—her life seemed out of control! She wanted to see Grayson so badly that she felt a physical hurt inside her, but she knew she'd be better off without him. What could come of it but ill? There was no denying their attraction to each other. How long could she resist his charms? The real question was, did she want to?
She'd vowed never to become involved with another man. Noah had nearly ruined her life. He'd treated her like a possession, no better than the hounds. He'd belittled her until she had doubted her own judgment, her own abilities. No man was ever going to do that to her again.
Maggie hurled the stick she'd been carrying into the air and watched it glance off a tree before falling into the thick grass. Heavens, but it was hot tonight! She wiped her brow with her forearm thinking of the fall and winter to come. She couldn't wait for those cool breezes to begin blowing off the bay. The thought of cuddling up beneath a soft, worn quilt . . . Ah, to sleep. It had been nights since she'd slept. It was just too hot. Her mind was too filled with thought of Grayson, of the war, of Grayson . . .
Maggie approached the crossroad where Commegys' Ordinary stood, and as she crossed over she spotted Zeke walking in the opposite direction lost in conversation with a petite blond woman. Maggie scowled, thinking to call out to him, but then decided against it. She didn't know what the hell Zeke was doing with the town whore, but tonight was not the night to discuss it. Tomorrow. She made a mental note to be certain to speak with him about it tomorrow when he came to help with the chores. She'd been telling Zeke for two years that it was high time he found himself a wife, but he certainly wasn't going to find a decent girl being seen with the likes of Lyla!
Maggie walked past several townsfolk drinking ale under one of the big elms outside the door. "Even' to you," she murmured as she passed.
"Evening, Maggie," Peter, the blacksmith, greeted.
"Hey, Mags, how about rolling a keg out here?" Carter teased as she passed him.
"You'll have to talk to Manny about that!" she answered as she slipped through the tavern door and the heat hit her like the opening of an oven door. She cut across the public room, forcing herself not to look for Grayson.
"Manny!" she called as she walked into the kitchen. "It's hotter than a summer day in hell in there! How do you think you're going to sell food and drink if you boil all of your customers?"
Manny looked up from where he was slicing a huge apple pie. Sweat ran in rivulets off his temples and down onto his shoulders. "Makes 'em drink plenty of ale."
"Makes 'em ornery." She pulled an apron off a peg on the wall and slipped it over her head. "You best try and get some of those windows open."
"Can't," Alice said, coming in the back door with two empty slop buckets. "Manny painted 'em shut."
"I did not, Alice. And the Lord said, 'Let the lying lips be put to silence, which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously against the righteous.'"
Maggie rolled her eyes. "You'll be righteous enough if those soldiers bust out your precious new glass windows, Manny."
"You tend to the serving, Maggie, I'll tend to the state of my building."
Maggie shook her head, sweeping up a tray of filled plates. "Who's this for?"
"Table under the south window. Lieutenant Riker and his crew."
Maggie paled. Other than spotting Riker from across the lawn at Pickney's bull roast, she hadn't seen or spoken to Riker since the night Grayson had saved her from him.
Alice grasped Maggie's arm. "You all right, Sister? You look as if you've seen a ghost." She shifted a pot of turnips onto her hip and crossed herself superstitiously.
"No, no, I'm fine." Maggie smiled down at her sister, noticing for the hundredth time how tired she looked. She wasn't carrying this pregnancy as well as the others. Her face and hands were puffy and there were big dark circles beneath her eyes. Five children in seven years was just too many for a woman trying to help her husband run a successful tavern. "You sit down whilst you mash those turnips. I'll be right back."
Maggie pushed through the kitchen door and headed straight for Riker's table. She'd be damned if any man would make her tremble! It was high time she met up with Lieutenant Riker and demanded her money for the boots he'd taken without payment. When Grayson had returned, her knapsack, one pair of boots had been missing from it—Riker's. She hadn't said anything to Grayson about it because it was her business and hers alone, but the more she thought about it, the angrier it made her. Riker had no right to steal from her!
"Maggie! Get us some ale here!" a patron called as she passed his table.
"Be right back, Jonas," she threw over her shoulder.
"Hotter than blue blazes in here," a soldier told her, catching her skirt. "Can't you do anything about it? Open some windows? Something?"
"You can prop open the door is all I can tell you, soldier." She snatched her skirt from his hand and moved on. "You're not any hotter than I am!"
Spotting Riker's table ahead, Maggie stiffened her spine. He was there all right, there with the same bunch he'd played cards with that night. "Even' to you," she said, sliding her tray onto the table.
Riker glanced up, his mouth slipping into a smile. "Look who it is, gentlemen. Our Maggie. Woman of many talents, aren't you? Sewing boots, serving ale . . . slutting."
The men at the table broke into ribald laughter, but she ignored Riker's comment. She'd not betray Grayson with the truth of what had really happened that night, not after he could have well saved her life.
She grabbed a pewter plate and slid it across the table to the far end. "Speaking of boots," she said, sliding another plate heaped with mashed turnips, fried bacon, and sweet peas, "I believe you and I have a bit of business to discuss, Lieutenant Riker."
"Business?" He pushed back a long lock of sleek midnight hair. "Business, you say?"
The men elbowed each other, snickering and murmuring among themselves.
"Business. Would you care to speak to me in private?" She used the same voice she'd used at the bull roast.
"There's nothing you can't say in front of my friends, lover."
Maggie lifted the last of the plates and slammed it down in front of Riker. Several string beans popped up and fell onto his lap. "All right. You owe me for the boots." She was fast losing her temper. What made this man so arrogant? It was obvious he needed taking down a notch and maybe she was the one to do it.
"What boots?"
"You know what boots." She tried to keep her voice low and even. "The boots you stole out of my knapsack."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He glanced up at the other men. "You know anything about boots, boys?"
"Don't know a thing about boots," Gordy answered innocently. "Pass the salt cellar, Carl."
Maggie swept up her tray. "Either you pay me the agreed-upon sum, or you return the boots. You can't wear them like that anyway. They're not done."
"And what are you going to do if I don't pay?" He looked up, his face covered in a sheen of perspiration.
&n
bsp; "Guess I'll speak to that uncle of yours, Major Lawrence, is it? I understand he wants his men to keep in line, no thieving, no kidnapping."
"You threatening me, Maggie?" Riker rose up, pressing his arms on the trestle table. "Because I don't like being threatened—not by a woman, not by anyone."
"Riker, let her be."
Maggie felt someone touch the small of her back and she swung around. Grayson! She took a deep breath. "Stay out of this," she warned. For some reason it infuriated her to see Grayson standing there at her side, coming to her rescue again. Who the hell did he think she was, her guardian angel! She didn't need him to settle her affairs!
Her gaze locked with Grayson's. "I said I don't need your help. Just go on, I can take care of this on my own."
"Just come on, Maggie, let him be." Grayson grasped her arm, but she yanked it from his grip.
Riker flashed that stupid grin of his. "You sure took a shine to the bitch, didn't you, Thayer? One tumble and you're strutting at Pickney's like some peacock with your peahen on your arm? One tumble, or is she your regular now?"
With Riker's last word, Grayson lunged forward, punching Riker in the jaw.
"Son of a bitch!" Riker shouted, stumbling away from the table.
Maggie ducked as Riker swung back.
"Grayson!" She tried to catch his arm and break up the fight, but it was too late. Riker's men leapt up from the table as other patrons gathered around, shouting threats. A soldier shoved Gordy, Gordy shoved him back, and suddenly there were two more men swinging fists. Like a chain reaction, one soldier joined in after another until a full-blown brawl erupted in the public room.
Maggie dove for the cover of the trestle table as a chair went hurling through the air. Fists flew and pine furniture crashed. Someone was gathering pewter plates and sailing them through the air one after the other. With the first sound of shattering window glass, Maggie cringed, holding her hands over her ears. Oh, God, Manny's windows! He's gonna be hot with me! she thought in consternation.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 9