The Charade
Page 1
EXPOSED
The sound of the door closing, combined with the fact that she was wearing nothing but a towel, made Katie burn with embarrassment.
Ethan picked her nightgown up off the bed. “Very pretty,” he said, and shot her a look of pure deviltry.
The sight of that wisp of lace in his hands made Katie’s heart pound in her chest. She stretched out her arm to take her nightgown, but he pulled it back, just out of reach, and she watched the teasing gleam in his eye. “An interesting situation for a man to find himself in, wouldn’t you say?”
Katie lunged for the gown, and he took a step back. “Ethan, give it to me,” she demanded.
“Why should I?” he countered softly, slanting her a look from beneath his lashes that made her body flush with heat. “I like you better without it.”
Praise for Laura Lee Guhrke’s splendid Southern romance
BREATHLESS
“Breathless really grabs and holds your interest. Daniel and Lily are friends as well as lovers, and the love scenes will take your breath away. Breathless has keeper written all over it.”
—Bookbug on the Web
“Readers who enjoy strongly written books about small towns will relish Breathless… . Laura Lee Guhrke added many touches that raise this novel above the usual.”
—All About Romance
Books by Laura Lee Guhrke
Breathless
The Charade
Published by POCKET BOOKS
For orders other than by individual consumers, Pocket Books grants a discount on the purchase of 10 or more copies of single titles for special markets or premium use. For further details, please write to the Vice President of Special Markets, Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, 9th Floor, New York, NY 10020-1586.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
A Sonnet Book published by
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.
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Copyright © 2000 by Laura Lee Guhrke
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-671-02367-5
ISBN-13: 978-0-6710-2367-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-4516-3468-6
First Sonnet Books printing March 2000
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Front cover illustration by Bradley Clark
Printed in the U.S.A.
For Marie,
who always thought American history was dull.
I hope this book changes your mind.
With much love.
1
Boston, February 1775
At dawn, North Square was seething with activity. Women with baskets stood amid the flimsy stalls of the marketplace, haggling with farmers or their agents over the high prices. Their voices mingled with the crowing of live turkeys for sale, the beckoning calls of merchants, and the rattle of carts that rolled through the square carrying precious firewood, apples, and onions from the country.
Preoccupied with their own business, no one noticed the man who stood in the doorway of an inn on the edge of the square. Perhaps it was because the winter morning was bleak, and his long black hair and black cloak blended into the dark shadows of the doorway. Or perhaps it was because he stood utterly motionless, little more than a shadow himself.
His position commanded an excellent view of the square, and in the dim light of early morning, his gray eyes restlessly scanned the area. He was looking for one man, and that man would tell him that his call for a meeting had been heeded.
Ethan Harding’s acquaintances would have been astonished to see him skulking about in doorways in the wee small hours of the morning, since it was common knowledge that he never rose before noon. But then, they would not see him here, for they were fast asleep in their beds themselves, and it was unlikely they would have recognized him in any case. The dark clothing he wore was so unlike his customary wardrobe of colorful silks and lace, and his hair was not concealed by a powdered wig. The wealthy dandy of the Tory drawing rooms was completely unrecognizable in the serious man swathed in black who stood in the doorway of a second-rate inn on North Square. And that suited Ethan perfectly well.
A fishmonger’s cart rolled into his line of vision and came to a stop. Ethan let out his breath in a slow sigh of relief at the sight of the driver, a big, bald Scotsman who jumped down from the cart, crying, “Fresh clams today! Fresh clams!”
Colin Macleod’s fish were often wrapped in seditious newspapers. Ethan smiled to himself, knowing perfectly well that Samuel Adams didn’t mind if his fiery prose smelled of cod or haddock, as long as the public was kept informed of every single transgression committed by the British government.
Ethan started toward Colin, but matrons and housekeepers eager for fresh clams swarmed around the cart, and he stepped back into the shadows, waiting for the women to depart. While he waited, he continued to observe his surroundings, a habit gained from long experience.
The baker, Matthew Hobbs, had a stall beside Colin’s cart and seemed to be doing a brisk business. A pity, since the man was a staunch Tory. Ah, well, not everyone wanted liberty from England. What they didn’t realize was that it was inevitable.
A young woman of perhaps nineteen or twenty paused beside the baker’s stall, less than a dozen feet from Ethan’s place in the shadows. Her clothes were rags, too tattered to make her the servant of even the meanest master. Against the chill of the Boston winter, she wore no hat. Her hair, the golden brown color of honey, was cropped short, and Ethan guessed she had probably sold the rest of it to buy food or lodgings. She stood in profile to him, and although the long cloak she wore hid the lines of her body, Ethan could see hunger in the hollow of her cheek and the line of her throat. She was clearly a beggar, a common street waif a man would seldom notice, unless it was with a wary eye and a hand on his purse. But when she turned his way, Ethan drew a deep breath of surprise and revised his opinion. There was nothing common about this girl. She had the face of an angel.
Ethan was not a man to be impressed by a woman’s beauty. In truth, he seldom noticed women at all these days, which he considered rather a shame when he took the time to think of it. There had been a point in his life when women had been one of his major preoccupations, but suspicion was his only mistress now, and he knew all too well that treachery could hide easily behind a woman’s charms. Ten years as a spy had taught him that. Nonetheless, he could not help staring.
Her wide eyes were the azure blue of a summer sky, with all the innocence of a child. Yet her thick, dark lashes and soft, generous lips had all the seductiveness of a courtesan. Her features were delicate, her flawless skin the color of cream. But it was her smile that fascinated Ethan. It was a smile that could make a man abandon his ideals, forget his honor, sell his soul. It was a smile that enslaved. It was magic.
He wondered what had brought that smile to her lips, but from this vantage point, he could not tell. She returned her attention to the baker, who, like Colin, was preoccupied with a crowd of customers. Because he was observing her so closely, Ethan did not miss the apparently casual glance
she gave her surroundings or the two meat pies that slipped from the baker’s table into the folds of her cloak.
Well done, he approved, watching in amusement. Anyone who stole from a Tory deserved high praise indeed. She moved out of Ethan’s line of vision, and he leaned forward so that he could continue to watch her, but she disappeared into the crowd.
He leaned back in the comfortable shadows of the doorway to wait for Colin to be free of customers. Even though the two men would speak in seemingly trivial terms, Ethan did not want to run the risk of having anyone overhear their conversation. It was always best to be cautious.
A boy of about twelve stood near Ethan’s doorway selling newspapers. Tory newspapers, no doubt, since it was almost impossible for a boy to sell Whig newspapers in the marketplace these days. The soldiers harassed the Whig newspaper sellers so mercilessly that such an occupation was hazardous for a boy. Ethan set his jaw grimly. Soon, boys would be able to sell newspapers with any opinions under the sun without fear of reprisal from the bored and unruly troops of a tyrannical king.
A man paused beside the boy to buy a newspaper, a man who was obviously wealthy. His shoe buckles were cast of silver, his cane was made of gold and ivory, and his wig was of the finest quality. Ethan could not see his face, but the fashionable cut of his clothes, the vivid peacock-blue color of his coat, and the lavish lace at his cuffs proclaimed him an even more dandified Tory than Ethan pretended to be.
“Thief! Thief!”
The sudden cry rose above the noise of the crowd, and Ethan once again leaned forward in the doorway, curious to see what was going on. To his surprise, he saw the angel girl again, but this time, she was in the grip of a prosperous merchant.
“I am no thief!” she said indignantly, trying to wrench her wrist free of her captor’s grasp. “Unhand me!”
“You took my pocket watch. I know you did.” Keeping a firm hold on her wrist, the man looked around for a constable. Ethan watched as she shoved and struggled against her captor, and he caught the glint of silver as she slipped the man’s watch into his pocket.
Clever girl. Ethan grinned, knowing no one would be able to prove theft against her now. Unaware that his property had been returned, the merchant continued to shout for a constable, but the only person who came to assist was a young redcoat officer. “What is going on here?” he demanded as he stepped forward out of the gathering crowd.
“This girl stole my watch,” the merchant accused, twisting the girl’s wrist with enough force to make her cry out.
“I did not! It’s a lie!” She looked up at the officer, her gorgeous eyes wide and pleading. She lifted her free hand in a helpless gesture. “A ghastly mistake has been made,” she said in a voice that would have melted stone. “This man thinks I have stolen something from him, and I am unable to convince him of my innocence. Oh, Major, you seem such an able and intelligent gentleman. Please help me.”
The officer, who was only a lieutenant, puffed up like an arrogant peacock at her flattery. He smiled and patted her arm. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said soothingly, and turned to the merchant. “When did you lose your watch, sir?”
“I didn’t lose it,” the other man said angrily, scowling at the officer. “She stole it.”
“Have you proof of this?”
“Proof? She’ll have it on her, and that’s all the proof you’ll need.”
The girl’s expression was one of such martyred innocence that Ethan nearly laughed aloud. “By all means, search me if you must,” she said with injured dignity. “I will gladly submit if it will convince you I am innocent. But, if you please, sir, ask this gentleman to search his own pockets as well, for I am sure he is mistaken.”
The lieutenant would not have been human if he had not responded to such a plea. He turned to the merchant. “Sir, are you certain your watch is not on your person?”
“Of course I’m certain. Any fool can see she stole it.”
Being called a fool did not sit well with the lieutenant. He frowned. “Would you mind verifying that the watch is missing?”
“Of all the ridiculous…” The merchant let go of the girl and patted his pockets, muttering impatiently to himself and scowling, but his irritated expression changed to astonishment as he pulled the heavy silver watch out of his coat pocket.
“It appears that you have falsely accused this young lady,” the lieutenant said.
“I must have misplaced it,” the other man murmured, and Ethan choked back his laughter only with a great deal of effort. Red-faced, the merchant bowed stiffly and walked away without another word.
The girl turned to the officer, her face shining with gratitude. “Oh, Major, I don’t know how to thank you.”
Now that the excitement had passed, the crowd that had gathered around them dissipated. The dandy with the peacock-blue coat walked on with his newspaper, and matrons returned their attention to Colin’s clams.
Ethan, however, continued to watch the girl. After such a close call, he expected her to beat a hasty retreat, but he found he had underestimated her. Instead of counting her blessings and going on her way, she lingered beside the officer, talking with him. One or two more flattering comments, a few moments of rapt, wide-eyed attention, and the lieutenant was completely captivated. He smirked and swaggered, too besotted by his bewitching companion to notice when one of her small, delicate hands slid into his pocket.
Tongue in cheek, Ethan watched her remove the officer’s money purse quicker than the blink of an eye and slip it into her cloak. By the devil, he thought in admiration, this girl could get through heaven’s gates by stealing the keys.
Impressed by her audacity, Ethan watched, certain that the officer would come to his senses and realize what had happened. But such was not the case. She touched the redcoat’s cheek in a lingering caress of farewell and turned away, leaving the dazed young officer staring after her with an expression on his face similar to that of a bewildered sheep. Giving him one last glance over her shoulder that held all the promise a man could want, she melted into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
Still grinning, Ethan watched her go, feeling a hint of regret. He couldn’t recall witnessing anything recently that had given him more pleasure than the past few moments. That girl was one in a thousand.
A movement out of the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the business at hand, and the pretty thief vanished from his mind.
Colin was finally free of customers. Ethan stepped out of the doorway and approached the cart. The gazes of the two men met, but neither expressed recognition. No one watching them would ever be able to discern that they knew each other well.
“No fresh oysters this morning?” Ethan asked.
“No, sir, but we’ve a good supply of clams.”
Ethan waved away clams with disinterest. “I wanted oysters.”
The fishmonger made a sound of disbelief. “Fresh oysters? Clams I can dig from shore, but with the harbor closed and the Port Bill in effect, how do you think I’d get hold of oysters, my good man?”
“Is there nowhere hereabouts a man can find fresh oysters?”
Colin heaved a heavy sigh and said grudgingly, “I’m told the White Swan sometimes serves ’em raw for breakfast, provided you’ve the money to pay. Although where they get ’em from, I’m sure I don’t know. Must bring ’em in overland during the night from Portsmouth.”
The White Swan was a good choice for a meeting. At this hour, it was unlikely anyone would be there, despite Colin’s words about oysters for breakfast. Ethan nodded, tipped his hat in farewell, and left the marketplace. He made his way through the maze of North Boston’s twisting, narrow streets at a brisk pace. His worn and somber clothing of black broadcloth allowed him to blend easily into the crowd around him. He looked like an ordinary merchant, one of many who crowded the streets on early-morning business. He had chosen his clothing this morning for just that purpose. If any of Governor Gage’s spies were following him, they woul
d find it difficult to keep him separate from every other man in the crowd. He doubted he was being followed, but one could never be too careful.
Ethan always chose whatever clothing was appropriate to the mission of the moment, but no matter what role he played, there was one thing he always wore: the silver medal concealed beneath his shirt that proclaimed him a Son of Liberty. Wearing the Liberty medal was dangerous, but it was a badge of honor, and Ethan, like all his comrades, never took it off.
The White Swan was known by most people in Boston as a Tory pub, but most people never knew about the politics that were discussed in the attic. When Ethan entered the place, the only people there were the owner, Joshua Macalvey, and his younger sister, Dorothy. Joshua stood behind the bar, and Dorothy, a plump and pretty brunette of twenty-two, was clearing tables of the tankards and trenchers left from the night before.
Neither of them spoke to him, but Dorothy smiled a greeting, and Joshua jerked his head toward the kitchen. Ethan headed in the direction Joshua had indicated, going through the kitchen and up the back stairs to the attic. His knock on the door was answered immediately, and the door swung inward to reveal that the other two men with whom he had arranged this meeting had arrived before him.
Ethan nodded to the man who had opened the door. “Andrew,” he murmured in greeting, stepped past his oldest boyhood friend, and entered the room.
Andrew Fraser, with his melancholy face and deep voice, seemed more like an undertaker than a wine merchant. He was worried, but then, Andrew was always worried. Their mischievous pranks at school and notorious escapades with women during their days together at Harvard had long since given way to the hanging offenses of rebellion and sedition, but the seriousness of the situation could never be gauged by Andrew’s demeanor. Whether it was putting salt in a tutor’s tea, visiting the brothels at Mt. Whoredom, or plotting against the government, Andrew always looked as if doom had come upon them.