The Charade

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The Charade Page 13

by Laura Lee Guhrke


  He lunged forward, and Katie cried out in alarm, thinking Ethan had been stabbed, but he gave no sign that the knife had found its mark. Instead, when Weston pulled back, he grabbed the soldier by the wrist and wrenched it sideways with a hard yank, forcing the knife to fall from his hand. Then he brought his other hand up in a fist and slammed the soldier hard in the solar plexus. Weston doubled over, and Ethan grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him. “I suggest you drop this matter,” he told the lieutenant softly. “Or I will give you more than the loss of three guineas for your trouble.”

  He did not give Weston the chance to respond. Instead, he slammed his fist hard twice against the back of the other man’s neck, and the lieutenant fell facedown to the ground.

  Ethan stood over him, waiting, but the man did not move. He stepped over the unconscious soldier and came to her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. She could see Ethan’s bare chest where the knife had cut open his shirt and waistcoat. The Liberty medal he wore glinted silver in the moonlight. But the moonlight also revealed the dark stain of blood. It stained the slashed remnants of his shirt and the skin just beneath his ribs. “But you are!” she cried, and looked up into his face. “Oh, Ethan, you’ve been wounded.”

  He glanced down. “So I have,” he said calmly.

  Katie could not be so sanguine about it. “We need to get a physician.”

  “It’s only a scratch.”

  “Any knife wound, even a scratch, can turn septic.” She grabbed his hand, pulling at him to follow her, but he did not move. “Ethan, come on. Why do you just stand there, bleeding all over your shirt?”

  “Does the sight of my blood bother you so much?” He leaned back against the wall and smiled at her. “If I died, you would be free of our bargain.”

  “God’s balls, Ethan,” she cursed in frustration, “this is no time to make jokes. You are hurt. At least let me see it.” She let go of his hand and tried to pull aside the edges of his clothing to have a look at his wound, but he seized her wrist.

  “Can it be?” he murmured, his thumb caressing her palm. “Katie, can it be that you are concerned about me? I am touched.”

  She stiffened at the light, mocking tone of his voice and jerked her hand free. “I assure you, my concern is not because I have a tendresse for you. If you were to die—”

  To her astonishment, her voice broke. She realized suddenly that she was actually worried about him, afraid that he was badly hurt, and she could not understand herself. After all, her whole purpose was to trap him so that he could be hanged. Why on earth should she be upset that he was wounded in a knife fight?

  Katie told herself not to be ridiculous. “If you were to die,” she said in a hard voice, “I would remain a runaway indentured servant and no better off than I was before. That is the only reason for my concern.”

  His free hand slid into her hair, and he tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him and not his wound. “You are such a liar,” he muttered, staring into her face as his hand slid down to the nape of her neck. “A beautiful, clever, bewitching little liar. But tell me the truth now. Why should it matter to you if I am wounded? What if I died? Would you care?”

  She didn’t care. It would be stupid to care about a man who thought only of his revolution, a man who was ruthless and mocking, a man who spent most of his time in a shadowy world of intrigue and danger, a man she had been sent to destroy. It would be very stupid.

  Even as these thoughts ran through her mind, she could feel his fingers lightly caressing the back of her neck, and without even understanding her own actions, she reached up to touch his cheek. “Perhaps because when that redcoat tore my dress, you came out of the dark like an avenging angel, and I saw the look on your face,” she whispered. “Were you afraid he would extract his payment from me by force?”

  He let her go abruptly. “No,” he answered. “I was afraid I would lose my best spy before she ever had the chance to do anything.”

  There was a lightness to his voice that stung. “Then we are both fortunate, for we are both safe,” she shot back, then turned on her heel and started toward the end of the alley, not looking back to see if he followed her.

  He isn’t worth worrying about, she told herself. Let him bleed all over the alley. It made no difference to her because she didn’t care. Caring about Ethan Harding would probably destroy her only chance for freedom and put her life in serious jeopardy. By the time they reached the Mermaid, Katie had reminded herself at least a dozen times that she was not that stupid.

  Dawn was breaking when Katie left the Mermaid and started toward the marketplace to meet with Captain Worth. Even though her bargain with Ethan meant she no longer had to do Molly’s marketing, the other woman had willingly handed over her basket and a shopping list, even entrusting her with a handful of silver to pay for the purchases. Molly had seen the tear in her skirt and the clumsy mending Katie had given it on her return from the White Swan last night, but though she asked what had happened to her gown, Katie had not explained. Weston’s attempt to assault her was not something she wanted to talk about.

  She now had exactly what she needed to obtain her freedom, but there was no lightness in her step as she walked to North Square. She would be able to tell the viscount that John Smith’s true name was Ethan Harding, that though he posed as a Tory, he was in reality a traitor to the king. Her proof would be the Liberty medal he wore. Surely, Lowden would agree that she had fulfilled her part of their bargain, and he would fulfill his part in return.

  She would be able to collect her reward and leave Boston. She could settle anywhere she chose. She would have enough money to live comfortably, and she would have the freedom that ensured she would never again be at any man’s mercy. She would gain all the things that were most important to her.

  So why was she not happy?

  Katie tried to remind herself of her own rules—nothing mattered but her own survival, caring about other people was pointless and painful, to look out for herself because no one else would—but somehow she found no solace in the bitter truths life had taught her.

  Ethan was going to be hanged because of what she told Lowden. She thought of the way he had come to her rescue the night before, and now she was about to repay his good deed by sending him to the gallows.

  And who knew what friends of his might follow him to the hangman as a result of her information? Lowden would investigate every part of Ethan’s life, and that could eventually lead them to discover evidence against David and Molly.

  Once again, she heard that pesky little whisper of her conscience, and she made a sound of vexation. What was wrong with her?

  If she did not tell what she knew, Lowden would eventually grow tired of learning nothing from her, and he would send her back to Virginia. And why shouldn’t she tell? Wasn’t Harding a traitor who deserved to hang for rebelling against the king? Weren’t David and Molly traitors as well? What of Daniel? Would he be hanged, too? Surely not. He was only a boy.

  These people mean nothing to me, she told herself fiercely. They have made their choices, and I must make mine.

  With every step she took closer to the marketplace, the more Katie hardened her heart. Through Worth, she would inform Lowden that she had accomplished her mission and assure him that what she had discovered would be well worth the price of her indenture. She would also be sure that Lowden understood her demands. She wanted her indenture paid, papers guaranteeing her to be a free woman, and the fifty pounds the viscount had promised her. Only then would she tell him what he needed to arrest John Smith.

  Resolute, all the foolish whispers of her conscience pushed aside, Katie entered North Square and immediately saw Captain Worth standing beside the baker’s stall waiting for her. The image of Ethan swinging on the end of a rope flashed before her eyes, but Katie squared her shoulders and ignored the image.

  Over the top edge of his newspaper, Worth was watching the crowd that streamed past him, and he saw Katie approach
ing from some distance away. He met her gaze for a brief moment, then tipped his tricorn hat to her as she went by. She knew he would follow her, and she was right. After a moment, he fell in step beside her.

  “You have news?” he murmured as he walked beside her.

  “Perhaps,” she answered.

  “What is it, girl? Tell me quickly.”

  She cast him a contemptuous sideways glance. “You think I would entrust it to you?”

  “Take care, little thief,” he warned in a whisper. “I have Lowden’s trust. You do not.”

  They paused before an onion seller. Katie closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and told herself not to be a fool. Tell him you have news for Lowden and you want a meeting. Tell him. But the words stuck in her throat.

  Worth leaned closer to her. “Do you want to go back to Virginia?”

  This game had barely begun, and already she was sick of it—sick of the tension she felt at having to be always on guard, sick of trying to remember which side she was on, and sick of the two men who held her life in their hands. Suddenly, she wished both Ethan and the viscount to perdition, and their causes with them.

  She looked at Worth, her chin high. “I want a meeting with Lowden, alone. Only then will I tell what I know.”

  “The viscount has left Boston. He has gone to New York on business for a fortnight. But he has ordered me to write him with whatever news you have.”

  The knowledge that Lowden was away gave Katie such an overpowering feeling of relief that her knees nearly gave way. “I have things to tell the viscount, but I am not going to entrust them to you. If he is away, I will wait.” Striving to keep her voice brash and sure, she went on, “By then, I will have even more to tell him.”

  Worth laughed low in his throat. “You are a confident hussy,” he said, then turned and walked away.

  No, what I am is a fool, she thought angrily, as she began picking the best onions off a farmer’s cart for Molly and plopping them into her basket. She could not understand why the idea of a two-week reprieve should have brought her such an overwhelming sense of relief. She wanted her freedom, didn’t she? She wanted her silver, didn’t she? Then what the bloody hell was wrong with her?

  When Lowden returned, she was going to march right into the Stag and Steed and hand Ethan Harding over to the king’s justice, get her money, and leave Boston for good. And damn the consequences. She would have her freedom, and that, she told herself firmly, was all that mattered.

  Despite the adventures of the night before, Ethan was up early. He had breakfasted and was in his library to meet with Adam by seven o’clock. Before he took Katie to the dressmaker this morning, he needed to tell his secretary what he had learned last night so that Adam could get word to his contacts.

  Last night. Ethan closed his eyes. Thoughts of the night before reminded him of how Weston had touched Katie, what had almost happened to her, and how powerful his own rage had been.

  He could not remember the last time anger had ruled his actions, and the depth of his anger last night astonished him. He could easily have killed that redcoat. If he had, there would have been questions, and interrogations, and inconvenient probing into his life. When a man spent half his time committing sedition, attention of any sort from authorities was unwelcome. And risky.

  What was it about that waif that made him lose his senses? For a waif she was, her loyalty to him gained only by blackmail and bribery. He must not forget that.

  A sound caused him to open his eyes, and he found his secretary standing in the doorway, a ledger tucked under his arm and an inkwell stand and blotter in his hands. “Adam, come in.”

  The blond young man in black broadcloth entered the study and sat down in the chair opposite Ethan’s desk. He opened the ledger on his lap and set his inkstand on the desk. He paused with a quill poised over the inkwell, but he did not look at all ready to begin work. Instead, he gave Ethan a searching glance and frowned, his concern obvious.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, Adam, that you stare at me so worriedly?”

  “Your valet tells me the shirt you wore last night was cut to shreds and had blood on it.”

  That irritated him. “Honestly, can’t a man keep anything a secret in his own household?”

  “Not from his valet. And not from his secretary, when said secretary is a cousin of that valet.”

  “Indeed, and do the two of you discuss my shaving habits and the state of my wardrobe as well?”

  “What happened last night, Ethan?”

  “Nothing.”

  That, of course, did not satisfy Adam, who continued to look at him with grave concern.

  Ethan shrugged. “It was a small matter that does not have anything to do with our cause. A drunken soldier wanted a fight, and I was forced to oblige him. I received a scratch or two from his knife, but I was not badly hurt. Neither was he.”

  “Did this fight have anything to do with the Armstrong girl?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. What of it?”

  “How sure can you be of her?”

  “I can’t be sure of her at all,” he admitted. “But I am keeping my fingers crossed.”

  “Your shirt was cut to ribbons. Did she see your Liberty medal?”

  “Possibly. If I am arrested this afternoon, I will know my attempt to bribe her to our side has failed, and I probably should have offered her more money.”

  “Damn it, Ethan.” Adam tossed the quill in his hand onto the desk with a sound of frustration. “Must you make light of this?”

  “What would you have me do, Adam? Slit her throat to silence her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then, if murder does not suit you, and you don’t like my solution of bribery, I would welcome your suggestions. Should we lock her in a farmhouse in the country to ensure she holds her tongue?”

  His secretary heaved a sigh. “I have no suggestions. But you are so cool-headed about things. Sometimes it is very exasperating. Aren’t you worried?”

  “I let you and Andrew do my worrying for me,” Ethan answered, and changed the subject. “I am taking Katie to Elizabeth Waring’s this morning to get her some decent clothes. While we are out, I want you to arrange for workmen to make repairs to her house.” He enumerated the flaws Katie had told him the night before.

  “I knew it needed work,” Adam answered when Ethan had finished dictating the required repairs. “But once those are done, it will be a perfect house for a man to keep his mistress. Not too down at heel but not too lavish, either.”

  “Good. Get started immediately. Also, I want to have a small supper party at my house to introduce her to my acquaintances. Thursday evening should do. Get the invitations out immediately. The usual crowd. See if you can arrange for Viscount Lowden to attend. Perhaps I should call on him.”

  “You can’t. He left yesterday for New York. He will be gone for a fortnight.”

  “He arrived in Boston scarcely a month ago. Why is he going to New York already?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Find out. If the gossip is true that he has come to Boston for some official reason, his trip to New York could be part of that reason, and very important.”

  “Is Katie Armstrong going to help you find out about Lowden’s purpose here?”

  “I hope so.”

  Adam looked at him curiously. “Is making her your mistress really only a ruse, or do you intend to make it a reality?”

  A vision of Katie lying naked across his bed, giving him that extraordinary smile of hers as she opened her arms to him, flashed through his mind and sent waves of pure lust through his body.

  Ethan pushed that delectable vision out of his mind. When he spoke, his voice was cool and betrayed nothing of his thoughts. “Even if I do choose to make her my mistress in fact, it is not your concern,” he answered. “Now, don’t you think it’s time you stopped fretting about my new mistress and started carrying out my orders?”

  His secretary held up both ha
nds, palms out in a gesture of surrender. “Of course. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Last night, I learned from Dorothy that orders will be coming from London to arrest all rebel leaders as soon as North can gain enough support in the House of Lords for such a move.”

  Adam gave a low whistle. “The way things are progressing, that will not take long.”

  “Exactly. I estimate that by the end of March, there will be arrest warrants issued, and Gage’s insistence on proof will go to the dogs. Have Adams and Hancock left the city yet?”

  “Not yet. They want to wait until after the public meeting today at Old South Meeting House.”

  “Damn Samuel,” Ethan muttered. “I don’t like the idea of having a public meeting in open defiance of Gage.”

  “They want to mark the five-year anniversary of the Boston Massacre to keep people’s memories and anger fresh.”

  “I know what they want to do, but I still have grave misgivings. It will only lead to more riots.”

  Adam shrugged. “I daresay you’re right, but you try telling him that.”

  “I know, I know. He is a stubborn man. I just hope after this meeting, he and Hancock leave Boston for the countryside. It’s safer for them there, especially given what Dorothy told me last night.”

  “Did she have any other news?”

  He told Adam of the French emissary, Chevain. “Find out all you can about the fellow. And if you can figure out a way for me to get him alone at the ball, let me know.”

  Adam nodded. “Is that all?”

  Ethan did not answer at once. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a few seconds, lost in thought, then said, “I want all the Whig newspapers to report the impending Whig arrests as if they are imminent and wholly unwarranted.” He met the other man’s eyes. “You understand my meaning?”

  “Of course. Hint that Gage is prepared to arrest Whigs without cause, play up the unfairness of it all, with emphasis on the arrogance of the king and the foolishness of his ministers. Yes, I understand perfectly. Samuel will revel in it.”

 

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