Finally, Dorothy departed to fetch the captain a tankard of ale, and Worth sat down opposite Katie. “Good evening, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Are you mad?” she whispered “To come to me so openly?”
“What of it? This is a Tory tavern. Do you expect Whig spies to be lurking about watching you?”
That was exactly what she expected, but Worth, of course, did not know that the Macalveys were truly Whigs. “It is always possible,” she said in a cool voice that belied her anxiety. “I assume you have a reason for coming to my table?”
“I do.” She watched as the captain pulled a letter from his pocket. “I came to your house to give you this, and I was told by your butler that you were here. It is from Lowden, and he is quite put out that you have not been to the marketplace these past two Saturdays.”
He slid the letter to Katie across the table. She snatched it up and thrust it into the deep pocket of her cloak just before Dorothy returned with two tankards of ale. The barmaid placed them on the table. “There you be, Captain,” she said, and left them once again.
To Katie’s surprise, Worth’s glance lingered on the barmaid as she walked away. “What a lovely woman,” he murmured under his breath. As if suddenly realizing he had expressed his admiration aloud, Worth frowned and returned his attention to her. “I’m sure Lowden wants a meeting with you, and that is one appointment you’d best keep, little thief. Or you’ll find yourself in a cell at Castle William.”
His warning was unnecessary, and the note he had given her felt heavy as a stone in her pocket. If Lowden wanted a meeting with her, surely he could have chosen a safer method of demanding it than a letter that could fall into the hands of anyone.
Katie rose to her feet and gathered her cloak around her. “I have no doubt the idea of me in gaol pleases you enormously, Captain,” she said coldly. “But I have no intention of doing so to please you.”
She left the White Swan, and she did not pull the letter out of her pocket until she was safely home. She read it in the parlor, where there was a fire burning in the hearth and she could burn the note afterward.
It contained no surprises. In fact, it was exactly what Worth had told her. The viscount demanded a meeting with her. He reminded her that she had only seven more days to gain proof against Holbrook, and she was expected to be at the Stag and Steed one week from tonight at midnight to hand it over. Katie muttered an oath, crumpled the parchment into a ball, and tossed it onto the fire. As if she needed reminders from him.
She watched the letter burn to ashes, wishing the man who had written it a similar fate. But she had the sickening feeling the viscount was not going to die and burn in hellfire before next week. She couldn’t possibly be that lucky.
Dorothy studied Captain Worth in the White Swan without seeming to do so, and she wondered what on earth he had been doing talking to Katie. He had walked right over to her table, sat down with her, had a drink with her. And what was he doing passing her letters across the table?
Oh, yes, she had seen it with her own eyes. Worth had given Katie a note, and though Katie had snatched it up from the table quickly enough, Dorothy had seen it clearly, a folded sheet of parchment slipped into Katie’s cloak. Nor had Dorothy missed the other woman’s guilty glance around the room. What was it? A love letter? A Tory secret? Either way, it only confirmed Dorothy’s suspicions that Katie was not what she seemed. The girl might be having a love affair with the British officer. Or, worse, she might be a Loyalist informant. If that were so, Ethan was in grave danger.
Ethan. Heavens, it hurt to think of him at this moment, not knowing where he was, if he were safe. For seven days, she had been waiting with all the concern Katie only pretended to have for word that he had returned. And it was pretend. Dorothy didn’t believe for a moment Katie’s concern was genuine. How could it be, when she met with a British officer in a tavern taproom?
But Dorothy also knew Ethan desired Katie. She had known that the moment she met the other woman. It was obvious in the way Ethan had looked at her that he wanted her. It was also plain to see that she was playing him for a fool, spending his money, buying clothes, going to parties.
When it came to Katie, Ethan was blind, Dorothy thought angrily. Blinded by a pretty face and a talent for deceit. She had never trusted that girl. Never. She had warned Ethan about her that night, but he had not listened. He had made that girl a trusted comrade. He even pretended the girl was his mistress as a ruse so that she could help him spy on the Tories.
But was it pretense? Surely, Ethan would not have a mistress, especially not one so thin, so brash, so deceitful. If Ethan had needed a woman to play the part of his mistress, why hadn’t he chosen her? Why had he given that assignment to a virtual stranger, when she, Dorothy, was perfectly capable of handling such an assignment?
She had always been there for Ethan, ready and willing to do whatever he asked, be whatever he wanted. She would have played the part and would have done it willingly, had Ethan wanted her to do so, but he had not. Despite her loyalty, despite her sacrifices for him and everything she had done for him, Ethan did not love her. He did not want her. He wanted instead a pickpocket, a common street thief who accepted mysterious letters from redcoat officers.
She had to tell Ethan about that letter as soon as he returned, and then his feelings would change about his little pickpocket. Oh, yes, they would.
Sudden doubt flickered through her mind. Would he believe her about the letter? Ethan might realize her feelings for him and conclude she was lying about the letter out of spite. He might take Katie’s side. Then what would she do?
That girl could betray him at any moment, lead him into a trap, get him arrested and hanged. Dorothy knew she had to convince him of Katie’s duplicity. Somehow, some way. But she didn’t know enough. She needed more information.
Ribald laughter interrupted her thoughts, drawing her attention to the group of redcoats seated around a large table on the other side of the taproom. Captain Worth had moved to their table and was sitting with them. An idea flashed though her mind.
“Ethan, you’re blind,” she whispered. “Katie is not what she seems. I know it, and I’m going to make you see the truth about her. By the time you return from Concord, I’m going to have evidence of her treachery.”
She ran her hands through her hair and pulled the top of her chemise down a bit lower to reveal as much cleavage as she dared. She donned a clean apron, then filled a tankard with the tavern’s finest ale. Tankard in hand, she crossed the room to where the group of officers sat laughing and talking.
The group of officers looked up as she approached, and the exaggerated sway of her hips caused more than a few of them to stare at her in open appreciation. But Dorothy kept her gaze fixed on only one man. Giving him her prettiest smile, she set the tankard before him on the table. She slid sensuously onto his lap and put her arms around his neck. “So, Captain Worth,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, “tell me again what a pleasure it is to see me.”
Katie spent the evening sitting in the parlor, waiting as she had every night for more than a week. She sat in the dark after the servants had gone to bed, listening for the sound of Ethan’s carriage or the sound of his footsteps coming up the walk. But, as on every other of the past seven nights, the only sound she heard was the rhythmic tick of the clock that finally dulled her senses enough for her to fall asleep.
But this night proved to be different from the previous ones. When the latch on the front door clicked, Katie was instantly awake. She sat up on the settee, turning toward the doorway of the parlor. In the light of the candle that burned on the table beside her, she saw a tall, dark shadow standing by the door, a shadow she instantly recognized.
“Ethan!” She jumped to her feet, and she could hear herself gasping with relief as she ran to him.
His cloak was torn and dusty, his hat was gone, beard stubble covered his face, and he looked as if he’d had a long, hard ride. She reached out, touching him
, running her hands over him to be sure he was real. “You’re alive,” she murmured over and over again. “Thank God, you’re alive.”
“I am very much alive,” he answered in a weary voice, “though there was a moment when some had cause to wonder.” Katie stilled, her hands on his chest, and looked up at him. “What do you mean? Where have you been all this time? What—” She broke off, suddenly noticing the deep, angry gash across his temple. “Ethan, you’ve been hurt,” she breathed, touching her fingertips gently to his temple. “What happened to you?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he gazed down at her for a long moment without speaking. In the candlelight, Katie saw something come into his eyes, something she could not define, something hard and fierce and hungry.
His silence alarmed her. Slowly, she lowered her hand from his forehead. “Ethan, say something. What happened? Are you all right?”
He did not answer. His manner was so odd, fierce and yet restrained, as if he were making a great effort to hold back some powerful emotion. Silence hummed between them for a long time before he finally spoke. When he did, it was not what she expected. “’Tis incredible,” he murmured, “how a man’s thoughts change when he has escaped a close brush with death. Everything falls into place. Everything is given its true importance.”
“Death? What do you mean?”
He reached out and laid his palm against her cheek. “I mean, I was shot. By our dear friend Weston.”
“You’ve been shot?” Panic flooded through her, and her voice rose frantically. “By Weston? Ethan, for God’s sake, are you all right?”
“There I was,” he told her, “in a tavern outside Concord, having a pint of ale and an enjoyable evening, when who should walk in but our dear friend, the lieutenant.” One corner of his mouth turned upward in that wry, one-sided smile she loved. “Can you believe it? Of all the officers for Gage to send on a mission, it had to be Weston.”
“And he shot you?”
“I tried to slip out the back, but Weston recognized me and followed me out. Before anyone could stop him, he pulled his pistol out of his coat and took a potshot at me. Since he saw my Liberty medal that night at the White Swan, and I was now running away from him, he obviously shot me thinking he was doing his duty to king and country. The idiot. He got tarred and feathered by a few of the locals for his trouble, I’m told.”
“But what happened to you?”
“The bullet skimmed the side of my head, that’s all. It knocked me senseless. One of the farmers took me to his home, and his wife dressed the wound. When I woke up, I found myself lying in a farmhouse bed, with a nightmare of a headache and a concussion. It’s taken me two days to recover enough to get on a horse and get back.”
He lifted his hand and touched her face. “When I awoke in that farmhouse, do you know what the first thing was I thought about? Not Gage’s mission in Concord,” he confessed, his fingertips caressing her cheek. “Not where to hide all the powder in Lexington or the fact that we are about to go to war with our countrymen. No, I was not thinking about any of that.”
Though she did not know anything of Gage’s mission or powder in Lexington, she did know how hard Ethan’s heart was pounding beneath her hand. “What were you thinking about, then?” she whispered.
His fingertips slid from her cheek into her hair, and he tilted her head back. “You,” he said simply, his gaze scanning her face with a hungry ferocity that almost frightened her. “I thought I might never see you again. I love you.”
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He heard her breath catch, felt her lithe body tense, sensed her withdrawal. Grasping her shoulders, he said, “I mean it, Katie. You are mine. I won’t let you go, ever.”
She shook her head. “Ethan—”
“We’re getting married.” He cut her off before she could deny him. “You’ll not be my mistress, you’ll be my wife. You’ll share the future with me, no matter what it is.”
“It’s impossible,” she said, that jaded note in her voice. “It’ll never work. I’m a street thief, and you’re a gentleman. These things don’t happen.”
“Oh, yes, they do, my little thief.” He pulled her against him roughly, kissed her hard, and pulled back. “Oh, yes, they do. Because when I saw you in North Square that morning two months ago, you stole not only two meat pies, a merchant’s watch, and a redcoat’s purse, you stole my soul. You stole my heart. And you can’t give them back.”
He caught a fleeting glimpse of something—pain, perhaps—in her expression. She buried her face against his chest, but her body was rigid in his arms.
“Are you crying again?”
She shook her head. “No,” she mumbled against his dusty shirtfront. “But you don’t understand. It can’t happen. I can’t marry you. Ethan, you don’t know the things I’ve done—”
“I don’t care.” He pulled her chin up. “I love you.”
“You don’t even know me.” She jerked her chin sideways, but he would not let her look away. He held her chin fast in his fingers.
“I love you,” he repeated, and kissed her again, gently this time. “You don’t believe me?” he asked against her mouth.
“You might think you love me now,” she said, “tonight, but you don’t. Ethan, I—”
“Do you love me?” The question was abrupt, demanding, but he’d have no subtle word dances here. “Do you?”
She didn’t answer. She simply raised her eyes and looked at him. He could read nothing there.
Ethan didn’t wait for her to evade the question. “I can see I’ll have to get my answer another way.” He grabbed her hand and started for the stairs, pulling her with him.
She did not resist but came willingly, and he knew it was not her body she held back from him but her heart. As much as he wanted her body, he wanted her heart even more. And, by God, he would have it before this night was over.
Inside her room, he shut the door behind him, took her into his arms, and kissed her again. “Do you love me?”
She kissed him back, but she did not answer his question. He turned her around and unfasted the buttons down the back of her dress. With each one, he could hear her agitated breathing, he could feel her holding back a part of herself. He knew why she had put it between them, but he was not going to let her keep up that wall. Whatever she had seen or done in her life, he didn’t care. She was his, and that was all that mattered. “Do you love me?”
He pulled the dress from her shoulders and down her arms. It caught at the flare of her hips, and he left it there for the moment. He pulled the laces from her corset, one eyelet at a time, and he could feel her body tremble. He tossed her corset aside. “I’ll have your answer. Do you love me?”
She shook her head from side to side, but she did not speak. He pulled off her chemise and trailed wet kisses down her spine that made her shiver as he fell to his knees behind her. He untied the ribbon at the top of her petticoat, then grasped the soft folds of both her dress and petticoat in his hands and yanked them down to fall in a swirl of dark wool and white linen around her ankles. He removed her drawers, pulling the linen past her hips and down her legs, revealing her soft, creamy skin.
Fully aroused, Ethan’s body was already taut as a bowstring with the effort of holding his need for her in check, and the sight of her bare, shapely buttocks and long legs was almost his undoing. Her body was ready for him, all his instincts told him that, and it took every ounce of discipline he had not simply to stand up and take possession of her then and there. But first he would hear her say she loved him.
He sat back on his heels, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. He let it out slowly, striving for control, struggling for patience. Wait, he told himself desperately. Wait a little longer.
“Ethan?”
He opened his eyes and looked up to find that she had turned slightly and was studying him over her shoulder, a puzzled frown on her face at his sudden hesitation. Grasping her naked hips in his hands, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the lus
cious dent at the base of her spine. “Do you love me? I’ll have those words from you, by God, if I have to steal them.”
“Bloody hell, Ethan,” she cried, vexed by his persistence. “You sound like a thief.” She tried to pull away, clearly not liking this game, but he grasped her hips and held her there, kissing the small of her back.
“I’ll have you say it, Katie.”
He slid one hand to the front of her body, spreading his fingers across her stomach to caress her there, as he slid the palm of his other hand down the outside of her thigh to her knee. He pressed kisses up and down her spine as he unfastened the garter that held up her right stocking and pulled the wisp of knitted silk down to her ankle. She lifted her foot, and he removed her stocking, garter, and slipper in one swift motion. He cast them aside, then repeated the move with her other stocking. He rose to his feet, put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her around to face him.
She grasped handfuls of his shirt in her fists and tugged upward, pulling the white linen over his head. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him fully, leaning into him, and he could feel the tips of her breasts brush his chest. When she pulled back, she met his gaze, and her fingers began to unbutton his breeches.
He could feel her knuckles brush against him as she unfastened his breeches, and he sucked in his breath sharply, let it out slowly. “Oh, God.”
Katie started to kneel so that she might pull the black fabric down his hips, but he grasped her wrists to stop her. “Do you love me? Do you?”
She didn’t answer. His hand slid into her hair, held her still, and he began trailing soft kisses along her jaw, her throat, her ear. “You love me, I know it. Say it.”
A soft moan escaped her, but she still did not give him what he wanted. His hands cupped her breasts, caressed her body, pushed her gently back onto the bed. He stripped himself of boots, breeches, and linen and covered her body with his own. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and entered her.
The Charade Page 26