Island of the Swans (52 page)

“Are you hungry?” Arabella asked, glancing at Thomas through thick black lashes.

“Aye, that I am… and hot. ’Tis so strange to feel the sun so warm in autumn. A nice bit o’ shade would be in order too, don’t you think?”

Arabella O’Brien Delaney Boyd looked fetching indeed aboard the finely bred hunter whose silky flanks matched the color of her own dark tresses, tucked neatly under her riding hat.

“Follow me,” she said, urging her horse into a faster walk and gesturing toward the summit of a gentle, moss-covered incline. “I’ve arranged the perfect spot for our picnic.” The horses entered a grove of oaks on the north side of the hill. “There!” Arabella said, pointing to a small white structure flanked by two magnificent oaks. “Do you remember drinking coffee and eating Mehitabel’s cream biscuits in the old summerhouse? I told her to air it out.”

“’Tis not exactly a place for
a picnic
,” Thomas noted dryly, jumping to the ground. He was wearing a pair of Beven’s old riding boots and breeches and a shirt borrowed from the drawers of the mahogany highboy in the guest room he’d occupied the previous night.

Arabella did not reply, but tied the horses to a post while Thomas eased a saddlebag with their refreshments off the back of his mount. As he entered through the low-slung door of the miniature house, he ducked just in time to avoid hitting his head. It just was as he remembered it: an octagonally shaped room studded with eight shuttered windows and rough-hewn furniture painted pure white. There was a daybed with calico cushions positioned against one wall and two chairs and a round white table, set for two. An enormous peach-colored rose floated in a glass bowl between the place settings. Two crystal glasses stood on the side table, and next to them sat a bottle of wine, uncorked. The stage was set—but for what play?

“Would you mind pouring?” Arabella said to Thomas as she dished out plump cold chicken breasts drizzled with herbs next to a rice dish dotted with raisins and pine nuts. “Apparently, your men did leave us some stores,” she said with a wry smile as she sliced two thick pieces of freshly baked bread and topped them with slabs of green-veined cheese from a stone crock. “May I raise my glass in a toast of thanks?” she added, taking the goblet he offered her and grazing his fingers with hers.

“And here’s to your kindness to a man in need of a comfortable bed and a long, soapy bath,” he replied, bowing slightly, trying to ignore the sensations prompted by her subtle touch.

“Have you any other needs I could assist you with before you leave us, Captain?” Arabella asked calmly, sipping her wine and looking directly into his eyes above the rim of her glass. Her own blue eyes had taken on a smoky quality in the dim, cool atmosphere of the summerhouse’s shuttered interior.

Thomas stared back. There was no mistaking her meaning. He watched her carefully cut into her chicken breast.

“Yes… actually, there is,” he said quietly.

Arabella lay down her knife and fork.

“And pray, what might that be?” she asked, chewing slowly and looking at him steadily.

“You say you don’t care who wins this skirmish—am I right?”

Arabella cocked an eyebrow and then picked up her eating utensils.

“’Tis all a bloody nuisance, if that’s what you mean,” she replied shortly, attacking her meal with her silver knife. “Another year of raids like we’ve been having, with no markets to sell our crops, and Antrim Hall will be finished.”

“What if I told you I could pay you a hundred guineas right now for something you already have in your possession?”

“You’re
not
taking my crystal for your headquarters, if that’s what you’re thinking!” she retorted hotly. “The silver’s long gone, except for these few pieces you’re dining with, and my goblets are the only things that make this place feel civilized!”

“I don’t want your goblets, my dear Arabella,” he chuckled. “I want information.”

“Information? For a hundred guineas?” she asked incredulously.

“Right,” he said simply. “Information.”

“What
kind
of information?” she asked, tilting her head to one side and eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well… for instance… how long did your husband remain with you at Antrim Hall on his last visit?”

“That’s none of your business!” she retorted, “and how could
that
be worth a hundred guineas?”

“Well, ’tis
not
,” Thomas laughed, taking a long draught of wine and pouring her another glass. “But if he should have told you what General Washington might be planning in the near future… well…
that
would be worth some silver, I can promise you.”

Arabella stared at him, her eyes widening slightly.

“Why, you
are
a spy!” she said, her voice tinged in wonder, “and you’re asking
me
to spy!”

“I’m not a spy… exactly,” he laughed loudly. “But you’re right about one thing
…
I
am
asking you to keep your eyes and ears open—and His Majesty’s government is prepared to pay for it.”

“What are you, then, if you’re not a spy?” she demanded.

“I’m an intelligence officer,” he replied evenly. “I receive and disseminate information that our agents bring to me.”

“And you’re asking me to tell you what my husband told me?” she said. “You’re asking me to be one of your agents.”

“In a manner of speaking.” He smiled, topping off her wine glass.

“And whom, may I ask, are
you
going to tell whatever it is I tell
you
!”

“My Lord Cornwallis,” he answered without preamble.

“My point exactly!” she said triumphantly. “
That’s
spying!”

“No,” he replied patiently. “I don’t masquerade as anything I’m not. I am simply a captain in His Majesty’s forces, authorized to pay for some information that is very valuable to my Lord Cornwallis and perfectly worthless to you, besieged as you are by both camps, here at Antrim Hall.” He glanced around the summerhouse, which was sorely in need of fresh whitewash. “And I would imagine a hundred guineas would be most welcome to you.”

“You’re right,” she said, much to his surprise. “I haven’t two pennies to rub together at present and no hope of borrowing any to pay for seed next spring.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “As I have indicated, I harbor few passionate sentiments toward Colonel Harrison Boyd—who barely speaks to me, now that there’s no baby—and I have no feelings whatsoever for either General Washington or your Lord Cornwallis. In fact,” she said challengingly, “there’s not a man I’ve ever met whom I could depend upon in a pinch, and that’s a fact.” She took a large sip of wine and cheerfully looked at him across the table. “What do you want to know?” she said.

“Did your colonel say anything about a surprise attack to retake Philadelphia?”

Arabella stared thoughtfully at the remains of her breast of chicken.

“Well, as I mentioned, he was not exactly pleased to have ended his long years of happy bachelorhood for a lady who then miscarried his son and heir,” Arabella related bitterly, “but among the few subjects he deigned to speak of was that he swore they’d run your lot out of Pennsylvania in the near future. He didn’t mention a date. Just something about turning Cornwallis’s old tricks against him… something of the sort.”

“So,” Thomas murmured, “perhaps he plans to try flanking us outside Philadelphia as we did him at Brandywine.”

“Flanking?” Arabella asked, puzzled.

“That’s a maneuver where the army is divided into columns, attacking from all sides, rather than as one body.”

“Well,” Arabella noted thoughtfully, “if Washington is going to try to retake Philadelphia, wouldn’t he do it before the weather changes? Otherwise, they’ll not have time to establish winter quarters in Valley Forge, if they fail—and my dear Colonel will have no need for his dress uniform after all—”

“Did Colonel Boyd say that?” Thomas interrupted.

“Yes,” Arabella replied slowly, searching her memory for shreds of conversation she’d completely dismissed during the brief time her portly husband had been home. “The Colonel said that he’d be sending a runner from Philadelphia for his dress uniform by mid-October… if he’d be needing it at all.”

“’Tis the thirtieth of September, today,” Thomas mused aloud. “That must mean General Washington plans to advance within the week!”

“Perhaps,” Arabella shrugged. “Surely, you’re not going to pay me a hundred guineas for
that
!” she added, a note of disappointment creeping into her voice. “I may have got it all wrong, you know.”

“We shall see, soon enough,” Thomas said, pulling a small pouch of coins out of his jacket. “’Tis King Geordie’s silver,” he laughed. “What do I care?”

Arabella opened the pouch and peeped inside, catching her breath.

“This will get us through the winter and allow me to purchase everything I need for the spring planting… and more!” she exulted, her eyes sparkling. She tucked the coin purse in the pocket of her riding habit.

“If you hear of anything more you think might be of use, I can probably get you further payment,” Thomas said casually. “That way, I could return to Antrim Hall from time to time. I find it a good deal more pleasant than I’d remembered.”

Without replying to his suggestive tone, Arabella downed the contents of her third glass of wine with surprising dispatch. Thomas leaned over the table, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers.

“You apologized to me last night. And I’d like you to know, I truly appreciate that.”

“Well, I meant it,” Arabella mumbled, staring down at their joined hands. “I was a fool then… a mere child.”

“And if I’m not mistaken,” he continued, watching her face intently and stroking her palm with his thumb, “there’s a slight chance that you
still
would find me a man to catch your fancy, if you were free to do so?”

“I told you that ten years ago, Thomas, when we were
both
free,” she retorted, her low voice cracking with its distinctive huskiness.

“Since we have reached an understanding concerning the past,” he said slowly, “perhaps we could arrive at another, with regard to the present.”

“And the
future
?” Arabella said snappishly, pulling her hand away from his grasp. “What about
that
?”

He rose from his chair and stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

“I understand—and
you
understand that—what we’re feeling for each other right now is separate from your obligations toward the colonel,” he murmured, bending slightly close to her ear. “But for now, since we
have
that understanding… and since we both feel a certain
attraction
as friends who will soon part…”

She rose like a sleepwalker and turned to face him. Her lips were inches away from his. A tantalizing hint of jasmine wafted about his nostrils.

“You’re a lovely woman,” he whispered softly. “I had a difficult time getting to sleep last night as I lay in my bed, imagining you in yours. I stole into your chamber before sunup today—just to watch you sleep. The bed linen was twisted at your feet, as the day dawned warm… very warm—just as it is now.”

Arabella closed the short distance between their bodies, pressing herself against him, her cheek against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his back and tilted her face toward his, waiting to be kissed. He quickly obliged, feeling her lips part invitingly. Her arms tightened around him and she seemed to meld right to his frame. At first, he consciously commanded himself to kiss her deeply in a deliberate attempt to arouse her, but, within seconds, his thoughts had flown to the far corners of the eight-sided summerhouse. Instead, he experienced the pure sensation of inhaling Arabella’s fragrant skin, threading his hands through her silken hair, caressing the soft, yielding curves of her body, which melted into his.

“Thomas…” she began, when, finally, they pulled away from each other breathlessly.

He was surprised and slightly chagrinned by the clear evidence of desire she had aroused in him.

“Arabella, I—”

“Sh… ’tis all right,” she crooned, once again wrapping her arms around him and kneading her fingers along his spine. “I’m a married woman, remember?” she said, releasing a throaty laugh. “Goodness knows, I’m no blushing virgin, about to be deflowered.”

From the swelling in his breeches and the rush of sensation pulsating through the rest of his body, Thomas recognized, to his amazement, that he was fast losing all sense of control over the situation.

Arabella led him by the hand to the daybed pushed against one of the walls of the summerhouse. Smiling mischievously, she playfully pushed him onto the quilted coverlet and sank to her knees on the floor in front of him. With tantalizing slowness, she peeled her riding jacket and blouse off her shoulders, while continuing to gaze directly into his eyes.

Thomas realized that he had been holding his breath at the sight of her white shoulders. She wore no corset and her breasts were clearly visible beneath the thin cambric shift clinging to her torso. She reached behind her waist and swiftly removed her skirt and petticoats, letting them fall in a sea of cotton around her knees. Carefully, she removed the strap from one side of her shift, then from the other. She reached for his hand.

“Will you help me, Thomas?” she asked quietly, placing his hand on one breast and hooking his fingers on the neckline of the flimsy bodice. Slowly, he eased the fabric down to her waistline, where she pushed it to her knees. The sheer undergarment joined her riding habit in a frothy pile. “Do I please you, Thomas?” she asked with a diffidence that took him off guard. She rose to her feet, her arms resting quietly at her sides. She stood naked before him, totally without shame. She seemed proud, in fact, of what she was offering him. “Am I what you imagined when you came into my room this morning?” she questioned him again. She paused, reaching toward him to stroke the hair on his temples with her fingertips. “Despite your feelings for… for others,” she added softly, “You’ve thought of me too, haven’t you? Even the first time you were at Antrim Hall.”