Ring of Secrets (23 page)

“I…yes. I do.” That much she could grant him before she disappeared from his life.

And she was glad she had when she saw the joy spring up in his eyes and spill onto his lips in a pleased, teasing smile. “There now. Was that so hard?”

A chuckle surprised its way out. “You've no idea.”

“An unfortunate truth.” When his smile faded, he looked no less happy, though. He urged her head toward his until their lips touched, brushed.

A well of longing overflowed. For the first time in so long, homecoming swept through her and made her want to stay right there, in his arms, forever. Was it an illusion? Possibly—for surely one soft kiss could not set the world to rights. But it certainly proved he had burrowed deeper into her heart than she wanted to admit.

Bennet pulled her closer, but she turned her face away before he could deepen the kiss and her longing with it. His warm chuckle sounded directly in her ear and sent a shiver up her spine. “What is it? Do you fear your grandmother would disapprove?”

How could she want to smile and cry at the same time? Perhaps she ought to be used to such conflicting feelings when in Bennet Lane's company. She settled for shaking her head and then resting it against his shoulder. An indulgence she intended to hold close to her memory through the dark days ahead. “The opposite. She would approve far too much.”

He rubbed a comforting circle over her back. “You know, my dear,
I am not opposed to you having your rebellions against them, but it seems a bit misplaced when you are thereby going against your own desires as well.”

“That is not why I…” Winter sighed and closed her eyes. “Oh, Bennet. She would have me use such things to manipulate you into marriage.”

“Shocking.” Amusement rang through his tone. Then he urged her away enough to tilt her face up again and locked his gaze to hers. “Winter, we both know I will not be manipulated, but I think we also both know things could progress that direction if you let them. I must know your mind before anything can change between us, though. And I confess, I have oft wondered over these past weeks if your refusal to share any honest thought with me is your way of telling me you have no interest in…more.”

If only it were so simple. If only she could decide to be open, and then be so without any risk but to her own heart. Impossible. Not with all the secrets she must keep to stay out of harm's way. Even with the closing of the ring having effectively taken that out of her reasoning… “It is more complicated than that, and…and too late, anyway.”

“Never.” He said it with calm assurance and punctuated it with another kiss so featherlight she couldn't say why it turned her limbs to mush. Then he pulled away and smiled down at her. “It is never too late, Winter. I may be lacking charms aplenty, but patience I have in abundance.”

A glimmer of hope shone through the shadows. So faint she could scarcely identify it, but too beautiful to be denied. She smiled. “Your so-called lack of charm is my favorite thing about you.”

“Now I will have to kiss you again. Although…” Mischief sparked in his eyes. “Three times would make it a habit. And if you will oblige me by naming the philosopher who said as much, I will make sure your grandmother sees. That would pacify her a bit, wouldn't it?”

She chuckled, though for once she didn't know what he referenced. “That one couldn't be simpler—
you
said it.”

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “Aristotle. Don't tell me you are unfamiliar with the Greeks.”

Well, that explained it. She never much cared for Aristotle. “I have never met a one, no.”

He shook his head with a grin but then sighed. “I feel as though I have made this entreaty a thousand times, but I must ask you once more. Please, Winter, speak frankly with me. At least consider it. I cannot know what holds you back, but if it is not lack of affection…well, I have never met another young lady who likes my awkwardness. And it would seem the other young gentlemen fail to see the wit you adeptly hide. We could suit so well. I would like nothing more than to learn if we do.”

Gazing into his eyes, she couldn't convince herself he was wrong. Maybe their secrets weren't worth risking their futures for, like Robbie said. Maybe she could be content in England if she were at Bennet's side. Maybe raising a family with him would be purpose enough, and she would cease to miss the intrigue and the weight of responsibility it brought with it.

Maybe a chance with him was worth fighting for.

“You are thinking about it.” The corners of his mouth tugged upward, though he seemed to fight the smile into submission.

She let out a slow, long breath. “I must also pray about it.”

He lifted a brow. “If that is such an important step, why have you not done so over the last seven months?”

She wasn't about to confess her prayers about him had all been focused, instead, on keeping her distance. “And why do you say that as if you doubt its importance?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I certainly did not mean it to sound that way. A life of prayerful contemplation is to be desired.”

She could not resist a playful grin. “I would prefer a life of contemplative prayer.”

“And one of verbal sparring is an excellent way to go, as well.” He chuckled and then cradled her face in his hands. “Think, pray, whatever suits you. I will leave you to it. But I will return tomorrow, Winter. Hopefully to
talk
. Truly talk.”

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Again, an action he had done before—but this time he didn't follow it with an absurd order to marry Fairchild. “Good night.”

“Good night.” She made sure her smile was the last thing he saw before he went out the door. But then she moved to the window, arms folded over her middle.

Eighteen months she had lived by someone else's rules, going against all she believed, all she knew in her heart was right. So long. So long to be who she was not. Was it any wonder she hadn't been able to see, until now, when it was time to take a stand?

But she could ignore it no longer. She was done with being the whipping boy, taking the punishment her grandparents intended for her mother. Done with doing what she was told when it led nowhere but to pain and emptiness.

Grandmother wanted her to marry Bennet Lane? Then she would inform the mighty Phillippa Hampton that she would go about it her own way,
his
way, and then they would see if it was what they wanted.

Grandfather wanted her out of his house? Then if he would not extend his hospitality while she got to know Bennet, she would stay with the Parkses or—which would annoy him far more—the Townsends on Long Island. She had a feeling Bennet wouldn't mind escaping from the city for a while for a less-public courtship.

If Washington had dismissed the Culpers, then she could accomplish no more good here anyway. Better to do right by Fairchild and let him know her heart inclined elsewhere rather than keep him dangling solely for information.

None of them, be they family or stranger, friend or enemy, ought to determine her worth. None of them ought to decide what she could contribute. She would leave that to the Lord. Spine straight, she made ready to turn and seek out Grandmother.

An arm clamped around her neck, cutting off her air. The scent of Grandfather's pipe tobacco filled her nose a second before he appeared in front of her. She clawed at the arm over her throat, noting the coarse fabric the servants wore.

Grandfather smirked. “You didn't think I had forgotten our agreement, did you?”

A crack, and then a slicing pain in her head. The world faded to gray.

Fourteen

R
ob flipped a page in his book and took a sip from his cup of tea. The weather was too hot for the stuff, but he needed the ritual. He had to shake this mood soon. He could scarcely tolerate himself, so he could only imagine how his friends felt.

But a new book would help. 'Twould give him something to think about, to talk about. Allow him to focus on the intellectual rather than whatever part of him this anxiousness came from. He never could pinpoint it. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps if he better understood the tendency, he could better control it. Perhaps—

Bang, bang, bang.

For a moment Rob assumed the knocking was on his neighbor's door. Who, after all, would come here? But another
bang
convinced him otherwise. He put a marker in his book and moved over to the door, unlocked it, and pulled the latch.

And blinked. “Roe.”

Austin Roe pushed past him with a nod of greeting. Which was odd indeed. The Culper courier hadn't been to the city in months. Or if he had, he hadn't bothered visiting Rob.

Not that he could be depended upon to show up on time even when he was scheduled to come.

“Townsend, we need you.”

Those four words were enough to set his heart to pounding, though Rob had no intention of letting it show. He motioned toward his cup. “I was enjoying a nice pot of Chinese tea. Would you like some?”

Roe looked fit to throw something. “Do you think I came all the way across the sound for a cup of
tea
? I was just to see Woodhull—”

Rob cleared his throat. “Culper Senior, if you please.”

“Yes. Sorry. Culper Senior is abed, ill. So I pressed on to seek out you. Wa—seven-one-one is activating the ring again. I was sent to see if you would be interested in employment.”

“Employment.” Rob chuckled, mostly to keep from shouting out agreement here and now. “Seven-one-one has shown little enough regard for us in the past, treating us as if we contributed nothing of worth. Culper Senior was quite hurt by his insinuation that we acted only in the interest of payment.”

Roe helped himself to a seat. “I have already addressed that with him. All is forgiven, but the point remains that he is not well enough to provide the information we need, not as fast as we must have it. It seems another fleet of French has arrived.”

“Ah.” Though he had been set to pour a second cup in spite of the protest, Rob halted with his hand halfway to the pot. “Well, that makes sense, then.”

“What? What makes sense? Do the British know this already?” His expression earnest, Roe leaned forward. The man did such an excellent job looking like a farmer, Rob had to wonder how he would appear in his military garb.

“I think they may. It would explain some things I have noticed. Nothing overt, but there has been a steady building…but I will have to check with a few sources to be sure.” Winter—he needed to talk to Winter. Fairchild would know, and what Fairchild knew Winter could discover easily. “You must give me time.”

Roe surged to his feet. “There
is
no time! Even now we are sending scouts along Long Island to try to determine the numbers and position of the French fleet, but any strategy made to include Rochambeau depends on if the British are already aware of his presence.”

Rob folded his arms over his chest. “Perhaps the general should have thought of such possibilities before cutting us off.” It was hardly
relevant that Rob hadn't intended to send information anyway until the disaster involving his cousin had blown over. While an unfortunate situation, he still didn't think he had deserved so scathing a dismissal as Washington had sent two months ago.

“Townsend.” Roe drew it out into four syllables, each one a plea. “Come, man, be reasonable. If you were about this business for the right reasons—as you always insisted, and which we always believed—then you cannot dismiss them now. Your country needs your help. Can you not forgive the rash words of an overwrought man?”

“Of course I can forgive him. But going about this, counting ships and men and provisions with Redcoats looking over one's shoulder all the while—”

“If you ask for more compensation, you will throw your motives into suspicion.”

Rob unleashed a breath of exasperation. “We have never asked for more than the expenses we accrue—and seven-one-one is always in arrears to us. That is obviously not my motive. I merely meant to point out this is a very taxing employment, and respect is paramount.”

“You have it. You have
his.
He asked specifically for you to be brought back into communication. Can we depend upon you?” Roe's face was so impassioned, for a moment Rob feared the man might make some demonstration, like clasping hands to both his shoulders.

Thankfully, he didn't. Which allowed Rob to maintain an unaffected demeanor, to smile peacefully. To pretend General Washington's respect didn't mean the world. “Of course. Give me a day to get all my information together and written out.”

Roe surged forward and gave him a friendly smack on the arm. “Welcome back, Junior. I will return tomorrow for the letter.”

Rob only nodded until the courier was out the door. Then he rubbed a hand over his face. Back in the business, back in the game. Back in the fire.

What were the chances that Winter could get him what he needed by tomorrow?