Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (17 page)

“Is that what you really want, Emily?” His voice was flat and dull, no trace remaining of the warm slow drawl. “For me to go?”

She could not meet his eyes, or he would see the lie in hers. He had to leave before he was drawn into
her
treachery. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

Always remember me…

Chapter Sixteen

The next night Emily stood toe to toe with Captain Reynard again. “More. I need more.”

“
Sacre bleu
! I can give you no more. I ’ave the other clients, no? What would I tell them? They would slit my throat when I turn my back!” The Frenchman waved his arms in the air, the picture of outrage.

She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Can you come more often?”

“The moon,
Anglaise
! We are caught if the soldiers see us. I take the great risk coming ’ere. There are no places to ’ide or lay in. Is this the greed?”

“No,” she snapped. “This is the survival.”

“
Oui
? It is so desperate?”

“I have lost a major part of my income, Captain, and I have a payment to make. I do not know how I will do that if I cannot find another source of revenue.”

“Ah. Well, I comprehend that I owe you,
Anglaise
.” He glanced pointedly at Phillipe, who was standing beside her, ready to go with his father. “It may be that we can reach agreement.”

Emily shook her head. She could not accept the captain’s offer on those terms. “Captain, as I’ve told you before, my help is freely given.”

“And so is mine,” he countered.

Phillipe placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You must accept,
Anglaise. Mon pere,
’e will take the insult. I owe you and Madame Mary my life.”

She cast an appraising glance at Captain Reynard. In truth, she was feeling less distant from the Frenchman these days, perhaps because their fates had been tied to one another for the past month. “I’m loath to ask you and your men to take such risks on my account, Captain, but I cannot think of another solution. Perhaps this whole scheme was a bad idea.”

“
Mais non!
It is excellent! But we must plan that we do not be caught. ’Ow is this,
Anglaise
—I come on the new moon like usual, then I come when rains or clouds ’ide the moon.
Oui
?”

She frowned, trying to think how often that would be. It was now late spring and the rains were tapering off.

“I bring wine, like always. Then I bring damask, silk, and porcelain. You can sell such things,
Anglaise
?”

“Brandy and cognac will profit me most. We still haven’t sold all the lace from last time.”

“Truffles? Cheese?”

“No perishables.” She peered through the gloom to where Simon was loading the last crate of cognac bottles onto the dray. “Simon,” she called softly, “A moment, please.”

The man threw a tarp over the dray and tied it down before he joined them. “Yes, miss?”

“Can we find buyers for French fabrics and delicacies?”

“I’d have to go far afield to avoid having too much show up hereabouts. Chichester, Portsmouth, mayhap—Guildford.”

Emily hugged herself around the middle to keep from doubling over with anxiety. Her heedless flight from London was costing everyone she held dear as much as it cost her. She sighed. “We are at your mercy, Captain Reynard. Bring however much you can. We will keep watch for you on cloudy nights.”

…

On her way back to the manor, Emily entered the latticed shadows of the summerhouse in search of her mending and tripped over a small stool. “Fie,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t remember leaving it there.

The sound of a pistol being cocked turned her to stone.

“Do not…turn around. Stay where you are,” a hoarse voice instructed.

“What do you want?” she gasped.

“Sutton.”

Ryan? She swallowed hard. “Mr. Sutton is not here.”

“Where…is…he?”

“London, or—”

“Nay,” the word ended on a groan. “He was coming here…he told me.”

“He left to return to London earlier today. I swear it.”

“I…missed him?”

“Yes. Hours ago.”

“Bring me Bridey, then. She…will have to do. Be quick about it.”

Bridey? Emily had given the woman laudanum for her joints again. “Bridey is indisposed.”

“Damn! I…I haven’t much time…left. ’Twill have to be you, then.”

“Me? But I haven’t the faintest notion—”

“Christ ha’ mercy, madam.”

A metal object skidded across the floor. She looked down to find the pistol at her feet. “What is this?”

“I’m a dead man…and I’ve just…thrown myself on your mercy.”

She finally turned around. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and she made out a crumpled form near the settee. She advanced, every nerve alert to trickery, and kneeled by the form.

“Madam, at this rate I’ll be dead before…you hear what I must say.”

“Emily,” she murmured inanely, reaching out a tentative hand in the gloom. “I’m Emily.”

“Emily,” he agreed. “Listen well. Sutton must have this news…at once. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“The plans…for Savannah. They are false. Reinforcements are opposite of what we’ve been told. Prevost has returned to Savannah to defend the British position. Please…repeat the message.”

“The plans for Savannah are false. Reinforcements are the opposite of what you’ve been told. Provost has returned to Savannah to defend the British position.”

“’Twill take time…to organize a campaign. With luck, this message may be in time…to help.”

Emily was so dazed by the events that she only now realized the implications of what was happening. This man was a spy! Her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, and she studied the prostrate form before her. A dark vitreous stain covered the entire midsection of his jacket
. Gut-shot!

“Ah! Christ, it hurts. Do you have whiskey, Emily? Anything to…ease a dying man? I beg you.”

She got to her feet and backed toward the entrance. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Impending panic fueled her with energy. She held her skirts high as she dashed for the house. Panting, she pulled a bottle of brandy from the wine cupboard and, almost as an afterthought, seized a lantern. She was back at the summerhouse within a few minutes. She propped the man’s head on her lap and held the bottle of brandy to his lips, her heart thumping hard against her ribs.

The spy coughed and groaned, tears of agony gathering in the corners of his blue eyes. “Th-thank you, Emily. Bless you.”

She forced a smile when he gestured for another swig from the bottle and gave him what he needed. “Let me look at your wound, sir.”

“Prithee, Emily…do not trouble. I am…gut-shot. There’s no hope. Tell Sutton ’twas Taylor. Neil Taylor. He’ll know what to do.”

“I’ll fetch a doctor. Surely there’s something…”

“If he could, ’twould only…preserve me for the gallows. Spare me that, Emily.”

Impotent tears blurred her eyes. She held the bottle to his lips, and he drank again. “Please, let me go for help.”

“Can’t last much longer. Just give me brandy…for the pain.”

The man’s strength was ebbing with alarming speed. He smiled at Emily as if to comfort
her
. She stroked his fair hair and returned his smile when he reached up to take her other hand. “I do not want to…to die…alone. Ah! God!” He arched and nearly crushed her hand in his agony as another spasm seized him.

“I swear I will not leave you.” She forced down her own panic and fear. “Rest, sir. Try to breathe evenly, and the pain may pass more quickly. Then I shall fetch a blanket from the settee.”

He did as she bid him, a peaceful smile settling about his handsome young features. “Are you an angel, Emily, come to take me home?”

A tiny unguarded sob escaped her, and a lump formed in her throat. She could not trust her voice. Instead, she pressed her cheek against his fevered brow.

“It does not hurt…so much when you…hold my hand.”

She laced her fingers through his and held his hand to her heart, as if she could pour her strength into him. “Then hold tight,” she whispered. “I am with you.”

He squeezed her hand, then his grip slowly eased, and his hand went slack in hers. He sighed and a peaceful look settled over his features, as if his pain had ceased. The pulse beating in the hollow of his throat grew thready, then stopped altogether.

Not yet. She could not give in to hysteria yet. She had to find help. Bridey was drugged. Mary was unable to do what must be done. Simon was off to make deliveries. Tears welled in her eyes and nearly blinded her. Gently, she eased the man’s head to the floor and staggered to her feet.

She saddled Sprite as best she could and mounted by herself. Wisps of hair escaped the ribbon at the back of her neck and whipped wildly around her face. She was chilled to the bone, disheveled, and in shock by the time she arrived at Larkspur and dismounted at the front door. Her teeth chattered, and she hugged herself for warmth as she waited for an answer to her knock.

“Emily!” the squire exclaimed as he opened the door wide. “’Tis past midnight, child. Dear God! What has befallen you?”

“C-come…,” she stuttered, tears falling freely down her cheeks.

Ryan emerged from the squire’s study, took in Emily’s wild appearance, her blood-stained dress, and his face went white. “Emily, what the devil—? Are you hurt?”

“O-Oak Hill. Come…please.”

“Fire?” Squire Davis asked.

She could only shake her head. “The man…he…he’s dead!”

…

Ryan removed his jacket and draped it over Emily’s shoulders while his uncle shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Andrews! Saddle our horses! Be quick about it.”

Sprite was winded from the ride to Larkspur and would not make decent time carrying Emily. Ryan took her up to sit in front of him on his horse, and they were off. Warmed by his coat and secure within his arms, she began to calm, and her trembling ceased.

When they reached Oak Hill, she pointed toward the summerhouse. The light of a single lantern burned like a beacon in the dark moonless night, and they didn’t dismount until they were at the steps.

Samuel waited for him to lift Emily down from the saddle before they went into the summerhouse, their pistols cocked and at the ready. Ryan went forward to gaze down at the waxen face of the dead man.

His eyes stung, and a lump formed in his throat.
Damn it to hell. Archer.
He thought of Archer’s sister and sweetheart and tried to control his rising anger—at the cost of this damned war, the stupidity of men, and the necessity of fighting.

“Gut-shot,” Samuel proclaimed. “Who was it, Emily? A highwayman? A thief?”

“He was a…” She stopped and looked up at Ryan as he turned from his examination of the body. He saw the realization in her eyes and the recognition of his betrayal. That the dead man had been looking for him.

“He was…a stranger,” she finished.

“Good God! That’s no reason to kill a man, Emmy! I cannot tell that to the constable.”

“No, Samuel.
I
didn’t shoot him. I…I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to see if I left my workbasket here this afternoon, and he was lying there. I brought him brandy, but he said it was no use to fetch a doctor.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

Tears filled her eyes again, and she took a deep breath to brace herself as she gestured helplessly at the body, “He died in my arms, and I didn’t even know his name. He was afraid to die alone, so I stayed with him.
I held his hand, and I never knew his name.
”

Her voice was rising, and Ryan knew she was approaching hysteria. He led her to the wicker settee and held the abandoned bottle of brandy to her mouth, ordering her to drink. While he had her thus engaged, he took command of the situation. “Uncle, go let Bridey know what’s happening. Take as much time as you need to reassure her. No rush. Nothing can be done ’till morning now. Oh, and stable the horses, will you? I’ll stay with Emily until she calms.”

With a curt nod of agreement, Uncle Samuel was on his way.

When he was out of earshot, Ryan sat beside her and took her hand. “Thank you, Emily, for not giving me away.”

“You
do
know him.”

“His name was John Archer. He was a good man and a better friend. You’d have liked him.”

“He’d learned…” Emily halted. Her eyes met his and held.

Damn! She knew something. And he had to have that information. “Learned what?”

“Ryan, I cannot…”

And he could not let Archer’s message die with him. He’d be damned if he’d let his friend die in vain. “What did he learn?” He held her shoulders in an uncompromising grip, and his lips drew back in a grimace. “He died for the information, Emily. What did he say?”

“Ryan, do you realize what you are asking? You know where I stand. Please…”

“I’m sorry, Emmy. I wish I could leave you out of this, but I must have this information.” He hated that he had come to this. That he was asking her to commit treason and jeopardize her beloved Oak Hill in aiding him. But… “It could save hundreds of lives.”

She looked down at her hands, clenched and trembling in her lap. “The plans for Savannah are false. Reinforcements…are the opposite of what you’ve been told.”

He hated that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Go on, Emily.”

“P-Prevost has returned to Savannah to defend the British position.”

“Is that all?”

She nodded.

“Did he say who did this to him?”

A fresh fall of tears streaked her flushed cheeks. “N-Neil Taylor. He said you would know what to do.”

Taylor
. Oh, yes. He’d know what to do. He eased his grip, sighed deeply and pulled her into his arms, the crisis past. “Thank you, Emily.”

She finally looked up at him. “He…he asked for Bridey. Why would he do that? Did he know her?”

He retrieved the blanket to wrap around her shoulders. In for a penny, in for a pound. She’d have to know the whole truth. “She works for me, Emmy. She has all along. Her brothers are in Virginia. She plans to join them one day.”