Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (5 page)

A wave of dizziness washed through her, and her limbs grew leaden. The room went out of focus. She swayed.

Laudanum!
He had switched glasses when her back was turned!

He feinted to one side.

She tried to follow his movement with the barrel of her pistol, but her reaction was sluggish.

He lunged, wrestling for possession of the weapon. With the pistol between them, he grasped her hands in his, forcing the barrel downward. He stepped back, and Emily pressed her brief advantage to pull away. She staggered backward, bumping against the desk, and the pistol discharged, the report deafening in the small room. Simultaneous searing pain ripped along her right leg, and splinters sprayed up from the floorboards.

Dismay registered in some distant part of her mind as she surrendered to the inevitable, released the pistol to Mr. Sutton, and began a slow descent to the floor.

…

So much blood! Ryan feared it would never stop. He’d been frantic when he’d knelt beside her and seen the gash in her flesh oozing thick, red blood. He hadn’t calmed until he’d assured himself it was just a flesh wound and that the depth of her unconsciousness was a result of drugged brandy and not her injury.

Suspecting she had been a bit too eager to pour him brandy, he’d waited for her to turn her back, then had switched their glasses. When she’d begun to slur her words he’d known his suspicions were founded. But he’d never suspected she’d had an alternate plan. A woman with a pistol, for God’s sake! Had she really planned to kill him?

He carried her to the room she had identified as hers during his search, placed her gently upon the bed, and bathed her wound with cool water from the pitcher on the night stand, murmuring prayers and curses in the same breath. He ripped a towel from her washstand into strips for a makeshift bandage. The thought did not occur to him until then that whatever she’d put in his brandy could have been a fatal dose.

He watched her, unable to tear himself from her side. An indefinable quality in her drew him—a kindred spirit. She understood alienation and loneliness. He’d seen them in her gray-green eyes.

He saw the same desperation and loneliness when he looked in the mirror. Isolated in a foreign land, far from his own country, his very life depended upon secrecy. A chance word, an unguarded moment, could cost him everything. He must always be alert to danger, never trusting anyone and keeping his true thoughts, feelings, and loyalties deep in his heart. Sharing his thoughts—let alone his life, his heart, and his soul—was impossible. He’d come to believe he was not even worthy of love. He’d done things over the past four years in the name of the freedom that had caused him deep shame.

Emily’s lips moved, but he could not make out her words. She whimpered, and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. He wished he could slay her dragons. Vanquish her enemies.

Ah, but
he
was her dragon. Her enemy.

This small creature before him posed a greater threat than any he’d faced last night when Erikson had held him at gunpoint, when he’d lunged to struggle for Erikson’s gun, or when he’d been pursued by the king’s men. His mission in England meant hundreds, even thousands, of lives in America. He was under strict orders to dispose of anyone who learned his true purpose in England, and he was quite capable of that ruthlessness. The moment Miss Nevins discovered his identity, he should have strangled her. Failing that, he should have abducted her and found a secure place to hold her for the duration of the war. And tonight, when he should be abroad investigating the circumstances leading to Erickson’s betrayal and uncovering his sources, Ryan was keeping vigil at Emily’s bedside instead.

He must never give her another chance to betray the cause or the men who served it. If she discovered how he had been using Oak Hill for years… He pressed his fingers to the hollow of her throat. Her pulse beat a strong but erratic rhythm.

He had only to squeeze.

Chapter Five

She’d had the dream before. Wind, rain, thunder. Herself clawing at the muddy earth with her bare hands, trying to cover her mother’s grave while the rain kept washing the mud away, exposing her mother along with Emily’s deepest secrets. She was alone, exhausted, and waging a losing battle.

But this time,
he
came to kneel beside her. He pushed the wet strands of hair from her face and kissed her with exquisite gentleness.
Come away
, he whispered.
But she was too deeply rooted in the land—her only constant, the only thing she’d ever been able to count on. Fear of discovery, fear for Lucy and of being at Mr. Dodge’s mercy kept her bound to that little plot of earth.

Now. Come with me now, Emily. I will not wait forever…

A great aching bloomed in her head and became more and more relentless. Returning to reality was increasingly painful. When she was no longer aware of anything but a constant throbbing in her head and leg, she released the tendrils of her dreams and let them slip away with the night. She opened her eyes slowly, painfully, fighting the niggling suspicion that her nightmares were only just beginning.

Ryan Sutton sat facing her, his eyes closed, his chin resting on his chest, and a blanket draped around him. He appeared to be asleep.

She cringed at a pain shooting up her left leg as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She was still fully clothed, but there was a thick padding of bandages around her thigh. Had she been shot?

Of course! The gun! She had a vague recollection of struggling with Mr. Sutton over possession of her father’s pistol. She forced her right hand up to her aching head. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so muddled and disoriented? The drug? Ah, yes, he had switched their glasses.

Why hadn’t he finished the job? Was there something more he wanted from her first? She folded the coverlet back as silently as she could and swung her good leg over the side of the bed. If she could just get to the flintlock, or a kitchen knife—

The flat metallic click of a pistol cocking sounded unnaturally loud in the little room. The blanket fell away from Ryan’s chest, exposing the deadly weapon. He hadn’t been asleep after all.

“Are…are you going to kill me?” she whispered.

“Miss Nevins, that was never my intention.
You
tried to kill
me
. Twice.”

“Twice? But—

“I suspected you put something in my brandy, so I traded our glasses. When you realized I had discovered your game, you resorted to a pistol.”

Emily winced, her head thumping mercilessly. “It wasn’t poison. I just wanted you to sleep long enough for me to tie you up. I was going to turn you over to…um, the authorities. Then…then you tried to kill me.”

“Your pistol misfired,” he offered in a bland voice. “You were holding it at the time, attempting to shoot me.” He lowered his own pistol and eased the hammer back in place.

She took a deep breath, lightheaded with relief. “Why are you still here?”

His jaw tightened. He stiffened, and his reply was cold. “I could scarcely leave you on the library floor bleeding like a slaughtered animal. That would have the constabulary nosing about for certain.”

She glanced away. He was right, of course.

“The ball just grazed your leg. You should be right as rain in a few weeks. I am, nevertheless, reluctant to leave you alone in your condition. When does your mother return from Scotland?”

“Uh, soon. She will be back soon.”

“A day? A week? More?” he persisted.

“I…I do not know precisely when. She could return today.”

“Then I shall have to stay until her return. Someone must take care of you.”

She sighed, wishing she could tell him that she’d taken care of herself and everyone else at Oak Hill Farm for the past six years. “My maid—” Wait! Bridey? Simon Bart and Mary? Where were they?

“The one you sent to her sick sister?”

“Mary Bart? She is my housekeeper and my handyman’s wife, and she will not be back before tomorrow. My maid, Miss Sullivan, lives in the cottage behind the stables. She should be here any moment.”

“What will you tell her about your wound?”

“I shall think of something.”

His dimple deepened. “That could be interesting. I’d like to hear how you intend to explain it.”

“All they will see is a limp. I shall say that…that I twisted my ankle. No one would dare lift my skirts to look.”

“And the damage to your floor?”

“That…that I was cleaning my father’s pistol and it misfired.”

“Remind me never to play cards with you.” He stood and pushed his pistol into the waistband of his trousers. “Again, Miss Nevins, you will keep my little secret in exchange for my silence in your complicity. As long as I am safe, you are safe. Agreed?”

She would have promised the moon to be rid of him in that moment. “Agreed.”

“Excellent. Had I let you live, and had you betrayed me, the consequences would have been dire for your mother. And I promise, Miss Nevins, I would name you as my accomplice without a single twinge of conscience.”

Did he
have
a conscience? “Why did you not just kill me, Mr. Sutton? Would that not have made your life easier?”

He came to the edge of the bed, sat beside her, and took one of her hands in his. “Perhaps not easier, but certainly safer. I had my hands around your slender, lovely throat. ’Twould have been simple to squeeze and end the problem. I have killed for the cause ere now, Miss Nevins, and I would die for it gladly. But I held out some hope that would not be necessary in your case. Do not prove me wrong.”

Sobered by his matter-of-fact tone, she sank back against her pillows and closed her eyes. “Go away.”

“In a moment, Miss Nevins.”

She wanted to slap his hand away when he slipped her skirt up her leg and removed the bandage from her thigh. Her cheeks burned as he bent to examine her wound closely.

“You will have a scar. Whatever possessed you to try to shoot me?”

“I was afraid.”

“You needn’t fear me.” He smiled. “Believe me, Miss Nevins, my intentions were far from dangerous at that moment.”

“Samuel told me that one of your friends had been found face down in the mud. The soldiers said you had done murder. ’Twas you, wasn’t it? You murdered your own friend! Shall I believe you would murder a friend yet let me live?”

His lips formed a firm line. “There were reasons for what happened, Miss Nevins. Just know that I will be keeping a very close eye on you until this wretched war ends. If you should make any move to betray me, I will know it, and you will answer for it.”

…

Three sharp, fast raps then three slow. Ryan tapped the secret code on the door as he glanced over his shoulder to make certain he could not be seen from the manor house. When his operative opened the door, her eyes widened, and she pulled him inside by his coat sleeve.

“Are ye daft, Major? ’Tis broad daylight! What if ye’re seen?”

Ryan surveyed the single room, noting the kettle over the fire and a cup and saucer on the table. He had interrupted her at her breakfast. “Easy, Bridey, and do not call me ‘major,’” he soothed. “If we were overheard, that would give us away.”

“What—”

Ryan waved one hand to stay her questions. “Listen first, Bridey.” He held the small straight-back chair by the table for her before taking a seat opposite. “There was a leak in our little
coterie
. Night before last, Leon Erickson held me at gunpoint and attempted to arrest me for treason. He admitted to killing Arthur and Benfield last month after discovering they were a part of our group. We struggled, and he was killed. He did not know about you or Oak Hill, Bridey, but be very careful until we can find if there is another leak.

“Erikson had sent for the king’s men before meeting me. They were fast on my heels. I do not know if he sent them my identity before he rode out to meet me.”

Bridey’s eyes widened. “Do you think he told the soldiers?”

“I pray not, but it is a risk I must take. If I am not arrested in the next few days, I think I am safe.” When Bridey seemed about to protest, Ryan shook his head. “I know full well what the risks are, Bridey. Believe me. But I cannot leave until I discover if there is a traitor in our midst. Despite the consequences, you must trust that I would never betray you or the others.”

“I do, sir. But how did you run afoul of Miss Emily?”

“I was fleeing the soldiers and could not get across the lawns to the summerhouse or your cottage. I had to climb through a manor window. Regrettably, I ran directly into your mistress. After a bit of persuasion, she agreed to keep my presence secret, but yesterday we were introduced at my uncle’s home. She knows my name, Bridey. She could identify me. I followed her home from Larkspur and…we struggled. Her pistol discharged. The ball grazed her leg.”

Bridey’s complexion paled. “Is she mortal wounded?”

He reached across the table and patted her hand. “A flesh wound. I convinced her that her earlier silence had already made her my accomplice and warned that my compatriots would be watching her. I think she will keep our secret. I am about to stake my life on it. Do you agree?”

“Aye, sir. She’s been as quiet as a mouse, never hinted at your visit. She’s hiding her own secrets, that one. She would cut out her tongue before she’d let the king’s men camp at Oak Hill.”

Was there was more to Emily Nevins than met the eye? “There appears to be a great deal you have not told me regarding the situation here. Prithee, what else is she hiding?”

“Nothin’ that has to do with you or the cause, sir. She’s a good girl, she is, and I owe her my loyalty as long as it will not interfere with us,” she said. “I’ll keep her secrets just like I keep ours.”

A good girl? A sharp stab of desire shot through him as he recalled her throaty
yes
as his lips brushed her throat. But a girl with secrets could be a danger. “I need more to be assured of her silence, Bridey—especially since she will be making an appearance in London. I must have something that will set my mind at ease. Something that will convince me she will not betray us.”

Bridey frowned, clearly struggling with her conscience. Sighing heavily, she met his gaze. “Her mum, sir. She died in Scotland six years ago—before I even came here. Miss Emily is hiding it from her trustee so he will not get his hands on her or her little sister. She left Miss Lucy with one of her mother’s cousins who she calls Uncle Angus. ’Tis still a little over a month before she can inherit.”

“Aye, that should do for now. If I haven’t found a counterspy by then, we shall think of something else.” He stood and headed for the door before stopping to glance back at his operative. “Four years we’ve been using Oak Hill, and you never told me how comely the girl is.”

“I thought it safer if you did not know.”

“For her or for me, Bridey?”

“For all of us.”

He grinned. “Can I trust you to watch her and report to me, or would you rather I replace you?”

“You can trust me, sir. When you sent me here, you said I was to acquire a position and be a real maid to the lass, but she’s been more than a mistress. She worries about me and protects me, sir. Looks after me. As long as she keeps her word to you, she deserves my loyalty, too.”

Bridey Sullivan was a woman of integrity. If she gave her word, he could rely upon her. “I am on my way to Rotterdam to make a report, but I will be back within a few days. Send word of anything out of the ordinary. And do not let Miss Nevins out of your sight.”

…

Ryan stepped onto the dark Rotterdam street and turned toward the waterfront. His meeting with Ezra Johnson, the American diplomat stationed in Rotterdam, and the conduit for American secret intelligence, had been less than satisfying. But now that it was over, he could find a packet for England tonight.

He waved a coach away and took long purposeful strides, feeling the sting of the meeting as if he’d been slapped. Despite the loss of another operative, Johnson had ordered him to send another man back to Virginia immediately, thus leaving him even shorter-handed than before. He’d have to fill the gap himself despite that he’d already been stretching himself—and his luck—too tight for a very long time.

According to Johnson, the Continental Army was preparing to retake Savannah, and they wanted Ryan to discover British deployment, rotation, and reinforcement plans within the fort. His new assignment would keep him very close to London. That part of Johnson’s request was not altogether displeasing. His relationships and contacts there would prove quite useful. And he’d be able to keep an eye on Miss Nevins— no longer safely tucked away in the countryside where she could not do much damage.

And then there was the matter of Erikson. Had
he
been the leak? Ryan couldn’t decide. His network consisted of more than a dozen couriers, each knowing only the man he reported to and the man from whom he received reports. Though only a few knew who Ryan was, only he and his second in command, John Archer, knew them all. Erikson had known Ryan was his contact, but he had not known Ryan was in command.

He and Johnson agreed that there was nothing more critical, nothing more imperative, than securing their counterintelligence operation in Britain. Thus, not only must Ryan verify there was no other leak, but it was necessary to uncover Erikson’s British contact—whomever he had reported to. No one must be left to betray them. That vital piece of the puzzle was all that could secure their future and prevent further catastrophes.

God, what a charnel pit of treachery and deceit this war had become. Men who would otherwise be friends were now enemies. No one could be trusted. If he did not believe so deeply that independence was America’s only option, Ryan would pack up and swim back to Virginia, if necessary.

But how could he turn his back when, at home, Americans faced the tyranny and abuses of the British Army? Endured restrictive currency laws that left them without the means of fair trade and unable to transact even ordinary business from farming to laundry services? Paid egregious taxes and were subjected to stamp acts on everything from postage to tea?