Faithfully Yours (16 page)

“My father? Never.”

Wendell did not chuckle as she had expected. His face became grim. “I am sorry to hear that, Faith. Urge your mother and siblings to be wary.”

Faith stepped back as the men rode past. Fear lashed her to the ground. She could not have mistaken the threat in Wendell's voice when he spoke of her father. A hand settled on her shoulder, and she shrieked.

Sebastian turned Faith against his chest as she sagged, weeping. He wished he could think of something to say that would offer her solace. There was nothing. She had foolishly believed that her neighbors viewed the war as she did. Now she was discovering how past alliances had been forgotten in the cauldron of battle.

Fingering the hilt of the sword he wore at his side, he imagined having let it feast on his enemies here. Then he would have won the title of hero to satisfy his father. But Faith was not his enemy, and he could not risk her.

She drew back and said in a breathy whisper, “Sebastian, please let us go home. I fear what will happen if we stay here.”

“The riders are eager to reach their destination. They will not return here now.”

“I was not speaking of that.” She pulled his face down to hers.

He grasped her, pulling her tightly to him as his lips persuaded hers to surrender every bit of their pleasure to him. Desire detonated inside him as his hands followed the enticing curve of her waist. When she gasped as he pressed against her, the sound swirled down his throat, intensifying the need that clawed at his gut whenever he thought of her.

Tasting the warmth of her breath, his tongue greedily drove deep into her mouth. Her hands quested along him as he pressed against her. Her scent was intoxicating, and he sampled the flavors of her cheek, the tip of her nose, and the satin of her eyelids before teasing her ear with the tip of his tongue. His breath caught directly beneath where her breasts touched him.

Belatedly, he noticed the desperation in her kiss. “Shall I do as you wish, or as you say, Faith? You tell me we should leave, but your kiss urges us to stay here to explore all the pleasure awaiting us.”

“There is no real choice, is there?”

“Maybe there is none, but a man's fantasies taunt him to believe that anything is possible.”

Faith wished Sebastian would not regard her with such an unguarded expression. It was dangerous to her heart. She could no longer hide from herself that she could fall in love with this handsome, forceful man if she allowed her emotions free rein. “I should hate you for using me to find out more about the rebels in this area.”

“That was happenstance, and I know of no names save that of Wendell Mertz.”

She grasped his arm. “Do not have him arrested. His mother would die with grief to lose both of her sons.”

“Mertz has done nothing except boast within my hearing.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He rested her cheek against his chest again. With a wry laugh, he said, “I find it amusing that you believe you should hate me though you seek comfort in my arms.”

“Sebastian,” she said, stepping out of his arms, “if things were different—”

His finger on her lips silenced her again. “Do not worry, Faith. I will not ask you to denounce more of your neighbors. I want you to want me without thinking of the war.” He stepped away and held out his hand. “We must return home so that you may offer the warning to your family.”

She sighed. The sweet interlude was over. She had come to recognize the hunter who sought his prey. She should have guessed how dangerous it was to yearn for the kisses of a man obsessed with his mission.

She shivered as she placed her hand in his. He brought it to his lips before entwining his fingers with hers. Leading her toward the farm, he said, “It shall be all right, Faith. My men are here to protect your family. No one else you love shall die while I am here.”

“Wade's death is not your fault.”

“I was not speaking of Wade Mertz, but of another.”

Faith stared at him, not sure what to say. “What other?”

“The man you loved who died fighting his king's men.”

“I still do not know of whom you speak.”

“I was told that you lost a lover during the battle by the Brandywine. A man named Burstan.”

Taking a step away from him, she whispered, “Who told you a lie like that? Mr. Burstan was married to Reverend McEachern's sister.”

He scowled as he pounded his fist against a tree. “I see Rooke was telling me yet another lie. Forgive me, Faith, for heeding his tale.”

“You should know me well enough to realize I would not—I mean, if there had been a lover whom I was mourning … That is …”

He paused at the edge of the woods and brought her to face him. Taking her hands, he kissed one, then the other. “I was baffled, I must admit, but even more was I determined not to bring you more pain by asking for the truth.”

“The truth is what I have told you.” She knew her fingers were trembling as she spoke yet another lie to this man she longed to be honest with. She hoped Sebastian would think the quivers came only from her attempt to curb her errant emotions.

“I will remember that. My men and I shall be at your home until I have completed my duties here. Who knows? There may come a time for you and me.”

“When we can be together?” She shook her head with regret. “That time might never come, Sebastian. You are a soldier, and there are battles yet to come.”

“That is true.”

She stared at the trees. “It is you I do not understand most of all.”

“What don't you understand about
me
? I am a simple man, Faith.”

“Simple?” She laughed, amazed that she could. “You are the son of an earl! You have lived a wondrous life across the ocean. I have never been more than a score of miles from this house where I was born. My life is simple. Your life is not.”

“Both are complicated now, sweet one.”

Faith had to agree with that, although she said nothing as she went to the house and into the kitchen. The familiar scents of roasting meat and fresh milk offered no comfort, because she knew how easily all this could be destroyed if the rebels aimed their anger at her father. But surely one of their leaders knew that
she
was bringing supplies for General Washington's men. Would that be enough to protect this family?

Ezekial looked up from where he was polishing his boots. “Did you have a pleasant walk?”

“It was cold,” Faith replied.

“Is that why you were all cuddled up with Sebastian?” He winked at his brother.

Emery urged, “Do not tease her.”

“Why not?” asked Ezekial.

Sebastian laughed as he unbuttoned his cloak. Setting it on the bench by the door, he said, “That is an excellent question. I always have enjoyed hoaxing my siblings.” He put his arm around Faith's shoulders. “It seems you saw me thanking your sister for being neighborly enough to guide me here, as I am not familiar with these roads.”

“Neighborly?” Ezekial sniffed, and Emery chuckled.

“Faith! Faith!” Molly ran toward her. Tugging on the sleeve of Faith's gown, she urged, “Come on. You must see what has happened.”

Faith glanced at Sebastian. He was still smiling, but his eyes narrowed. Wanting him to reassure her that Wendell and his comrades had not followed them here, she took her little sister by the hand and went to the parlor, where her father and mother were talking intently.

Her mother looked up, her face ruddy. Faith's stomach lurched. Then she realized as she hugged her mother that the high color had been burnished by the cold, because her mother's cheek was nearly as chilled as hers.

Mother handed them each a cup of aromatic tea. Not real tea, Faith realized when she took her first sip, but one those Mother created from the variety of herbs that were grown in the garden.

Before Faith could speak, Father grasped her hands and said, “This is for you, daughter.”

She took the folded sheet, her fingers stiff as she tried not to let them quiver. Another message so soon? Something must be wrong. She was so certain of that she had to read the message a second time to realize it was not about delivering supplies, but an invitation to a ball at Sir Richard Jackson's country estate the next week. Her knees folded, and she sat on the closest chair as she reread the invitation, which was to her and her family and her father's guests.

“Aren't you pleased, daughter?” her father asked.

“I am surprised.” That much was the truth.

Her father plucked the invitation from her fingers. “Why? Sir Richard has such a gathering each year, and you are of an age to attend.” With another chuckle, he said, “I have been told there will be many guests from Philadelphia. This is an excellent opportunity for you, Faith. There are many men who have made names for themselves as true heroes and risked so much for the king. Don't you agree, Kendrick?”

“An excellent opportunity to meet a true hero,” Sebastian replied with his coolest smile.

She was caught by his icy gaze. She had so many things she wanted to say, but she could not say any of them. Her father continued with his plans for the exciting evening that would introduce his oldest daughter to the gentility of Philadelphia and to the peers who were serving the king here. Did Sebastian think her affection for him was so shallow that she would toss aside what they shared for a chance to be with a man acclaimed as a hero? As he bid them good afternoon and took his leave, she feared he did.

Eleven

Had there ever been a man more foolish than he was tonight?

Sebastian stepped into a room that was bright with a chandelier that would not have been out of place in one of the elegant houses on Grosvenor Square. The walls in the country house were not as ornate, because the decoration was carved from wood, not plaster. Painted a bright yellow, the walls were the perfect backdrop for the dark furniture that was pushed up against them to leave the floor of the large room open for dancing.

A pair of violins tried to be heard over the conversation and the laughter. He walked past guests who were talking earnestly, the subject always the same. He would have enjoyed discussing the progress of the war against the rebels, but that was not the topic shared by the many soldiers who had been invited from Philadelphia for this evening's entertainment.

The topic was Faith Cromwell. His gaze focused on her. She was dancing with a man who claimed the titles of colonel and marquess. As she curtsied, holding her fan open, he noticed that her silk gown was the perfect shade of green to accent her russet hair, which remained unpowdered. A row of ruffles along the front of the gown curved over her bodice and emphasized the narrow line of her waist. Silk flowers were sewn into the ruffles on her petticoat beneath her wide, split skirt and on the lace drooping down from her sleeves, but he stared at the tiny silk flower that was set at the very spot where her breasts pressed to escape the deep line of her chemise. As she bowed to the colonel and stepped through the pattern of the dance, the candlelight seemed drawn to her, as were the eyes of many of the men in the room.

Sebastian's fingers curled into fists by his sides. He wanted to be the one who held her slender hand and who drank in her sweet perfume as the dance drew her near. Grasping a glass, he downed the wine in a gulp. He motioned for it to be refilled as he saw—overseeing all of the room as if he were the host—Cromwell, looking very much the proud papa with a daughter who was about to fulfill his ambitions for more power and respect among those representing the crown. His face was nearly as ruddy as his daughter's hair, and Sebastian guessed that Cromwell had emptied his wineglass many times already.

And why not? The man was celebrating a victory that seemed assured. At the end of each set, Faith barely had time to catch her breath before another gentleman escorted her out onto the floor to dance.

At the sound of his name spoken in a jovial voice, Sebastian looked behind him to see a squat man. Captain Ames had a wit that challenged his fellow officers and a charm that endeared him to the ladies, who soon overlooked his thinning hair and large nose.

“What are you doing so far from Philadelphia?” Sebastian asked, his gaze flicking back toward the dancers to see Faith now dancing with a major he did not know.

“I have heard much about Sir Richard's gatherings,” Ames replied, his voice a deep rumble. “I thought I would see the truth for myself.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think these colonials have a grand opinion of themselves, for I have seen a finer assembly in a low tavern in London.” He took a glass from a passing tray. Sipping, he added, “I trust you will be joining us for the colonel's assembly during the Christmas season.”

“If possible. My duties here are not done.”

Ames grimaced. “You show great restraint in staying here in Goshen when I know you are curious about what will be done with the spy your brother captured.”

Sebastian took Ames by the arm and drew him toward an empty corner. “Rooke has said nothing about his collaborators.”

Ames ran his finger along his bulbous nose. “I had hoped to be bringing you orders to arrange for a hempen collar for this spy. I see no reason to wait.”

Sebastian shifted so he could be sure that no one approached, neither ally nor foe. Already Osborne was pestering him to get orders that Rooke be hanged without delay. If he heard Ames's comments, Osborne would only become more insistent.

“Caution is necessary,” Sebastian said quietly. “Even loyal colonists were unsettled when that schoolteacher was hanged as a spy in Connecticut. The rebels have made Nathan Hale a martyr. We do not need to offer them another to use in their efforts to bring more traitors to their cause.”

“That is, unfortunately, true.” Ames sighed. “This war is dragging on too long. I fear there are too many generals involved. If we were allowed to confront the rebels and chase them to ground rather than having our army retreating to Philadelphia for the winter, this war would be over by year's end.”