Love’s Betrayal (43 page)

The room contained no privacy screen. Georgette watched her husband remove his cravat and waistcoat. Embarrassed, she averted her gaze until he submerged himself in the tub. Blowing and sputtering, he surfaced, hair and beard dripping. “Not quite hot enough but far warmer than the Hudson,” he said. “Please hand me the scrub brush and soap.”

Georgette obliged. Dark hair lay plastered on his exposed knees, forearms, and chest. His wet shoulders reflected the firelight as he applied the scrub brush to his sinewy back. He grinned up at her. “The last woman who watched me bathe was my mother.”

Heat suffused her face. Turning to the mirror, she began to pin up her still-damp hair but could not avoid hearing his chuckle.

“I fear my gown is out of style.”

“The trade ships from England did not arrive here in October, so everyone in the city is wearing last year's fashions.” Splashes and thumps told her when he climbed out of the tub. She could not resist sneaking a peek in the mirror while he dressed. His twinkling dark eyes met her gaze as he tightened the drawstring of his drawers.

Although she wanted to be offended or shocked, Georgette found herself smiling. Judging by his reaction, it was not a bad thing that she found him good to look upon. “Woman, you are a distraction,” he growled. Instead of pulling on his shirt, he approached her to claim a kiss.

Nestled in his arms, Georgette inhaled the fragrance of his clean skin. “I am glad I came with you.”

“At the moment, I, too, am thankful. I hope I may remain so.” He stepped back. “We must make haste if we are to dine tonight.”

Georgette reluctantly let him finish dressing.

Moonlight streamed through a window, unimpeded by the wisp of curtain. Although the bed was clean and vermin-free, Georgette could not sleep. Voices from the taproom below were just loud enough to annoy without allowing her to distinguish one word from another. Her supper of fried ham and beans was not setting well.

Her husband's deep breathing told Georgette that he slept. Shivering despite layers of blankets, she snuggled up against his broad back and thought wistfully of the luxurious featherbeds back home. He rolled over to embrace her, encroaching on much of her bed space. The price of warmth. Georgette rested her cheek against his chest and let the strong beat of his heart soothe her.

Just as her mind drifted into sleep, a sharper beat awakened her. Mr. LaTournay sat up and placed a restraining hand on Georgette when she opened her mouth to inquire. The rapping sounded again.

With astonishing suddenness and silence, Mr. LaTournay positioned himself beside the chamber door. “Who is there?”

“Pringle. I need to talk to you.”

“One moment.” He hauled on his breeches as he spoke. His nightshirt gleamed white as it floated to the floor. Georgette lost sight of him in the shadows but heard evidence of his preparation. He suddenly loomed over her. “Never fear. I'll not be long.”

She clung to him for an instant, returned his kiss, and released him. The door opened, admitting a louder volume of taproom clamor, then closed. Its latch clicked into place.

As soon as he was gone, Georgette thought of a dozen questions to ask.

But if ye will not do so, behold, ye have sinned against the L
ORD
: and be sure your sin will find you out.

N
UMBERS
32:23

Y
ou were in bed?” Pringle inquired as he led the way downstairs. “At this hour? My, how marriage has countrified you, LaTournay.”

LaTournay glanced into the small taproom in passing. “Does not the Provincial Congress regulate the closing hour of taverns as it polices everything else in town?”

Pringle gave an appreciative snort as he hauled on his overcoat. “I imagine the taproom currently contains an associator or two. Rules are made to be broken only by those who enforce them.”

LaTournay observed while his friend hunched in the tavern doorway and scanned the street. “Eyes are always watching,” Pringle said. “You can have no idea what these past months have been. Daily we hope and pray that Governor Tryon will succeed in convincing General Howe to make New York his center of operations.”

Thinking of his warm bed, LaTournay reluctantly followed Pringle. For all his efforts, Pringle moved with the finesse of a rolling boulder. The heels of his shoes tapped on the cobblestones, and he could not seem to restrain a stream of conversation. “The associators have detained me more than once, insisting that I take an oath of allegiance. I tell them I already signed and swore it once and do not intend to do so again.”

“It does seem an ineffective measure—coerced fealty. You say you did swear it once?”

“Only to remove suspicion from myself. An informant is useless when he is suspected.”

The men turned east on Crown Street. A blast of winter wind struck, slicing through layers of clothing. LaTournay drew his cloak together at the neck and hunched his shoulders. “So you still spy for the army?” he asked as they approached the docks.

“I work for Governor Tryon now. Since he moved his office aboard the
Duchess of Gordon,
he needs eyes and ears in town. I move with the stealth and quickness of a panther. That is my code name—the Panther.”

“Selecting one's own alias offers distinct advantages.” LaTournay dragged one hand down over his mouth and beard in an effort to keep a straight face.

Diverse structures lined the street, from rickety shops surrounded by heaps of refuse to brick town houses with manicured gardens. The scent of rotting fish blended with wood smoke and sea salt. Deep grunts and strident squeals divulged the presence of nocturnal garbage looters. LaTournay hoped the beasts were of a peaceable nature. Swine were his least favorite of God's creation.

“Why did Governor Tryon move to a ship?” he asked.

“He caught wind of a plot to kidnap him,” Pringle replied. “Although the Provincial Congress swears it intended no such scheme, who can place credence in the assurances of traitors?”

“Who, indeed?”

Pringle stopped him suddenly. “We are followed. Come.” He ducked behind the short hedge lining a town house's garden.

LaTournay crouched beside his friend. “Who could it be, do you think? An associator?” He and Pringle were being shadowed, LaTournay knew, but the real trackers would not so carelessly betray their presence.

Pringle made a hacking motion to halt the questions. Hooves clacked on the cobblestones, and two hogs trotted past, ears flopping.

Pringle let out his breath as the two men stood upright. “False alarm this time. LaTournay, you disappoint me. You must learn to practice caution if you're to survive in this city more than a day. I depend upon you to help organize our Tories into troops that should impress even Howe. You may know little about military matters, but your voice and demeanor will inspire confidence, which is a trait sadly lacking at present.”

LaTournay followed Pringle back to the walkway. “I, organize troops? Pringle, you flatter me.”

“I have something to show you. Come.”

“I cannot become involved.”

Pringle shook his head. “You think so now, but not when you have seen and heard all.”

Gripping his friend's arm, LaTournay tugged him to a halt. “Listen. My wife awaits my return. I cannot stay out long. What is so urgent that you drag me from my bed into the frigid night?”

“Your sad fate motivates me. I have a long and tragic tale to relate. Will you not come with me to Queens? A boat awaits us at the landing.”

LaTournay paused before answering. “Not tonight. My plans take me there tomorrow. To Grenville's estate in Queens County, where my wife's relations bide until our coming.”

Pringle laughed aloud. “But of course! Better still to reveal all with the wench present. Your plan could scarcely be improved upon. Very well. I shall meet you there.” Exuberant as ever, he prepared to bound away.

LaTournay caught his arm again. “Do not refer to my wife in disrespectful terms. Are you married?”

“Married?”

“To Miss Grenville. I had understood that nuptials were forthcoming.”

Pringle laughed. “Never if I can help it.”

“Have you yet apprehended the Toad?”

A pause. “I assume you speak of the spy I call the Frog.”

“Frog, toad, it matters little.” LaTournay waved it off.

“We have not apprehended him as yet, but I expect to shortly. We shall soon have the proper gig with which to snare frogs. I anticipate skewering this particular animal and frying its legs in butter.”

“I pity the unwary creature you capture, Pringle. Are you not taking this matter too personally? With what ‘gig' do you expect to entrap this frog?”

“That you shall discover on the morrow, my friend—to your sorrow, I fear.” Pringle's laugh held little mirth. “I am a poet, you see, as well as a prophet. We shall lure this cuckolding frog from out of his concealing fog.”

Georgette stiffened when the chamber door creaked open. She gripped her bedclothes beneath her chin.

“It is I; never fear.”

At the sound of her husband's voice, she felt as limp as overcooked cabbage. “Where have you been?”

“Let me join you before I answer that question.” Sounds of rustling fabric followed. His silhouette passed the window moments before he climbed into bed beside her.

“Ooh!” she gasped as his icy arms and legs pressed against hers. His entire body shivered. She let him pull her close and soak in her warmth. “Now tell me.”

“Pringle wished to take me to Long Island.”

“Tonight?”

“I explained our plan to travel there tomorrow.”

“I assume he found that plan satisfactory.” Georgette rubbed her husband's frozen forearms. “So he dragged you out into the cold night for no good reason. I do not comprehend your continuing friendship with that man, Jean-Maurice. He cannot be a good influence. Do you wish to return to your old lifestyle?” The question that had plagued her for days popped out, taking her by surprise.

“My old lifestyle?”

“The immoral lifestyle of an unmarried man. I am well aware of your reputation. My mother says a woman should never speak of such things or even acknowledge awareness of her husband's foibles, but I cannot imagine practicing deceit on that scale.”

“On what scale can you imagine practicing deceit?”

“None whatever! A husband and wife should be honest with one another.” She sat up and turned to confront him, although darkness negated the effect of her stare. “Do you wish to be unfaithful to me?”

He gave an incredulous huff. “You can even ask this? Georgette, I desire no woman but you, ever.” Anger tinged his voice.

She dared not yet relax in relief. “I find it necessary to ask for two reasons. One, because of your past indiscretions. Two, because I know that you hide much of your heart and mind from me.”

“I hide none of my heart from you. I love you. I have never loved another woman. For reasons I cannot reveal, I allowed people to believe that Lady Forester and I were romantically linked. The fabrication was hers; I simply neglected to repudiate it, and people chose to believe the lie. Tales of my liaisons with additional women are entirely fictitious. Others of God's commandments I confess I have broken, but the seventh remains sacrosanct.”

“Is this true?”

“Ask me again in daylight if you doubt. I can no longer maintain the charade before my wife, come what may.”

He sounded defiant. Something about the confession seemed odd, but Georgette was too tired to ponder the matter. “I believe you. Oh Jean-Maurice, I love you so much! It hurt terribly to think that you would ever tire of me and seek another woman. My mother told me to expect it.”

“Your mother does not know me.” He tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her down. Georgette's tears dampened his nightshirt as she clung to him. “Are you crying?” he asked.