Ring of Secrets (15 page)

Only anxiety banded her chest. Keeping her smile in place was a challenge, but she refused to let it waver. “Colonel Fairchild, whatever are you up to? We ought not to be out here without a chaperone.”

He tugged her along the snow-dusted path with a grin and then paused to reach for her other hand as well. “It would be a shame not to enjoy this lovely spot. Look how much trouble our hostess went to, and why would she have done it if she did not mean it to be enjoyed?”

Why indeed? She renewed her smile, though she had to wonder if perhaps Mrs. Lane had set the garden up for this specific purpose. Given that Winter wasn't as stupid as the lady assumed, she hadn't missed the many times Caroline Lane's eyes rolled the last few weeks whenever Winter said something particularly misinformed. “But, Colonel—”

“Isaac.” He stepped closer, so close she could feel his warmth. Lantern light glinted in his eyes…at least she hoped it was lantern light and not the flames of ardor. “I would like you to call me Isaac.”

She packed as much oblivion into her blink as she could manage. “Why would you like me to call you that, Colonel?”

He chuckled and reached to rest his gloved fingers against her cheek. “Because it is my name, my sweet.”

“Oh.” Tears wanted to clog her throat, which made it difficult to smile innocently. “It is a very nice name. You must be pleased with it.”

“Do you know what would please me more?”

He leaned in, his eyes definitely glinting with feeling more than firelight. How she wished it kindled a like response in her, something
more than this conviction that she could never really make him happy. She shook her head.

His thumb stroked over her cheek. “If you allowed me to call you Winter.”

How long had it been since someone other than Freeman had used her given name with such affection? Since someone had made it sound like an endearment rather than an accusation? She drew in a shuddering breath. Grandmother might not like her to grant him such liberty, but… “'Tis only fair, I suppose, if I am to call you Isaac.”

“Good.” His fingers trailed their way down her neck, halting at her cloak. “I have missed you so these last weeks, Winter. I felt as though a light had gone out of my life.”

“I…” Her throat closed over any response. So much promise shone in his eyes—a future together, security, love. All things she craved.

All things that would rest on a lie. And so, what would they really be worth?

He lowered his head as he pulled hers nearer. Gently, tenderly. Actions to perfectly match the expression on his face that said he would cherish her forever.

Or at least until he discovered that his Winter was only a figment.

Her heart raced, confliction building upon anxiety. Ought she to let him kiss her as he obviously wanted to do? Perhaps. After all, if she planned to marry him…but somehow, his were not the lips she envisioned bestowing her first kiss upon her. Handsome as he was, as kind and good, the arm he slid around her waist felt strange. Unfamiliar, though she arguably knew him better than any other gentleman in New York.

Father of my fathers, lead me in Your ways. Guard my decisions. Show me Your will.

Something squeaked in the corner of the garden, and Colonel Fairchild paused, a frown marring his brow. “What was that?”

Relief surged through her at his retreat, though it was tinged with guilt. She shook her head. “It almost sounded like a door.”

A crunching came next, subtle but there, like a foot upon the deeper snow off the path.

Fairchild urged her aside, his brow still creased. “Stay here. I will see what it is.”

Probably only a squirrel or a rabbit. Perhaps a servant trying to remain unseen. But she made no objection to him striding away toward the garden wall. Indeed, she loosed a quiet sigh and meandered in the opposite direction.

One step outside the circle of lantern light, she halted. The shadows along the wall here felt different. A chill swept her spine, and she spun back toward the colonel.

An arm clamped around her neck, pulling her backward and down a bit until she collided with a solid form. She managed only the start of a scream before the cold edge of metal convinced her to be silent.

“Winter!” Fairchild came running, though he halted abruptly when her captor forced her to step back into the light.

“Not a step farther or I will slit her throat.” The man's voice was a raspy rumble against her temple. “You stay where you are, sir, while I slip out this gate here. Your lady will come with me that far.”

Winter relaxed, though Fairchild certainly didn't. He stretched out an arm. “Release her, please. You are free to go.”

“Aye, and I shall be making sure of that.”

The colonel took a step toward them. “But—”

“Halt.”

Fairchild obeyed, and Winter let her captor pull her out of the light again. “Slow and steady,” he whispered in her ear.

Winter gripped his arm to keep from tripping and matched her murmur to his. “Silas, what on earth are you doing here?”

The farmhand's arm loosened abruptly. “Miss Winnie? Gracious, child, I did not know ye with all this fancy costume.”

“Never mind that.” She continued to slide backward with him, careful to keep her voice too low to be heard by Fairchild. “Why are you in the city? And here, of all places?”

“Had to get me a weapon, miss. I cannot let them catch me unarmed again, and they destroyed everything else.”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “‘They'? What has happened?”

Silas sniffed and halted. The fumbling sounds behind them indicated they had reached the gate. “Sorry I am to tell you this, miss. I had intended to get word to the Townsend boy while here so he could let you know. But they burned it. The house, the barn—gone. Just last week it happened.”

The lanterns doubled, dimmed in her wavering vision. “Wh–what?
My
house?”

“Aye. A pile of rubble it is now. I did me best to save it, but one man against a mob of Tories…I tried, indeed I did. I am sorry for failing. But I must go, miss, before that officer of yours loses patience. If you would kindly distract him?”

She could manage only a jerk of her head in acquiescence. When he released her, her knees buckled and she slid to the cold, snowy ground.

Gone. Her home, her father's house. Would anyone get word to him? Or would he return from campaign one day not knowing that only charred remains would await him? The house his father had built, wife and daughter…all vanished.

She had known she couldn't go back, at least not until Father returned, which would likely be too late. But now? Knowing she had nothing to which to go at all?

“Winter!” Fairchild's hands gripped her arms and pulled her up. “My darling, are you injured? If that villain put so much as a scratch upon your throat—”

She shook her head, but the motion made the world sway again. All she could focus on was the red of his coat.

“Here.” He moved her, round and seemingly round, and she couldn't think what he was pointing her toward until a different arm encircled her. 'Twas warm and solid and held her aright. “If you would get her inside, Mr. Lane, I must…”

If he finished his sentence, Winter was unaware. With a flash of movement his red coat vaulted over the gate and disappeared into the darkness behind it. How very odd. He moved so quickly, and she couldn't seem to budge at all. Couldn't lift a hand, couldn't open her mouth, couldn't even step away from Mr. Lane.

“Miss Reeves.” The smooth spice of his voice bade her look up at him. It took her a long moment to convince her head to turn, to meet his questioning gaze. When she did, she found his face etched with worry. He brushed a fallen curl away from her face. “Do not faint on me, I beg you.”

She had to shake her head again and swallow before her tongue would cooperate. “I am not the fainting kind.”

A snort sounded from beyond Mr. Lane's shoulder, though she lacked the energy to look for its owner.

Mr. Lane's face went taut, as did the arm still around her. Though both relaxed again in moments. “Come, Miss Reeves. Let us get you inside, where you can warm up and put this fright behind you.”

He tried to urge her toward the path, but she held her spot, shaking her head again. Perhaps a bit too wildly, as the curl tumbled onto her cheek once more. “Not yet, please. I beg you. They will make a fuss, crowd around. I cannot…I cannot suffer that just yet.”

All those faces, sympathy mixed with curiosity, colored with disbelief. Nay. 'Twas quiet she needed. Peaceful quiet, so this fresh loss could seep in slowly.

That snort came again. “I have never known you to mind a fuss being made over you, Miss Reeves.”

“George Knight, I ought to…” Mr. Lane's voice tapered off, and then he lifted an accusing finger. “This is your fault. What were you doing meeting with such a man in my garden shed?”

Mr. Knight shifted, which put him in the circle of light. His face bore all the feeling of a granite sculpture. “What I always do, Ben. I was selling a gun.”

Mr. Lane's eyes went wide. “Here?
Now?
”

His friend shrugged. “He made it sound urgent, but I already said I would be here, so…”

“So you bring a criminal onto
my
property—”

“He was cornered,” Mr. Knight said, his voice even, “not criminal.”

“How can you know that? He could be a rebel, an outlaw, any number of kinds of miscreant!”

Mr. Knight rolled his eyes and pivoted, though he didn't walk off as Winter half expected. “What care is it of mine whether he favors blue or red? I am concerned only with sterling.”

Mr. Lane's nostrils flared. “What have you brought upon me, George?”

“He did not harm her.” But contrition finally snuck onto the man's face.

His friend seemed unimpressed by it. “Physically, perhaps, but she is obviously suffering from the shock.”

Mr. Knight snorted a third time. “How can you tell? She looks no more dazed than she ever does.”

Tears surged to Winter's eyes, but she spun away to keep him from seeing them. Cold closed around her when she left the shelter of Mr. Lane's arms, though. She stalked toward the house. She would find an empty room and hide herself away until the choking sensation left her throat, until the waves of pain ebbed away.

Still, she heard Mr. Lane's biting, “Get out of here, George.”

And Mr. Knight's low, “Ben. I did not mean—”

“Later. Tomorrow. Just go for now. Please.”

Winter broke into a run, praying she could reach the door and somehow disappear before Mr. Lane could catch up with her. Solitude, she needed solitude. To curl into a ball and let the tears come.

She wrenched the door open and even made it two steps inside before his hands closed over her shoulders. Gently enough that she could have pulled away, but all her energy was spent in trying to stem the sobs heaving their way upward. As he spun her around, she squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see the concern upon his face. It would surely unravel her.

“Winter—Miss Reeves. I am so sorry. To think that this happened to you in my house because of the poor business decisions of my friend—”

“'Tisn't your fault, nor his.” She ought not to have spoken. Once she'd opened her mouth, a sob escaped and wouldn't be stemmed no matter how hard she pressed her hand to her lips.

When he urged her to her right, she went blindly, unable to see through her tears. And because the room he opened was draped in silence, she didn't much care where he'd taken her.

He led her to a sofa and sat beside her. “There now, Miss Reeves, take a moment. I…bother. I've no experience dealing with distraught females.”

And she despised being one. But trying to blink away the tears and look around only made it worse. Rather than a receiving room, he had brought her into what must have been a more intimate family environment. Embroidery sat, in progress, on one of the chairs, newspapers and books lay open upon the table. Pipe tobacco lingered in the air, and the furniture was well-worn and comfortable.

Images of home filled her vision. The dark beams and white chink, the stone fireplace, with its stove top and iron oven box. “I can't believe it's gone. Even thinking I would never see it again, I knew it was there. But now—Mother's spinning wheels. Father's favorite chair. The wooden horse he carved for my doll when I was a girl. Gone, all of it.”

Mr. Lane caught his breath. He wore panic on his face. “Deuces. Are you delusional, Miss Reeves?”

A laugh tangled with her tears.

His panic amplified. “I will go fetch someone. Perhaps call for an apothecary and obtain something to calm your nerves.”

“No! Please.” She reached out to stop him. “Grandmother will come, and I…please, not yet.”

He sighed. “At least let me see if the colonel has apprehended the villain.”