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The Duke's Redemption
Carla Capshaw


He came to the colonies for one reason: revenge. Drake Amberly, Duke of Hawk Haven, won't leave South Carolina until he's unmasked the colonial spy who killed his brother. Yet the more he sees of spirited Elise Cooper, the more he's moved by the happiness she brings him…never suspecting the dangerous secret she hides.Her faith drives Elise to spy for the rebels, dreaming only of freedom for her homeland. Then she meets Drake, and learns that love could be hers, as well. When his pursuit of "The Fox" brings him dangerously close to the truth, she'll risk everything to prove that love and forgiveness are all they need.









“I’m sorry,” Elise whispered. “What must you think of me?”


“That you’re the most intriguing woman I’ve ever known,” Drake said as he reached for her hand. “I don’t think you’re silly. Tell me why you’re afraid.”

Elise pulled away, a lonely ache forming in her chest at that moment. “What is it, sweet?” Drake reached for her hand again. “Come back to me. Don’t go.”

Elise fought the temptation to lean on a person other than herself or her sister. She wanted to open up to Drake, share a deeper bond, but what could she say that wouldn’t spur more questions and the revelation of her darkest secrets? She wanted to trust him, but in reality he was little more than a stranger….




CARLA CAPSHAW


Florida native Carla Capshaw is a preacher’s kid who grew up grateful for her Christian home and loving family. Always dreaming of being a writer and world traveler, she followed her wanderlust around the globe, including a year spent in the People’s Republic of China, before beginning work on her first novel.

A two-time RWA Golden Heart Award winner, Carla loves passionate stories with compelling, nearly impossible conflicts. She’s found inspirational historical romance is the perfect vehicle to combine lush settings, vivid characters and a Christian worldview. Currently at work on her next manuscript for Steeple Hill Love Inspired Historical, she still lives in Florida, but is always planning her next trip…and plotting her next story.

Carla loves to hear from readers. To contact her, visit www.carlacapshaw.com or write to Carla@carlacapshaw.com.




The Duke’s Redemption

Carla Capshaw





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


God is our refuge and strength;

always ready to help in times of trouble.

—Psalms 46:1




Dedicated to:


My wonderful family.

I love each one of you!

My first critique partners—Carole McPhee,

Lydia Hawke and Mary Veelle—who read and

reread this book without ever complaining.

Also, Sheila Raye, Paisley Kirkpatrick,

Stacey Kayne and Jean Mason.

I appreciate you more than I can say.

As always, thank You, Lord!




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion




Prologue


Charles Towne, South Carolina

December 1780

The cold muzzle of a pistol scraped her temple. The hammer cocked a warning beside her ear. A familiar voice rasped, “Don’t move, Fox, or I’ll be forced to relieve you of your thinking power.”

Elise Cooper froze in the middle of her escape through the tavern’s second-story window. Her hands gripped either side of the narrow frame, one booted foot on the floor, one planted on the sill. A chilly, smoke-tinged breeze swept through the open space, ruffling her long cloak and loose black breeches.

Hawk had startled her, but she wasn’t concerned about the weapon. The real danger lurked outside. Her gaze never left the moonlit alley that cut behind the tavern. More redcoats crept from the darkness.

“Hawk,” she said, thankful her mask helped disguise not only her face, but her voice, “we have no time for your nonsense tonight. Blow out the candle and hurry your pace. Redcoats are infesting the room downstairs and may suspect we’re here.”

“Of a certainty, they do,” he replied. “You’ve finally been bagged. Your days as a spy have come to an end.”

Elise released an exasperated sigh. Hawk, the alias by which she knew him, possessed a fiendish sense of humor. To protect her identity as a woman, she always wore a mask when disguised as the Fox. Though he’d refused to tell her why, Hawk wore one, too. Neither had ever seen the face of the other, but she’d been privy to his games on more than one occasion. She fully expected him to lower the pistol and howl with laughter. He thought himself astoundingly clever, but under the circumstances, she found him most trying. “Cease this, Hawk. We have no time to linger. The English—”

“Are coming,” he interrupted gleefully. “Yes, I know. I arranged this meeting. The soldiers are awaiting my signal to make your arrest. I’ll be rewarded quite handsomely once I deliver you to my superiors.”

Surprised to hear the pride in his voice, she tried to turn and look him in the eye. He jammed the muzzle harder against her temple. “I said don’t move.”

The menace in his tone convinced her he was serious. Her stomach lurched with fear. Anger blazed through her. “Why hand me over now when you’ve had the opportunity to do so for well over a year?”

He chuckled. “And give up my play? I think not. Posing as the Hawk has been quite amusing. Sadly, my superiors have ordered your arrest. Since we work so often together, they chose me to do the deed.”

Elise bristled at how easily he betrayed her. “And the ransom being offered didn’t hurt, I suppose. If I may ask, when did you become a turncoat?”

He stiffened in response. “Turncoat? Not I. My loyalty has always been to my king and England.”

Her eyes searched the back alley in hope of seeing a loyal fellow who might aid in her escape. No one appeared save another pair of redcoats. There were eight of them now. Their freshly polished Hessian boots gleamed in the moonlight.

As the gravity of her situation compounded, her thoughts raced in time to her quickening heart. The enemy soldiers moved closer, their indistinct voices carried on the breeze.

“If you’re no traitor, explain the many secrets that have passed from your hand to mine?”

“I’ve shared only what my superiors wanted you rebel scum to know. Remember last month, when I sent you the message about supply wagons leaving Charles Towne for Savannah?”

“Of course.” She tried to ease away from the pistol. The Colonial army never ceased being desperate for supplies. At the time, the information she’d carried from Hawk to her spymaster had been considered a boon. “Then the attack was a trap. It seemed too coincidental. Did you assist in the murder of those men yourself?”

He laughed. “What do you think?”

She broke into a clammy sweat. If Hawk succeeded in turning her in, she doubted even her gender would save her from hanging.

Dear Lord, please help me.

Four of the redcoats made for the tavern’s back door. Her pulse throbbed in her ears as her thoughts shifted frantically. So much began to make sense. How many times had she rendezvoused with Hawk, only to find his information had become mysteriously inaccessible? Yet, many of his leads had been first-rate. Hawk had earned a glowing reputation within the Patriot ranks. Now she understood why. He’d kept her and her contacts hooked with promises of important information, providing just enough to earn their trust.

“This is ridiculous.” She stalled in an effort to reason with him. “There must be a bargain we can strike.”

She had to flee, but how? Hawk held a pistol to her head. Soldiers waited below, both inside and out. She could no longer make use of the ladder Josiah had propped outside the window. She’d be shot, either by Hawk or his lobsterback friends before she ever touched the ground.

“Ridiculous?” Hawk’s hot, menacing breath fanned the back of her neck. “I disagree. If anything, I find the situation most unfortunate. More than once I wished we weren’t on opposing sides in this war. Under different circumstances, you’re a man I could respect.”

“Then kill me if you plan to. I’ve no wish to meet my captors, and you know I’ll tell them nothing.”

“Most likely not. All the same, keep your hands against the panes. ’Tis safer when I can make out where they are.”

While she considered her options, she allowed him the liberty of searching her, careful not to give him an impatient trigger finger. His hand dipped beneath her cloak and inside her loose wool coat, feeling for weapons. Waiting for the right moment to strike, she held her breath. She’d bound her breasts with strips of cloth under her billowy black shirt and vest, but failed to flatten them completely. When his hand passed over her chest, she heard his sharp intake of breath. “No! You can’t be a woman!”

In one quick movement, she swung her arm and knocked the pistol away from her temple. The foot she had poised on the windowsill slammed downward. Her heel found its mark, crushing his toes. Hawk bellowed in pain. His hold slackened enough for her to face him.

The candle’s small flame sputtered in the draft, providing meager light to see the masked man she stood with eye to eye. She rammed her fist into his stomach, winding him. He recovered quickly, raising the pistol an inch from her face. She swiped the barrel away, then tried to wrench it from his grasp.

Hawk released her waist and lashed out with the back of his hand. The blow to her jaw stunned her. She stumbled back in pain, loosening her grip on the weapon as she hit the wall behind her.

“Hold your ground!” Hawk snarled. “I’d hate to shoot a woman, but I will if you force me to.”

Staring down the barrel of the pistol, Elise stilled. She could turn and run, making her back a perfect target, or she could stand and fight. Hawk was bigger, stronger, but she was fighting for her life. The redcoats considered a captured spy fair game for hanging. She had no wish to die in so shameful a manner.

Better to take a bullet than dangle in the breeze.

She ducked and threw herself forward, scrambling to reach him before he fired. Leading with her shoulder, Elise plowed into him with the full force of her weight, driving him back several paces until he slammed against a table. Hawk fumbled the weapon and dropped it to the floor, where it landed with a solid thump on the wood planks.

Their eyes locked for an instant. They both lunged for the pistol. Hawk reached it first.

Elise rallied before he took aim and fought with all her might. Her ribs ached. Her jaw throbbed. Fear coursed through her blood. Her arms and legs burned from the exertion of fighting her stronger opponent. Finally, she succeeded in twisting his wrist until the pistol’s barrel pointed at his belly.

“Stop this wretched business,” she demanded, panting for breath. “Let me go!”

“Ha! Think again, you rebel wench.”

He grabbed for her once more, but she sidestepped his advance. With one last effort to disarm him, she aimed her knee and made contact with his groin. He groaned in agony and doubled over. She dug her nails deep into his hand, praying he’d drop the weapon.

A blinding flash of light and a loud explosion jolted Elise. Hawk jerked and groaned in pain. Acrid smoke stung her eyes and nostrils.

“Hawk?” Frozen with shock, Elise stared into his horrified and slowly dimming eyes. The scrap of black silk he wore concealed the rest of his expression.

The firearm slipped from his fingers and thumped on the floor. A bone-chilling gurgle escaped his throat and gapping mouth. He reached for her, his fingers clawing weakly at her upper arms. Another frigid breeze whipped through the small room. The candle flickered out the same moment his body went slack.

In the darkness, he fell toward her. She braced against the wall, her body absorbing his heavy weight as he slid down the front of her and fell to his knees.

“Please Lord, no….” She covered his nose and mouth, searching for breath, but found none. Hawk…dead? The prospect was unimaginable.

As gently as she could, she lowered him to the floor. Shouting drew her to the window. More redcoats ran toward the tavern. The shot had warned them to investigate without waiting for his signal. Her cloak swirled around her as she raced to the dead spy and knelt beside him.

Frantic, Elise reached for his jacket. Moonlight exposed the growing stain of blood on the floor. She’d never killed anyone. Bile and remorse clogged her throat. Her hand trembled as it slipped inside the garment, searching for anything to aid her. Hawk had planned to deliver her to the English. He must have some kind of identification to offer them.

His warm blood oozed through her fingers. A sheen of tears blinded her before she blinked them away. The bullet had blown a hole in his belly. For him to die so quickly, it must have also found a vital organ to rupture. She shuddered, fighting nausea when lack of time denied her the luxury of turning squeamish.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs leading from the tavern below. Outside her door, she heard multiple voices, a rattle of keys, the shuffle of boots on wood.

A key scraped in the lock just as her fingers made contact with a sheet of folded parchment. She pulled it free of Hawk’s inner pocket a moment before the redcoats stormed through the door.




Chapter One


Hawk Haven Manor, England

February 1781

The moment the coach rolled to a stop, Drake Amberly, Fifth Duke of Hawk Haven, shoved open the door and leapt to the cobblestone drive. Icy rain struck his face, ran off the brim of his hat and slid down his neck, under the collar of his greatcoat. He marched up the wide front steps of his family’s palatial home, his mood fouler than the weather.

Chaney, his wizened butler, opened the ornately carved front door in perfect time, allowing him to enter the manor’s grandiose hall without slowing his pace.

“Good day, Your Grace.”

“I’ve yet to find the good in it.” Drake shed his hat and coat before passing them to the efficient servant. He raked his fingers through his black hair and turned in the direction of the sweeping staircase. Changing his mind, he headed for his study. His mud-splashed boots clapped on the marble floor, echoing in the domed space as he passed gilded mirrors and a display of fine porcelain. “I’m not available for the rest of this miserable day.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Drake crossed the threshold of his mahogany-paneled study, the sound of his steps muffled by the room’s thick red carpet. The welcoming crackle of a roaring fire in the hearth and the familiar smell of leather-bound books did little to soothe his irritation.

He took his place behind the massive antique desk and without pause snatched up a quill. Dabbing the tip in ink, he flipped open one of his journals and began ciphering the figures from his latest shipping venture. Trade was an unpopular activity for the nobility, but Drake gave little credence to convention. Convention had caused him nothing but grief. Besides, he enjoyed dabbling in business to relieve his boredom, or annoyance, as was the case today.

Drake slammed the quill down on the desk, sneering as flecks of ink splashed across his accounts. Shoving the book away in disgust, he leaned back in his chair, his thoughts turning toward his former fiancée.

Were all women deceivers? He’d heard the rumors about Penelope, but finding her in the arms of another man was not something he could tolerate. He’d broken their engagement this morning and would speak with her father tomorrow. No strip of land was worth having a wife who couldn’t be trusted.

A knock sounded at the door. Chaney peered into the room. “Pardon, Your Grace, but a Lieutenant Kirby is here. I explained you’re unavailable, but he claims to have news of Lord Anthony. I thought you might wish to see him straightaway.”

Drake frowned. “Show him in. If they’ve sent someone, it must be urgent.”

The butler departed. Drake closed his journal. An image of his brash younger brother came to mind. From childhood, Anthony had longed for adventure. When the revolt began in the Colonies six years ago, he’d booked passage on the first ship bound for New York. Determined to join their distant cousin’s regiment, Anthony had been blinded by his ambition and lust for glory.

“Your Grace?” Chaney spoke from the doorway. “Please allow me to present Lieutenant John Kirby.”

Drake studied the new arrival as he walked into the room and stopped several feet away. The man was short, wiry thin. Dirt marred his craggy face and sodden wig. His bulging eyes held respect and a hint of fear.

Kirby bowed low. His uneasy gaze flicked down at his less-than-spotless uniform. “Please forgive my appearance, Your Grace. The ghastly weather—”

“No matter, Lieutenant.” Drake remembered his own battle with the soggy roads earlier in the day. Impatient, he motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. “It would appear none of us is at his best this afternoon. Have a seat and tell me what news have you of my brother? I’ve received no word from him since before the new year.”

Kirby sat on the edge of one of the leather chairs. Fidgeting, the soldier cleared his throat. His nervous gaze fell to the floor. “The news I have is ill indeed, Your Grace. I regret to say I’ve been sent here on the worst sort of errand. There’s no delicate way to put this. Your brother, Lord Anthony, is…dead.”

“Dead?” Drake choked, inwardly absorbing the news like a blow to his gut. He’d anticipated something dire, an injury perhaps, but dead…? Not Anthony.

“Yes, Your Grace. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such tragic tidings.”

Drake stood and faced the windows that framed the gray winter sky and constant drizzle. Though it was just after one o’clock, the dreary weather made it dark as early evening.

He took a deep breath, desperate to relieve the sudden painful tightening of his chest.

Anthony will never come home.

The thought went round and round in his head. If only he’d insisted Anthony remain in England. He should have found a way to curb his brother’s tempestuous nature. Now he’d lost the opportunity forever. “Are you certain? There’s been no mistake?”

“I’m positive, Your Grace.”

“How? Which battle?”

Kirby cleared his throat as though he had more news he was reluctant to convey. “No battle, Your Grace. A notorious spy known as the Fox murdered him.”

Drake clamped his jaw. Fury mingled with his initial shock and raged through him. His brother wasn’t the casualty of an honorable fight on the field of battle. A traitor had killed him in cold blood. “When?”

“The last week of December. In Charles Towne, South Carolina colony.”

“Was this ‘Fox’ apprehended?” Drake swung around to face the messenger. “If so, I want his neck in a noose posthaste.”

Kirby squirmed in his chair. “That’s the rub, Your Grace. The Fox escaped. The soldiers who caught him—”

“I thought you said the spy eluded capture. Make up your mind, man. Did he or did he not?”

After an uncomfortable pause, Lieutenant Kirby explained. “He…he was caught, but the soldiers let him go without realizing who they’d bagged.”

Drake seethed. “What ineptitude! ’Tis a wonder the rebels haven’t won the war with lackwits such as those to fight.”

“Yes, Your Grace, but you see, Lord Anthony arranged the Fox’s capture with Captain Beaufort, my superior officer. As a cousin to your family, Captain Beaufort knew your brother on sight, but the men he sent to meet him did not.

“When our men arrived, Lord Anthony was dead. The Fox remained, or so I heard, refusing to remove his mask. Apparently, the spy had rummaged Lord Anthony’s clothing and found his identification after he shot him. The Fox then used the papers to switch his true identity with that of your brother. Our men believed the Fox was dead until they took the body to camp. Once there, Captain Beaufort immediately realized the deception. By then, the Fox had flown, reward and all.”

“Reward?”

“Aye, there’s a price on the brigand’s head. Your brother, also known as Hawk, was to collect it from the soldiers sent by Captain Beaufort.”

Drake’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “You’re suggesting my brother was involved in espionage?”

Kirby gulped. “Yes, Your Grace. Lord Anthony spied for His Majesty. The traitors believed he worked for them, but I assure you, his loyalty to England never wavered.”

Drake considered the information. Truthfully, he couldn’t imagine Anthony being self-disciplined enough to make a successful spy. That his brother had chosen such a reviled occupation surprised him. Its need for secrecy conflicted with his brother’s demand for attention. “How long did he work in that capacity?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace, but I suspect for some time. From what I understand, the rebels thought highly of him, too.”

“The rebels,” Drake said scornfully.

“They’re tenacious and unpredictable,” the soldier added. “None is so bold as the Fox.”

Drake’s jaw worked as he struggled to conquer his temper. “So, the scum got away with murder and the reward. Very clever.”

“Aye, Your Grace. Your cousin, Captain Beaufort, thought you might prefer to keep this matter secret until the Fox is found and punished. Because of that, he dispatched me to deliver the news, rather than someone from Whitehall. I secured passage from Charles Towne the day after your brother’s shooting and arrived in London yesterday morn.”

Drake returned to his place behind the desk. “Who is leading the hunt for this Fox?”

“As far as I know, Captain Beaufort remains in charge. However, he did say he would post further information to Hawk Haven by way of special courier if any became available.”

The muted sound of rain outside filtered through the lead glass windows. Grim resolve filled Drake’s mind. No one could be allowed to kill an Amberly and escape unpunished. “Tell me everything you know about this rebel spy.”

Kirby tugged at his ear, and his brow pleated with concentration. “I don’t know much. No one does. The Fox is the most elusive spy in the Colonies, Your Grace. So little is known about the sly dog, stories boast he’s a phantom.”

Drake snorted in contempt. “Phantoms do not murder people.”

“No, of course not, Your Grace. In truth, the only certain information is the Fox resides in Charles Towne or the nearby environs. Most likely he’s a man of wealth, perhaps a planter.”

Frustrated, Drake rubbed his angular chin. His pain and fury grew with each tick of the clock. “There must be a suspect or two. Anthony must have known something of the person with whom he dealt. Why didn’t he tell Beaufort the traitor’s whereabouts, and simply have the man arrested?”

Kirby shook his head. “He couldn’t, not without compromising his position in the enemy spy ring.”

Drake had heard enough for one sitting. He stood, barely controlling the need to smash something. He snapped his fingers, and Chaney entered from where he’d been waiting in the hall. “That will be all, Lieutenant. My butler will show you to a room. Prepare for a possible journey. Should I hear no word from Beaufort by week’s end, you and I shall return to the Colonies to root out this slippery vermin ourselves.”

“Yes, Your Grace. With God’s help we’ll find him soon.” Kirby stood, clicked his heels and bowed as he backed out the door.

With God’s help, indeed.

Drake stared through the window at the mournful weather. In his youth, he’d trusted in God, but no longer. Years of grief and disappointment had hardened his heart until he’d been able to forget God as effectively as God had forgotten him. Now, there was no room in his life for forgiveness or faith. It was vengeance he needed to set things right.

His fingers drumming steadily on the desktop, his mind quickly formed a plan. He’d wait two days to hear from Beaufort. Then he’d hunt down the unsuspecting Fox. When he located him, and he had no doubt of his success, he’d make certain the fellow danced at the end of a noose posthaste.




Chapter Two


Charles Towne, South Carolina

July 1781

Elise patted her powdered wig into place, smoothed the green silk gown over her hips and took a deep, relaxing breath as she prepared to leave the safety of her bedchamber.

Dear Lord, You’ve promised You’ll never leave me. Please help me through tonight.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the dimly lit hall and closed the heavy door behind her. A moment later, Christian Sayer departed his own chamber two doors down. A handsome young man, Christian looked the picture of a wealthy planter’s son in a finely woven white shirt, honey-toned breeches and matching embroidered waistcoat. A well-cropped wig disguised his dark brown hair. His blue eyes sparkled with their usual mischief. Like her, he possessed unquestioning loyalty to the American cause, and worked under the directive of his father, spymaster Zechariah Sayer.

Christian greeted her with an appreciative glance and bowed gallantly. “You look sublime, dearest. That bright shade of green you’re wearing matches your eyes precisely.” He sighed as though put upon. “I can see tonight’s ball will offer me little enjoyment. I’ll be far too busy fending off the sea of gents bent on wooing you.”

Elise rolled her eyes and restrained her laughter. She wasn’t the plainest of women, but there was nothing spectacular about her brown hair, and her lips were too full for her oval face. Christian loved to tease. More oft than not, she was his favorite target. Other than her half sister, Princess, he was the only person she held dear. She loved him like a brother.

“I can take care of myself, thank you. If one of us must defend the other this night, it will be I protecting you. Alice Harris has marriage on her mind, or so I hear.”

“Alice Harris, you say? She’s fetching enough. Since you won’t have me, I suppose she’ll do. Tell me of her plans, will you? With a woman like Alice, I’ll need to be prepared.”

“What makes you think I know her full intentions? Alice and I are hardly confidants.”

Christian flashed a wicked grin. “I’m aware that you know everything, my dear Fox.”

Elise swatted him with her folded fan. “Shh, you silly dolt. Don’t bandy that name about. Do you wish to see me dangling from the nearest hangman’s tree?”

“Rest easy. There’s no one here. Do you think I’d be that foolhardy?”

“I suppose not, Wolf,” she agreed, using his own alias. “But we can’t be too careful. Charles Towne is crawling with redcoats. So many will be in attendance tonight, one would think King George himself planned to call.”

“Aye, you know father has little choice but to include them if he hopes to maintain control of Brixton Hall. Thank God they believe he’s a Loyalist or we’d all be out on our ear.”

Elise said nothing as they meandered toward the top of the stairs. What she wouldn’t do to be released and away from the Hall. But then where would Prin go? Surely the war would end soon, and she and her sister would be free. “There’s no doubt Zechariah is convincing in all that he does.”

“Do I detect a note of bitterness, Elise?”

“What would I have to be bitter about?”

“I can think of a good many things,” Christian said with sympathy.

“It’s just that I’m so tired of this life, of always playing the role of someone other than myself,” she said, sorry the conversation had taken a personal turn.

“We all wear masks of one kind or another to protect ourselves, m’dear. You play the scatterbrain, Zechariah the Tory and I—”

“The soulless rake,” she interjected sweetly.

He grinned, unrepentant. “I do my part. Innocent girl that you are, it might surprise you to know that the wives and mistresses of British officers are more forthcoming with their secrets once they’ve been exposed to my charm. It’s delicate and dangerous work.”

“Dangerous? Ha!”

“Of course it’s dangerous. Have you not heard? There is no fury like a woman scorned. Once I’ve gleaned my information I’m required to move on to the next fair dove—”

“Sitting duck, you mean.”

“Ah, but it is the least I can do for our cause.”

They stopped at the top of the stairs. Once again Elise suffered a twinge of unease. Christian squeezed her hand in commiseration. “We all do what we must. Seven months have passed since Hawk’s betrayal. Father is growing impatient with you. If you don’t join the ranks again soon, he’ll send you back to Roger.”

At the mention of her stepfather, she grimaced. Roger was akin to a viper in her mind. He lived for profit no matter the pain he caused others. Her voice dipped to a whisper. “No one is more aware of my precarious position than I. I’ll act my part, and no one will ever guess I’m a murderess.”

Christian frowned. “Shush, don’t speak nonsense. You did what you had to do and defended yourself against the traitor. Should you have died or allowed your capture in order to line our enemy’s pockets with silver?”

She sighed. T’was a familiar argument. “I know I had no choice. Still, the nightmare plagues me. I’ve prayed and I know the Lord has forgiven me, but I can still feel Hawk’s blood on my hands.”

In the flickering candlelight of the stairwell, her friend’s expression changed to one of concern as he displayed a rare moment of seriousness. “I know, but you should put your mind at ease. You didn’t pull the trigger or intend to see him dead. In my estimation, the world is a far better place without a turncoat among us.”

“Perhaps, but I wish I’d not been the one involved.”

“Trust me, the memory will fade in time.” Christian pulled her close for a brief hug. “Now, tell me of your new orders.”

They continued down the stairs, and she grew more reluctant with each step. “His name is Drake Amberly. He claims to be a ship owner interested in reestablishing trade with colonies under British control. Zechariah wants to know if he can be persuaded to join our cause.”

Christian frowned. “I met Amberly yesterday in Charles Towne. He’s a disturbing gent, not one to tangle with, I’d wager. He conveys an easy temper, but there’s a menace about him, a danger he fails to conceal completely. Be careful of the man.”

Elise took his advice to heart. “It’s time we changed our conversation. This close to our destination even the walls are listening.”

They finished their descent in silence. Elise used the time to compose herself like an actress preparing for opening night. The chatter of their guests’ conversation wafted through the house, growing louder until it became a roar as she and Christian reached the mansion’s first floor. House slaves hustled past carrying silver trays laden with food. The scents of roast pork, fowl and spiced fruit blended to create an appealing combination.

“So, the pair of you has finally decided to join us.” They turned in unison to see Zechariah walking toward them, a scowl pinching his shiny brow.

A short, rotund man, the elder Sayer possessed a massive belly that separated his crimson waistcoat from the top of his fuchsia trousers. His stock appeared as though he’d tied it without benefit of a looking glass and his skin shone more ruddy than usual thanks to the chalked wig that sat askew atop his head.

In the eighteen months since she’d arrived at Brixton Hall, it never ceased to amaze Elise that a man unable to harmonize his own clothing could effectively coordinate one of the Patriots’ most successful assemblies of espionage.

“Of course, Father,” Christian said. “I’d never miss so grand a gathering, especially one given in my honor. A man turns five and twenty but once in his life. Nothing could keep me away.”

Known for his sour disposition, Zechariah grunted, obviously not amused by his son’s facetious manner. “I don’t appreciate being left to greet our guests alone.”

Before Christian could reply, the strains of a harpsichord and stringed quartet shifted tempo, announcing the commencement of dancing. Merry laughter drifted into the foyer from several nearby rooms.

“Our guests seem happy enough,” Elise commented in an effort to change the subject. Now was not the time for the two men to quarrel, as they were wont to do far too often.

The spymaster took her hand, but continued to eye his son. “Yes, and we should join them. As usual, the ladies are eager for this young buck’s attentions. The gentlemen have already begun to ask after you, Elise. In fact, there’s one in particular I want you to meet.”



Drake leaned against the mantel, watching the festivities with sharp eyes. The merriment of the party might have cheered him under different circumstances, but frustration flayed his nerves and wore his patience thin. Kirby hadn’t exaggerated the Fox’s elusiveness. Drake had spent a fortune in bribes, yet learned little concerning the rebel spy. Only a nearly nonexistent trail had led him here to Brixton Hall, one of the largest plantations in the Carolinas.

His contacts had assured him the Fox would be in attendance tonight. A ball such as this provided the perfect opportunity for spies and their web of associates to carry out their business unnoticed and unhindered.

Drake raised his glass and sampled the sweet punch. He suffered no illusions the Fox would give himself away. He planned to keep a watchful eye, search for clues that might reveal the man’s identity at a later date.

He perused the room, absorbing each detail. Compared to the drawing rooms he frequented in England, this one was small and plain, though artfully decorated in bright shades of yellow and blue. An abundance of Chippendale furniture lined three walls. The rugs had been rolled back to reveal a polished, wood-planked floor where a group of laughing dancers performed a reel.

Since his arrival in the Colonies three months prior, Drake had done his best to change his manner, dress and speech to match that of a man of trade. Lieutenant Kirby assured him he’d succeeded in his deception though they hadn’t stayed anywhere long enough to put his disguise to a serious test.

Drake located Lieutenant Kirby near the refreshment table. The soldier had been contributing to the hunt by eavesdropping as he moved from place to place about the room.

The music faded. All eyes turned toward the doorway as Zechariah, his son, Christian, and a stunning young woman entered the room. The guests clapped for long moments, quieting for Zechariah when he raised his hands to plead for silence. The planter welcomed his friends and neighbors before offering a joyous toast in honor of his son.

It was the woman, however, who arrested Drake’s attention. He watched her, his interest keen. Like the other women in attendance, she wore an elaborately arranged wig. Quite inexplicably he felt a prick of irritation at being denied a view of her hair’s true color. Her face was pure beauty, with large wide eyes, a slender nose and full luscious lips that begged to be savored.

His eyes roamed over her tall, gently curved frame. The green gown she wore shimmered against her luminous skin. Diamonds around her neck and dangling from her delicate ears sparkled in the luster light, but it was her bright smile that lit up her face, and for him, the room.

He straightened into a more attentive posture, unable to divert his eyes from the girl as she allowed Christian Sayer to lead her to the dance floor, where the other guests followed them in a minuet.

Drake’s fingers clenched the glass in his hand. He didn’t care for the scene before him. The girl gazed into her escort’s eyes too often for Drake’s liking, flashing Christian a beautiful smile that Drake began to covet for himself.

Kirby joined him. “She’s fair to look upon, is she not, sir?”

With his eyes riveted on the couple, Drake nodded. “Indeed. Who is she?”

“Her name is Elise Cooper. I heard the wallflowers discussing her while I enjoyed the refreshments. According to them she’s an orphan and Zechariah’s ward. They also mentioned she’s as dimwitted as she is pretty.”

“Jealous harpies, I’d wager. What of her relationship with the son? ’Tis clear the puppy’s besotted with her. Are they affianced?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. I’ve heard no word. Perhaps they will be.”

Not if I win her first. Startled by the thought, Drake rejected it immediately. He had no time nor inclination to court her, no matter how beautiful she was. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when the girl relinquished Christian to another partner and went to stand with Zechariah at the edge of the dance floor.



Across the room, the fine hairs on Elise’s arms and the back of her neck stood to attention, alerting her to the odd sensation of being watched.

She looked around, trying to appear nonchalant. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed the man observing her. He was dark, handsome in a fierce sort of way. His sculpted lips turned in a seductive half smile, but it was the long scar along his jaw that intrigued her.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he cut a fine figure in a black waistcoat and breeches. His stark white shirt and elegant but simple stock stood in sharp contrast with his golden skin. He wore his black hair tied at the nape, one of only a few men in the room bold enough to refuse a wig.

His gaze captured hers, and his magnetic eyes seemed to discern her darkest secrets. His stare rattled her nerves and made her instantly more aware of herself in a manner that was most disconcerting.

To a woman used to being in the midst of trouble, he seemed the essence of it. She decided then to steer clear of him, for in one glance she knew his ilk: pure danger in masculine form.

Zechariah patted her hand. “Elise? Are you ill?”

She blinked and looked down into his round face. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve nearly drawn blood.”

Her gaze fell to where her fingernails dug into his linen-clad arm. She released him immediately.

Her spymaster fiddled with the froth of lace at his wrist. “Get hold of yourself, girl. You’ll never accomplish what you must if you’re more skittish than a colt.”

Elise narrowed her eyes and bit back a sharp retort. She kept her expression cheerful so as not to give away the game to onlookers, but she resented his tone.

She despised Zechariah’s hold on her life. But he’d offered the escape she’d prayed for as part of the bargain she’d made to free her sister. For now, she could do little but accept his sharp ways. Others believed she was his ward, when in actuality he was her warden.

“I’m neither skittish nor incapable of performing my task. The man by the mantel, the dark one, he startled me is all. I turned to see him staring a hole in my back.”

Zechariah observed the man covertly. “That, my dear, is Drake Amberly, the man you’re to investigate. You’d do well to encourage his interest. If he were to become besotted with you, it would make your task that much easier.”

Elise bit back a sharp retort. Her instincts warned that Amberly was the one man in the Colonies she should avoid at all costs. “I have a troublesome feeling about him.”

“Perhaps meeting him will alleviate the sensation.” His amiable tone cloaked a rod of iron. “Allow me to introduce you.”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. The unease she’d labored under for much of the day increased. Her palms grew moist. The closer she walked toward Amberly, the faster her heart raced.

When they came abreast of the man, Zechariah extended his beefy paw in greeting. He spoke loudly, competing with the party’s din of music, dancers and conversation. “Amberly, I’m pleased to see you’ve joined us. I hope the journey from Charles Towne was not too taxing.”

“Not in the least. The river was smooth, the boat swift. I arrived in no time at all.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it.” Zechariah rocked on his heels, his hands clamped behind his back. “I trust the maid saw you settled?”

“Most comfortably, thank you. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

Even as he spoke with Zechariah, Amberly’s eyes returned to her face again and again. Heat rose to her cheeks. She hoped the powder and rouge she’d applied before the party disguised her reaction.

“We’re pleased to have you here.” Zechariah turned to her. “Amberly, I’d like you to meet my ward, Miss Elise Cooper. Elise, this is Mr. Drake Amberly, direct from London. He’ll be staying with us for the next few weeks while he convinces me to contract his shipping line.”

No one told her he’d be a long-term guest. She offered her hand politely, schooling her features to prevent her dismay from reflecting on her face.

His large, tanned hand engulfed her much smaller one. He bowed and kissed the back of her knuckles. His scent of spice and soap teased her senses. She shivered, aware her response to him was profoundly peculiar. Every nerve in her body warned her to make an excuse and run away. Only the force of her will kept her planted before him.

Intense, lushly lashed eyes caught and held hers. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Cooper. I am most fortunate to make your acquaintance.”

His voice was deep and smooth except for a few clipped words that reminded her of the English upper class. The observation brought her halfway back to her senses. She had to remember her orders and not allow herself to be waylaid by a handsome face.

She giggled, resorting to her role as a featherbrain. Experience had taught her a man let his guard down around a woman he considered a simpleton. “I’m charmed, Mr. Amberly. A girl could lose her head with a man as handsome as you in the room.”

“Why thank you, Miss Cooper. I’m flattered.”

He seemed more amused than complimented. She tapped him playfully with her fan and gifted him with a flirtatious grin. “Surely not. I’ve seen the other ladies swarming you tonight. Most likely you’ve grown weary of praise.” She motioned toward the dancers behind her. “Forgive my boldness, but would you be so kind, sir? I truly love to dance. Since my escort is the guest of honor, he’s obliged to take a turn with the other ladies tonight. I fear I’ll be left to sit with the matrons if one of you fine gentlemen doesn’t take pity on me.”

“It would be my honor, Miss Cooper. However, I never acquired the skill of dancing. May I interest you in some refreshment instead?”

“You never learned to dance? How unusual,” she remarked, her eyes as wide and innocent as a babe’s.

“Dancing isn’t a sport in large demand on a ship.”

She smiled coyly. His refusal to dance might work to her advantage. Perhaps she could get him alone, away from the crowd and music that would disrupt conversation and her ability to uncover more about him. “I so wanted to dance, but I suppose a glass of refreshment will do. Why don’t you fetch us a drink? I’ll gather my shawl and meet you in the garden. It’s such a pretty night. I see no reason to waste it indoors.”

Amberly grinned. “A superb idea, Miss Cooper. To the garden it is.”

Drake enjoyed the view of Elise’s slim back as she departed. What an intriguing female. He wondered how many men swallowed her act. She played the part of an empty-headed chit, but intelligence shone from her startling green eyes. He wondered what game she played at. In his experience, all women had something to hide. Despite his earlier decision not to pursue her, he found uncovering her secrets might provide an interesting diversion during his stay in South Carolina.

Zechariah cleared his throat, reclaiming Drake’s attention. “I apologize, Amberly. Our Elise possesses a double portion of boldness. I hope you weren’t offended.”

“No, indeed I find her delightful.”

“Excellent. She’s a wonderful girl, if not the smartest one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to my other guests.”

With a nod, Zechariah left and entered conversation with a nearby couple. Drake made his way to the refreshment table and accepted two glasses of punch from a servant before heading to the garden.

Not far from the open French doors, Christian Sayer intercepted him. “Evening, Amberly. I trust you’re enjoying our hospitality.”

“Very much. I just spoke with your father and his ward—”

“That’s why I’m here. Is one of those glasses for Miss Cooper?”

Drake nodded.

“Then I’ll tell you this as a friend,” Christian’s smile held an edge of warning. “Miss Cooper requires the greatest respect. Should you harm her, I’d be gravely disappointed. Treat her well. I’d hate to have to shoot you.”

Drake cocked an eyebrow in mild disbelief. The puppy was actually warning him off—an unusual event to be sure for a man used to being hounded by every flesh-peddling mama in England. His sister would howl with laughter if she were here to witness Sayer’s threat.

Drake suppressed his amusement and considered Christian with new eyes. The younger man possessed the demeanor of an open, friendly individual, yet it was clear he had darker, hidden depths. Could he be the Fox?

Making a mental note to watch Christian more closely, Drake tipped his head. “Save your threats for someone who will be impressed by them, puppy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Cooper is waiting for her drink.”




Chapter Three


Drake shouldered his way past the unyielding younger man and followed the sparsely furnished hall to the front of the red-brick mansion.

A servant in a white-and-scarlet uniform opened the door for him to cross into the balmy night. A full moon shone from the velvety black sky. Strategically placed lanterns lit the English garden spread out before him. Beyond its hedges and curved walkways, a wide, well-tended lawn sloped into the inky ribbon of the Ashley River.

He searched for Elise among the strolling guests partaking of the floral-scented air, but it seemed she’d disappeared. His fingers clenched round the glasses he held as disappointment assailed him. He found himself quite put out at the idea of not being able to speak with her. She was by far the most captivating woman he’d met in the whole of his twenty-eight years.

His eyes lit with pleasure when he finally located her across the expansive lawn, near the water’s edge. She stood half turned toward him, a lace shawl draped around her slender shoulders. She appeared to be speaking with someone, but he saw no one in the shadows cast by a towering oak. He hoped it wasn’t another man because he pitied the chap who tried to snatch her from him.

Drake shook his head to clear it. The fervor of his response to Elise surprised him. He brushed away the sensation, refusing to ponder the speed, the intensity of his reaction to the woman, for he’d never experienced a like emotion to compare with it.

Surely he’d learned his lesson, he thought in self-disgust. Women weren’t to be trusted. His wife had ended their union with betrayal, and the recent episode with his faithless fiancée had surely soured him on marriage for good.

So why did sighting Elise bring him such relief? Was it simply her beauty? Or perhaps it was the light of mystery in her eyes? Whatever it was, she was the first thing to please him since he’d learned of Anthony’s death. The long winter voyage across the Atlantic had put him in a fouler mood than when he’d left England, and the added frustration of finding so little information about the Fox proved infuriating. For the first time in months he looked forward to concentrating on a subject other than his brother’s murderer.

Elise lifted her head and caught him watching her. She tossed him a jaunty smile and beckoned him with a wave of her hand. He descended the steps at a leisurely pace, not wanting to seem overeager in his haste to reach her. His boots crunched the gravel as he followed the garden path to her side.

From her place beside the tree, Elise watched, transfixed by the predatory confidence Drake exuded and the warm manner in which he studied her. She was relieved to see he wasn’t offended by her bold request to meet her in the garden. He was by far the most intriguing man she’d ever met. Pity she had no wish to fall in love. If she did, he would be a mighty temptation indeed.

Princess whistled low and quiet from the shadows. “The man carrying the glasses is him, isn’t it? I can’t tell rightly in the moonlight, but he seems awful dark to be an Englishman.”

Without taking her eyes from Drake, Elise nodded. “From what I understand, he spends most of his time on a ship.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Drake Amberly.”

“He reminds me of a loaded pistol that’s primed and cocked. Maybe even more dangerous.”

“My thought precisely, Prin.”

Elise focused on her sister, hoping Amberly thought a view of the river interested her. Her sister’s large eyes, straight nose and high cheekbones were similar to her own and their shared father’s, but the night hid the mocha-brown skin and simple muslin gown that proclaimed her position as a house slave.

Prin’s mother, Abigail, had been their father’s property for a handful of years before Samuel decided he needed to marry and produce the legitimate son he longed for. Another girl, Elise had been a bitter disappointment for him.

Prin had been raised among the other slaves, but she’d done her best to protect Elise from their father’s drunken rages. An airtight bond of love had been forged between the two girls. Now their situations were reversed. Elise protected Prin. As long as she did what Zechariah dictated, she’d be given ownership of Prin once the war ended. From there, Elise planned to use the funds she collected from spying to create a new life for them both somewhere free from the hated chains of slavery.

“You can’t be too careful round a man like that,” Prin warned. “He walks like he owns the whole earth.”

“True,” Elise whispered. “He’s arrogant, but not meanly so, I think. I suppose it comes naturally to him. Men like him seem to acquire that particular trait at birth.”

Elise glanced back over her shoulder. Amberly had traversed half the lawn, but remained too far away to hear their conversation. She watched him, disliking the way her heart fluttered in anticipation of his arrival. He carried himself like a nobleman, as though he were well aware of and comfortable with his position in life. With purpose and a complete disregard for others’ opinions of him.

“Jus’ be careful,” Prin warned.

“You know I will be.” Her sister never ceased to play the part of mother hen. “You should go before he gets here. Tell Zechariah you delivered his message and I’ve learned no news as yet. I’ll meet with him after I’ve had a chance to speak with Amberly.”

“That old dragon wants a miracle,” Prin reminded her, speaking of Zechariah. “Your past work has spoiled him. You’re usually so quick to give him the information he wants, he thinks you can read minds and don’t need to talk or listen none.”

“Well, then, he’s deceived. I—”

“My, that man looks dangerous,” her sister interrupted.

Elise frowned and continued to focus on the river. “Prin, please go back to the house and deliver my message. Then wait in our room, all right? I want you safe. You know how the soldiers like to make free with their hands.”

“Maybe I’ll just hide over there in the bushes. When you get ready to head back to the house, I’ll go up with you.”

“No. What if Amberly sees you? There’s enough lantern light to expose you, and how would I explain your presence in the shrubs?”

“I’m your chaperone?”

Elise shook her head at her sister’s persistence. “I don’t need one with all the other guests strolling about.”

“Fine,” Prin grouched. “I’m going. Just remember the trick I taught you. A knee to—”

“‘If he tries to touch what he shouldn’t.’ Yes, I know. Now go,” she whispered.

A snapping twig announced Amberly’s arrival. Elise spun to face him just as he joined her. He offered her one of the crystal glasses he held. “Miss Cooper, the drink you requested.”

Smiling brightly, she accepted the glass. Her fingertips brushed his, and a pleasant sensation danced up her arm. Surprised by the contact, she forgot the clever quip she’d devised to begin the conversation and gain the upper hand.

She took a sip of fruity punch while gathering her wits. Amberly’s intense gaze flustered her, making it difficult to concentrate when questioning him should have been foremost in her mind. Forcing her thoughts to regroup, she flashed him a flirtatious grin, and slipped back into her least favorite role. “Why, thank you, Mr. Amberly. I do believe you’ve saved me from disgracing myself in a faint. I’m as parched as a hot summer day.”

“My pleasure, Miss Cooper. I’m pleased to be of service.” He peered into the darkness behind her. “You seem to be alone, but I thought I saw you speaking with someone. I trust I didn’t interrupt?”

“No. My maid brought a message from Mr. Sayer. I sent her back to the house.”

Drake’s brow furrowed. “I spoke with him moments ago. He warned me off you.”

Perplexed that Zechariah would do such a thing, she lowered her lashes to hide her confusion. “He did?”

Drake stepped closer, dried leaves crunching beneath his boots. His dark presence engulfed her, made her feel tiny. Nervous excitement shimmied in her belly. She had to crane her neck to look into his eyes.

“It’s obvious he’s smitten with you, but I hope you don’t feel the same way about him.”

Realization dawned. Christian must have been the one to warn him off. The tension tightening her muscles suddenly released. Laughter bubbled to her lips. “Christian isn’t smitten—”

“He is. I’ve no doubt.” He paused. “But, I fear I’m more so.”

Elise’s heart beat out of control. She flipped open her fan and fluttered it rapidly, hoping to cool the blush that warmed her cheeks. “You must be jesting. We’ve just met. Perhaps you were out to sea too long, and the sun has addled your brain?”

He grinned. “No, I simply know beauty when I see it.”

His comment sent a gush of relief through her. Her nervousness receded, though her disappointment increased. He was just another shallow man interested in a woman’s outward appearance. She’d dealt with such nonsense before.

She dropped her fan, letting it dangle from the silk cord about her wrist, and batted her lashes. “Thank you, Mr. Amberly. I feared with all the other lovely ladies here tonight, I’d be the least noticed among them.”

“You needn’t have worried, sweet. You outshine all the other ladies of my acquaintance—here and in England.”

Determined not to be taken in by his flattery, she took another sip of punch. “You’re a prince to say so, sir.”

“I’m not a prince, Miss Cooper.” His white teeth flashed in a grin. “Perhaps something slightly less grand. Perhaps a duke?”

She knew he jested, but something in his words suggested a double meaning, one she had yet to grasp. Another couple walked close by, admiring the river. She nodded to them as they passed but didn’t speak until they were out of earshot. “Hardly, sir. It’s just an expression. You needn’t worry I’d mistake you for a genuine member of royalty. You’ve not the bearing for it.”

His smile faltered imperceptibly. One dark brow rose in question. “Is that so? How many royals have you known?”

“Few to none,” she admitted, glancing out over the river where moon and lantern light shimmered on the calm surface. “Although, I did have the pleasure of meeting Lord Cornwallis and his entourage at a ball I attended last summer.”

Amberly gave no reaction when she expected him to be impressed by the announcement. Whenever she mentioned the general’s name, most English men and women expressed a keen interest in the details of the man leading Britain’s southern campaign.

She changed the subject, searching for a topic that would encourage him to speak of himself. “Still, I suppose no ball competes with plying the open sea. I envy you, Mr. Amberly. Shipping must be a fascinating occupation.”

His thick eyelashes dipped to shield his eyes. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed. “To be sure, Miss Cooper. ’Tis quite fascinating if one enjoys endless days of bobbing along like a cork, going mad from boredom and smelling of fish. One can only scan the horizon so often. Two weeks into an Atlantic crossing, a ship, no matter how large, becomes excessively small indeed.”

“You surprise me, sir. The few sailors I’ve met love their lot in life more than they love their own mothers. You speak as though you can’t bear it.”

“On the contrary. I enjoy the sea and all its wonders, but I’m a practical and truthful man. Sailors who have naught but good to say about it are lying or victims of brain rot.”

She laughed. “I doubt I’d make a good sailor. I hate the feeling of being penned in. Yet, I must admit the sense of freedom one must feel holds great appeal for me.”

Drake moved closer and leaned against the tree. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and gave her a lazy smile.

This close to him she could smell his spicy cologne. Prin was right, he was dark for an Englishman, almost as dark as the Indians who lived near her father’s Virginia farm, and so mysterious she found it impossible to drag her eyes away from him.

Somewhere behind Elise a woman laughed, drawing her back to the task at hand. She had to focus. Prin’s future freedom, as well as her own, depended upon her being in control and sober of mind. She took her thoughts in hand and continued her quest with renewed purpose. “I’m curious about you, Mr. Amberly. I’d wager you have more than a few secrets.”

He shrugged in casual affirmation. “A few perhaps. No more than most men, a lot less than most women.”

She glanced away. Her entire existence was a blend of shadow and light. She possessed so many secrets even she had trouble remembering them all.

He reached out and ran his fingertip down her cheek. Startled by the caress, she caught her breath. She wasn’t used to being touched with such gentleness, and the feather-soft brush of his finger was a pleasurable sensation she loathed to end.

Straining her willpower to the seams, she pulled away. Her hand trembled as she tugged the edges of her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I…I must go.”

“Don’t,” he said.

“I must.”

“Why?”

Matters had gotten out of hand. She’d lost her concentration. She needed to regroup her thoughts and felt sure she’d swim in confusion as long as she stayed in his company. “We have other guests. Mr. Amberly and I must see to them.”

She turned in the direction of the well-lit brick mansion. “Fare thee well. Goodnight.”

He reached for her wrist, but she pretended not to notice as she moved beyond his grasp. He followed her. She heard his pursuit and stepped up her pace.

“I shall see you again soon, Miss Cooper.”

His tone was sincere enough, but to her flustered senses the statement sounded like a threat. “Not if I see you first, sir.”

His rich laughter stretched across the velvety night. “My heart is broken, dear girl, but thank you for the warning. I’ll be sure to sneak up on you the next time we meet.”



“Well,” Zechariah demanded a few hours later in the study. “What news have you, girl? You and Amberly seemed cozy enough.”

Elise shifted on her feet. She stood before the study’s waning fire, summoned to the old man like a disobedient servant. “Cozy isn’t the word I’d use.”

Her spymaster kept his back to her as he poured a drink and replaced the bottle’s crystal stop. Christian sat in the corner, hidden in shadow. The ball had ended several hours prior, and their guests had gone or sought out a bed for the night.

The old man faced her, took off his flowing powdered wig and tossed it to a nearby chair, where it landed in a cloud of chalk. Candlelight reflected on his bald head. He scratched his scaly crown and sighed before eyeing her with what she thought was suspicion. “I care not about the word, girl. I only wish to know if you discovered something useful.”

“No—”

“Then what am I to do with you? If you’ve forever lost your ability to aid our cause, I’ll ship you back to Williamsburg in the blink of an eye.”

Her jaw tightened. He’d used the same threat on many occasions. Before Hawk’s death she would have paid it no mind, but since that fateful night her guilt made her nearly useless as a spy. His irate expression signaled a real cause for concern. If he sent her back to Williamsburg, she’d be under Roger’s thumb once more. All hope of freeing Prin would be lost. “You didn’t allow me to fin—”

“We’re all risking our lives in this business. Some of us more than that,” Zechariah continued with an angry slash of his hand. “We have to stay sharp and spare no opportunity to locate the information we must acquire.”

Elise listened to the lecture, biding her time with a prayer for patience. Zechariah would run out of steam soon. Then she’d have her say.

Sayer’s tirade came to an abrupt stop. His countenance softened imperceptibly. “You’re not the first of our number to have a part in killing a man, you know. Hawk was our enemy. You did right to lay him low. I’ll have no more of this pouting. You must move on.”

He forestalled her when she began to protest. “Elise, I’d hate to lose you. In the past, you’ve proven your worth, but the war situation is grim. I cannot coddle you a moment longer.”

“You’ve no need to coddle me,” she said between clenched teeth. “I learned no information to support Amberly’s claims, but I observed something you may wish to consider.”

Sayer’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, I knew you’d not disappoint.”

Elise bit her tongue and refrained from reminding him of the diatribe he’d cast her way a moment ago. “I believe he’s more than he says he is. A minor aristocrat, perhaps.”

Christian stood and entered the candlelight. “What makes you think so?”

“His manner and his story conflict. He told Zechariah he operates in trade, that he’s come to America to reestablish shipping lines between Carolina planters and England. But Amberly proclaims his finer breeding with each word he speaks.”

“I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary,” Zechariah said.

“I’d wager he’s changed his accent as best he can, but if you listen closely, you can hear his cultured tones.”

“It’s possible he’s putting on airs,” Christian offered.

Elise nodded in agreement. “Yes, but I’ve spoken with sea captains and sailors before. I know many men of trade. None have his confidence or air of command. It’s as though he owns the world and accepts it as his due. I’ve only seen that sort of bearing in the lords and ladies I met in Williamsburg, or more recently, in the entourage of General Cornwallis.”

The spymaster rubbed his whiskered chin. “The maid who unpacked for him saw nothing out of the ordinary. His clothing and trinkets are of good quality, but nothing is especially grand—”

“Of course it isn’t,” Elise said with a touch of impatience. “If a man wishes to hide his identity, what does he do? He pretends to be the opposite of who he really is.”

Zechariah gave her a sharp look. “Don’t sass me, girl. I know what a man does to hide his identity. I’ve been doing it for a good many years.”

Chastised, she nodded, but didn’t apologize.

“Still,” he said, “you’ve said nothing to convince me he’s a spy.”

“No, but if I’m right, there’s trouble afoot. Everything he’s told us regarding himself would be a lie. He’d have to be here for some other purpose….”

The room fell into silence as each of its occupants considered the situation.

“The man is hiding something,” Zechariah conceded. “I can smell it. If he’s a spy, then you must find him out.”

Elise nodded. Christian frowned.

“Spend every possible moment with him until the truth is discovered.” The spymaster’s gaze pinned to her face. “He’s taken with you, girl. And you need to reestablish your worth. This is the perfect opportunity to do so.”

Elise thought of her strange reaction to Amberly. The oddly delicious, frightening way he’d made her feel. “Zechariah, I…I’m not the best choice for this errand.”

“Nonsense, there’s no one better. Prove yourself once more or I’ll be forced to replace you with someone willing to face the noose if necessary. I’m sure your mother and your weasel of a stepfather will accept you back in Williamsburg, but I might have to sell your sister.”

Like a foul stench, his words hung in the air.

“You’ve no need for concern. I’ll do your bidding, as you well know.”

“Excellent. Within a week, I want more information on Amberly than even his parents possess of him. Do we understand one another?”

Christian interrupted from beside her. “I’ll help, Elise. The two of us might enjoy more success if we work together. However, there is one small problem.”

“What?” Zechariah asked irritably.

“I warned him off before he followed Elise into the garden.”

“Aye, he told me,” she said.

“And why, pray tell, did you do that?” Zechariah slapped the top of the tidy desk. To Elise, “Did Amberly listen? Did the man keep his distance?”

Elise hesitated, recalling Drake’s vibrant presence, the way he’d affected her. Yet, to tell Zechariah of her reaction would make her weak in his eyes. He might think she’d grown unable to separate her feelings from her work. “He must have, for none of his actions were untoward.”

Zechariah frowned in Christian’s direction, but spoke to her. “Pity. Now you’ll have to convince him his attentions are welcome.”

She doubted that would pose a serious challenge. “I understand.”

Zechariah passed her a small packet tied with string. “Good. Now that’s settled, here are the letters I want you to deliver to Tabby tomorrow. She’ll need to pass them near a flame’s heat for the message to appear.”

Elise accepted the envelopes. The recent invention of invisible ink amazed her. “If I’m to take these to Tabby, how am I to spend time with Amberly?”

“He has business in Charles Towne. You’ll have time on the ferry to charm him.”

Never more unsure of herself, she nodded and made for the door.




Chapter Four


Sleep refused to visit Elise. Despite the cool breeze ruffling the white lace curtains of her bedchamber, she was hot and sticky with perspiration. Moonlight illuminated the far side of the room, but barely reached the mosquito-netted bed where she tossed and turned.

More and more of late, her prayers seemed to go unanswered. Without the Lord’s guidance she felt adrift and abandoned. With her future and the future of her sister in ever-increasing peril, she clung to the scripture that promised the Lord would never leave her.

But, she had to admit, her faith had begun to bow under the weight of His silence in the midst of her endless concerns.

Prin released a long-suffering breath. “Who you wrestlin’ over there?”

“I can’t sleep,” Elise mumbled. The ropes holding the feather mattress creaked as she flipped to her back. “I believe I’d find more comfort on a stone slab.”

“It’s a mite better than the mats and cold musty ground of the slave cabins.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I have no right to complain.”

“What’s ailing you, then? The truth, if you please.”

“Nothing.” She couldn’t talk about Zechariah’s threats with her sister. Prin would protest by way of silent mutiny and hot cups of tea in the spymaster’s lap at breakfast. In all likelihood, Zechariah would use the excuse to relegate Prin to the slave cabins instead of turning a blind eye to her presence in his home as he did now.

“So you’ve taken to lying? I thought my mother taught you better.”

Prin was like a hound with a strong scent in her nose. If she ran true to form, Prin wouldn’t leave her sister alone until she was fed a satisfactory tale.

“Nothing in particular, I should have said.” Elise sighed. “In truth I have much on my mind, none of which I wish to trouble you with.”

“I’ll wager you do have much on your mind. My name may be Princess but you’re the queen of frettin’.” Her sister turned smug. “Good thing I’m here. I knew you’d come to me for the truth.”

“You know I’m always glad you’re here with me, but in this case, I wouldn’t know what truth you speak of.”

Prin rolled her eyes. “Of course you do, Lisie, you’re not the brainless girl you play so well. You’re not blind either. Your problem’s a simple one—man trouble. Did you find out whether Amberly’s married or not?”

Truth to tell, she’d forgotten to inquire about such basic information. In retrospect, she felt quite inept. If her reaction to the man hadn’t distracted her so, she would have had him volunteering those simple facts without him realizing. “No, but then you’re the one determined to see me wed.”

“I want to see you settled and protected.”

“But I have no wish to marry.”

“You’re nineteen,” Prin pointed out. “Fast becomin’ an old maid.”

Elise groaned. “And any man within five colonies is an acceptable candidate?”

“I just want you safe and happy.”

Elise crossed her arms behind her head and closed her eyes. Her sister’s concern tugged at her heart. Still. “I can’t see how being shackled to a man can provide any woman with happiness.”

“Why are you being such a mulehead?” Prin huffed. “Marriage and misfortune don’t have to mean the same thing.”

Elise turned her head and strained to see her sister’s face. The fat candle she’d lit while preparing for bed no longer burned. In the faint moonlight, she could make out little except the outline of Prin’s cheek and the brightness of her eyes. “Just because you’ve found happiness with Kane doesn’t mean we’re all destined for an equally joyful end.”

“But findin’ a husband would solve all your problems.”

Aghast, Elise sat up in the bed and twisted toward her sister. “I believe it’s finally happened.”

“What?”

“You’ve gone daft.”

“Have not.”

Elise scrunched the bedsheets in her fists. It was illegal for slaves to wed, but ever since she’d found a minister willing to officiate a secret marriage between Prin and Kane, her sister had become convinced Elise needed to marry as well. “In all seriousness, how can you be foolish enough to believe marriage would solve my difficulties? It’s more likely a husband would multiply them. Recall, if you will, how our father treated both our mothers.”

“Aye, Pa was a bad seed, but not all men are such fiends.”

“Then let’s consider Roger.”

“Why? The man’s a goat’s bottom, nothing more. Just ’cause your ma believed his sweet talk and found misery in matrimony, don’t mean all church aisles lead in the same direction.”

Elise wasn’t so certain. Without care for her reputation, her own mother had abandoned her in favor of a handsome man’s honey-coated promises. Once she and her new lover were free to wed, Roger showed his true colors, and in the end, her mother found herself tied to a second wicked husband.

Her voice husky with remembered pain, she whispered, “Zechariah is another fine example of male selfishness gone awry.”

Prin clucked her tongue and shook her head on the pillow. “You’re just bein’ a goose. Zechariah has principals even if he’s far from perfect. And before you mention some other poor fool, what about Kane? Or how ’bout Christian? They’re as good and fine men as there ever was born.”

“True enough.”

“Then why not your friend? You both have this spy business in common. He won’t keep you from carryin’ out your stubborn convictions. You could chase around the countryside together, bring down all the redcoats…. ’Sides, he fancies you.”

Elise rolled her eyes. “Christian is a gentleman and a dear, but he fancies many women. Besides, how could I think to marry a man who stirs nothing in me but feelings of the brotherly sort?”

Prin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re just too hard to please.”

“Can we cease this?” Elise lay down, her back to her sister. “I’m tired and must get some rest. I’m off to Charles Towne in the morning, and the ferry leaves at half past seven. Amberly will be on it, so I must sparkle.”

Prin laughed at her sarcasm. “I’m right for sure. That Englishman must have got under your skin like a hungry tick. You only desert subjects and get all huffy when you know I’m right and you’re feelin’ hooked.”

Elise pulled up the sheet and punched her pillow. “Enough, Prin, truly. You couldn’t be more wrong about my interest in that man. Beyond finding out his background for Zechariah, he doesn’t concern me in the least. Now go to sleep.”

“I wasn’t the one tossin’ and turnin’. That was you in a tumble.”

“Do be quiet, will you?”

“It is that man.” Prin leaned over her. A giggle in her voice, she whispered, “That tall, mysterious and darkly handsome English man.”

Elise gritted her teeth. An unsolicited image of Amberly invaded her mind. She saw again his golden eyes and knowing smile. Heard his smooth, rich voice in her head. She squeezed her eyes closed tight, desperate to ward off the warmth that suffused her heart when she thought of him. “Believe what you will. You always do, no matter what I say.”

“It’s your own fault, you know. You prove me right so often I’d be silly to doubt myself.”



A rooster’s crowing startled Drake from a deep sleep. The creature sounded as though it were right outside his window. He pushed back the mosquito net and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit the smooth wood, and he took a moment to clear the grogginess from his mind.

Last night he’d declined Zechariah’s offer to have a servant wake him. Normally an early riser, he hadn’t anticipated the image of Elise occupying his thoughts or disturbing his rest enough to make him oversleep.

Wearing the same clothes from the previous night, he stood and stretched his knotted muscles. He crossed to the open window, hoping for a breeze that was, unfortunately, not to be. The sun had barely risen, but the heat was high and the air steamy with humidity.

He looked out across the lush green lawn to the dock. The ferry to Charles Towne had yet to arrive, though a few people waited along the bank of the smooth-flowing river.

Abandoning the window, he made use of the pitcher of cool water and ornate basin on top of the bureau. He changed into fresh clothes, pausing to tie his hair back with a leather string before heading to the first floor.

Downstairs, the clatter of cutlery lead him to the dining room. Zechariah Sayer sat at the head of a long, polished pine table, a plate of bacon, eggs and fresh rolls arranged before him. An array of foods filled the silver trays along the sideboard, scenting the room with the aroma of cinnamon and fried bacon. A handful of servants stood along the bright green walls, obviously waiting for Sayer’s other guests to arrive and break their fast.

Zechariah picked up his steaming cup of coffee and gestured toward one of the chairs. “I’m afraid most everyone else is still abed. I’m an early riser myself. Can’t abide the idea of frittering away half the day in idleness.”

Drake pulled out the chair and made himself comfortable. He snapped his napkin from its neat fold and spread it across his lap. One of the female servants placed a plate of breakfast in front of him. He noted how attractive the girl looked with her lovely brown eyes and full lips. She reminded him of Elise, which was nonsense. He must be going round the bend. The chit was invading his dreams and now he was starting to see her in every pretty face he came across.

He took a drink of his coffee and added a teaspoon of sugar to mute its bitterness. “I, too, prefer an early start. At home I enjoy exercising my horses in the cool of the day.”

“We have a full stable here. Make use of it if you wish.” The older man took a bite of egg and chewed with greedy enjoyment. He poked his fork in Drake’s direction. “Just stay clear of Elise’s gelding, Freedom. She’s in love with the mount. I’d hate to have to rescue you from her ire if you borrow him.”

A half smile curved Drake’s lips. He accepted a roll from the pretty, light-skinned slave. “Thank you for the offer—and the warning. I shall look forward to riding tomorrow. I believe you said the ferry leaves for Charles Towne this morn at half past seven?”

“Aye,” Sayer said, motioning toward the mantel clock with his knife. “It should be here by now. You’d best hurry if you hope to be aboard.”

Ten minutes later, Drake joined the other passengers waiting on the riverbank near the garden house. Birds chirped, hidden in the towering oaks. The musty smell of moss hung in the steamy air. Kirby had stayed behind to continue the hunt for clues to the Fox’s identity. Drake had yet to see Elise, and his disappointment was acute. With the ferry leaving soon, he’d have no chance to see her for the rest of the day.

Waving, the ginger-haired ferry captain jumped onto the dock, his freckled face split in a huge, snaggle-toothed grin. “Miss Cooper!”

Drake pivoted on his heel to find Elise rushing up the path. His chest tightened in appreciation. She was exceptional. The daylight allowed him to see details of her face previously concealed. Her smooth skin and startling green eyes were no mistake of the candlelight. She’d forgone a wig and a cap, allowing him to indulge his curiosity about her hair. Dark brown with thick strands of red and gold that glinted in the morning sun. Tied at the nape, the long tresses hung over her shoulder and swayed below her waist as she walked.

With a smile and a wave to the captain, Elise joined Drake at the back of the queue. All bright smiles and vivacious energy, she reminded him of a perfect spring morning.

“Hello, Mr. Amberly. Fine day for a sail.”

“Fine day, indeed, Miss Cooper. Most fine, now that I’m aware you’re following me.”

“Following you, sir? You’re mad if you think so.” She lifted the leather satchel she held. “If not for a friend in need, I’d still be asleep.”

He smiled. “Then thank heaven you’re a friend willing to help.”

Elise ignored the sudden racing of her heart. With the letters for Tabby hidden in her satchel, an emergency stop at Riverwood Plantation to rescue muskets and Drake Amberly to dissect for information, she had too much to do to be taken in by his charm.

The bell rang, announcing their imminent departure. The other dozen or so passengers, some carrying chickens or leading goats on leashes, moved en masse onto the ferry’s deck.

Drake helped her onboard, but the captain was there to meet her. He doffed his tricorn. “Good mornin’, Miss Cooper.”

“Good morning, Captain Travis. How’s your mother since her illness last week? Did the honey and lemons I sent make a difference?”

The young man beamed. “She’s back up to snuff, ma’am, and told me to thank you. The toddy she made did the trick. Her lung rattle’s gone.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Let me know if she needs anything else.”

The captain nodded his appreciation and reluctantly went back to his work. Elise moved starboard. She placed the satchel between her feet and beneath the hem of her yellow skirt before taking hold of the ferry’s rail. Drake joined her, his height and broad shoulders casting a long shadow over the deck.

“I dare say our young captain is another of your smitten conquests.”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Amberly. Travis isn’t smitten, he’s my friend.” In truth, he was her partner in espionage. Over the past year she’d taken this particular journey more times than she could count. Beyond her regularly scheduled trips, Travis aided her often when an unexpected need to travel presented itself. Zechariah paid him well for his inconvenience, but his loyalty was free.

“Like Christian?”

The ferry wobbled as it launched. She gave him a saucy grin. “Careful, Mr. Amberly. We haven’t known each other long enough for you to be jealous.”

He frowned. “Perhaps not, but I do believe I am.”

He sounded as surprised by his confession as she was to hear it. Facing him, she was struck by how dangerous he was to her peace of mind. Something rare and beyond her experience had snuck up and bloomed between them. Other men had been as blunt, but they’d left her cold. With Drake, she felt as if she were being bathed with the sun.

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips and slipped a tendril of her hair behind her ear. “It’s my fondest hope we’ll grow our acquaintance.”

Breathless, she stared into his golden eyes, wishing she was the carefree young miss she pretended to be. She forced her gaze out across the river. Focus, focus, she warned herself. Prin is depending on you. The patriots need you. Dear Lord, please help me! Determined to carry out her task, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I agree, Mr. Amberly, we should grow our acquaintance. By all means, let’s chat.”




Chapter Five


“Shall I begin, Mr. Amberly?” Elise prayed their discussion would go well. What a blessing it would be if she were able to uncover all the information Zechariah required before they reached Charles Towne. With her orders fulfilled, she would be free to avoid the man and no longer have to worry about the disturbing emotions he stirred in her.

“If you like. But first, please call me Drake?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

His golden eyes danced with mirth. “Last night I was given to understand you care little for propriety.”

“What of your family and background?” she asked, determined to keep the conversation focused on him. “Are your parents living? Have you any siblings?”

His expression sobered. “My mother was of Roman extraction. My parents and older brother perished on a return voyage from Rome ten years past. I was left with the care of my two younger siblings. A sister, Eva, and brother, Anthony. Anthony passed away a few months ago.”

Her heart twisted with pity. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing worse than losing a loved one.”

“I agree. Especially when he died by means of foul play.”

“My goodness! That’s doubly distressing.”

“I’ve come to terms with his death, but I won’t rest until his murderer is punished.”

She leaned forward and touched his hand in commiseration. “I’d want to do the same if it were my brother, but I hope you won’t allow your vengeance to rule you.”

“Anthony has no one else to avenge his honor.”

The fire in Amberly’s eyes frightened her. “I believe vengeance is best left to God.”

“Are you a religious woman, Miss Cooper?”

“Religious? Not terribly,” she admitted. “However, I am a Christian and do my best to follow God’s word.”

Drake glanced across the river to the passing shore. “I gave up on God ages ago. A man can only endure so many disappointments before he realizes his faith has been misplaced.”

Elise noticed his white-knuckled grip on the ferry’s rail. Her heart went out to him. “I don’t believe the Lord abandoned you. Not when His word promises He’ll never leave or forsake us.”

His mouth tightened into a hard line. “I hope you’re right.”

She recognized the bitterness and grief churning beneath his matter-of-fact tone. She understood loss. In the past two years, her home, freedom and many of her loved ones had all been taken from her, yet she couldn’t imagine how empty her life would be without her faith to sustain her.

A flock of birds landed on the river’s calm surface. Elise used the distraction to gather her thoughts. “What of your sister? I’m certain you must miss her.”

His expression softened and she could tell he and the girl were close.

“Eva is fifteen. She’s a hoyden despite my best efforts. She’s still in the schoolroom and loathes every moment of it. I’ve no doubt the servants have their hands full while I’m away.”

“I’m sure she’d prefer sailing the seven seas with you.”

“Most doubtful. She prefers horses to anything or anyone else. I understand you also have a horse you’re quite fond of. Zechariah warned me of your ire should I borrow him.”

“Zechariah exaggerates.”

“He said you’d take a horsewhip to me. That he’d have to scrape me from the stable walls if I dared to touch the beast.”

An indignant retort bubbled to her lips until she noticed the teasing gleam in his eyes. She laughed at her own quick temper. “I see that you jest at my expense, but Freedom is dear to me.”

“No doubt.”

“Zechariah loaned him to me when I first arrived to stay at Brixton Hall.”

“And when was that?”

“Eighteen months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? The Sayers are amicable people.”

He nodded in agreement. “I, too, have found them as such. But the circumstances that brought you to Zechariah’s wardship must have been tragic for you.”

She bowed her head and her fingers fiddled with the end of the silk tie joining her bodice. She knew he must think her an orphan. Most people assumed she needed a protector because they believed the history Zechariah had created for her when she came to work for him at Brixton Hall. “Aye, most tragic.”

She looked beyond him to the calm river and marshy green banks that stretched as far as the eye could see. In truth, her situation was grim for entirely different reasons. She’d come to work for Zechariah because of her stepfather’s greed. After Roger wed her mother, Anne, he’d claimed the Virginia land and slaves as Anne’s property, then sold everything off for a tidy sum.

When Roger sold Prin to Zechariah, Elise did all she could to see her set free. Sayer refused to sell her, but had offered Prin’s freedom as the prize in exchange for Elise’s loyalty and work as a spy until the war’s end.

At the time, she’d been praying for a way to escape Roger and thought the Lord had made a way. For half her spy’s pay, she and Prin received room and board. In exchange for his silence, Roger gleaned another quarter of her profits though he never let her forget he could make just as much or more by turning her over to the British if she refused to compensate him for his silence.

Up until the night of Hawk’s death, she’d been convinced the Lord would see her through. That her success as a spy had been God’s reward for serving a just cause. Now, racked by guilt for her part in a man’s death, she wasn’t so certain.

“Have you been in shipping long?” she asked in an effort to draw the conversation back to Drake.

“Twelve years, counting my stint in the Royal Navy.”

“The navy?” Elise asked with interest.

“Aye, I left home at sixteen and went to sea. Over the next two years, I learned to love all things nautical and decided to make my fortune in shipping. When my father and older brother passed away unexpectedly, I took on the responsibilities of family matters, though I never forgot my own aspirations. I bought my first ship at twenty. Since then, I’m happy to say, I’ve steadily added to the line and hope to see its continued growth and prosperity.”

“From the moment I saw you last evening, I knew you were a determined man.”

He shrugged. “I suppose so. However, I must confess my determination is born from a fear of being idle. My family has farmed for years. Unfortunately, it bores me senseless.”

“How coincidental. My father farmed near the western border of Virginia.”

“Virginia? I’ve heard the land is rich and untamed, but that living there is nearly impossible with the savages roaming hither and yon.”

“It can be,” she acknowledged. “We did well enough in our dealings with the natives. My father made treaties with their leaders, and we respected one another. It was beautiful there. Untouched country with trees so high the mist settled in their branches and an abundance of game that would feed an army for a score of years.”

“The place sounds like Eden.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I was under the impression land grants were given by the king for service rendered. Did your father begin as a military man?”

She lowered her eyes. “No, I’m ashamed to say he didn’t believe in the king’s sovereignty.”

His eyes darkened. “He spoke treason.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter now. He died two years ago.”

“I apologize,” he said and quickly changed the subject. “What did you like best about living in Virginia?”

“More than anything else, I enjoyed the solitude and freedom. A blessing I’ve had to relinquish since I came to live at Brixton Hall.”

“Little wonder you named your horse as a reminder.”

The ferry’s bell rang and the craft lurched as it shifted course. Drake looked over his shoulder. “Obviously we’re not to Charles Towne. Where are we?”

“We’re docking at Riverwood Plantation. Its owner, Robert Gray, is a friend of the Sayers. Did you happen to make his acquaintance at the ball last night?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“He’s a pleasant man. Last fall a storm struck and ruined many of the Grays’ fields right before the harvest. Zechariah is exchanging rice for other supplies to aid him.”

“Is Gray one of the rebels or is he Tory?”

Elise thought of the gunpowder and muskets being traded for rice. “I believe his politics match those of Zechariah. I don’t usually pay attention to such things. Men are always preaching to us women that we shouldn’t bother with politics. They say our minds are too simple and can’t grasp the intricacies required to understand. They’re probably right. I have enough trouble counting my cross stitch.”

Elise almost choked on her words. She expected Amberly to agree with her in typical male fashion, but he surprised her.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “I find that women, given the right encouragement, have no difficulty understanding any given subject. Some are even more clever than men, while the majority are more cunning.”

The ferry jarred against the dock. Watching the deckhands rush to tie the mooring lines, Elise noted the cynicism in Drake’s voice. She wondered what foolish woman had hurt him.

A loud crash drew Elise’s attention to a crate being hauled aboard. She drew in a sharp breath. The box contained weapons and ammunition sorely needed by the patriots. French and American privateers smuggled the weapons as far as Riverwood. From there, she or Christian supervised their removal to Brixton Hall, then saw them farther upriver, and that much closer to the swamps that provided protection for the war-ravaged militia.

It was dangerous to transport munitions to Charles Towne, especially in broad daylight. Under normal circumstances she would have collected them under the cover of night. She didn’t have that option today. At the ball last night, a loyal agent had warned Zechariah that the British had gotten wind of Riverwood’s stash and planned to raid this afternoon. Now when the Brits arrived on Gray’s doorstep, they’d find nothing stored but indigo and cotton, the very crops English merchants demanded of their Colonial brethren.

Seeing the box was safe, she released a sigh of relief, which quickly disappeared when she noticed Amberly’s interest in the crate. Hoping to distract him, she entwined her arm with his and acted as though she might faint. “I declare the sun is blinding me. It’s strong enough to set my skin afire.”

“Would you care for a drink?” he said with concern.

“No, thank you. I just need to sit down.” She hated to play the roll of insipid female, but she wanted him as far from the crate as possible. After all, he was English and subject to suspicion.

The ferry rocked again, announcing its departure from Riverwood. She heard the slap of water on the sides of the ferry and felt safe for the time being. The crate would be hidden away from notice. All would be well as long as they avoided the British patrolling the river.



They arrived in Charles Towne a short time later. The British-held city provided the main port for English supplies entering the Southern colonies. From the ferry’s deck, Elise watched as ship after ship filled every available berth, their tall masts rising high like a forest of leafless, swaying trees. Seagulls squawked as they dipped and dived in the cloudless blue sky.

With no berth available, the ferry captain anchored in the harbor. He signaled a pair of skiffs to transport his passengers ashore. Grateful for the development, Elise viewed the situation as a blessing. With the ferry anchored away from shore, enemy soldiers would be less tempted to search the nondescript craft. Evidently the Lord had taken pity on her after all.

Elise stepped aboard the second of the smaller boats. Amberly followed and sat beside her on one of the rough-hewn benches that ran horizontally within the skiff. Seven other passengers joined them. The craft moved at speed once the oars were put to water.

The closer they came to the pier, the greater the odor. The stink of rotting fish, unwashed bodies and overripe produce infested the wind. Elise removed a scented handkerchief from the satchel she held secure in her lap and covered her nose and mouth.

Drake leaned close. “As I said, Miss Cooper, women are often more clever than men. If not, I’d be the one with something to spare my nose from this stench.”




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