Rapture's Betrayal (16 page)

Ackerman continued smiling, despite his lukewarm welcome. “You're looking incredibly lovely this evening, Kirsten.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mister?”

She nodded.

“I see.” He looked disappointed. His gaze scanned the growing number of guests. “Miles here?” he asked casually.

Kirsten tensed, knowing the innocent question for the cut it was. As the son of a Tory family, Miles wouldn't be invited to this Patriot function, and Ackerman knew it. “Excuse me, Mr. Ackerman. I see someone I must speak with.”

Margaretha and Martin had both disappeared. Kirsten hurried from the irritating young man's presence, her direction unknown, her excuse feigned to be free of him.

She brightened upon seeing the evening's guest of honor again, and she advanced toward him, her skirts rustling as she moved. The number of guests was quite large for the size of the house; therefore, people could be found in virtually every room on the first floor but the kitchen and servants' quarters. She paused at the threshold of the dining room. General George Washington had moved into that room as it offered more space, and was deep in conversation with Hans Bogert, a young man with an aptitude for being a total bore. The general looked distracted, impatient. She moved forward, after deciding that Washington needed to be rescued from the young man.

The general had spied her when she'd paused. He brightened as he saw her direction, and smiled gratefully.

“General,” she said. “Hans. May I borrow the general for a few moments?”

After a look at Kirsten that spoke volumes, Washington excused himself to the young Bogert and then caught Kirsten's arm to escort her from the dining room. “Mistress Van Atta. How enchanting you look this night!” In a low tone, he added, “Thank you, dear lady, for the most charming rescue.”

Surprised by the compliment, Kirsten remained silent for a moment. “You're welcome,” she said after a lengthy pause.

And then she said without thinking, “You cut a fine figure yourself, sir.”

He laughed, and she blushed at her own boldness. “Now, now, dear lady, don't be embarrassed. I find your candor most refreshing, I assure you.” He leaned close, bending his tall frame to whisper in her ear. “So many simpering females. Do they always behave this way?”

She gazed up at him with a half-smile. “You are referring to whom?”

“That one over there. She and her sister both. Oh, and see the one in green? She fairly gushed over my frockcoat. I thought I'd surely have to wipe up a puddle of sweet syrup.”

Kirsten couldn't help herself; she chuckled. “You have a way with words, General Washington.”

“Ah, but alas not the fairer sex?” His eyes twinkled as he stared down at her.

She blinked. Such banter seemed strange coming from the commanding officer. Was he actually flirting with her? She studied him and decided not. He was merely being gracious, she decided, trying to liven what, for him, must seem an ordinary evening. Wasn't he from the Virginia Colony? She'd heard they did a lot of entertaining there.

“It's been days since you came to our camp. Mr. Hamilton tells me you've not been to see him. Does that mean you've heard nothing unusual?” He seemed tense all of a sudden.

Kirsten shook her head. “You spoke of betrayal, sir. Do you refer to the Tory families in the area?”

“Are there many?”

She shrugged. “Some.”
Including my own uncle. Does that make me suspect?

“It is my custom to
take
a Tory home for my quarters. This way if the British attack . . .”

“I see,” Kirsten said. And she did indeed. If the King's men attacked Washington and his men, they'd be raiding their own people's houses, perhaps destroying goods that they themselves would have used. “Is that why you're staying here?”

He shook his head. “A few of my men and I are here at Mrs. Prevost's most generous invitation.”

Someone drew the general's attention away, and although she would have liked to question him more, Kirsten used the opportunity to excuse herself so she might search for Margaretha. She found her pretty cousin accepting compliments from a Continental soldier named McHenry, one of Washington's aides.

Margaretha's color was high, her eyes were sparkling, as she and McHenry conversed. She was obviously enjoying the man's presence. Unwilling to intrude, Kirsten moved on to mingle with Theodosia's other guests.

“You seem at a loss, dear cousin.” Martin Hoppe appeared at her side as if by magic.

“And you? No lady to tickle your fancy?”

Martin grinned. “I know all—at least most—of the women here. Should I have suddenly become enchanted with one?”

The music from the pianoforte changed from a minuet to a lively country tune. Smiling, Martin touched his cousin's arm. “Shall we?”

She stared at the couples beginning the dance and hesitated, assailed by doubts. “I'm not very good.”

“Come, Kirsten. Let's dance. You can do it.”

She stared up at Martin and then suddenly grinned. “All right. But don't blame me if I step on your toes.”

Moments later, she was grinning up at her partner as they executed the dance steps. Kirsten enjoyed herself so much that when the musicians began a second number she and Martin stayed on the floor for another go-around. When they were finally done, Kirsten was happy, but warm and out of breath.

“Oh, look, Martin!” she said, her blue eyes twinkling. “Anna Terhune is approaching. Didn't I hear you promise her a dance?”

Martin groaned softly as he spied the pathetically thin woman who was most definitely coming his way. “You're cruel, Kirsten.”

“What?” She grinned up at him, pretending innocence, then placed a hand on his arm. “I think I shall go outside for a breath of fresh air so that you and Anna can have your dance.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She's nearly here. I believe I detect the scent of her heady perfume.”

Night had fallen when Kirsten left the house. The sky was clear, a star-studded black canopy with a partial moon. Struck by the beauty of the heavens, she gazed upward as she strolled the grounds.

Behind her rooms were lit with burning tapers placed so as to afford the most light. The glow filtered through the windows to softly highlight the lawn. Picking up the clean floral fragrance coming from her right, Kirsten directed her steps toward the garden, following a path.

She heard low voices and paused in her walk. A couple was standing amidst the greenery—a tall man and a young woman. She watched as the gentleman in dark coat bent over to kiss the lady's hand. His head lifting, he brought the woman's fingers to his lips in a gesture that Kirsten found extremely romantic.

Kirsten's pulse raced as she recalled a different time and place, when the flame of desire had been in Richard's eyes, when it had been Richard who pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

A firefly shone nearby. She stared at it unseeingly, her thoughts with a Tory she had no right to be daydreaming about, for no good could possibly come from such woolgathering.

She glanced back at the house, knew she should go in, but wasn't ready to face anyone yet with her emotions so raw from memories of Richard. Instead, she turned away from the garden, retracing her steps to a trail that led off from the yard, away from the house.

She started down the worn foot trail and then paused when she heard a noise behind her. Waiting for several heartbeats, she listened and wondered if she had been seen departing from the festivities. Could someone be following her? If so, was the person friend or foe? Her encounter with John Ackerman had been most irritating. Perhaps he had come after her.

Silence reigned for a moment, and Kirsten became aware of the night sounds about her . . . a mosquito buzzing near her ear . . . the leaves in the trees stirring ever so slightly on the gentlest of summer breezes. Then came the intrusive noises. A footfall on dirt. A person's breathing.

Without waiting to see who followed her, Kirsten bolted past a stand of evergreen bushes, as fast as her skirts would allow. She peered through the pine needles and saw no one. She waited a few seconds and then eased out from her hiding place. As she moved toward the house, she was glad that her gown was a dark color, not easy to see in the night. Her path took her from one hiding place to another, from a huge oak to another pine.

And that's when she saw him—a man with dark hat and coat. Not a guest, she knew instantly, for he was alone and skulking about as if he didn't want his presence known. He gazed through the open window, his interest caught by the happenings inside.

Good God,
Kirsten thought. Was no one safe these days—not even with the Continental Army present? Not even for one night?

She searched the ground and found a rock. She picked it up with the intention of using it as a weapon.

Keep your eyes open and your ears alert . . .
Had Washington known of enemy spies in the area? Was this man someone he'd hoped to apprehend?

Kirsten clutched her weapon so tightly that her fingers hurt and her whole hand grew cramped. Her breath quickened, and her heart pounded.

It would be wise to go back inside, pretend she was unaware of the man's presence, and, once safe, alert Washington and his men.

She gazed at the man's cocked hat. He had his back to her, which was to her advantage. But his position gave her no clue to his identity, for the back of his hat met the turned-up collar of his coat—an odd garment to be wearing on a summer night.

Go inside,
an inner voice prompted.
Tell Hamilton or the general about the intruder. It's too dangerous to capture the enemy on your own.

Kirsten moved forward, the rock in her raised hand. She had offered the general her help; now that she was needed, she wasn't going to shy away from the danger involved.

Her hand shook as she approached the stranger, and raised the rock high to bring it against his head.

He appeared to be unaware of her presence, so intent was he on his study of the people inside the house. Suddenly, he tensed. Kirsten realized that he must have heard the soft rustling of her skirts as she moved closer.

Her heart pounded as she wondered what to do. Run? Scream for assistance?

She then thought that she must have been mistaken, for he went back to his vigil. Seconds later she knew she was wrong. He spun, and his image blurred as he jerked back from her attack. The rock in her hand wavered in the air and dropped to the ground as her prisoner escaped.

She picked up the rock and rose in time to see him run toward the back lawn and disappear beyond the formal flower garden.

Undaunted by the skirts of her gown, Kirsten followed him until she came to where he appeared to have vanished. She paused at a hedge of tall evergreens, wondering if he was hiding only inches away, behind the thick dark needles of the shrubs.

She leaned closer, listening with her breath held, her body trembling. She was afraid to move a muscle for fear of discovery. She wanted to be the one to effect a surprise.

Kirsten's blood chilled. She'd heard a faint sound. The wind? she wondered. The soft noise made from a man's breathing?

She released her breath slowly and drew in another cautiously. Gripping her rock, she edged closer, one step at a time, to the end of the shrubs. Each rustle of her skirt seemed loud in the night's silence. It was attack now or lose the advantage in this deadly game. Kirsten burst out from her hiding place and stepped around the evergreens, the rock raised to strike.

He was there, right where she'd thought. The man gasped and reacted instinctively. He caught her hand seconds before the rock made bruising contact with his shoulder. He held fast to her wrist, and they struggled briefly as Kirsten fought to pull free. A minute later she pretended to give up, but really was gathering her wits for renewed attack.

Their breaths rasped loudly in the darkness. It was a dangerous moment. They were out in the open, their struggles having brought them from the man's place of hiding.

Kirsten's thoughts raced as she pondered what to do next.

“Good God!” It was the voice she'd once held dear.

Her head jerked up with shock. “Richard?” Her mouth gaped as she found herself staring into familiar brown eyes.
“Dear Lord in heaven, Richard!”

“Kirsten!” he whispered.

“What are you doing here?” she gasped. “This is a private party . . . a Patriot party.” Her face darkened. “You were spying, you traitor! On the general!”

Richard grabbed her arm. “Softer, love. We don't want to be noticed.” He glanced about nervously. “At least I don't.” He drew her behind the bushes and settled her before him, gently holding her by the wrists. She pulled away.

“No, love,” he said. “It's not what you think. Nothing's been what you think. I'm not spying . . . I'm searching for someone.”

She regarded him through narrowed eyes. It was dark behind the greenery, but there was enough light for Richard to detect her glittering blue gaze, the white glow of her bare shoulders above the gown.

“Why?” she asked.

He shook his head. He couldn't tell her. No one but General Washington and his confidential secretary, Hamilton, knew of his identity—his mission.

“Fine!” she said. “We'll see what Washington has to say about secretive intruders!”

“No!” He caught her arm to halt her leaving. “You mustn't.” He pulled her back and caressed the silken skin beneath his fingertips.

“A spy! Isn't it bad enough that you lied to someone who helped you? Lied to me? You're a Tory—the enemy! How can I let you go free? This is war! Oh, why couldn't you have done your spying elsewhere? Why did you have to come back?” Her voice revealed her pain.

“Kirsten . . .” he pleaded.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn't call out for someone.”

He maneuvered her until he could better see her. A parting in the bushes allowed enough light from the burning lamps of the great house to light up Kirsten's face. His pulse roared in his ears. He saw the bold, defiant look in her blue eyes, the firm line of her lips, and knew he had to tell her the truth. He had to prove that he could trust her to keep silent. But would she believe the truth?

“Come . . .” he said. “Let's walk away from the house, and I'll tell you why I'm here. I'll tell you everything.”

She refused.

“Kirsten, I swear on my soul that I'll not lie to you. I'll not betray you.”

She glanced back at the house as if debating the action, and then she gave him an abrupt nod.

They went several yards before Kirsten stopped.

“What do you want to tell me?” Her tone was clipped.

For a long moment, he studied her in the darkness, straining to gauge her expression. He could see her clearly in his mind's eye. Her beauty was enough to take any man's breath away, and he was jealous, knowing that others must have noticed this.

Feathery strands of bright hair framed a face he had yearned for, it seemed, forever. Her smooth white shoulders and lush breasts rose above the red gown in a tantalizing display of femininity that drove Richard to distraction.

The gown was tight at her waist, a waist he now spanned with his hands, and her skirts flared out at her hips to fall in thick silken folds to the lawn beneath her feet. She was everything a man could ask for in a woman—that he could ask for—with her spirit and courage and . . .

He scowled and released her. “You fool, do you know you could have been hurt sneaking up on someone like that? What if it hadn't been me? What if it had been”—he thought quickly—“Greene?”

Anger flashed in her blue eyes. “I can defend myself.”

“Can you?” he challenged. Richard recalled her weapon. “God's Teeth!” he cursed. “With a bloody rock?”

Chin raised, she drew herself upward. “I can manage,
mynheer.
Better even than you, it appears.”

The knowledge of how they'd met hovered in the air between them. And of this occasion in which she'd taken him by surprise.

“And you?” she said. “What if the one who came up behind you hadn't been me? You could have been killed!”

She turned with a swish of her skirts and walked several steps before spinning to face him. “You play a dangerous game with fate, Richard. You risk too much too often.”

His face softened. “Say it again.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“My name,” he said huskily. “Say it.”

Kirsten blinked. He smiled, enjoying her reaction, for she was taken aback. She seemed nervous all of a sudden. He had the satisfaction of realizing that she still cared.

“Please,” he whispered.

She hesitated. “Richard.”

Ric-kard.
He grinned and moved toward her.

She stepped back. “I don't understand . . .”

“The way you say it has a unique effect on me.”

And he could tell that she blushed as they played their game of cat and mouse.

“You're trying to confuse me,” she said. “To make me forget my reason for being here with you.”

“Can I?” he breathed. “Can I make you forget?”

Kirsten inhaled sharply. Yes, he could make her forget. Her heart raced as she met his glowing brown gaze. He wore that little half-smile on his sensual lips, that look that brought up her temperature and made her melt inside.

She couldn't allow him to fool her a second time.

She gathered herself together and then held her ground. “Richard,” she said with firmness, then raised a hand to check his approach.

He paused and sighed with defeat. “What is it you want to know?”

She was both surprised and wary of his change in manner. “Everything,” she said, and he walked toward her again, taking her by the arm as he continued his steps.

And so they walked, arm in arm, as Richard began his tale.

Kirsten listened with incredulity as he spoke of the British raid on his grandparents' farm in the Pennsylvania Colony. She felt sympathy for his loss when he described the old couples' deaths at the hands of the King's men. Then, he told of his friend Alex and of their enlistment in the Continental Army, and she knew real pain for all he'd suffered.

Richard continued with the telling of his mission, of how he'd come to need her care at the old mill, and she felt a reawakening of joy in her heart. Richard Maddox was a Patriot spy!

Then, she recalled how he'd acted with Elias Greene, how he'd been traveling with the Tories, and she knew a resurfacing of doubt.

When he was done, she had no words for him. Was he speaking the truth? She recalled the look on his face when he'd sworn not to lie to her.

“Richard,” she murmured, bowing her head. She didn't know what to say.

He caught her chin, tilting her face upward for his inspection. “Kirsten, tell me you believe me.”

She nodded, and she realized it was true. “I believe you.”

“And you won't tell a soul?”

“I won't turn you in,” she said. “Your secret is safe.”

He pulled her into his embrace, capturing her willing lips with a fierceness that took her completely by surprise.

He groaned as he raised his head. “This is foolish. ” But he couldn't seem to keep from caressing her . . . her throat . . . her bare shoulders. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her fragrance. She smelled of lavender and sunshine.

“Richard.”

“Hmmm?”

“Will I see you again? After tonight?” She wanted—needed—some reassurance that what was happening between them wasn't a dream, but something special . . . something eternal.

Kirsten felt him tense and experienced a pull in her stomach muscles. He released her and put a distance of a few feet between them. That he could do it so easily hurt.

“Kirsten, nothing has changed since I left the mill. There's still a war to be fought, and I have yet to find Alex's killer.”

“And then? After it's over, and we're all free?” She waited breathlessly for his answer.

Richard shook his blond head. “I can't say . . . can't promise.”

“You mean you won't say.”

His lips firmed.

It would hurt to part on bad terms. What if she never saw him again? Her heart thumped. What if he died?

She gazed at her beloved's features . . . at tawny hair drawn back as was the style of most men . . . at the thin, white scar that ran across his forehead and disappeared from view.

On impulse, she touched the scar and saw emotions flicker across his face. “How did you get it?” she asked. She ran her fingertips gently over the mended flesh.

“Not in the war, but as a youth. Alex and I were fishing. I slipped on a wet rock and fell into the river. My head hit a tree stump that was buried under the water.” He looked rueful. “The cut was deep. My mother nearly suffered a bout of apoplexy when she saw me. My father—he had to stitch me up.”

“Oh, dear,” Kirsten said. “Your poor
moeder
. I can understand why.” Without thought, she had continued to stroke his forehead, and now she caressed his cheek. She placed a finger against his lips.

His mouth opened to kiss that dainty digit, and a bolt of desire struck in Kirsten's nether regions, the sensation spiraling upward and out to every part of her body. Her nerve endings hummed with life; her skin tingled. Her breasts swelled, the nipples straining against her shift.

“Richard . . .”

“Yes, love?” He gazed at her from beneath lowered lids. His brown eyes appeared slumberous, glazed with passion.

Kirsten wanted so badly to lie close to him, to feel his kisses searing her everywhere. She wanted to love him and have him love her in return.

She remembered his mission, the danger involved in his work for the cause. “You will be careful?”

He frowned. “Careful?”

“Of the King's men? Oh, Richard, I keep remembering the night I found you. That man who attacked you . . . the one with the disfigured face . . .”

Richard froze. “You saw his face?”

She nodded, and then realized that her description of his attack might in some way help him. “Yes, but only briefly. It was dark, but there was lightning. I saw him as he raised his musket to—” She caught back a sob. “Oh, Richard, it was terrible!”

He touched her cheek and gave her a tender smile. But there was still an air of tension about him, tension brought on by the knowledge that Kirsten had seen something of the man who'd attacked him. It had been dark. He'd been blinded by the rain. His own recollection of the event was hazy. Mostly, it was of pain.

“What do you remember?”

“Only that he was disfigured, horribly so. His face was twisted. His mouth seemed huge and pulled up at one side. He looked evil . . . dangerous.”

Richard nodded. It wasn't much to go on, but it helped to know that the man was disfigured. And the man knew Biv.

Laughter filtered back to their secluded spot. Laughter and conversation. Richard studied the woman before him, sadly realizing that it was time for them to part. She'd been gone from the gathering for a while. Even now, she might be missed. Someone might be searching for her.

“You must go back, love.”

“Oh, no.”

He gripped her shoulders. “Yes. Before you're missed. Before I'm discovered.”