Ring of Secrets (28 page)

He chuckled. “You are unfamiliar with Aristotle, yet you have obviously read Plato's
Republic.
”

Her lips quirked up. “With all the talk flying around of independence and new governments, Father thought it a wise idea to see what some of the great minds had to say on the subject.”

“I should have liked to meet your father, I think.”

A strange mix of emotion surged through her eyes—hope, fear, uncertainty. It settled on caution. “I can imagine the two of you getting along famously.”

Perhaps he ought not to have reminded her of that loss, given the slate incident. But soon enough her expression moved back into sweet, and they fell to staring at each other in that way he had always scoffed at when he saw other couples doing it. Little had he known how fulfilling it could be to simply study the woman one loved.

Or how frustrating it could be when a clearing throat interrupted them. He looked over toward the noise, expecting Mr. Hampton or perhaps Freeman, who seemed to be her usual guardian. But it was Robert Townsend who stood at the corner of the house, frowning as he looked from one of them to the other.

“I seem to have a knack for interrupting the two of you. My apologies. I can return later.”

Why, then, hadn't he simply turned around and done so without making his presence known?

Perhaps that was uncharitable.

“Robbie.” Winter squeezed Ben's fingers and then reclaimed her hand as she pushed to her feet. “Mr. Lane had a bit of scuffle with some falling slate.”

Townsend's gaze felt cold upon him. “I do hope you are not injured, Mr. Lane.”

Ben pushed carefully to his feet as well. “Probably a bruise on my shoulder, but I was fortunate enough to have gotten my head out of the way in time.”

The newcomer nodded. Given the pulsing of his jaw, he looked to be clenching his teeth. He turned that harsh gaze on Winter again. “I came by to check on you. See how
your
head was faring.”

Ben's brows drew together. “Yours?”

Winter sent Townsend a look loaded with meaning Ben could not discern. Then that empty smile of hers took possession of her mouth. “Just a bump. Freeman told you about it when he came to your store this morning, Robbie?”

Townsend stared her down a long moment. What in the world were all these wordless messages? Ben tried to convince himself not to be bothered by it, but…

At last Townsend nodded. Curtly. “I was worried.”

“'Tis nothing. Still sore, but Grandmother had the physician in last night, and he assures us it will heal nicely.”

“Physician?” Ben had been trying to discreetly brush off his posterior but halted at that. Somehow he couldn't imagine Winter agreeing to a physician over nothing. “What exactly bumped you? And why did you not say anything?”

Her smile turned genuine, if a bit too mischievous. “I hardly had the chance, Bennet, what with you stepping into the path of falling slate and all the moment you arrived.”

He lifted his brows. “An injury that only
could
have been should not take precedence over one that
is
.”

Townsend cleared his throat again. “So you are feeling better?”

Her grin faded when she looked back to her old friend, the contemplation in her eyes making Ben think he was not the only one confounded by the man's tone of voice. “Better, yes. It still aches. But the physician stitched the gash closed—”

“Gash?” Ben went tense as he tried to find the wound on her head. She must have hidden it under the mass of mahogany hair…though that probably explained why she wore it differently today. “How did you get a gash upon your head?”

“I…I'm really not sure.” She shrugged, and while she seemed to be truthful in her statement, he suspected 'twasn't so simple as that. “I must have fallen, though I cannot remember what happened between turning around after you left, Bennet, and waking up with a pounding head.”

His hands clenched at his sides. If he were a betting man, he would have wagered on her grandfather having something to do with it. And if he were a violent man, he might toss aside respect for the man's age and station and challenge him.

Because he was neither, he contented himself with thinking up a few formulas that could make Hampton as miserable as he made Winter. Not that he intended to use it, but a little spirit of salt could cause serious pain. An acid burn was surely deserved if he indeed injured her so severely.

“Well.” Townsend jerked his head again in a move too cold to be called a nod. “I am glad to know you are on the mend. Good day to you both.”

When he pivoted and strode toward the corner again, Winter frowned and went after him. “Robbie, wait.”

Ben held his ground, clasped his hands behind his back, and prepared to watch their interaction. The concern upon Winter's face was genuine, but of a different sort than what she had shown him earlier. Warm, but with a more muted kind of affection. Ought he to be jealous? He thought not.

And yet he couldn't help but think that the same observation was what had put Townsend in such poor spirits.

Ben rubbed his shoulder and halfway wished he had fallen for a homely girl who did not have so many other young men in love with her. Or perhaps he ought to wish he had the good sense not to make friends with those who were. Not that he and Townsend were particularly close, but they always got on well enough when in company.

Then there was Fairchild. Ben dropped his hand back to his side. He didn't want to think of how Fairchild might respond if Winter made known her preference for Ben.

Confound it. It would be simpler if he tossed to the wind all his lofty ideas about getting to know her fully and ran off with her. Got her out from under the Hampton roof and neatly avoided anyone who might not like the match.

But no. He couldn't do that. For the obvious reasons, and because of the mission that had brought him to New York to begin with. Time was surely running out. He must find the Patriot spy soon, or all these months of work would have been wasted.

Winter caught up with Townsend at the corner and stopped him with a hand upon his arm. “Robbie, are you all right?”

Ben barely caught the quiet question, but Townsend's scoffing chuckle reached his ears without problem. “No need to worry for me, Winnie. Go tend your darling Mr. Lane.”

Winter looked so shocked when Townsend sped away that Ben had little choice but to go to her and take her hand in his. “Another manifestation of his black mood?”

She frowned as Townsend's figure disappeared down the drive. “I thought he had pulled out of it, but he sounded as though he were—”

“Jealous?” Ben fought a grin with what he deemed admirable determination. “That is the simple answer.”

Her gaze swung his way and her mouth fell open. “That would not be
simple
. He is the closest thing I have to a brother.”

Ben gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Does he realize that?”

Winter worried her lip and glanced toward the drive again. “I had thought so. Now I am not certain.” She sighed and leaned into him a bit. “Could you suggest to my grandmother that a trip with me through the shops in town would be just the thing and then let me have a few moments to speak with him? I know it is a strange thing to ask—”

“Nonsense.” He smiled, honored that she trusted him enough to ask it. “He is a longtime friend. Of course you want to smooth things out. I will gladly be your conspirator.”

Loosing a long breath, she turned them toward the back door. “A dangerous word choice in this day and age, Bennet. But I thank you.”

Dangerous indeed. Conspiracy was as reviled as espionage.

And so he had to wonder if she would instead run in the other direction if she realized his true purpose for returning to the city.

Seventeen

N
ever in her life had Winter been less pleased to find herself in the gaggle of her so-called friends. Perhaps the Lord was trying to teach her patience, for while her mind screamed that she must speak with Robbie and root out, at once, what had been behind his icy tone an hour ago, circumstances did not allow her to slip away. Bennet had tried to extract them from the group, but he had been outnumbered.

So now he stood a few feet away, chatting with the amiable and handsome Major André, who, she suspected, had been enlisted to engage him in conversation so that Colonel Fairchild might maneuver her in the opposite direction.

Perfect, just perfect. Barely an hour ago she had been hit with the force of her love for Bennet Lane, and now she must deal with Fairchild—and Robbie besides. 'Twasn't fair. Shouldn't the first strike of love be gentle? Beautiful? Warm and secure? But when she had seen that heavy piece of slate headed straight for him…

She couldn't lose him. She couldn't. No matter how difficult it would be to balance her feelings for him with her dedication to her country, she must find a way. Because the thought of carrying on without him was too much to bear.

As for how she could in good conscience proceed with that
courtship and yet somehow keep communication open with the colonel…

“You look deep in thought, my dear,” Fairchild said.

Putting on her usual smile had never felt so false. “Oh, no, I assure you. That look of discomfort comes only from this ghastly heat.”

He chuckled and covered with his fingers the hand she had obligingly placed on his arm. “Are you longing for winter? I know the feeling.”

Though his meaning was clear and made her heart sink, she performed her usual absent blink. “I thought you disliked the cold, Colonel.”

Why couldn't his interest fade on its own? She didn't want to hurt this man. He was too good. Too caring. Too oblivious to how ill she had used him all this time.

Fairchild chuckled again. “It depends entirely upon the company I'm in when out in it. I have very fond memories of a few moments in a winter garden.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then her attention was snagged by Lizzie and Dosia, who were moving away from their mothers and toward them. Though given the viperous glance Lizzie sent Winter's way, she somehow wasn't surprised when the girls steered for Major André and Bennet rather than her with a particular nonchalance that bespoke a plan.

Dosia positioned herself between the two gentlemen and directed such a bright smile at the major that he surely went half blind. Lizzie moved in as well and dropped her handkerchief directly before Bennet.

Winter barely kept from rolling her eyes.
That
was the best she could come up with to get his attention? He didn't even seem to notice the fluttering square of white cloth, so attentively was he listening to whatever the major was saying.

Which earned a pursed-lipped scowl from Lizzie. She made a face at Dosia, which must have had some predetermined meaning to it, for Dosia cleared her throat and said, far too loudly, “Oh, Lizzie, you have dropped your handkerchief.” Then she gave Bennet a pointed look.

Poor Bennet. He seemed only then to notice he had been flanked by the girls, and he gave a visible start to complement the shade of red his ears turned. “Oh…ah…good day. Miss…and miss…”

Dosia cleared her throat and motioned toward the handkerchief.
But Lizzie must have thought it a lost cause, for she rolled her eyes and bent down to pick it up herself. Which was, of course, the very moment Bennet jerked into action.

“Oh, dear,” Winter murmured as she watched what was sure to be a disaster unfold. Fairchild chuckled again beside her as the two somehow managed to avoid collision on the way down. Though after a brief tussle over the handkerchief, Bennet released it to Lizzie and must have bumped her as she rose—she squealed, windmilled her arms, and staggered backward. Unable to find her footing, she landed with a flop upon her bottom, in a puddle.

Winter winced. It hadn't rained in more than a week, so she dared not contemplate of
what
it was a puddle.

Dosia squealed too and lunged forward to help Lizzie just as Bennet spun around, presumably to offer his assistance as well. Yet another recipe for disaster. From where Winter stood, it didn't look as though Bennet actually made any contact with her, but rather that she shied away from him so enthusiastically that she got her heel caught in something. She rocked backward, overcompensated, and lunged forward.

Bennet caught her, his face crimson by this point, but that seemed to offer no comfort to Dosia. She probably feared he would toss her into the same puddle as Lizzie. “Unhand me!”

Poor Bennet. He muttered a string of things like “um” and “oh” and “so sorry” as he tried to ease her back onto her feet. But silly Dosia slapped at his arms and pushed off, thereby sending herself the other direction too forcefully.

Luckily Major André was on hand and steadied her before she could join Lizzie on her posterior. And Mrs. Parks and Mrs. Shirley rushed forward to help the unfortunate girl up, all the while dubbing Lizzy as the clumsy one and trying to assure Bennet it wasn't his fault.