Surrender the Night (30 page)

James leaned forward and took a whiff. “Very kind of you, Miss Rose.”

The two men on the roof descended the ladder and dropped to the ground, heading their way.

Amelia pinched her cheeks then turned to face them. “Good day, Mr. Braxton.” She gave the young man a coy glance.

Doffing his hat, he ran a hand through his blond hair and nodded in her direction. “Good day, Mrs. Wilkins. A pleasure to see you again.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw Mr. Reed toss a shirt over his head and start toward them. “Is Elaine home, James?” she said. “I’d love to see her.”

“No, I’m afraid not.” James placed the basket atop a table covered with carpentry tools. “She went to stay with the Brandons in town until I can get the house repaired.”

“How is she doing?”

“As well as you might expect, Miss Rose. She’ll be sorry she missed you.” Anguish burned in James’s blue eyes before a gentle smile stole it away.

Mr. Reed’s tall figure filled the corner of Rose’s eyes. Part of her was furious that he had not left, the other part elated. In truth, she had no idea which part to embrace. She decided on anger. It was the safer choice. “We should be going.” She could not question him now in front of these men. Turning, she tugged on Amelia’s sleeve, but the woman continued talking with Mr. Braxton.

Uncle Forbes approached Rose, a smile on his face. “So soon? I’ll not hear of it, lass.”

“It’s far too hot this time of day, Uncle.” Rose batted the muggy air around her neck. “You can bring the basket home with you later.”

“Come, come, my dear.” He proffered his elbow. “I’ll grab my lunch, and we can sit under the tree by the pond.”

Mr. Reed approached James and peered into the basket. His hazel eyes latched upon Rose. Regret flickered across them along with a burning affection that caused her skin to flush.

Turning away from him, Rose took her uncle’s arm. “Very well.” At
least she would be away from Mr. Reed. Away from his effect on her. From the way one look from him could dismantle her anger and turn her insides to mush.

The warmth and strength emanating from Uncle Forbes’s arm helped ease Rose’s taut nerves as they made their way to the huge oak tree. Lowering onto the soft grass, Rose spread out her skirts as her uncle excused himself to get his lunch. Untying the ribbon beneath her chin, she drew off her hat and gazed at the leaves fluttering in the breeze, the red and yellow marigolds in Elaine’s garden, the ducks gliding over the pond. Yet voices drew her gaze back toward the house where her uncle stood in deep conversation with Mr. Reed. Grabbing one of the lunch bundles, Mr. Reed headed her way.

Her way?

Too late to jump to her feet and run away.

Tightening her jaw, she returned her gaze to the pond, trying to erect barriers around her heart. His shadow fell across her. He cleared his throat.

She glanced up.

“Your uncle said you wished to speak to me.” A breeze twirled among the dark strands of his hair.

With a frown, Rose searched for her uncle and found him sitting with James and Mr. Anders, eating his food. Why would he say such a thing?

“Miss McGuire?” The deep timbre of Mr. Reed’s voice caressed her ears.

She forced a stoic expression. “I fear he was mistaken, Mr. Reed.”

“Then forgive the intrusion, miss.” He nodded and turned to leave.

“Why are you still here?” she called after him.

He swung about, a puzzled look on his face. “You are angry?”

“No.” Rose fingered a blade of grass. “Yes … I don’t know. It’s just that I prepared myself for you leaving.”

One dark brow rose. “Prepared?” A spark of hope glimmered in his hazel eyes.

“Oh, never mind.” She waved at him. “Do sit down, Mr. Reed, and eat your lunch.”

He hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, then finally dropped to the ground beside her. He propped his boots on the dirt and leaned
his arms across his knees. “When your uncle asked me to help today, I thought it my duty to stay and assist in cleaning up the mess my countrymen made. I hope you understand.”

Understand? That he was an honorable, kind man. Yes, she did. But she wished she didn’t. She wished he were a selfish, arrogant brute who would just leave.

“Rest assured, I intend to leave tonight.” He raked his moist hair back from his face.

“I do not believe you.” She smiled.

He chuckled and unwrapped the cloth bundle in his lap. Pulling out a chunk of yellow cheese, he offered it to her. She broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth. The sharp taste matched the angst brewing in her stomach.

Tearing off a clump of bread, he took a bite and stared at the pond glistening silver in the bright sun. Unable to stop herself, Rose gazed at him, memorizing every detail, the angular cut of his jaw, the black stubble on his chin, the way his dark hair grazed his open collar. Even sitting on the grass, he exuded strength and confidence. The wind flapped his loose shirt, giving her a peek of his chest. She turned away. Her eyes misted. She would miss him—this British naval officer.

Images of her father beckoned to her from deep within her soul. Sudden guilt followed the usual sorrow flooding her, and she lowered her gaze. Surely her feelings for this British man betrayed her father’s memory. And she hated herself for it.

Amelia’s giddy laughter echoed over the field, and Alex glanced in the maid’s direction. The poor woman stood far too close to Mr. Braxton, clinging to his arm and waving her fan about flirtatiously.

“Your companion plays a dangerous game.”

“Why do you say that?” Though Rose could imagine, she wondered at Mr. Reed’s concern.

“She throws herself at every passing man.” He took a bite of dried pork. “She’s a sweet woman, to be sure, but one of these men will take advantage of her.”

“Yes, I fear that as well.” Rose handed him back the cheese, her churning stomach unable to accept another bite.

“Perhaps your uncle can curtail her behavior.” Mr. Reed’s tone carried no condemnation, only concern.

“No, I fear my uncle is too often gone.” Rose plucked a dandelion weed. “Do not think badly of her, Mr. Reed. She is not as wanton as she may seem. Her coquettish ways cover a deep wound.”

“Indeed?” Mr. Reed swallowed his meat and looked her way.

Should Rose tell him the tale? What would it matter if she did? He’d be gone soon anyway. “Her husband was lost at sea two years ago.”

Mr. Reed glanced back at Amelia, but said nothing.

“She believes him dead, but it’s possible that he was impressed by your navy.” Rose allowed anger to seep into her voice.

Sharp eyes snapped her way. “What is his name?”

“Richard Wilkins.”

Something sparked in Alex’s eyes before he looked away.

Rose laid a hand on his arm, her pulse quickening. “You know him?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so … perhaps. The navy impresses many men.”

“Indeed you do.” A welcome disdain ignited in Rose’s belly, and she did all she could to fan its flames. Better to be angry with this man than allow her sentiments to grow for him. “You steal them from their families, never to be seen or heard from again.”

Mr. Reed’s jaw bunched and he released a labored sigh. “It is an inexcusable practice, Miss McGuire, one which I have never approved of. But rest assured”—he gave her a measured look—“your American navy is not without equal blame. They hold our sailors hostage as well.”

“Perhaps. But I thank you for reminding me of something.”

“What is that?”

“That you are British through and through and always will be.” Grabbing her skirts, Rose struggled to stand as modestly as she could. She started to leave. “Good day, Mr. Reed.”

He grabbed her hand, turning her gaze back to him. “I am first and foremost a man, Miss McGuire. Neither British nor American.”

She feigned a tug on his grip, not wanting him to release her. Something deep within his eyes—longing and pain—kept her in place.

He squeezed her hand. “Much to my chagrin, I have discovered that my opinion of you Americans was quite erroneous at best. Perhaps you would offer me the same courtesy?”

Warmth spread from his hand up her arm and down her back, causing her to shudder. “How can I when I know so little of you?”

With a sigh, he glanced toward the pond then back at her, still not releasing her hand. “Very well. If you’ll sit back down, I’ll do my best to regale you with the horrid tale of my childhood.”

Snyder eased his gelding to a walk as he approached the Drummond farm. White smoke drifted from the kitchen chimney where their Negro cook no doubt prepared the evening meal. If he was correct in his assessment, she should be the only person home at the moment. Last night, Snyder had overheard that Mrs. Drummond intended to travel to Washington today and Mr. Drummond would be at the Myers’ farm helping to rebuild their damaged house. Snyder had just seen Rose and Amelia ride off on horseback. And since Mr. Reed was not with them, he must be already at the Myers’, assisting Mr. Drummond.

Snyder smiled at his own ability to accurately assess any situation.

Heading toward the stable, he loosened his cravat. Sweat broke out on his neck, and he dabbed it with the folds of silk. Blast this infernal heat. Rarely did he venture outside when the sun was at its zenith, but he would gladly endure all the discomfort in the world, if he accomplished his mission. Slipping off his horse, he tied the reins to the post outside the stable. With one glance toward the house, he circled the building, found the door leading to Mr. Reed’s quarters and sneaked inside. The musty smell of mold and hay accosted him. Sunlight filtered through the single dirty window, twirling dust through the air as he scanned the room, looking for something, anything that would prove Mr. Reed’s true identity. He took off his hat, grateful for the cooler air, as his eyes grew accustomed to the shadows. A glimmer drew his gaze to something underneath a cot in the corner. Making his way toward it, he knelt, pulled out a sack and peered behind it. Malevolent delight surged within him, for there lying in the dirt was the silver hilt of a British service sword.

CHAPTER 17

A
lex rubbed his stiff jaw and gazed at the ducks skimming over the glassy waters of the pond. A mother and seven ducklings. A family. Happy and carefree. He envied them. Rose sat patiently beside him. With the folds of her gown spread like creamy wings over the grass and her golden hair framing her face like a halo, she looked like an angel. She
was
an angel to him. An angel whose blue eyes gazed at him expectantly making him hesitate to divulge the shame of his youth, hesitate to watch disapproval curve those beautiful lips into a frown, for his story would do nothing to engender her good opinion of him or of his countrymen.

“Mr. Reed?” Her questioning tone snapped him from his daze.

He shook his head. “There isn’t much to tell, Miss McGuire. I simply did not want to see you run off so angry.”

“Well, now that I’ve sat down again, I would like to know more about you.” She glanced toward the trees lining the other side of the pond and sorrow rolled over her face. “Even if I am never to see you again.”