The Secrets Of Catie Hazard. Miranda Jarrett

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      Anthony didn’t answer. Oh, aye, he knew this town well, too well. Hadn’t he spent half his summers here as a boy, clambering up and down the entire island with his Sparhawk cousins? It was the reason he’d been chosen as one of General Ridley’s adjutants for the duration of the action in Rhode Island. A considerable honor, that, though one he hadn’t particularly wished to receive.

      Still the young lieutenant hung doggedly at Anthony’s side, refusing to be dismissed. “The general said I was to take you to your quarters directly, sir. Your baggage is already there. Afterward he expects you to report to him, sir.”

      Briefly Anthony glared at the younger man, then swung his horse away from the ranks to follow. He’d rather see his men properly cantoned, but being one of Ridley’s staff officers carried a whole different set of responsibilities. If the general wished him to report to the tavern now, he had no choice but to obey.

      Ridley had made no secret of his reasons for quartering Anthony there, instead of with the rest of the general’s staff. Anthony was expected to make the most of his colonial background and strive to win the confidences of the tavernkeeper and his people, reporting whatever he learned.

      Gathering information, Ridley had delicately called it. Spying, Anthony had thought with disgust. Listening at keyholes in a public house seemed a low, dirty task for a king’s officer. But those were his orders, and if such foolishness would help put down the rebels, then it was his duty to do it.

      A pair of guards had already been posted on either side of the door to the tavern, marking it as officers’ lodgings, and his regiment’s flag—dark blue centered with the three plumes of the Prince of Wales—hung limply from the staff over the doorway. With disgust, Anthony wondered how many of the local townspeople, particularly those sympathetic to the rebels, would dare cross that threshold to reach the taproom on the other side.

      Briefly he paused on the steps, letting Peterson swallow his impatience. Unlike many taverns that had begun life as a private home, this one had clearly been built to the purpose, a large, imposing public house with a gambrel roof and an elaborately carved pediment, complete with a pineapple for hospitality over the door. According to the gilded signboard, the tavern was now called Hazard’s, and from the fresh coat of dark red paint and the new kitchen ell to the rear, Mr. Hazard had clearly prospered.

      But to Anthony’s surprise, no one came to greet them as they stepped inside. Whatever Hazard’s politics, it was poor business to keep guests waiting. Anthony unhooked his cloak and walked into the front room off the hall to warm his hands over the fire. The furnishings were elegant enough to grace a private parlor: mahogany chairs cushioned in leather, tavern tables with polished brasses, a chinoiserie mirror over the mantel and framed engravings on the walls. From the kitchen drifted the aroma of roasting, seasoned beef, tempting enough to make Anthony’s mouth water in anticipation. No ordinary rum shop, this, he thought with approval; lodging here would be infinitely more comfortable than a water-soaked tent on a windswept hillside.

      That memory alone was enough to make Anthony lean closer to the fire, relishing the warmth clear through his body. “Have you met this host of ours, Peterson?” he asked. “He’s being so dilatory in his greeting that I’m beginning to suspect the fellow doesn’t exist.”

      “He doesn’t,” said a woman behind him, her voice brittle with hostility. “At least he doesn’t any longer. My husband died two years ago of apoplexy, and thankful I am that he’s spared the sight of this house overrun with red-coated soldiers.”

      “Then perhaps, ma’am,” answered Anthony, “it is also well that he died before he saw his colony turned traitor to His Majesty.”

      Before he turned to face her, Anthony drew himself up to his full height, determined to let the woman feel the full impact of that officer’s uniform. In the black riding boots with the silver spurs, he stood over six feet, and in his immaculately cut red coat with blue facings and regimental lace over the white waistcoat and breeches, his sword hanging at his hip and the rose-colored sash of a staff officer around his waist, he was confident that he cut a far more imposing figure than any of his counterparts among the shabby American forces.

      “Your servant, ma’am,” he said, and smiled, depending on the reliable charm of that smile to complete the work of the uniform. With women, anyway, it generally did.

      But not, apparently, with this one. “My servant, or my oppressor?” she asked acidly. “You must be one or the other, for I can’t see how you could possibly be both.”

      “Mistress Hazard,” said Peterson hastily, “may I introduce Major Anthony Sparhawk of the Twentythird Regiment, adjutant to General Ridley. Major Sparhawk, Mistress Catharine Hazard, proprietress of this establishment.”

      Anthony smiled again and bowed slightly in acknowledgment, while she in her turn did nothing. Blast her impertinence, he thought irritably. Not only was it an insult to the crown he represented, but such rudeness stung his pride, as well. Mrs. Hazard was a beautiful woman, and beautiful women seldom scorned him like this.

      In peacetime she’d be too young to be a widow, perhaps only in her middle twenties, and far too young for the responsibility of running so large a tavern. Her hair was the pale color of new wheat, her eyes a solemn gray that was at odds with a mouth that could, he suspected, blossom into ripe, lush temptation under more auspicious circumstances. She dressed with a peculiar blend of respectability and elegance in a flowered wool gown with a kerchief of sheer embroidered lawn tied over the front, a starched apron around her small waist and a gold locket in the shape of a heart pinned to the front of her bodice.

      “You will forgive me, Major Sparhawk, if I have left you too long to enjoy this fine fire and this handsome, comfortable room,” she said, her sarcasm impossible to overlook. “I am somewhat shorthanded today, you see. A number of my people fled when they heard you and your brethren had come to save us from ourselves.”

      “It is seldom the way of war to be agreeable, ma’am,” said Anthony evenly, determined to keep his temper. He knew she was baiting him, but the knowledge didn’t make it any easier to bear. “Perhaps you should be grateful instead that our coming was so peaceable, and that none of your people were wounded or killed in the process.”

      She cocked one eyebrow and tipped her head, her gray eyes narrowing skeptically. “Grateful? Oh, I’d be a good deal more grateful if I weren’t expected to offer food and shelter to you and your men. I’m told I’ll have two dozen soldiers sleeping on mats in my attic alone.”

      “You will receive just compensation for the quarters, ma’am,” said Peterson promptly, “and the men will receive their usual provisions, both fresh and salt. I thought I’d explained that well enough before.”

      But Anthony doubted she even heard the lieutenant, her gaze was so fixed on him. “What of my four maidservants, major? They are accustomed to attending gentlemen and ladies of the better sort, not a troop of rough soldiers.”

      “You have my assurance, ma’am, that the women will be unharmed,” said Anthony. If the maidservants were half as prickly as their mistress, then his men were the ones who’d need defending, not the other way around. “There will be no problems with my men. I give you my word upon it, both as a gentleman and an officer.”

      To his surprise, Mrs. Hazard abruptly lost her studied composure as bright pink patches appeared on either cheek. “Your word as a gentleman, sir? As an officer?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said, intrigued by the change the blush made in her face, “my word as both, and you’ve no СКАЧАТЬ