The Secrets Of Catie Hazard. Miranda Jarrett

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СКАЧАТЬ with a sudden flurry of petticoats, she turned on her heel. “If you will but follow me. Major, I’ll show you to your room.”

      Anthony gathered his hat and cloak, nodded to Peterson, and followed her to the staircase, still wondering what he’d done or said to make her blush so becomingly. He wished he knew for certain; he’d like to do it again.

      Sorting through the jingling keys on her ring, she walked up the stairs briskly before Anthony, giving him an unintentional but appealing display of her ankles. Her yellow thread stockings matched her gown, the worked flowers the same pink and blue, and he smiled to himself. No matter that the British army had invaded her town. Mistress Hazard had still found the time and presence of mind this morning to match her stockings to her gown when she dressed.

      “I have put you here in the green room, Major,” she said as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, standing to one side to let him pass. “I trust it will suit?”

      “How could it not, ma’am?” Anthony tossed his hat and cloak on the bed, noting with satisfaction that his trunk and saddlebags had already arrived. Like the rest of the tavern, the room was simply but elegantly furnished, the tall-posted bed hung with the dark green chintz that must have given the room its name. “We poor soldiers seldom have such grand quarters.”

      Her glance alone managed to scornfully dismiss his comment for the gallantry it was. “According to the lieutenant, you’ll have a cord of wood for your fire delivered here each week. I suggest you draw your curtains tightly around the bed at night, Major Sparhawk. Clearly your dear king is unfamiliar with Rhode Island winters, else he would have granted his officers three cords instead of one.”

      With her arms folded over her chest, she walked across the room to the window. She moved gracefully, the ring of keys swinging from her waist and clinking with each step. “I thought you would prefer this room in the front, where you and your guards can see who comes and goes and make sure none of us wicked rebels tries to escape.”

      But this time Anthony wasn’t listening to her gibes. The weak winter sun was slanting through the window, lighting the full curve of her cheek in a way that seemed oddly familiar. He thought again of how she’d blushed, and that, too, helped drag up some fragment of a memory.

      “We’ve met before, Mrs. Hazard, haven’t we?” It was less a question than a statement, and he frowned as he stepped closer to her, trying to find her place in his past. “Here in Newport, long ago. At a party, perhaps, a dance or assembly?”

      “You’re mistaken, Major,” she said quickly, too quickly for it to be anything but a lie. Restlessly she touched her fingers to the polished gold locket on her bodice. “You and I would never have been guests at the same houses.”

      He waved his hand impatiently, as if to brush aside her denial. “I told you it would have been long ago, long before this rebellion. I was sickly as a lad, and my grandparents sent me here to take the sea air. Even after my health improved, I returned from affection alone. I stayed with my uncle, Captain Gabriel Sparhawk. Perhaps at his house, we might have—”

      She stared at him, openly incredulous. “You truly have no shame, no loyalties, do you? For you to dare to speak of a gentleman as fine and good as Gabriel Sparhawk, a gentleman I’ve been honored to know both in business and in friendship?”

      Anthony’s frown deepened. “And why should I not speak of my own uncle?”

      “Why not, indeed, considering everything else that has befallen him and his poor wife these last days?”

      “I do not—”

      “No, you do not and you did not,” she said sharply, her eyes flashing. “Or will you pretend that you didn’t know your uncle was on your general’s list of rebels to be taken prisoner? At least his true friends saw to it that he escaped in time, he and Mistress Sparhawk and their last daughter Rachel. At least now they’re safe from you.”

      Anthony listened, considering how much of her raving to believe. In Boston and on Long Island he’d seen himself how cunning the rebels could be at manipulating emotions with half-truths for their own purposes, and Mrs. Hazard could well be doing exactly that

      He had not heard from his uncle or his cousins for years, but given the mails between old England and new, that was hardly unusual. As soon as he learned that the regiment was bound for Newport, of course he’d thought of his relatives there, but it was inconceivable that a gentleman as intelligent and respected as his uncle Gabriel would have let himself be swayed to support treason.

      For whatever reason, then, the Hazard woman was lying. But what the devil did she hope to gain by doing so?

      “My uncle and his family would never have cause to fear me,” he said, carefully watching Mrs. Hazard’s face. “He must know that, but if you tell me where I might find him, I’ll be happy to reassure him and my aunt myself.”

      Instantly the woman’s face shuttered against him. “Forgive me, Major Sparhawk, but in truth I cannot say.”

      “Cannot,” he asked, “or will not?”

      “Either one amounts to much the same thing, doesn’t it, Major?” She smoothed the sleek wings of her hair with her fingertips, making sure no loose strands trailed from beneath her cap. “Now, if there’s nothing more you’ll be requiring from me, I have other matters to tend to.”

      She left him by the window, her head bowed to avoid meeting his eyes as she began to close the door after her.

      “One last question, Mrs. Hazard,” called Anthony, and reluctantly she looked back. He smiled slowly, almost teasingly, holding her attention for a fraction longer than was necessary.

      “Mrs. Hazard, ma’am. You’ve been so good as to house my men in your attic and my junior officers in your lesser rooms, and you’ve been especially kind to grant me this splendid chamber for my own use. But where, ma’am, will that leave you to lay your own weary head this night?”

      “Your concern touches me, Major Sparhawk. Where shall I sleep?” She smiled with an insolence that challenged his own. “In my own bed, behind a locked door, with a loaded musket on the pillow beside me. Good day to you, Major. And may the devil rot your red-coated soul in the black hell you deserve.”

      The door clicked shut, and Anthony smiled. If she wanted a battle from him, then a battle she’d get. He’d make her his second, more personal, Rhode Island campaign, another chance to subdue another rebel. And before he was done, he meant to make her surrender every bit as complete.

      

      An hour later, her heart still beating too fast, Catie watched from the window of her bedchamber as Anthony Sparhawk finally left the tavern with two other officers, his unpowdered golden hair gleaming in the moment before he settled his hat. With a muffled groan, Catie closed her eyes and sank into the nearest chair, and wondered at the impossibly cruel trick that fate had played upon her.

      At least she’d had some warning from the young lieutenant. If she’d walked into the front room to find him there without it, she felt sure, she would have fainted dead away from the shock. He was, if anything, more handsome than she’d remembered, his face more ruggedly masculine, and the easy, inborn charm that had been her undoing so long ago was there still, too.

      A week ago, she would have laughed at anyone who told her that Anthony Sparhawk would come back into her life. Didn’t she have more than enough Sparhawks СКАЧАТЬ