"Cassie . . . Cassie." The words rolled over Devon's tongue. She looked like a Cassie. He turned back to Molly. "Cassie what?"
Molly frowned. "You really interested in her?"
He nodded, slipping a cold coin into her hand. "Please?"
Molly opened her palm and gave a squeal of delight. She'd done far more for a gentleman for far less. Besides, English coin was getting scarcer by the day. "Not much to tell, sweetness." She extracted a man's handkerchief from her bodice and began to wrap the coin." She's indentured. Come from England "bout three years ago." Molly got to her feet and reached for her tray. "But if it's fun yer lookin' for, she ain't the one to give it. Cassie's threatened to break a few arms around here, and let me tell you, she'd do it. Don't nobody get familiar with her. 'Course bein' like that makes a girl mighty lonely."
Devon nodded, absorbing the information. Cassie . . . the name rang in his ears. Indentured . . . this was not a girl he should be dallying with. Even here in the Colonies there were class differences. This wasn't a woman he could ever take home to Marshview; still, he couldn't resist. There was something about this girl that was haunting him. "Do me another favor, Molly." He tugged at the corner of her apron. "Send Cassie over here with a tankard of ale."
Molly nodded, sashaying across the room, only to return a minute later. "She says she'd rather eat ground table ants."
Devon let out a snort of laughter. "That's good, I like that. Now come on, Molly." He raised one eyebrow, giving her his best smile. "Please?"
"Oh, all right," she said. "You've paid for more than a little help in meeting Miss Haughty. But mark my words, she's no bargain. I'll be the richer one for this deal." Molly patted her bosom, reassuring herself that the handkerchief was still there. "How'll I get her over here?"
Devon propped his boot on the chair next to him and laughed. "I don't know, faint or something. That ought to be easy enough. It's hotter than Hades in here." He leaned forward to shrug off his frock coat.
She turned around, shaking her head. What a poor girl didn't have to do to make her way in the world.
Devon watched with amusement as Molly returned to the counter where Cassie stood slicing a joint of pork. Placing her tray on the counter, Molly threw one hand up in the air and slid to the plank floor dramatically.
"Have you lost what little sense you had, girl?" Cassie scolded. "Get up off the floor. We've got a full dinner crowd and you're laid out on the floor." She poked the prone girl with one shoe. "You'd best get up, Molly Moore, because if you don't, I'm going to knock you in the teeth so hard you'll be sleeping for a week."
Devon watched from his table as Molly opened one eye. "Stop kickin' me!" she shouted, sitting up.
"What are you doing?" Cassie demanded sharply. "If you lose this job, you'll be back to emptying chamber pots and you know it." She stood with both hands on her hips, waiting for an explanation.
"He told me to do it," she answered, getting up. "I was just earnin' my tip." She brushed at the back of her dusty skirt.
"Who told you to throw yourself on the floor?" Cassie's eyes widened.
"I didn't throw myself on the floor, Miss High and Mighty, I was faintin'!" Molly turned her head from side to side with great exaggeration.
"Fainting! That was the worst faint I ever saw!" Cassie filled a mug from a freshly tapped keg of ale. "Be glad you're in this tavern and not on a stage in London. You'd be awfully hungry." She let out a sigh as Molly stared in confusion and turned to go. "You take that pie to Carl and his friends, I'll take care of him." She motioned to Devon with her thumb.
Cassie crossed the room, her stride long and determined. What was wrong with him? What right did he have, interfering with her work? Her face flushed with anger, but deep inside she was pleased. He'd come back.
"'Evening, Mistress Cassie." He couldn't take his eyes off her.
"'Evening to you, sir," Cassie returned politely, raising her foot to kick his off the chair. "Keep your feet off the furniture. It cost money. Here's your ale." She slammed it down on the table in front of him and some splashed out, running off the table onto his breeches. "So sorry," she lied. "Anything else?"
"You," Devon dared, keeping his eyes on her rosy face.
The smile remained on Cassie's lips. He was a challenge. There weren't many who challenged her. She liked him. "I'm not for sale; Molly's the tart. I hear she's not bad." She rested a hand on her hip, returning his gaze.
The air tightened between them. "Cassie . . . pretty name. Did it belong to anyone in your family?" Devon's voice was as smooth as French brandy.
"Me. How'd you know who I was?" She reached back to pull at her long mane of hair. This evening she wore it free and flowing down her back. It was as bright as the fire she cooked on.
"Molly was most helpful, if not a little disappointed."
"Molly's all right. Just nothing upstairs." She tapped her temple lightly with one finger. "She gets by the best way she knows how. You can't blame a girl for that." Her voice grew softer with each word. When he looked at her like that, she could swear he could see right through her shift. Did he know what he did to her?
Devon reached for her, moving slowly as if she was a wild creature. He had to touch her.
Cassie watched his hand reach for hers. When he took it, she didn't pull away. He had a firm, cool grip. She knew he would. She didn't like sweaty hands.
"You feel it, don't you, Cassie?" He spoke so quietly that she wasn't sure if she had imagined his voice or not.
Her hand trembled in his. He was trouble. She could feel it in her bones. All soldiers were trouble. She twisted her hand until her fingers were intertwined with his. For once she didn't know what to say.
"Does George ever let you out of this place?" His thumb stroked the back of her hand.
"Sometimes. If I ask." She stared into those stag eyes. No man had ever made her feel like this. No man had ever made her so bold.
"Ask."
"When?" The word escaped from Cassie's lips as freely as she breathed. Her heart pounded beneath her breast.
"Saturday," he murmured softly.
She nodded. "Saturday."
"Just after noon."
"Just after noon," she repeated.
Devon released Cassie's hand slowly and reached for his coat. "Does Old George take our paper money?"
"Of course!" She laughed. Now that he wasn't touching her, she could think more clearly. "This is The Patriot!"
Devon slid a bill onto the table and slung his coat over one shoulder. "Until Saturday, Cassie."
Cassie watched him disappear out the door and reached for her payment. The man was a devil. And she was under his spell.
Chapter Two
"No, ma'am," Cassie replied to the traveler, keeping an eye on the window. It was Saturday, just past noon. He should have been here by now. "No tea on the premises. Doesn't look like there will be either, not since the Colonies stopped all imports from England."
The plump woman let out a huff of breath. "No tea!" She turned to her husband. "I must have my tea, Issac. You know I must have my tea."
The thin gentleman patted his wife's brocade sleeve. "Yes, sugar, I know." He reached into his breast pocket and slid several coins across the table. "Come, girl, I know you must have some tea back there. My wife is weary from the long ride. I know most of the establishments still have tea." He reached into his coat again, this time extracting a silver flask. "Now go fetch some, girl. We'll pay the extra."
Cassie's eyes widened impatiently. "I said we've no tea! The Patriot doesn't accept English goods. The proprietor's a Whig. We haven't seen a leaf of tea in months." She raised her voice irritably. "So if it's tea you want, I suggest you go elsewhere!" Without another word, she spun on her heels, ignoring the customer's sputtering, and returned to the counter at the back of the room. "There's another one wanting tea." She threw up a hand. "I tell them we haven't any and they ask for tea again."
The tavern keeper looked up from the keg he was tap
ping. "There're still some who sell it, and at a hefty price."
"I told you you should have taken that last shipment." Cassie glanced at the door as it opened. She didn't recognize the face.
George shook his head. "Principle. That's why I didn't take the tea, Cassie. I'm a man of principle."
"It seems to me that a tavern ought to sell what the customer wants." She lifted a tray of tankards onto her hip.
The gray-haired man laughed good-naturedly. "You'd make a good business partner, Cassie O'Flynn, but I'm glad you're not representing us in Philadelphia right now."
She shook her head, grinning in return. Everyone knew that she didn't care much which way the war went. It made no difference who made the silly laws; no one she knew obeyed them anyway.
Crossing the room, Cassie glanced out the window again. She'd asked George for the afternoon off, but gave no indication where she was going. If her soldier didn't appear, no one would know the difference. She half hoped he wouldn't come. She had a feeling she'd be better off. A girl didn't recover easily from a man like that. Her breath quickened at the thought of his tall, solid form. She'd never been so wildly, irrationally attracted to a man like this before. Her heart had never beat so fast at the mere thought of a man.
"You back again, Carl?" Cassie slid the heavy tray onto the trestle table. "This is the third time this week. Doesn't the mistress feed you?" She slid him a mug.
"Yes, she feeds me. I just can't stay away from your pretty face, that's all."
"Yea, that and the fact that his mother-in-law's in town," one of his friends volunteered good-naturedly.
Cassie passed out the tankards. "Any excuse will do, won't—" She stiffened at the feel of hands resting possessively on her hips. No one touched Cassie O'Flynn like that and got away with it! "What in the blue-blazin' hell do you think you're doing?" Furiously, she spun around to meet dark, dancing eyes. The men at the trestle table grew instantly silent.
"Ready, Cassie?" Devon grinned boyishly.
"Ready! Get your hands off me!" She pushed him away, her cheeks burning with color, and reached for the coins on the table. "Don't you ever do that again," she whispered through clenched teeth. Turning, she made her way through the Public Room.
Devon followed close behind. "I'm sorry, I was just teasing. I didn't mean to make you mad. You are still coming, aren't you?"
Cassie kept walking. "Why should I, after that? I don't even know your name." He was here! He'd really come for her as he'd promised! She hadn't really expected him to. "You could be a lying, thieving murderer for all I know," she accused.
"Or you might be a lying, thieving, murderess." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I thought we'd both take the chance."
Cassie turned to him, unable to suppress a smile. "Where are you taking me?" She dropped the empty tray onto the counter and slid a handful of coins and crumpled bills to George. "Going, now," she murmured.
The proprietor looked up, casting an eye on the tall stranger. "Take care, you hear, girl?"
She nodded, heading through the door into the kitchen.
"I thought we'd go to the fair, Cassie." Devon followed behind her. "There'll be plenty of ale. It might be fun."
She turned when she reached the staircase that led to the second floor. "Go on out back." She pointed a finger. "I'll be with you in a trice."
Devon leaned against the wall for a moment, watching the sway of the Irish girl's hips as she mounted the steps. God, but she was a beauty! But she was trouble, and he knew it. This was the kind of girl that could get under a man's skin. The best thing he could do right now was turn and walk away. Reason told him there was no place in his life now for a woman like Cassie O'Flynn. But if he left now, he'd never get those haunting green eyes out of his mind.
Cassie pushed open the door to her attic room and picked up a hairbrush off her bed. Her hands trembled as she ran it through tangled tresses. She still couldn't believe he'd really come for her! Tossing the brush back on the bed, she untied her apron, letting it float to the hardwood floor. She didn't even know his name! Slipping a small knife into her stocking, she started down the steps two at a time. A girl could never be too careful. . . .
Cassie peered up at her soldier, mounted on a massive black steed. "So, I'm to walk, am I?" She planted her hands on her hips. She knew she should have been self-conscious, wearing the simple bleached muslin blouse, striped kerchief, and homespun cloth skirt next to his resplendent finery. But she wasn't. After all, he was pursuing her. She'd put on no airs.
"Of course not." Devon patted the rear of the well-oiled saddle. "Sit here. You're not afraid of horses, are you?"
She laughed. "Not bloody likely. I'll wager I was riding astride when you were still tied to your mama's apron strings!"
Devon tipped back his head, joining in her laughter. "You've got an answer for everything, haven't you, Cassie?"
His eyes met hers for a moment and she softened. "No, not everything." God, but he's handsome, she thought. His dark, wavy hair seemed to dare a girl to run her hands through it.
"Come then." Devon stretched out a bronze hand. "Up with you."
She took his hand, but made no move to mount. "A girl ought to know a man's name before she lets him cart her off." She liked the feel of her hand in his.
"I'm not carting you off; I'm taking you to the fair." He released her hand to sweep off his befeathered cocked hat. "But just the same. I'm Devon . . . Devon Kenton Marsh."
"Pleased to meet with you, Master Devon Kenton Marsh." She curtsied lightly.
"Now that we've gotten that out of the way, shall we go?" He reached for her hand again.
With the aid of Devon's strong arm, Cassie felt herself being lifted onto the saddle behind him. When the horse bolted at his master's command, her hands instinctively slipped around Devon's waist.
Devon shivered inwardly at the girl's light touch. She barely held on, yet her fingertips burned holes in his flesh. Sinking his heels into the horse's flanks, he urged him faster. Perhaps the wind in his face would cool his heated blood.
As they rounded the corner of the town's center green and headed south, Cassie slipped her mob cap off her head and pressed it between Devon's body and her own to keep from losing it. Intertwining her fingers, she leaned back to let the wind rip through her hair. It had been a long time since she'd felt the wind on her face like this. Too long . . .
The two rode in silence, mostly because it was almost impossible to be heard, traveling at such a speed, but also because they were both lost in their own thoughts of the other. Another mile down the road and Cassie began to hear the sounds of a crowd.
In wagons and on horseback, in small carriages and on foot, the citizens of the lower two counties of the Delaware Colony gathered at the Oberly farm. Although the summer fair was usually held on The Green, Master Oberly had volunteered his meadow so that the newly forming Delaware Continental Regiment could continue with their drilling. In return, The Delaware Blues promised to put on an exhibition late in the afternoon.
Farmers and merchants came to buy and sell on this day, and the gentry came for their amusement. There were booths set up in a scattered fashion with vendors calling out their wares. Anything that couldn't be found here wasn't for sale in the Colonies. There were booths of cookware and farm tools, bolts of cloth and baked goods. A man could buy duck decoys, or learn to make his own by watching a craftsman. A woman could buy homespun cloth, or purchase the sheared wool to spin it herself on the long winter nights. And, of course, the ale flowed freely.
Cassie could feel the excitement mounting as Devon handed her down. Tying the gelding to a tree, he patted a white splotch on the horse's ebony haunch. "See you later, Casper boy," he told him, grabbing Cassie's hand. "So what shall we do first?" He turned to her as he led her through a crowd of men looking over a mare. "There are puppets. I hear Carter Burman does a nasty job on King George. Or how about a game? Do you play cards?"
Cassie was overwhelmed. She didn't know
what was more exciting—walking on the arm of a dashing patriot officer, or being a part of this merriment. Everywhere they went, people greeted Devon. Everyone in the county seemed to know him and like him.
The two walked from booth to booth, listening to political speeches, trying on festooned hats and examining bolts of fine cloth. Devon was as attentive an escort as any girl could wish for. He was perfectly at ease dressed in his sapphire velvet frock coat with Cassie at his side wearing the trappings of a laundress. He was the perfect gentleman, introducing her to everyone they met, politely ignoring those who made insinuations concerning the girl at his side. Cassie was enchanted. Devon Marsh was a man women waited for all of their life.
"Another, Cassie?" Devon knocked his thin pewter cup against hers, draping his arm casually over her shoulder.
Cassie's head was spinning. "No, no more, Devon. You'll have me drunker than a sailor on Sunday!" She laughed, feeling the color rise in her cheeks as he reached to stroke her chin.
"You're a good sport," he told her. "I apologize for some of my friends. There's no excuse for anyone to be rude." Her skin was smooth and cool beneath his touch.
"Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you." She pouted her bottom lip playfully. "So, you make it a habit of preying on poor little tavern Wenches, do you?" She'd had just enough ale to lose all thought of caution.
"No." He shook his head, leaning closer. "I make it a habit of staying away from them." His lips touched hers ever so gently. "I just couldn't resist this one," he murmured, savoring the feel of her lips against his.
Cassie accepted his mouth hesitantly, then wished he hadn't pulled away so soon. She'd been kissed before, but never like this. "You're a dangerous man, Devon Marsh," she whispered, staring into his dark eyes.
"No more dangerous than you are, I fear." He brushed a stray lock from her cheek. "Now, come. Just one more cup. Then I want you to meet someone, if I can find the devil, that is." Grabbing her hand, he whisked her off.
The Officer's Desire Page 2
