Revolutionary Temptation

by Silvia Violet

  Contents

  Title

  Blurb

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thank You

  Author Bio

  Titles by Silvia Violet

  1777 New York City

  The American colonists are fighting for their independence, but the battlefield is not the only place to wage war. When General Washington’s head of intelligence asks Captain Jack West to spy on the British in New York, Jack agrees, despite reservations about this ungentlemanly pursuit.

  Jack’s contact in the city recruits bookshop owner Elias Ashfield, an impeccably dressed sensualist who flaunts his desire for both men and women and seeks a place in high society. Jack longs for a simple life guided by clear principles. Eli is a risk-taker who knows how to get what he wants. And he wants Jack in his bed.

  Events in Jack’s past have made him fearful of acting on his secret craving for a man’s touch, but Eli intrigues Jack as much as he infuriates him. As Jack and Eli search for the information the rebel army needs, they realize there’s more between them than mere lust. But finding a way to be together may prove more difficult than defeating the British Empire.

  Revolutionary Temptation by Silvia Violet

  Copyright © 2016 by Silvia Violet

  Cover art by Meredith Russell

  Edited by Keren Reed

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Revolutionary Temptation is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Captain Jack West entered the noisy tavern where numerous continental-army officers attempted to alleviate their winter boredom with tankards of ale. He glanced around the room searching for Major Tallmadge, who’d summoned Jack, saying he wanted to discuss a special mission. There was over a foot of snow on the ground, and both the rebels and the British were holed up for the winter.

  Three weeks earlier during the fighting in Trenton, Jack had been shot in the leg. The bullet had lodged in the outer side of his thigh, a few inches above the knee. He’d sustained a cracked femur and bled heavily, but thank God, the surgeon had saved his leg. After weeks in bed, he was now able to walk, but he had a pronounced limp and his leg pained him constantly. What kind of mission could he carry out in his current condition? Not to say he wouldn’t be thankful to do something other than listen to the bluster of fellow officers or contemplate how poor the rebels’ chances would be come spring.

  Tallmadge sat on a bench in the corner of the crowded room. As Jack moved his way, a man knocked into him, nearly spilling his beer all over Jack’s coat. Jack caught the man’s arm and steadied him.

  “Sorry, Captain,” the man mumbled.

  Annoyed as he was, Jack forced himself to smile. The soldier was young and foolish—hell, they all were—and he’d been too distracted by the buxom serving girl to watch where he was going. Jack shooed him on his way.

  Speaking of distractions, Benjamin Tallmadge was an incredibly beautiful man. Not that Jack had heard or seen anything to suggest Tallmadge had an interest in more than friendship with his fellow men. Even if he had, Jack wouldn’t dare approach him. He couldn’t afford that kind of risk. It was difficult enough to keep his men in line without rumors he was a sodomite.

  “Good evening,” he said, taking a seat across from Tallmadge.

  “Jack.” Tallmadge held out his hand to shake. “Thank you for joining me.”

  Tallmadge looked preoccupied, not surprising considering the difficult task he’d been assigned as Washington’s head of intelligence. Jack asked, “You mentioned a special mission?”

  “I did, and I want to ask you to hear me out before you respond.”

  Not a promising beginning. “Ben, what’s going on?”

  “Washington needs information about what’s happening in New York: How many troops are there? What reinforcements are coming in the spring? What is General Howe planning?”

  Jack nodded; so far nothing he’d said was surprising.

  “Our scouts haven’t been able to find much of interest. We need someone on the inside. You have relatives in the city, and winter is an excellent time to visit them.”

  Jack frowned. “I hardly think the British are going to divulge their secrets to a continental officer.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  Wait a moment… Ben wanted Jack to be a spy. “You don’t want me to go in uniform, do you?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “You want me to go as a spy.”

  Ben sighed. “I do. We need this information if we’re to have a chance when the fighting starts next spring.”

  “You can’t be serious. I—” Ben held up his hand, and Jack stopped mid-word, though he held himself rigid. He’d been determined to still be useful after his injury, but he wasn’t going to slink around and listen at keyholes.

  “I asked you to hear me out.”

  Jack nodded. He had. He’d known Ben since they’d joined the Second Continental Light Dragoons at the same time, only a few years after they’d each taken their degrees. And here they were, men of only twenty-three years, deciding moral questions that would guide this new nation.

  “Traditional intelligence-gathering isn’t going to get us the information we need,” Ben insisted.

  “Surely you have reservations about this. A gentleman doesn’t—”

  “A gentleman doesn’t slaughter men or steal provisions.”

  Jack bristled at their fight for freedom put in those terms. “Killing soldiers in a battle and seizing what the army needs isn’t…”

  Ben’s knowing look silenced Jack. In truth, Jack was simply parroting what he was supposed to believe. Ben had a point. The army had resorted to all manner of ungentlemanly behavior to survive: surprise attacks, stealing food from local farms, burning civilian homes. And still they had little to eat, barely any wood for fuel, and few blankets to cover freezing soldiers. If the rebels didn’t have a decisive victory in the spring, how many of these men would stick around? The British already massively outnumbered them. And with his injury, would Jack even be able to fight?

  Could he lower himself to play the spy to help the rebels win? “Spies are little better than criminals. Some would say they’re worse.”

  They paused their conversation while a serving girl offered a pitcher of ale and a cup for Jack. When she left them, Ben said, “It’s not the method I would prefer, but I’ll do whatever I have to in order to defeat the British.”

  Could Jack do any less? He’d never been a coward. He’d faced enemy fire on the battlefield, and while he’d been terrified, he hadn’t run. As a man of honor, he could v
isit his family in the city unscathed, as long as he kept his political views to himself. If he were caught there as a spy, he’d hang, a disgraceful death.

  “Did you choose me for this because of my leg?” No matter what the surgeon said, he was determined he would heal enough to make himself battle-worthy.

  Ben shook his head. “I trust you. I’ve seen how bravely you fight, and I’ve also seen you uphold your principles when it would be easier not to. You’ve been kind when you didn’t have to be.”

  “And that makes me a good spy?” It seemed to say quite the opposite to Jack.

  “A spy needs to be dedicated, intelligent, and able to decide when to push and when to let go. You have all those qualities.”

  “But I’m also plainspoken. I’ve never been one to sneak around, and I don’t lie easily.”

  Ben took a sip of ale and studied Jack. “Are you sure about that?”

  Dear God, did Ben know his secret? Surely not. What could he have done to give himself away?

  “I try to be honest. That’s always been important to me.” If only he weren’t cursed with a desire for men that he had to lie about unless he wanted to die for it.

  Ben smiled. “We all lie sometimes. Most of us are better at it than we care to admit.”

  Jack wanted to deny the truth of Ben’s words, but he couldn’t. “You want me to go into the city out of uniform and pretend I’m His Majesty’s loyal servant.”

  Ben nodded.

  “I still don’t see how I’ll obtain what you need.”

  “Some things you can learn through observation: troop numbers, ships they have in the harbor, attitudes. For the rest, you’ll have to cultivate friends.”

  Not something he’d ever excelled at. “Ben, I think you should know me well enough to understand—”

  “We have a contact in the city, someone to introduce you into society there.”

  Jack frowned. Why bother sending him if they already had someone in New York? “Why not get the information you need from him?”

  “She doesn’t have access to the same places you’ll be able to enter as a man.”

  Jack nearly choked on a sip of ale. “You’ve involved a woman in this dirty business?”

  “She involved herself by writing to General Washington and offering her services.”

  “And he accepted? How does he know he can trust her?”

  Ben glared at him, and Jack realized he’d been too forthright. It wouldn’t do to suggest Washington was a poor judge of character. “I didn’t mean to question the general’s decision. I was simply surprised by this turn of events. How well are the woman’s credentials known?”

  “Washington’s wife is acquainted with the woman in question, and the information our contact provided the general in her letter of introduction proved useful enough to bring us a victory.”

  Jack pondered Ben’s words. “Trenton? Was she the supplier of information that made our victory decisive?”

  Ben nodded.

  Jack couldn’t resist one further protest. “I still believe we should fight this war like gentlemen.”

  “We should, and Washington is determined to do so in every way we can. We’ve given our officer prisoners far better treatment than the British have shown our men. And you know Washington has no tolerance for soldiers stealing or attacking women. But the British are trying to tax us into poverty and force us to endure hardship at the whim of a king all the way across the sea—”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I already believe in our cause.”

  Ben laughed. “True enough. But do you believe in it enough to bend your principles to serve it?”

  Jack took a sip of ale and pondered the question. “I truly don’t think I’m the right man for this job.”

  Ben thought about Jack’s words for a few moments. Then he pushed away from the table and stood. “Think about it tonight. I’ll have your answer tomorrow, but know that you are my best candidate.”

  “Then I am sorry for you.”

  “I think you’d do far better than you realize. Your wound will help you be above suspicion, and the main thing you need to do is listen. You’re very good at that, better than most men.”

  “And this woman I’d be working for. Who is she?” Jack asked.

  “A widow of some means. Her late husband was a prominent loyalist.”

  “Yet she is loyal to our cause?”

  “He was many years her senior, and the match was not of her choosing.”

  Jack supposed he could imagine her taking opposite sides from her husband out of a desire for revenge.

  “She’s well placed to help us,” Ben added. “She quarters British officers and is a most sought-for hostess.”

  “How can she bear having officers in her home if she believes in our cause?”

  “Keeping them close and listening to what they reveal is the best way she can contribute. You and I both find the battlefield distasteful, even horrifying, but we fight because it’s what we must do to win the war.”

  True. “I’m willing to fight. My leg will heal by the winter’s end.”

  “But we need you now, Jack. Please consider it. The woman I’ve told you about needs assistance and protection.”

  That was low. Ben knew Jack wouldn’t refuse his aid if this woman needed him.

  “Is she truly in danger?” he asked.

  “Not immediately. But if she were discovered, if someone questioned her loyalty, then she would be thrown in prison with the worst sort—deserters, rapists—”

  “But she is a lady. No gentleman would—”

  “There are women on the Jersey.”

  “God, no.” The conditions on the British prison ship which lay in New York Harbor were rumored to be unfit for beasts, much less humans. The very idea of a woman in such a vile place…

  Ben sighed. “It’s true.”

  “You don’t have to wait until morning for my answer. I’ll do it.”

  Ben clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Thank you. I pray you will bring us something we can use to win this war quickly.”

  “I’ll do everything I can.” Dear God, what had he just agreed to?

  CHAPTER TWO

  A pleasure doing business with you as always,” Eli said as he rose and fastened his breeches.

  Andrews chuckled. “I wish all my customers were as…talented as you.” The man was a smuggler who provided Eli with luxuries to sell to the citizens of New York. He also knew exactly how to fuck a man until he spent so hard he saw stars.

  Eli retied his cravat and studied his appearance in the mirror. “Use the back stairs so none of my more legitimate patrons see you exit.”

  Andrews rolled his eyes. “You mean to say you don’t want the customers knowing you were getting backgammoned upstairs before attending to them.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not the type of advertising I need.”

  “I’ll leave quietly as I always do,” Andrews said with a smirk.

  Eli bowed. “Until next time.”

  “If you’ve recovered by then.”

  “You underestimate me. If I had time, I would go again now.”

  Andrews snorted as Eli closed the door of his sitting room and descended the stairs to the bookshop he managed. It was not yet time to open for business, but he had work to attend to in his office.

  Well after Andrews had departed, Eli heard footsteps. He quickly covered the essay he was writing and stood. His scribblings were for no one’s eyes but his own and the printer whose hands he’d deliver them into. Had Billy returned already? Eli doubted the boy’d had time to complete his errands.

  “Mr. Ashfield?”

  A woman’s voice. Who was she, and how did she get in?

  Eli opened the door of his office and stepped into the corridor, confident when he faced this woman, whoever she was, that his expression would in no way reveal his irritation at being interrupted or the underlying fear of being caught in the midst of a seditious act.

  A beautiful and
exceedingly well-dressed woman stood in the corridor. The way she held herself told him she had impeccable breeding, but her bold presence said she had a willfulness that went contrary to expectations.

  “Mr. Ashfield?”

  He bowed. “I am he. Have I had the honor of meeting you previously, madam?”

  “No, forgive me for being so forward, but I’ve been told you’re the person to see for a special order. The door was open, but there wasn’t anyone out front.”

  “I’m not sure why the door was open.” Damn, had Billy left it open, or had he been the careless one? “We’re actually not open yet.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.”

  Her words were as sweet as the cakes Cook used to bake for him on his birthday, but there was nothing apologetic about her tone. He would bet his shop on the fact that she was well aware of what she was doing. Reading people was one of the things he excelled at—that was how he knew exactly what book each customer would like best. His female visitor expected people to deliver what she wanted when she wanted it. He liked her for that. Setting high expectations was sometimes the only way to succeed.

  “A lady like you could never be a disturbance.” He held out his hand. “Elias Ashfield. I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” He took her hand and brushed his lips over the back of her exquisitely made kidskin glove.

  “My name is Constance Sullivan, and you flatter me far too much, sir.”

  Ah. Mrs. Sullivan. He’d heard plenty about her. “I assure you that cannot be. A lady as lovely as yourself could never be overly flattered.”

  She was a wealthy widow whose husband had served in the king’s army for several decades. He’d died recently of what sounded like overindulgence in gin. Eli would put Mrs. Sullivan’s age at twenty-five at most. Her husband must have been near thirty years her senior. Since the occupation began, Mrs. Sullivan had hosted numerous lavish dances, card evenings, and suppers at her home. She was one of the city’s premier hostesses.