Revolutionary Temptation

by Silvia Violet

  Billy gaped at him. “You would… No, Mr. Ashfield, you don’t have to do that.”

  “I do if I want a properly dressed employee.”

  “Sir? You mean that you’d allow me to be a regular employee?”

  Eli nodded. “I do. Now come with me.”

  A few moments later, Billy was wearing dark-blue breeches and a matching coat, more somber garments than Eli typically wore now, and not of particularly fine cloth, but well-made, respectable, and almost a perfect fit. “Now, convince me you know your duties.”

  “I greet customers when they come in and direct them to the area of the store that suits their interest. I collect their money or record purchases on their accounts. If a customer needs assistance selecting a book or placing an order, I’m to come get you.”

  “Yes, exactly right.”

  “I can do this, Mr. Ashfield. I promise.”

  “Thank you, Billy.” Eli hoped he was making the right decision giving Billy this opportunity. “I’ll be in my office. I have some correspondence to catch up on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eli settled at his desk but left the door open; that way he could hear what was going on out front if Billy made a serious misstep.

  He took a sheet of his best paper from a drawer, dipped his quill into the inkstand, and began to write.

  My Dearest Mrs. Sullivan,

  I am compelled to thank you again for your patronage this morning. It is my utmost desire that you are completely satisfied with the service you received, and I sincerely hope you will let me know what you think of Mr. Franklin’s book when you have finished reading it. If there is anything I can help you with in the future, you have but to ask.

  Your Obedient Servant,

  Elias Ashfield

  Billy did an exceedingly competent job of running the store that afternoon, and the day proved more profitable than Eli would have expected, since the weather was quite gloomy.

  When Eli was closing up for the day, someone knocked on the door. Eli opened it to find a liveried servant with every curl of his wig meticulously formed.

  “I have a letter for Mr. Ashfield.”

  “I am Mr. Ashfield.”

  The servant held out the missive. “Here you are, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man bowed and made his exit.

  It wasn’t unusual for Eli to receive correspondence this way from his wealthy clients, both book buyers and those who used his services to obtain luxuries not available elsewhere, but he didn’t recognize this man or his uniform crest.

  He examined the letter, turning it over in his hand. The seal contained a stylized S. For Sullivan? He opened it and smiled when he saw the large loopy signature. Constance Sullivan.

  My Dear Mr. Ashfield,

  You and your shop are both exceptionally charming. I feel fortunate to have encountered such amiable service. I am certain the content of my book will provide hours of intriguing study. I thank you for your kind offer of discussing the contents, and I am certain I will have many needs for you to fulfill in the future. I look ever forward to seeing you again.

  Yours,

  Constance Sullivan

  Eli smiled as he read and reread her words. Whether or not she wanted an intimate relationship, she’d made clear her intentions to continue their acquaintance. And either way, as a friend or a lover, she could help Eli get exactly what he wanted.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jack slid from his horse, careful to let his good leg take his weight. He handed the reins to the waiting groom as he considered the front of Sullivan House. It was flawless. Clearly, Mr. Sullivan had spared no expense, and from what Jack could tell, his wife was keeping up the lavish lifestyle she’d lived before the war, no matter the deprivation all around her. Despite the best efforts of the rebels, supplies still streamed into the city through smugglers. Farmers on Long Island had to resort to selling to the British because the Americans had no coin to pay them with.

  How much longer could the rebels hold out?

  That’s why you’re here. To give them a better chance.

  Jack took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, trying to make his limp unnoticeable and failing. He lifted the heavy knocker, but before it clanged down, the door opened. Had someone been watching him as he stared at the house?

  “I’m Mr. West. I’m expected,” he told the dark-skinned servant who stood in the entryway.

  The man bowed. “Mrs. Sullivan is waiting for you in the library, sir. I’ll show you there.”

  Jack followed the man down a long hallway. The floors were polished until they glistened. Gilt-edged mirrors decorated the walls, and candlelight flickering in intricate sconces gave the appearance of glowing largesse. It was an ostentatious household, not that he’d expected less.

  The servant led him through the double doors of an enormous library. Mrs. Sullivan was seated near the fire on a diminutive sofa. The moment he saw her, Jack understood how she’d managed to get valuable information out of the men she entertained. Even seated, she had a presence that called for attention. She was beautiful, certainly, and Tallmadge said she was well educated, but there was simply something about her that made a man struggle not to stare, even a man inclined toward his own sex, such as Jack. Mrs. Sullivan radiated a confidence that was almost, but not quite, smugness. She knew her power. Plenty of men would fear her, but more would want to tame or possess her.

  Her dark hair was swept up in an elaborate twist, surely augmented by a false piece. The neckline of her pale-green gown was just this side of decent, and the combination of tall coiffure and low bodice accentuated the line of her neck. Her dark eyes were warm and knowing without being mocking. She was altogether a most remarkable woman. He almost wished he could fall for a lady’s charms. But even a bosom as ample as Mrs. Sullivan’s couldn’t captivate his senses the way the turn of a man’s calf or his firm backside could.

  “I am Cap-Mr. Jack West, your humble servant, madam.” How could he complete his mission when he couldn’t even remember not to introduce himself as a captain?

  “I am heartily glad to make your acquaintance, sir.” She glanced toward the manservant. “Laurance, would you alert the kitchen to bring us tea and…” She looked to Jack again. “Would you care for something to eat, sir?”

  Jack did not want to put her household to any trouble, but he’d taken very little food so far that day. He was sure whatever he would be served here would be better than the breakfast he’d taken at an inn along the way. He’d hardly have been able to stomach the inn’s runny eggs and overcooked meat on a good day. As it was, his stomach was unwell from travel and nerves about this covert mission.

  “Yes, that would be most appreciated.”

  Laurance bowed. “I’ll see that refreshments are sent right away, madam, sir.”

  The servant exited, and Mrs. Sullivan gestured toward the chair nearest her. “Please have a seat, Mr. West.”

  Fortunately, the chairs nearby Mrs. Sullivan appeared sturdier than her own. Breaking the furniture would hardly make the impression Jack was going for. He moved toward the chair slowly. The floors were slick from a recent polishing, and he’d stubbornly left his cane with his bags.

  He slipped once, but he managed to right himself. Heat filled his face. The last thing he needed was to appear weak. He wanted Mrs. Sullivan to feel confident that he could protect her, not write to Washington asking why the general had sent her an invalid. And as much as he might loathe the idea of skulking about the city in civilian clothing, his only alternative was sitting bent over a desk, scribbling letters. Even considering the questionable morals, this was the better choice. If he succeeded in his mission, and his damn leg would make more progress the way the damnable surgeon swore it would, then he could get back to fighting like a gentleman, rather than hiding out among the enemy.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  Of course she noticed his stumble. “I’m quite fine. I’m recovering from an injury. It’s no
t serious.” That was a rather patent lie. He’d nearly lost the leg.

  Her expression told him he hadn’t been convincing. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

  He shook his head. “You are kindness itself, but I’ll be well after a short rest.”

  She was polite enough not to contradict him. Instead she said, “Perhaps a brandy might improve your health. My late husband believed it could cure anything, although he often used rather too large a dose.”

  Mrs. Sullivan wasn’t afraid to speak ill of the dead, apparently. Normally Jack would find such obvious scorn repugnant, but Mrs. Sullivan was so unusual he wasn’t sure what to think. A lady spy? He still couldn’t fathom it. Most of the women he’d known were either cosseted young ladies with little of substance on their minds, or sensible hardworking farm wives. Mrs. Sullivan was an enigma and would require careful study.

  “One can overdo the use of alcohol, of course,” he responded. “But in this instance I rather think it might do the trick.”

  “Excellent.” She stood, and Jack attempted to rise as duty dictated, but Mrs. Sullivan shook her head.

  “Resting your leg shows me no disrespect. Keep your seat. I’ll pour for us.”

  Us? She returned with two brandies, handed him his, and took a sip from her own.

  She smiled at him as she set her glass down. “I can see that you’re surprised, Mr. West.”

  “I…yes, most ladies of my acquaintance don’t partake of anything stronger than sherry. At least not…”

  “In front of a man? This early in the day?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll soon come to understand that I am not most women. I doubt I’m like anyone you’ve ever met. I do hope you’ll forgive my eccentricities, though. You are just what my operation has been needing.”

  A crippled officer who rejects what he’s being forced to do on moral grounds? “I hope I can be of service, madam.”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure of it.”

  He wasn’t so unaware of female charms not to notice how alluring her smile was. Most men would be struggling not to stare at her openmouthed. She studied him for a few moments as they warmed themselves with brandy.

  “Would you care to share your thoughts?” he asked. The question was too forward, but she’d declared herself to be an unusual woman. She was drinking brandy with him, and later she’d be teaching him how to be a spy. Formalities could likely be dispensed with.

  “Not at the moment. However, I do have much to share with you.”

  “Are we to get down to business, then?” He glanced toward the doors. It would be all too easy for a servant to eavesdrop.

  “We are. And do not worry. I am most careful in choosing my servants. My husband kept slaves, but I abhor the practice, so I granted them all their freedom when he died. A few chose to stay on for wages; all are supporters of the rebels, like me.”

  Jack wasn’t sure he could trust so easily. He still wasn’t comfortable about Mrs. Sullivan’s loyalties. She didn’t seem to grieve her husband’s passing, but she lived well under the British rule.

  So do your family. So did you until you went off on your own.

  That was true.

  “I could begin with some basic lessons on observing people, luring them in until they feel they can tell you anything,” Mrs. Sullivan said, interrupting his thoughts. “But I’d like to develop your story first. Who you are; why you’re here. I’ll introduce you at a party this evening so I can see how well you mingle with the officers. Then I’ll know what I need to teach you and what you intuitively understand.”

  Jack bristled a bit. How pathetic did she think him? “For all that I spent the years before I joined the army on a small farm, I do know how to move about in company.”

  “I meant no insult, simply that I need to see how well you observe people when you talk to them. I will give you some simple information-gathering tasks. We’ll find out if you can complete them without being obvious.”

  “I’m to be tested immediately, then?” He supposed he preferred that to sitting around. What had he expected? To be given a treatise on spying? Did such a thing even exist? He’d learned to fight by being thrown onto a battlefield. He supposed he would learn the intelligence game by spying on enemy officers. He reached for his sword hilt reflexively and frowned when he remembered he wouldn’t be wearing it here.

  “We’ll have to eliminate that habit,” Mrs. Sullivan said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She laughed. “Reaching for your sword.”

  “How did you know that’s what I was doing?”

  “Like I said, I’ll teach you how to observe carefully. I notice things others overlook.”

  Jack couldn’t help but be impressed. “Did you perfect that skill, or have you always been more perceptive than most?”

  “I learned at an early age that knowledge of people—what they are thinking, what their motives are—was necessary for survival.”

  “Or to get your way?” As soon as he said the words he regretted them. “Forgive me, that was inexcusable.”

  She shook her head. “No, we must be completely open with each other if we are going to work together.”

  “But I…”

  “You’ve no doubt been taught to behave as a gentleman, and well you should when you’re outside this room, but with me you must learn to say things you would normally reserve for only the closest of friends. Or family. Or perhaps never voice at all.” She looked at him pointedly.

  His heart pounded against his ribs. Did she know his preferences? Was there something he’d done to tip her off? “I hardly think this is proper.”

  “I must have your word you will be honest with me, or I will have to ask the general if there is someone else he can send.”

  “His Excellency, General Washington?”

  She looked at him as if she thought he were simpleminded. “Yes, he suggested you to his head of intelligence.”

  Washington, not Tallmadge, had chosen Jack? He’d assumed Tallmadge had been impressed by his performance at Trenton, but he had no idea the general thought Jack could do this. “I am honored to have been given this task.” At least he was now that he knew Washington thought him fit for it. “While it goes against my nature to be so frank with a lady I have only just met, I will do my best to comply with your wishes.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I believe you will. You strike me as a man who always completes a task once he sets it for himself.”

  “I hope to be that kind of man, yes.”

  “I also believe you to be a man whose morals are not mere balderdash that he spouts at a convenient time. You’re a man who believes sincerely in his own code of honor.”

  “Yes, madam. Though I fail regularly, I strive to be a man of honor.”

  “And what I’m asking of you, what Washington is asking of you, is not deemed honorable by most men.”

  She wanted honesty. He would give it. “No, it is not.”

  “And yet you’re here?” She tilted her head and studied him.

  “I volunteered to fight, and this is not soldiering as I know it. I wish it weren’t necessary to engage in such a distasteful endeavor, but I’ve been convinced that it is vital to the rebel efforts. Considering my current health, it is the best way I can fight for what I believe in, for what I want for all Americans.”

  She smiled. “Yes, now more than ever, I believe you are the right man for this.”

  “Forgive me, but I do not understand why you think this. I am a man who speaks plainly. I have no preference for the city, crowds, or high company.”

  “Though you were born to it.”

  Jack nodded. “My father is a wealthy man, but I do not partake of the same society he does.”

  “Do you find it too immoral?”

  “I am not a prude, Mrs. Sullivan.” How else could he be considering the kind of activities he engaged in? Of course, he’d not been with a man in months. And he�
��d become a bit of a bore in the few years before the war, at least his sister said so.

  “If I believed that, you would not be here. You are loyal, dedicated, and you believe in honesty.”

  “I do.” That was exactly why he would make a terrible spy.

  “You are not a man anyone would suspect, nor are people likely to mistrust someone of your nature.”

  “Yet you expect me to sneak around,” he argued.

  “I ask nothing of the kind. I ask you to observe and listen.”

  He started to speak, but she held up her hand. “Not all spying involves sneaking around or extracting information by theft. Of a certainty, you will find some of it distasteful. You will have to involve yourself socially with men you will despise, and you will have to follow them to places you would perhaps rather not go, such as gambling dens, whorehouses.”

  He spewed brandy across his coat. Had she really just spoken openly of such places?

  She laughed as he used his handkerchief to clean himself. “I warned you I preferred honesty.”

  “You did. It is my fault I did not properly heed your warning.”

  “Men cannot believe we women are ignorant of such places. Half the officers bring their loose women to my salons. I know who and what they are, and I do not judge them for it.”

  “You are most unusual.” Jack liked her, though. She valued honesty as much as he did.

  She smiled. “As I said, you may need to go to places you find distasteful.”

  If she only realized how little he could judge a man for hiring a whore when he hired men to get on their knees for him. He wished he could say he hadn’t, but plenty of times he’d also paid for the chance to bugger a man who wasn’t going to turn him in for his crimes. Paying for his needs to be taken care of was much easier than risking his reputation—or his life—by finding a partner who didn’t expect remuneration.

  “I understand what is expected. While I may prefer different company, none of what I must do here will be more difficult than watching men I’ve trained and marched with cut down in front of me. I can do this, even if I dislike it.”