Rapture's Betrayal

by McCarthy, Candace

  She refused.

  “Kirsten, I swear on my soul that I’ll not lie to you. I’ll not betray you.”

  She glanced back at the house as if debating the action, and then she gave him an abrupt nod.

  They went several yards before Kirsten stopped.

  “What do you want to tell me?” Her tone was clipped.

  For a long moment, he studied her in the darkness, straining to gauge her expression. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye. Her beauty was enough to take any man’s breath away, and he was jealous, knowing that others must have noticed this.

  Feathery strands of bright hair framed a face he had yearned for, it seemed, forever. Her smooth white shoulders and lush breasts rose above the red gown in a tantalizing display of femininity that drove Richard to distraction.

  The gown was tight at her waist, a waist he now spanned with his hands, and her skirts flared out at her hips to fall in thick silken folds to the lawn beneath her feet. She was everything a man could ask for in a woman—that he could ask for—with her spirit and courage and . . .

  He scowled and released her. “You fool, do you know you could have been hurt sneaking up on someone like that? What if it hadn’t been me? What if it had been”—he thought quickly—“Greene?”

  Anger flashed in her blue eyes. “I can defend myself.”

  “Can you?” he challenged. Richard recalled her weapon. “God’s Teeth!” he cursed. “With a bloody rock?”

  Chin raised, she drew herself upward. “I can manage, mynheer. Better even than you, it appears.”

  The knowledge of how they’d met hovered in the air between them. And of this occasion in which she’d taken him by surprise.

  “And you?” she said. “What if the one who came up behind you hadn’t been me? You could have been killed!”

  She turned with a swish of her skirts and walked several steps before spinning to face him. “You play a dangerous game with fate, Richard. You risk too much too often.”

  His face softened. “Say it again.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “My name,” he said huskily. “Say it.”

  Kirsten blinked. He smiled, enjoying her reaction, for she was taken aback. She seemed nervous all of a sudden. He had the satisfaction of realizing that she still cared.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  She hesitated. “Richard.”

  Ric-kard. He grinned and moved toward her.

  She stepped back. “I don’t understand . . .”

  “The way you say it has a unique effect on me.”

  And he could tell that she blushed as they played their game of cat and mouse.

  “You’re trying to confuse me,” she said. “To make me forget my reason for being here with you.”

  “Can I?” he breathed. “Can I make you forget?”

  Kirsten inhaled sharply. Yes, he could make her forget. Her heart raced as she met his glowing brown gaze. He wore that little half-smile on his sensual lips, that look that brought up her temperature and made her melt inside.

  She couldn’t allow him to fool her a second time.

  She gathered herself together and then held her ground. “Richard,” she said with firmness, then raised a hand to check his approach.

  He paused and sighed with defeat. “What is it you want to know?”

  She was both surprised and wary of his change in manner. “Everything,” she said, and he walked toward her again, taking her by the arm as he continued his steps.

  And so they walked, arm in arm, as Richard began his tale.

  Kirsten listened with incredulity as he spoke of the British raid on his grandparents’ farm in the Pennsylvania Colony. She felt sympathy for his loss when he described the old couples’ deaths at the hands of the King’s men. Then, he told of his friend Alex and of their enlistment in the Continental Army, and she knew real pain for all he’d suffered.

  Richard continued with the telling of his mission, of how he’d come to need her care at the old mill, and she felt a reawakening of joy in her heart. Richard Maddox was a Patriot spy!

  Then, she recalled how he’d acted with Elias Greene, how he’d been traveling with the Tories, and she knew a resurfacing of doubt.

  When he was done, she had no words for him. Was he speaking the truth? She recalled the look on his face when he’d sworn not to lie to her.

  “Richard,” she murmured, bowing her head. She didn’t know what to say.

  He caught her chin, tilting her face upward for his inspection. “Kirsten, tell me you believe me.”

  She nodded, and she realized it was true. “I believe you.”

  “And you won’t tell a soul?”

  “I won’t turn you in,” she said. “Your secret is safe.”

  He pulled her into his embrace, capturing her willing lips with a fierceness that took her completely by surprise.

  He groaned as he raised his head. “This is foolish. ” But he couldn’t seem to keep from caressing her . . . her throat . . . her bare shoulders. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her fragrance. She smelled of lavender and sunshine.

  “Richard.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Will I see you again? After tonight?” She wanted—needed—some reassurance that what was happening between them wasn’t a dream, but something special . . . something eternal.

  Kirsten felt him tense and experienced a pull in her stomach muscles. He released her and put a distance of a few feet between them. That he could do it so easily hurt.

  “Kirsten, nothing has changed since I left the mill. There’s still a war to be fought, and I have yet to find Alex’s killer.”

  “And then? After it’s over, and we’re all free?” She waited breathlessly for his answer.

  Richard shook his blond head. “I can’t say . . . can’t promise.”

  “You mean you won’t say.”

  His lips firmed.

  It would hurt to part on bad terms. What if she never saw him again? Her heart thumped. What if he died?

  She gazed at her beloved’s features . . . at tawny hair drawn back as was the style of most men . . . at the thin, white scar that ran across his forehead and disappeared from view.

  On impulse, she touched the scar and saw emotions flicker across his face. “How did you get it?” she asked. She ran her fingertips gently over the mended flesh.

  “Not in the war, but as a youth. Alex and I were fishing. I slipped on a wet rock and fell into the river. My head hit a tree stump that was buried under the water.” He looked rueful. “The cut was deep. My mother nearly suffered a bout of apoplexy when she saw me. My father—he had to stitch me up.”

  “Oh, dear,” Kirsten said. “Your poor moeder. I can understand why.” Without thought, she had continued to stroke his forehead, and now she caressed his cheek. She placed a finger against his lips.

  His mouth opened to kiss that dainty digit, and a bolt of desire struck in Kirsten’s nether regions, the sensation spiraling upward and out to every part of her body. Her nerve endings hummed with life; her skin tingled. Her breasts swelled, the nipples straining against her shift.

  “Richard . . .”

  “Yes, love?” He gazed at her from beneath lowered lids. His brown eyes appeared slumberous, glazed with passion.

  Kirsten wanted so badly to lie close to him, to feel his kisses searing her everywhere. She wanted to love him and have him love her in return.

  She remembered his mission, the danger involved in his work for the cause. “You will be careful?”

  He frowned. “Careful?”

  “Of the King’s men? Oh, Richard, I keep remembering the night I found you. That man who attacked you . . . the one with the disfigured face . . .”

  Richard froze. “You saw his face?”

  She nodded, and then realized that her description of his attack might in some way help him. “Yes, but only briefly. It was dark, but there was lightning. I saw him as he raised his musket to—” She caught b
ack a sob. “Oh, Richard, it was terrible!”

  He touched her cheek and gave her a tender smile. But there was still an air of tension about him, tension brought on by the knowledge that Kirsten had seen something of the man who’d attacked him. It had been dark. He’d been blinded by the rain. His own recollection of the event was hazy. Mostly, it was of pain.

  “What do you remember?”

  “Only that he was disfigured, horribly so. His face was twisted. His mouth seemed huge and pulled up at one side. He looked evil . . . dangerous.”

  Richard nodded. It wasn’t much to go on, but it helped to know that the man was disfigured. And the man knew Biv.

  Laughter filtered back to their secluded spot. Laughter and conversation. Richard studied the woman before him, sadly realizing that it was time for them to part. She’d been gone from the gathering for a while. Even now, she might be missed. Someone might be searching for her.

  “You must go back, love.”

  “Oh, no.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “Yes. Before you’re missed. Before I’m discovered.”

  “What about Hamilton? Shall I get him for you?”

  Richard shook his head. “There’s no time now. I’ll have to contact him later. I’ve been gone from camp too long myself. Greene and his men could be suspicious.”

  She leaned forward. He released her shoulders to draw her fully into his arms. The feel of her soft curves pressed against him was nearly his undoing. Suddenly, his mission seemed unimportant. The only thing he wanted to do was hold Kirsten, to bury himself deep inside her—to love her until the end of all time.

  But he couldn’t. He pushed her away. “Come. I’ll escort you back to the house.”

  Now that Kirsten knew the danger he was in simply by being here, she wanted him to leave quickly. She’d be all right without company on her way back.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll go alone.”

  “I insist.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  He glared at her. “Kirsten, I’ll not take no for an answer.”

  She sighed. It was pointless to argue with a stubborn man, to exchange words that might draw the attention of the very people Richard wanted to avoid.

  They returned the way they’d come, past the line of evergreens. Richard stopped at the edge of the garden, and pulled Kirsten into his arms.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered.

  She blinked and then did so. The warmth of his lips sent heat throughout all of her, and she pressed against him, wanting more from him, much more.

  He lifted his head, looked past her to the door of the house. Kirsten suddenly realized that while her response had been abandoned, genuine, his kiss had been controlled. She was irritated. Then a feeling of foreboding replaced her annoyance.

  “What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

  “Someone is at the door watching us.”

  Kirsten started to turn. “No!” he exclaimed in hushed tones. “Don’t move!”

  “But I must see—”

  “All right, then, but do so slowly. Pretend an interest in a bush or flower. I’ll turn first so you can get a look.”

  They changed positions by pretending to study a garden plant, and Kirsten glanced toward the house and saw the shadow at the door. The shadow changed as the man moved.

  “He’s coming this way,” Richard said. “Quick! Kiss me again.”

  Kirsten reacted instinctively, slipping into his arms as if she had been made to be there, which she believed she was. She knew she should tell Richard of her discovery. She had seen the man’s face as he’d stepped back into the light. It was Martin Hoppe, her cousin.

  They broke apart. Richard pulled her farther into the shadows. Her head reeled dizzily as he captured her mouth once again. She sensed the change in him as he devoured her lips, and she rejoiced in the knowledge that he, too, was caught up in the magic.

  She clung to his arms and felt his muscles tighten. He groaned as he came up for air and then returned to playing havoc with her lips, nose, cheeks, and chin. Taking her mouth, he deepened the intimacy of their kiss, parting her lips to stroke inside it with the tip of his tongue.

  In the heat of the moment, they forgot the war, forgot their surroundings. Passion reigned over all else. Kirsten moaned as Richard strung kisses down her throat to the valley between her breasts, paying special attention there. His damp breath seared her skin, her nipples tightened in response.

  He raised his head. His gaze holding hers, he cupped the curve of her bodice where her flesh throbbed and ached to burst free of linen and ruby silk. She gasped at the pressure, arching her back and thrusting her breast up and into his hand. She had the strongest wish that he’d tug all cloth from her pulsating bosom.

  A feminine giggle rent the air, making them spring apart. Kirsten blushed as she remembered Martin. Her cousin must have seen everything. Would he ask about the man in her arms? Would Martin condemn her for such a wanton, public display?

  Her gaze went to the house. Fortunately, Martin was gone. Had he gone back to the party before Richard’s kiss?

  There was no one at the door, but the giggle she’d heard sounded again. It came from the other side of the smokehouse on the other side of the garden. Apparently, some other female guest was dallying with a beau.

  “Go,” Richard said. His breath seemed loud in the surrounding night. “We shouldn’t have . . . I must leave. Go back inside.”

  “Richard . . .” Her eyes stung with tears. She didn’t want to say good-bye to him. She wanted to be with him, to follow wherever he led. The yearning in her heart warred with reason, and logic won in the end.

  “I love you,” she said. It was barely a whisper. A soft sound on a puff of air.

  He heard it. She saw that immediately. Emotion flamed in his deep russet eyes. “I—” He turned away and shook his head. Again, he faced her. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  And then he was gone into the night, and all that remained of him was the tingling imprint of his kiss and the masculine scent of him lingering on her clothes and skin.

  Kirsten headed toward the house, pausing once on her way to wipe away tears. By the time she reentered the front parlor, she was composed and smiling again.

  She searched for Martin and saw him chatting with their hostess, Theodosia. His gaze met hers across the room, and she tensed, expecting censure. She was startled to see Martin grin.

  Encouraged, yet still uncomfortable, she moved to his side.

  “Hallo, cousin,” he greeted her. “Enjoying the night air?”

  She nodded, feeling her face heat from the neck upward. Her blue eyes shot daggers at him.

  “Are you having a pleasant time, dear?” Theodosia inquired.

  “Yes, thank you, I am.” Kirsten pretended a sudden interest in another occupant of the room. Actually she looked at no one in particular, until a man came into her focus. The handsome gentleman was heading their way. He had eyes only for Theodosia.

  “Mrs. Prevost,” he said. “I believe this is our dance.”

  “Mr. Burr,” Mrs. Prevost murmured, and Kirsten saw Theodosia’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink. “I believe it is.”

  And with that their hostess left the cousins’ presence. Martin asked Kirsten to dance, and she agreed. The remainder of the evening passed quickly; and for a while, Kirsten was able to put Richard from her mind. But only for a short time. That night, tired from the party and the late hour, Kirsten climbed into bed, prepared to sleep.

  She dreamed of Richard Maddox.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Richard sat before the campfire, staring into the flames that crackled and spit with the dripping juice of roasting meat. Beside him, Merritt Abernathy tended the spit, turning the stick to cook the rabbit evenly. It was late, but that didn’t matter to Abernathy who always seemed to be hungry and never turned down an opportunity for food.

  “Where were you?” the Tory said to Richard. “I had a devil of a time convincing Gree
ne that you were out looking for a wench.”

  Facing the man, Richard grinned. “My thanks to you. In a way, I was. But not for him if that’s what he thinks. You know of the Hermitage and a Mrs. Prevost? I heard that she’s been doing a bit of entertaining lately.”

  “Patriots!” the man replied with a grimace. “Isn’t Washington staying at the Hermitage?”

  Richard nodded. “Did you ever get so close to fire as to dare it to burn you? That’s what I did.”

  Abernathy looked at him blankly.

  “I stood out back and stared at the bloody rebs through the window.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did.” Richard appeared smug. “Caught me an eye and an earful, too. Told Greene ’bout it when I got back. Overheard the rebel general’s going to leave Paramus soon . . . in a couple of days or so. It seems the troops are heading north. Thought it might make things easier for us if Greene was to know.”

  The Tory eyed him with respect. “Daring bloody bastard, aren’t ye.”

  A flash of white teeth was Richard’s only answer to him.

  Silence reigned between the men for a time. The only noises were the pops and hisses of the fire, the rustle of underbrush as some animal scurried in search of food.

  “Did I miss anything while I was gone?” Richard asked, managing to keep his tone light.

  Abernathy didn’t respond immediately. He rose up to poke a stick into the rabbit to see if the meat was done. It apparently wasn’t cooked enough for his taste, for he sat back with a look of impatience. “We ’eard of Randolph’s plans. It seems the King’s men need food supplies in New York, and we’re to be the ones to transport the goods.”

  “No joking? We’re going to New York?”

  The other man nodded. “As soon as the dear rebel general decides to leave. In a week’s time is my guess.”

  Richard whistled through his teeth. “A real challenge for us, eh?”

  Abernathy inclined his head.

  The other members of the Tory band were scattered about the forest clearing in various positions of repose. Greene had gone to meet William Randolph, the man who’d summoned the group to the area, to discuss plans further.

  Richard knew this type of smuggling operation well. He himself had been involved in the transportation of supplies, back in the early days of his enlistment, before Alex’s death.