Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  His fierce authority transformed the men from a mob to soldiers under discipline. Callie’s captor released her and backed away, sputtering, “Your wife? But . . . but she said she’s a widow!”

  Keeping his pistol pointed at the corporal, who seemed to be the leader, Gordon stepped up to Callie and crushed her to him with his free arm as he murmured into her hair, “Play along with me, Catkin!”

  As he’d hoped, using his private nickname convinced her it really was her old friend. Her rigid figure softened and she wrapped her arms around him as she cried, “Dear God in heaven, my love, I thought you were dead!”

  She dissolved into wrenching sobs. He was pleased to see that her embrace didn’t interfere with his grip on the pistol. Callie had always had the quickest wits in Lancashire. Her silky hair was scented with smoke and lavender.

  One arm circling her waist, he gazed over her head—they used to be close to the same height—and gave the soldiers his most furiously intimidating gaze. “I’m Lord George Audley and I have been separated from my wife because I was risking my life on the king’s business. It’s an utter outrage to find her being mauled by British soldiers! I might have expected that of Americans, but royal soldiers? You’re a disgrace to the uniform you wear!”

  The corporal stammered, “Sorry, sir, but there was an attack from her house. Killed General Ross’s horse, wounded several men. When we broke in to find the shooters, she was holding a pistol and looked like she knew what to do with it.”

  “The pistol I gave you to defend yourself, sweetheart?” he asked, keeping his gaze and his weapon fixed on the corporal.

  Callie nodded and pulled away a little. “Yes,” she said in a trembling voice, “but I didn’t fire it. One shot wouldn’t save me, and I couldn’t bear to think of how the poor lad’s mother would feel to learn her son was dead.”

  Gordon bared his teeth at the soldiers. “This is the woman you wanted to rape and murder! You should bloody well be ashamed of yourselves!”

  Her voice a little stronger, she pointed at the corporal. “He has my pistol, and I want it back.” Her voice quavered. “It’s the only thing I have left that you gave me. That, and my wedding ring.” She raised her left hand and torchlight glinted from the gold band on her third finger. His Callie had always had a great sense of theater.

  The shamefaced corporal stepped forward and offered the pistol, butt first. “Sorry, ma’am, but you looked guilty as sin.”

  “Well, she isn’t!” Gordon brushed a kiss on her hair. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to endure this, love, but now I’ll take you home to England where you’ll be safe. We can set sail tonight.”

  “Not without the children!” she exclaimed.

  He blinked. Children? Considering that she’d been married at sixteen, the existence of children shouldn’t be a surprise, but it was a reminder of how many years had passed since they’d last seen each other. “Of course not. I assumed you sent them to safety. Where are they?”

  “Baltimore.”

  Wonderful, her children were in a city that would soon have half the Royal Navy laying siege to it while Ross’s army invaded by land. But even an old bachelor knew that children were nonnegotiable.

  He gave her a reassuring squeeze. She was extremely squeezable. “Then we shall go to Baltimore and bring them home with us so we can be a family again.”

  Raising his gaze to the soldiers, he said coolly, “I understand that you were angry because General Ross could have been killed, but he wasn’t, and it’s time you rejoined his troops and helped burn that great government building at the end of this road. Now go!”

  Happy that Gordon wasn’t intending to tell Ross about their bad behavior, the soldiers jogged off after the other troops as quickly as exhausted men could manage.

  Gordon kept his arm around Callie as the soldiers disappeared from sight. She was shaking a little, and no wonder. He felt shaky himself, both from shock at finding her and horror at the danger she’d been in. Rape was one of the oldest and ugliest parts of war, and he shuddered at what might have happened if he’d been a few minutes later.

  She raised her head to speak, but before she could, an older woman appeared from the side street, her worried face illuminated by the light from the burning house. “Oh, my dear Catherine, your beautiful home! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”

  Callie stepped from his embrace to accept the woman’s comforting hug. “Richard, this is my friend Mrs. Turner. She’s been a very good neighbor to me.” Callie turned bleak eyes on the inferno of her house. “I’m much better than I might have been, Edith, but . . . I’d hoped to prevent this sort of destruction.”

  “I saw the shooters running out of your kitchen. Flotilla men, I think. Brave fighters, but I’m so sorry they chose your house for their attack!” Mrs. Turner switched her interested gaze to Gordon. “This is really your husband whom you’d thought dead?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gordon gave the older woman a half bow. “Lord George Gordon Richard Augustus Audley at your service.”

  “Goodness!” Mrs. Turner blinked at the string of names. “Doesn’t that make you Lady George Audley, my dear?”

  Callie gave a lopsided smile. “This is America, so using a British courtesy title seemed out of place. Not to mention a bit pretentious for a dressmaker.”

  Shouts and shots were heard in the distance. Mrs. Turner frowned. “We need to get inside. Heaven only knows what kind of men are blustering around Washington now! Come to my house. You need food and a safe place to spend the night. You’ll have to share a room, but I don’t expect you’ll mind that.”

  “No, ma’am. You’re right that we need to go to ground for the night.” Gordon gave Callie a fond glance. “We have much to talk about, my dear.”

  “How long has it been since you saw each other?” Mrs. Turner asked.

  Callie sighed. “It seems like forever. Thank you for the offer, Edith, but you already have a full house. We can spend the night in the guesthouse at the back of my property.”

  Edith frowned. “Are you sure, dear? It’s not much more than a shack.”

  “Yes, but it’s a familiar, comfortable shack.” And Callie yearned for it now. “However, I’d appreciate some food and drink if you can spare some. Bread and cheese and perhaps some of your lovely lemonade would be wonderful.”

  “I’ll send a basket over right away.” Edith hugged her again. “As dreadful as this night has been, at least your children and servants are safe and your husband is alive! Try to sleep, child. You look exhausted.”

  “I am, but with my husband here, I know all will be well.” As Edith returned to her home, Callie said, “This way, Richard.”

  She guided him into a thicket of shrubbery behind her gardens, lit by the flames of her burning house. “The guesthouse was originally slave quarters, but there are no slaves in my household. It’s private and surrounded by trees so it’s far cooler than Edith’s attic. There’s also a stable for your horse. It’s empty now because my horses took the family to Baltimore, but there’s water and fodder available.”

  “You have more land than I guessed from seeing the front of the house,” Gordon observed as he collected the reins of his very patient horse and followed Callie onto a garden path that led back into the trees. The brick pathway was well illuminated by the light of the fire, though the flames were beginning to die down. “I’m glad we’ll have the privacy since we have so much to talk about.”

  He couldn’t wait to find out how Callie had come to be here. After that, he and his alleged wife needed to coordinate their lies.

  * * *

  While Richard stabled and tended his horse, Callie retrieved the key to the guesthouse from under one of the flowerpots that flanked the front door. It was a relief to go inside. The cottage was small, with a sitting room holding a battered sofa and chairs, and a cramped bedroom with a washstand, cupboard, and a double bed pushed against one wall. A tiny alcove off the sitting room was set up as a kitchen.

&nb
sp; The furnishings were simple and the kitchenware was mismatched pieces from the main house, but the whitewashed walls, polished pine floors, and pleasantly faded rag rugs were soothing. A water pump was mounted on the counter and basic items like tea and sugar were kept in the kitchen. There was even wood laid in the small fireplace, not that anyone would want a fire on an August night in Washington.

  As she lit a lamp, she tried to steady her churning nerves. Losing her home and business was shattering, but her children and closest friends were safe, at least for now, which was a blessing beyond price.

  Wonderful but most disorienting of all was the discovery that the dearest friend of her childhood was not dead but alive, shockingly handsome, and once more playing the role of her rescuer. But how the devil had he appeared in such a timely fashion?

  As Callie was opening windows to let in fresh air, one of Edith’s maids and a male escort arrived with a generous basket of food and drink. Callie was investigating the contents when Richard entered carrying his saddlebags.

  In his beautifully tailored blue coat, buckskins, fine white linen, and polished boots, he looked ready to ride with a lady through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. He set the saddlebags by the door, then peeled off his coat, cravat, and boots. Now he looked like a gentleman in a lady’s boudoir: broad shouldered and beautiful and intensely masculine. She found herself staring and forced her gaze back to the food basket.

  “Very pleasant and indeed fairly cool,” he said as he scanned the room. “Lucky this cottage was tucked out of sight back here. Do you have guests often?”

  “Almost never, but I like the sound of ‘guest cottage’ much better than ‘old slave quarters.’ This is more a retreat for privacy. Sometimes I’d work here when I wanted quiet or just to be alone. My servants, Sarah and Joshua, are married, and occasionally they’d stay here for a private night.” She sliced bread and cheese and ham and laid the food out on a chipped platter so they could help themselves.

  Lastly, she produced a bottle of red wine. “Edith is generous. Can you open this? There are various utensils in the drawer in the kitchen and glasses in the cabinet below.”

  “Wine seems like a very good idea now.” He followed her instructions and opened the wine, then poured it into two mismatched glass tumblers. He handed her one, then clinked his glass to hers. “To survival!”

  “To survival,” she echoed before swallowing. Despite being half dressed, Richard was every inch the English gentleman, yet unnervingly . . . physical. Hard to ignore.

  And in true gentlemanly fashion, he pulled out a battered wooden chair for her at the kitchen table. “Will my lady have a seat?”

  She laughed as she settled with a flounce of blue skirts. “Those manners that were drilled into us as children never go away, do they?”

  “We can ignore those lessons when we choose, but we never forget them,” he agreed as he sat opposite her and began to assemble a cheese and ham sandwich. When he was done, he handed it to her. “And very useful manners can be in convincing other people that one is well bred even if battered and wearing rags.”

  “You’ve had to do that?” she asked curiously.

  “Oh, yes,” he said with a grin that was pure boyish mischief as he made a second sandwich for himself.

  Callie had hardly eaten for the last few days, and she found now that she was ravenous. After two sandwiches and a second glass of wine, she felt ready to face whatever came next. She rose, saying, “Please excuse me a moment while I become as cool as is practical.”

  “Of course.” Richard politely got to his feet, once more demonstrating his excellent manners. “Brutal heat you have here. It’s a strong argument for returning to England.”

  She made a face. “Washington is as hot as Jamaica without the sea breeze. But it all balances out because winter can be seriously cold, snowy, and icy.” She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door, then took off her gown and stays. She heard a crunch from the direction of her house and guessed it was the collapse of a charred beam. Strange that the fire still burned so close while she was in a very different world.

  She wouldn’t think about the house. Her life had changed with shattering suddenness twice before, and she’d learned that there was no point in looking back. Looking forward was the way to survive.

  That morning, she’d chosen garments that fastened in the front so she could manage on her own. It was a relief to strip off the layers of clothing and her shoes and stockings. Her cool, muslin chemise would make a good nightgown.

  She kept a hairbrush and comb in the bedroom cupboard, so she took them into the sitting room and sank into a chair. Though she couldn’t bathe, brushing the tangles from her hair would make her feel more civilized.

  Richard was gazing out a window, but he turned when she came back. “From what I can see on the skyline, there are several large fires burning in other parts of the city. Probably government buildings, but despite the attack from your house, General Ross is apparently leaving most private homes untouched.”

  She sighed. “Why was I so lucky as to be chosen by the American attackers when there are so many houses empty?”

  “If I was a sniper, I’d look for a house that is solid, right on the route where my enemy will be marching, and preferably unoccupied. They might have thought the house was empty if you were lying low, so you were just very unlucky,” he said sympathetically.

  It was a day of both bad and good luck, actually. She studied Richard as he stood with his back to the window. He was achingly familiar, but at the same time a stranger. The lantern light sketched his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his lean powerful build. His hair had darkened a little, but he was still strikingly blond, and the softer features of youth had become refined to sculpted male beauty.

  Like her, Richard had stripped down as far as he could, which meant drawers and a loosened shirt falling over his hips, and bare feet. Barely decent. She tried not to stare at the triangle of bare skin at his throat. Blond hairs glinted golden in the lamplight.

  Now that they’d settled into the cottage and eaten, she was uneasily aware of his unnerving masculinity. Though her friend Richard would never have hurt her, she wasn’t as sure about Lord George Audley, who had been busy with the king’s business and had cowed a mob of angry soldiers by sheer force of personality.

  Deciding it was best to tackle the issue head on, she said, “It’s odd. On the one hand, I feel that I know you as well as myself, yet at the same time, you are a stranger. It’s easy to understand how you terrified those soldiers with just a few words.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a knack one acquires when commanding men, which I’ve done as needed.” He leaned against the frame of the window and crossed his arms across his chest. “I feel the same. Here is the person who was once my best friend, whom I haven’t seen in half a lifetime. Which of us shall speak first about all the years since we last saw each other?”

  “We’ll take turns because there is so much ground to cover. First and most important, I’m really curious about how you came to be alive. I still don’t quite believe it.” Callie started brushing the ends of her hair, working her way up carefully in case she hit more tangles.

  “What did you hear that made you believe I was dead?” he asked curiously.

  “Not long after I reached Jamaica, my father wrote that you’d died of some horrid disease on the prison ship carrying you to Botany Bay.” She’d wept bitter tears of grief and guilt. Those feelings had subsided in time, but never disappeared.

  “Such a charming man, your father.” Richard unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up. His forearms were powerful and also lightly dusted with gold.

  Wishing she wasn’t so aware of his physicality, she resumed brushing her hair, which gave her an excuse to drop her gaze. “He took great pleasure in telling me that lie.”

  “He might have thought he was telling the truth. Transportation ships are only a cut above slavers,” he said dispassionately. “Disease swept t
hrough the vessel I was on and many sailors were casualties. Because I stayed healthy and had some sailing experience, the captain drafted me as a seaman. I proved useful and he developed a certain fondness for me.” He grinned. “My good manners, you know.”

  Her brows arched. “So you convinced him you were an innocent young gentleman who had been tragically transported by an enemy?”

  “I told him the truth, which wasn’t far from that,” Richard replied. “I don’t know if you ever heard, but I was convicted of kidnapping you and stealing my own horse, which technically belonged to my father. So the charges were trumped up to get rid of me, but not entirely wrong.”

  “I can see my father taking pleasure in concocting the charges,” she said, feeling sickened. “Your father didn’t object?”

  “I don’t know how fond my father was of any of his five sons, but he considered an heir necessary and didn’t mind having a few spares. But me he hated,” Richard said bluntly. “I look just like my mother, whom he first loved, then detested. As long as I was around, I was a reminder of her unfaithfulness. He wanted me dead.”

  “How dreadful!” Callie closed her eyes, feeling the pain that he wouldn’t allow into his voice. “Back then, I didn’t realize how complicated your situation was.”

  “I couldn’t talk about it then, not even to you,” he said calmly. “But it was a lifetime ago. I knew Lord Kingston hated me, so his behavior was no great shock. I decided I had to stay alive just to spite him. When the transportation ship reached Sydney Harbor, the captain looked the other way while I dived overboard and swam to shore. He must have listed my name among the casualties with burial at sea. No further explanations were needed.”

  She tried to imagine all he wasn’t saying. The voyage must have been appalling. “How did you survive and make your way back to England?”

  “That’s a long and complicated story that can wait for another day. Suffice it to say that I worked my way around the globe, which took much time and many detours. And here I am.” He smiled wryly. “Could either of us have imagined such a scene fifteen years ago?”