Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution

by Adair, Suzanne

  The Spaniard signaled one of the slaves. "Mis pistoles para duelo." The slave bowed and strode from the patio.

  "Thank you, Don Antonio." Fairfax regarded Jacques. "Select your second, Monsieur." He gestured for one marine to join him and the others to withdraw. The slaves and Spaniards also withdrew from the patio to observe from a gallery.

  David gripped Jacques by the shoulder and, with Sophie trailing after, steered him to the opposite side of the patio. "You're mad, or you'd realize what you've gotten yourself into."

  Glory sparkled in the Frenchman's eyes. "Do you imagine this to be Jacques le Coeuvre's first duel with one of them?"

  "The Old War was over seventeen years ago!"

  "Au contraire. It has lasted since the dawn of time." Jacques gave him a tender smile. "And it gives me great honor to have you as my second, mon ami."

  David flushed, one of the few times in his life Sophie had ever seen him do so, and glanced across the patio at Fairfax's second. "He's waiting for me so we can pace out the field and draw lots. I'll be back." He left them.

  Jacques took Sophie's hand. "You know Fairfax is broken inside his head. The monster should not be suffered to live and visit terror on people. None will dispute me killing him here."

  She blinked back tears. "That's why you challenged him."

  "Oui. I have been waiting on a clear shot at the animal. If I fail, you and David must find a way to extinguish him."

  "I? Kill Fairfax?" Her hands began trembling. "It's far more likely to snow in Havana this moment!"

  "Find a way, or you will live to regret it." He gripped her hand. "You never told us what happened to you in Cow Ford, but it will seem miniscule in comparison."

  She tensed, grateful again for Lila and that bucket. Don Antonio's slave returned with powder, balls, and an ornate case containing dueling pistols. By then, David and the marine had measured ten full paces and cast lots. David would give the order to fire, but Fairfax had won the right to fire first.

  Determination etched Jacques's face. He drew a purse from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it into her hand. "In the event that I fail to exterminate that English pig, Don Antonio should have no difficulty giving me a decent burial with this."

  "Oh, no," she whispered. Having endured the death and resurrection of her father, she couldn't bear to lose Jacques. "No, Uncle Jacques!"

  He leaned closer, his voice almost inaudible. "I love Mathias as hopwiwa, son of my sister. Tell him so."

  Panic stormed through her soul. "No, you tell him so!"

  "It has done my old heart much good to know you two have finally found your way back together." He stroked her cheek and walked over to load his weapon.

  Tears closed her throat. Pale-faced, her brother returned to her side after embracing Jacques. She shoved the purse at him. "Here. He wants a decent burial."

  David compressed his lips and fit Jacques's purse inside his waistcoat. Then he guided her off the patio near one of the marines. "Wait here until it's over." She nodded, voice gone.

  Pistols cocked, Jacques and Fairfax took their stations. David, at the edge of the patio equidistant from them, cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, are you prepared?"

  "Oui."

  "Yes."

  David took a deep breath. "Present!"

  Both pistols came up and aimed. Jacques's fire answered Fairfax's with but a half-second delay, yet through clearing smoke, Sophie saw only Jacques collapse.

  Denial ripped from her throat. "No!" She flew from the gallery and knelt at the Frenchman's side, David crouching opposite her.

  Crimson heart blood seared through the hole in the left upper section of Jacques's waistcoat. His eyes searched the sky through the clear green of overhead leaves, and his voice emerged raspy. "Est-ce que le Québec est le nôtre?"

  Sophie didn't know how David kept his voice steady for the response: "Oui, mon ami, le Québec est le nôtre." Yes, my friend, Quebec is ours.

  Joy buoyed Jacques's expression. His gaze still fixed on the sky, he took a deep breath, as if reaching for something. Then his entire body relaxed, and his eyes glazed over. Clear green and burning crimson.

  Sophie bowed her head, closed her eyes, and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. Too soon, she heard the scraping of multiple boot soles around them on the stones of the patio. When she opened her eyes to look at Jacques's peaceful expression, her peripheral vision encompassed that ominous pair of cleaned, black boots. Fleeting impulse urged her to dull the shine with her own spittle.

  David rose, his voice detached and firm. "Monsieur le Coeuvre requested that he receive a decent burial with this."

  Coins jingled. "Of course, Señor," said Don Antonio.

  David walked around Jacques's body and assisted Sophie to her feet. The marines encircled them again, Don Alejandro standing aside with Don Antonio. Fairfax turned to Don Alejandro. "If you and your attendants will proceed to your volanta, it will be my great honor to escort you safely to your meeting with Mr. St. James and le Comte Dusseau."

  "Gracias, capitán." Fanatics, the Rightful Blood. Even surrounded by Britons, they'd attempt to kill alliance members.

  "Don Antonio, I thank you again and regret that this action has delayed our departure. We shall leave now, that you may mourn your nephew in peace."

  Fed up with the sham, Sophie glared at Don Antonio. "Mourn? I doubt you'll shed one tear for your nephew. He disappointed you. He bungled an ambush on a rebel and French spy so badly, your own assassin had to kill him." The Spaniard's face blanched. Fairfax gazed at her in amazement, then with an intensity she didn't want to consider.

  "The overall scheme was brilliant. Use the Gálvez name to lure alliance members to Havana and execute them. But then these Britons showed up." Fairfax stiffened, and the Spaniard worked his mouth in rage. "To preserve your cover as a loyal Spaniard, dedicated to the alliance with France, you pretend to believe Lieutenant Fairfax's story and hand us over to them so they can execute us. Do the Gálvez support Casa de la Sangre Legítima, or did you merely steal their name for your purposes?"

  Don Antonio's voice hissed. "How dare you speak to me that way!"

  Fairfax shoved David. "Take them outside!"

  Marines closed around Sophie and David and marched them to where the volantas parked in the street. While everyone waited for Don Alejandro and his four bodyguards to situate themselves in their volanta, Sophie looked across the street to the mariners' church.

  The front door opened. Out walked Miguel de Arriaga. The commotion piqued his curiosity, and upon closer attention, he made eye contact with both Sophie and her brother. She watched the way his gaze landed on the proximity of the soldiers. From his initial expression, he realized that they had been taken prisoner. From the subsequent emotion on his face, she could almost read his thoughts: None of my business. Portugal is neutral.

  Damn.

  Arriaga's eyes bulged at the sight of Fairfax, and his gaze clambered over the lieutenant's Continental uniform. The last time the capitão had seen Dunstan Fairfax, he'd been a redcoat standing on the deck of the Zealot, anchored off St. Augustine. Once again, Arriaga's expression composed into, "No, Portugal is neutral." However it took more of a struggle getting there that time.

  Damn.

  Fairfax jutted his jaw toward the Spaniard's volanta. "Habersham, ride in the third carriage with Don Alejandro for his protection. Jones, McDonald, McCoy, ride with Mr. St. James in the second carriage. Mrs. Barton and I shall ride in her carriage up front. The rest of you bring up the rear."

  Panic sliced frost through Sophie. Fairfax planned to be alone with her in the volanta. Jacques's reminder about the incident at Cow Ford spun through her head, and she knew it was time to play the card she possessed. She allowed cold fury to elevate her voice. "You have lost your wits if you think I will willingly ride alone with you in that carriage. You tried to force me in Cow Ford!"

  Wrath congested David's face. He took a step toward Fairfax. "Why, you son of a dog —" />
  "Gag him," snapped Fairfax. "No — bind and gag both of them." He rubbed his temple as if a headache brewed there. Then he produced a conciliatory smile that made Sophie wonder whether his lip muscles had ever attempted such a gesture. "Mr. St. James, I assure you that I'm of entirely human stock."

  David snarled when the gag came around his mouth. "If you touch my sistmmmflngmth —"

  "And I also assure you that I've never harmed your sister."

  Two marines half-dragged and half-shoved a glaring David toward one of the volantas. Fairfax pushed the lace veil off Sophie's head and onto her shoulders to make room for her gag, which he whisked from the marine in attendance and wrapped and knotted himself. Then he snatched rope from the marine and yanked her arms behind her back.

  With her voice silenced and her hands being tied behind her, she watched honor and determination flood Arriaga's face. No longer was the predicament about Portugal's neutrality in the American War.

  Just before Fairfax propelled her toward their volanta, she had the satisfaction of seeing the Portuguese slip away to the east. Silent. Sneaky.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  FAIRFAX JERKED OPEN the door to the volanta, whamming it into the carriage body. The driver yelled imaginative conjectures about Fairfax's parentage, accompanied with hand gestures guaranteed to transcend the language barrier. Fairfax shoved Sophie. "In there." She stumbled. Scowling, he heaved her in.

  Her impact on the floor shook loose her left garter and popped open her jacket, exposing her shift. Since the irate driver consumed Fairfax's attention, she squirmed and attempted to make her bosom look less inviting while being treated to Fairfax's communication skills: "No hablo Español bueno. Vamos — what's that you say? See here, I don't give a damn what your mother eats with sailors. Vamos to the harbor — uh, la puerto, no, damnation, it's el puerto, you lazy lump, you know exactly what I mean, so make it so! And rápidamente!"

  He leaped in and slammed the door. "Imbeciles." The volanta swung into the street, pitching him atop her, his face in her petticoat, his hat knocked off.

  When he struggled up and assessed her disarray, she focused on loose trim above the door. Quiet descended on her. The ride to Havana harbor could take ten minutes, more than enough time for Fairfax to finish what he'd started in Cow Ford. Bound and gagged, she saw no point in exhausting herself with struggle.

  He pushed up and slid the veil off her shoulders. After taking a seat and peering out the window, he replaced his hat. Then he studied her, snaking lace between his fingers. "How courageous you look lying there half-naked. From the expression on your face, you're resigned to the inevitability of violation." He brushed lace on his lips and cheek. "Many goodwives approach the marital bed with the same attitude." He silkened his voice. "Does that make it truly rape, then?"

  His gift for contorting reality went with his broken head. A pothole jolted the volanta, jamming her jaws together.

  In her peripheral vision, he cocked his head. "What the devil are you staring at? Ah, that loose piece of trim. Come now, I must be more interesting to look at." With his forefinger, he prodded the hat into a jaunty angle. "Don't I make a dashing rebel? Oh, pardon me, you're patriots, not rebels. That makes us the oppressive, tyrannical brutes — never mind that we represent the lawful government."

  Her right shoulder throbbed against the floor. The gag made her jaw ache. She concentrated on the trim. In no way must she appear to agree with Fairfax about the rebels, even though she did agree. He'd twist her interpretation until she lost confidence in her ability to reason. Besides, if he'd wanted her opinion, he'd have removed her gag.

  "Your brother's imagination amazes me. Such a masterful conjecture about the frigate and the Zealot. The two actually collided during that wretched storm. Naturally both lost men, but we gained the frigate. The Yankee Doodle Navy makes for such splendid humor. Warships are a waste of your money."

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Here, now, I suppose you're wondering about Major Hunt."

  Her focus on the trim broke. Edward represented the three-week-long nightmare's anchor of sanity on the redcoat end. Were she his prisoner, the fear of rape would never have clutched her heart. In question and hope, she transferred her attention to Fairfax.

  He sprawled back and fondled the lace some more. "Of course you're wondering about him. But don't squander your energy doing so."

  Blast. He'd lured her into that trap. She yanked her focus back to the trim, her self-confidence as jarred as her shoulder.

  He draped the veil across his thighs, set his hat on the seat beside him, and indulged in a stretch that popped joints. "Since I'm the villain, I'm entitled to review a villain's repertoire of measures I might take with a captive to ensure submission. How long do you suppose it'll take us to reach the harbor? Eight minutes? Alas, that isn't enough time. I shouldn't have said rápidamente." With the toe of his boot, he nudged her petticoat up a few inches to reveal her naked calf. "What's the Spanish word for slowly, Sophie? S-l-o-w-l-y." He slithered the edge of the veil over the tender skin behind her knee. Revulsion rode a wave through her. "Is it lentamente? How much might I have to pay the driver to make this ride last two hours? You and I have unfinished business."

  He wadded up the veil, flopped back with a sigh, and slapped his forehead. "Damn, what's gotten into me? It must be the sight of you lying there half-naked that made me forget about our rendezvous with your father and Dusseau. This has all come together in such splendid fashion. Those two have been skulking about Havana between the harbor and the Church of Saint Teresa. I imagine seeing you and your brother bound and gagged in the company of Continental marines will be sufficient to speed them our way and clear up misunderstandings. We shall all return to the Colonies, then all of you shall make the acquaintance of the gallows. Why do I get the impression you aren't paying attention to me?"

  Church bells pealed the quarter hour. After laying the veil beside his hat, Fairfax lifted her to the opposite seat with gentleness. He pulled up her stocking and refastened her garter. Then he straightened out her petticoat and brushed dirt and dried grass off it. "Darling, I've a job to perform, and I'd dearly love your cooperation. How it would predispose me in your favor if you helped me." The soft, damp kiss he dropped on her bare chest above the top of her shift sent her skin crawling.

  "The five in that carriage behind us expect to thwart nine of the king's finest and kill your father and Dusseau. Cheeky of them, eh?" He loosened her gag, lowered it, and nuzzled her ear. "Intelligent women enthrall me. I was bewitched when you flung Hernandez's Rightful Blood connection in his face. Questioning the Gálvez involvement was a brilliant stroke. That's one family I'd love to topple — ah, but for some solid evidence against them. By the by, the two assassins arrived here late yesterday. I wager you've an idea where they are this very moment."

  If she'd known El Serpiente's whereabouts, she'd have felt far better herself. Still, she saw no reason to inform Fairfax of her Havana encounter with him. From all she'd experienced, the assassin might accidentally help her escape Fairfax. She worked her mouth. "Is that the only piece you haven't figured out yet?"

  He ran his tongue around the outside of her ear. "Allow me to explain. I ask the questions, and you answer them." He caressed his cheek across her bosom, the heat of his hands enclosing her ribcage. His breathing hoarsened with arousal. "Where are the assassins?"

  Her stomach knotted at the prickle of saliva on her ear and the pressure of his hands on her waist. "We last encountered them Sunday night, on Abaco. The captain captured one of them, but he escaped."

  Fairfax sat up and stared, his hand on her waist. "Abaco?"

  She wiped her ear with her shoulder and scooted away. "The storm blew us there. We stayed for two days repairing the brig."

  He reeled her against him, fascination sparking his eyes. "I enjoy your lies." He brushed his lips over her lower lip, and she jammed her jaw shut. "It isn't that your skills at deception are lacking, you enchanting co
quette. It's knowing that you lie to play with me. You're just as eager as I to consummate what we started back in that barn —"

  "Damn you! I told you the truth about the cipher at my home that Sunday night, and you didn't believe me then, either."

  "You lied to me in Cow Ford."

  "You don't want my cooperation. You want to push me about."

  "My, how you hate me for executing the French spy, despite how merciful I was. He hardly suffered at all, belle Sophie."

  Tears stung her eyes. She turned her head and blinked them away. How wicked, to taunt her about Jacques.

  "We should all be that lucky. Some live lives of so violent a nature that we court violent ends, often even sobbing for death to release us from the torment our souls earn for our bodies. Considering the life le Coeuvre led, he was one of the fortunate ones." His hand around her jaw, he forced her face to his. "I gave him the glorious end he wanted, and I made it merciful and quick just for you. Thank me."

  Did Fairfax believe her head was as broken as his? "Hell shall freeze first."

  He smiled, his tone tranquil. "I said, thank me." His fingers trailed down her neck and over her collarbone, pausing to cup her left breast through the fabric of her shift. Then he lowered his mouth to her breast and rooted for her nipple. She'd imagined enduring rape, perhaps even battery, with passive resistance: her body limp, her soul closed off from her body and unsurrendered. But when his teeth teased her nipple out to an aching point, her womb quivered in response, and she gagged with horror. Her body wouldn't cooperate in passive resistance. She could no more close off her soul than she could control the moon. He pulled back, gloating. "You're so welcome, darling."

  Nauseated, she looked at the piece of trim again, unable to block out his smile. He brought her jacket together and fastened it closed. "Shall I leave off the gag? You must promise to keep quiet after we arrive at the harbor."

  The gag tasted foul and hurt her jaw. Beneath the shift and jacket, her nipple relaxed into the humidity deposited by his mouth. "I — I promise."