Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

  Inside were narrow halls with numerous doors lining them. The air felt dank and smelled of paper and men, not surprising, since there were men in abundance around. It was a Thursday, most of the Admiralty staff in attendance, though probably not as many as had occupied the place in time of war. Still, Ariel felt intimidated by the blue-and-gold-jacketed officers, despite her familiarity with everything Navy.

  And nobody spared her a glance.

  She felt a bit miffed about that. After all, it wasn't as if she looked that boyish. Then she reminded herself that she should be grateful no one gave her more than a passing glance. The realization caused her steps to become more bold, the freedom the breeches provided feeling rather scandalous and wonderful.

  "Turn here," Reggie instructed.

  They turned left down a hall with doors on either side of it—some open, some closed—then climbed up two flights of steps to the third floor. Apparently, no one thought it odd to see a secretary, a young lad and an officer, though more than one person gave Nathan a passing glance. 'Twas the scar, no doubt, Ariel thought. The thing made him look rather dashing and dangerous, like an officer just come back from war, the hat beneath his arm completing the image.

  "Here," Reggie said, stopping before a door.

  Her heart sped up again. They stood in a long hall, windows to their left, a row of doors to their right, all of which were closed. It appeared deserted and little used, dots of dust dancing upon lazy air currents, the windows dull for lack of cleaning. Reggie felt inside his pocket, and when that turned up nothing, searched the other.

  "Damnation, I forgot my keys." He faced them. "Let me fetch another set from my office. You two wait here." He took a step, stopped, turned back to them. "Do not move. And if anyone asks you a question, Ariel, you stay quiet. Mr. Trevain, you say you're waiting for me."

  Ariel nodded, Nathan did nothing more than cross his arms. Reggie kept his gaze fixed upon him for a long moment, shooting him a look of warning, before he swiveled on his heels and left, his steps angry on the hardwood floor.

  "We should go with him," Nathan said.

  "No," Ariel contradicted him, reaching out to stop him. "He will be back in a moment."

  Nathan looked at her hand. She dropped it, though she had to force herself to do so. Suddenly she felt a bit intimidated by her surroundings. Or was it the look on Nathan's face? It had hardened since their arrival. His demeanor was that of a callous soldier. Gone was the lover who'd told her he'd wanted her; in his place stood a man who looked the part of a warrior.

  "I do not trust him," he said.

  "Whyever not?"

  "Because he is British."

  "So am I."

  He met her gaze, his eyes a smoky gray. "Yes, you are."

  They lapsed into silence, Ariel feeling her pulse beat faster as she garnered the courage to ask a question she'd never dared ask before. "Nathan, why do you hate the English so?"

  "One of your captains stole my brother."

  "Yes, I know, but there is more than that. Your hatred runs deep. I can tell."

  "Oh? Are you a soothsayer? Did you, perhaps, inherit gypsy skills from your mother?"

  She stiffened at the mention of her mother. "You are being rude."

  "And you are being impertinent in asking such a question."

  "Yet I notice you have not answered it."

  His jaw tightened, so did his lips. His eyes grew as tough as steel.

  She touched his arm, the urge uncontrollable. His muscles were stiff beneath the wool jacket. "What is it, Nathan? What has hurt you so?"

  He drew away. "You imagine things, Ariel."

  "Do I?" she asked. "I wonder. And I wonder why you will not answer the question."

  "I have already answered," he snapped, his face turning more hard, more cold, his eyes warning her away. "I told you 'tis because of my brother."

  "And I know 'tis more than that."

  "You know nothing—"

  A door closed at the end of the hall. Both Nathan and Ariel stiffened. A man came toward them, the sound of his boots echoing off the floor. He gave them a curious glance before passing. Ariel breathed a sigh of relief.

  "You were saying?" she asked.

  "I was saying you'd best drop the subject."

  "No," Ariel found herself disagreeing. "You owe me an explanation, Nathan Trevain. I have put everything aside to help you. Everything. My integrity. My honesty. My loyalty to my country." She suddenly found herself angry. "You intended to use me, then you went and kidnapped me. You have been mean to me, rude to me, threatened me. And still— still—I put aside my prejudices to help. You could at least tell me why it is you refuse to do the same." She turned, stomped to the window. The street below was a long way down.

  A hand upon her shoulder startled her.

  "You are correct," he said.

  She refused to face him. He turned her around, and she was surprised to see he looked genuinely contrite. "I am a cad and a bounder and all those other things you've called me."

  "You are," she agreed, looking into eyes gone silver in the afternoon light.

  "Sometimes it's hard for a man to forget the past."

  She tilted her chin, refusing to let him see how much he'd hurt her by not answering.

  Hurt her? As if he had the power. He did not, she told herself.

  "As hard as it is for a woman to forget, no doubt," she said.

  His eyes softened. "No doubt."

  She turned back to the window. Where was Reggie? Gracious, but she wished they could leave.

  "I was betrayed by a woman."

  She stiffened.

  "An English woman. A spy, sent from London to track me down." His hand dropped to his side. His voice was low as he told her the tale. This time it was his turn to stare out the window. "She came to Virginia in 1778. I'd been performing my duties as a spy for two years." He shot her a glance. "My ability to mimic a British officer is exemplary."

  She had no doubt it was. Even now he looked every inch the part.

  "I had no idea that my reputation had reached across the ocean or that they would feel threatened enough by me to send someone to stop me." This time when he turned to face her, he touched his scar. "She almost did."

  She gasped. "She did that to you?"

  "Aye."

  No wonder he had been so angry on discovering her deceit. No doubt he'd thought her cut from the same cloth.

  "But that is not the worst of it."

  She searched his eyes, looking for a clue as to what could possible be worse.

  "She'd gotten close to me by becoming more than a"—he searched for the right word—"friend."

  "Did you love her?" she asked, obviously understanding what he meant. Though she didn't look shocked by the admission, she was obviously repulsed.

  "I did."

  "You did," she repeated, turning away to stare out of the window. "I'm sorry for that, Nathan. I know how it is to think someone loves you only to find out they don't love you in return."

  Aye. She must, but she had become a better person for the betrayal, he thought, whereas he had become bitter and hard.

  "She left the colonies, thinking she had killed me."

  "And you let her go on thinking that?"

  "I let the English go on thinking that. It served my purpose. She was after information I had in my possession. With the British thinking me dead, they no longer pursued me. I ended up taking the information to my superiors, information that ultimately resulted in the your countrymen's defeat at Cowpens. But the ball she struck me with ended my career as a spy, for I could not effectively disguise my face. So I suppose in the end they got what they wanted. I wasn't dead, but my career was over."

  "And that angered you," she stated matter-of-factly.

  "It turned me bitter," he found himself admitting. "I wanted revenge against your kind. I joined the militia, fought in hand-to-hand combat. That is where I truly learned to hate everything British, for the tactics were brutal. Women and
children were killed, houses burned. I did my best to take out as many of the bastards as I could. 'Tis where I got the rest of my scars."

  If she seemed repulsed or upset that he'd killed her fellow countrymen, she didn't show it. Instead she turned toward him, her face unreadable. He found himself unable to look away from those golden eyes. Found himself wanting to pull her into his arms, to hold her as the images of war and what it'd been like to fight faded.

  "You did what was necessary, Nathan. War is never pretty, never black and white, never cut and dried. That people must die sometimes in their fight for freedom is a fact that cannot be denied. I applaud your country for taking the steps necessary to become independent."

  He stared down at her in shock, in utter disbelief, in wonder. She amazed him with her total honesty.

  "Ariel, I—"

  His words were cut off by the sound of footsteps. Many footsteps. They both turned. Nathan stiffened.

  "Do not move," said a uniformed man, pointing a bayonet at his chest. Two more men stood behind him.

  Nathan froze, disbelief holding him immobile. And then he spied Lord Sarrington standing behind them. "What have you done?"

  "I've caught you, you bloody patriot. Now, step away from my cousin."

  But rage propelled Nathan's legs forward. The hat fell to the floor. One of soldiers raised his musket. Nathan prepared to be shot, wanted to be shot, anger and disappointment near choking him.

  "Nathan, no!" Ariel screamed.

  He hesitated just a fraction of an instant, but it was enough. Instead of firing at him, the soldier raised his weapon higher. He swung it.

  Blackness claimed him.

  17

  "How could you?" Ariel accused him. "How could you do this to me, Reggie?"

  "I did it for the family, cousin. What would your father say if he found out we'd helped a known enemy?"

  They were back in the sitting room they had left less than an hour ago, only this time Nathan wasn't present. Ariel felt tears come to her eyes at the thought. Heavens, the way he'd fallen to that floor. . .

  "He is my friend," she cried.

  "Ariel, calm down," Phoebe said, wringing her hands. She raced forward, the hoops of her emerald-colored gown swaying. "What Reggie did he did for your own good. Can you not see that?"

  "No," Ariel gasped, turning to the window, tears escaping. "No, I cannot. Nathan will think I was involved. You do not understand the man as I do. He does not trust easily, and now he will never trust again."

  Phoebe's blue eyes clouded. "Ariel, please. Only remember. The man fooled you into thinking he wanted to be your friend. How could you trust him?"

  She recalled the way he had looked at her as he begged for her help, the way he'd stared down at her so earnestly as he'd told her the story of the woman who'd betrayed him. "I trust him because no matter what you might think, the man is desperate to find his brother. That fact cannot be denied. And now he can no longer search for him."

  "Where are you going?" Phoebe asked.

  Ariel hadn't even realized she'd turned. "I have an errand to run."

  "Dressed like that?"

  She stopped, looked down, her vision blurring once again as she recalled the look on Nathan's face when he'd seen her in the clothes. She was not a total innocent. He'd found her attractive.

  "You're correct. I should change." She moved again.

  "No, Ariel," Phoebe pleaded. "Don't go. It can't be wise to go out alone."

  "Will you go with me, then," she asked.

  "Ariel," Reggie warned her.

  "No," Ariel said to Phoebe, "I thought not. Truth be told, you should probably stay here. 'Twill be safer."

  Phoebe stared up at her intently before turning to her husband. "Reggie, say something."

  "I'm sorry if things did not go as planned," Reggie offered.

  She whirled on him. "Sorry are you? Sorry for having a man captured for doing nothing more than wanting to find his brother? Or sorry for not telling me of your plan to make me look a betrayer in that man's eyes?"

  He didn't say anything. Ariel wouldn't have cared if he had. Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a primrose-colored gown, she left.

  But it took hours to track down the magistrate, the man with the power to set Nathan free. The lateness of the day when she arrived at his office had ruined her chance to see him. When she finally found him at his home, the sun had disappeared from the sky, the evening air was heavy with foggy moisture. She'd forgotten a cape in her haste to leave, had neglected, even, to pile her hair atop her head. The curls fell down her shoulders now, wild and in disarray. But Ariel cared little for her appearance. Nor did she care that it was highly inappropriate of her to visit a single gentleman on her own. Given her past, she thought, she had very little reputation to uphold. But as a footman led her into a study, the magistrate rising from behind his desk, she felt distinctly nervous.

  "What did you want to see me about, Lady D'Archer, that is so important you would interrupt my dinner?"

  Was it dinner time? She hadn't noticed. He glared at her from above double chins. His blue eyes were cold, his wig had very obviously been put on in haste, for it listed to one side.

  "I beg your pardon, my lord, but this could not wait."

  He settled himself in his study chair. The desk he sat behind was littered with paper. "Very well, then, what is it?"

  "Nathan Trevain," was all she said.

  The magistrate looked at her as if she'd escaped from one of his goals. His wig dipped down practically to his eyebrows. "What of Nathan Trevain?"

  "I want him released."

  "Surely you jest."

  "No, sir. I am completely serious."

  The wig was drawn back up his forehead. His watery eyes filled with disapproval. "Mr. Trevain is a prisoner; as such he will not be released."

  "But he is Davenport's heir. Surely that must count for something."

  "We are well aware of his lineage. 'Tis the only thing that has saved him from a hanging."

  "He is not to be hanged, then?"

  "No, as tempting as the thought may be. Frankly, we are not sure what to do with him."

  Her relief was so great, she almost melted into the plush, green armchair she stood next to. "May I see him?" she asked.

  "No."

  "But why not—"

  "Because," he interrupted, "the man is a criminal and a traitor. He is not fit for the presence of an earl's daughter."

  So he recognized her name. She should have known he would. "Let that be up to me."

  "No, my lady. I will not allow it."

  "But, I—"

  "No," he repeated, standing up from his chair. Ariel realized he'd never asked her to sit down. "Now, if you do not mind, I shall get back to my dinner. My footman will show you the way out."

  She wanted to protest, truly she did. Instead she gritted out, "Thank you, my lord, for seeing me."

  He nodded, motioning for her to precede him. She felt his eyes on her back as she entered the hall, her spine stiff to disguise the disappointment she felt.

  Nathan, I've let you down twice today.

  It was a downhearted Ariel who entered Phoebe's carriage. Her thoughts ran pell-mell, so much so that she couldn't think where to tell the driver to go. She didn't want to go home, for facing Phoebe and Reggie was more than she could take.

  Gracious, if only she could have convinced the magistrate to release Nathan. But, obviously, that would take someone with more power than she. Someone like her father. If only he weren't still out of the country. Sometimes Ariel wondered if he didn't leave on purpose. An attempt to avoid her company, she conjectured. It was not the first time she'd thought such a thing, for a person in her father's position did not need to make voyages. In fact, most of the other admirals elected to stay at home.

  She stiffened.

  Most of the other admirals.

  Oh, gracious heavens, how perfect. How utterly perfect. 'Twas Thursday.

  "1570 Knightbridge Stre
et," she called to the driver, her stomach knotting with anticipation, anxiety and dread.

  Pray God they would see her. But if they refused, she would give them no choice.

  It was near ten o'clock when Ariel arrived at her destination. She could see the carriages waiting outside Lord Parker's elegant home: Lords Hamilton, Vincent, Gordon and Howell, she recognized. All were present for their Thursday night card game.

  The footman who opened the door looked startled to see her. She gave him no time to protest as she barreled past him.

  "Beg your pardon, miss, but—"

  "I will just be a moment," she answered. The room they used was on the right, the house familiar to her eyes. Lord Parker's daughter had once been a good friend, until her ruination of course. One of many such "friends" she had lost.

  "Miss, really—"

  She felt the footman tug at her arm, his hand sliding off the satin fabric when she pulled away and opened the door. She entered the room, the footman at her heels, a heavy cloud of cigar smoke almost choking her.

  "I'm sorry, my lord. I tried to stop her—"

  Lord Parker laid down his cards in shock. So did the other gentlemen. The scent of male sweat filled the air, as did the smell of brandy. "'Tis all right, James. Let her stay."

  The footman bowed. Ariel watched him go, turning back to the room with an artificial smile upon her face. "My lords, how good it is to see you again."

  Five faces, all of which bore a striking resemblance to the others, stared back.

  "Lady D'Archer," Lord Parker greeted her, half rising, a lock of gray hair falling down his forehead. "Might I ask what we owe the pleasure of this visit to?"

  "Nathan Trevain," she said with narrowed eyes. She waited for their reactions. There were none. That more than anything convinced her they'd already discussed him this night.

  "Have you nothing to say?"

  "What do you want with Nathan Trevain?" asked Parker, the senior officer there.

  She came into the room further, feeling their eyes bore holes in her. "I want him released and failing that, to see him. I would also like the location of his brother."