Flames of Desire

by Vanessa Royall

  “Sean. We wouldn’t be going to visit them. They’d be there, but…”

  “Well, you may be right. It would be nice. But it is the harvest season, and I’m very busy right now.”

  “Not even for a week?”

  Sean considered it. Selena waited, hoping. It would be dangerous, but she could see Royce one last time. Just to talk. She might have to take with her a message related to the military conflict, but that was incidental to her now.

  “All right,” Sean agreed, giving her an indulgent smile. “Why not? I don’t think I’ll be able to come with you, but you take Davina and have a good time. Lord knows winter will be on us before we turn around. It’s best you enjoy summer as much as you can.”

  Selena felt happy and guilty at the same time, and tremendously excited, too.

  “Thank you, Sean,” she said. Getting up from her chair, she went around to his place at the head of the table and gave him a kiss.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him.

  “Now why should I do that?” he asked, looking up, and she saw the mood of the past weeks come down again over his face.

  Later that evening a message came for her. She had stayed in the parlor, sewing, in order to be near the door. Fortunately. The message was from Dick Weddington. Montauk plans complete, was all it said.

  She put it in the fire in the iron stove in the kitchen.

  In Words Alone

  In the summer of 1777, the cause of the American revolutionaries remained unresolved. The vast sweep of America, the extent of which Selena was only beginning to grasp, required that troops move hundreds of debilitating miles through rough, untracked country even before a battle took place. And the reports of such confrontations often did not reach the coastal cities until weeks after the event itself. Waiting for news produced tension. Dick Weddington told Selena that Lord Howe (who had stopped calling Washington “The Farmer,” and spoke now of “bagging the Old Fox”) was on the move, by sea, toward the general’s entrenched positions at Morristown, which blocked Howe’s planned attack upon Philadelphia. In the north, “Gentleman Jack” Burgoyne, the sybaritic British general who moved through the wastes of northern New York with his personal service of china, silver, crystal, a wagonload of champagne, and thirty wagonloads of personal baggage, had also found time to take Crown Point, on the Hudson, in June. The Americans, under the command of Horatio Gates and Benedict Arnold, were maneuvering to close with Burgoyne—and might already have done so—but the main event was Howe versus Washington.

  “So Sean agreed to let you have a little time on the ocean?”

  Dick seemed anxious, almost distressed. His features were prominent, his skin stretched tight, with fatigue.

  “I’m going,” she said simply. “Davina and I. And I’m taking Traudl and a few servants.”

  They walked slowly, trying to appear casual, along the water’s edge at Bowling Green. Selena no longer felt safe talking to Dick at La Marinda, with Callie Fox around.

  “Selena,” Dick said, making sure no one was within earshot, “your trip to Montauk is more important than you think. But I would be remiss if I did not warn you of its danger.”

  “Royce will be there?” she asked quickly.

  “That he will, if he is not delayed by some maneuver at sea. And you already know that I think your seeing him is personally dangerous to you.”

  “I know. But I must. I think if I were able to talk to him—just to talk to him—”

  “Yes, but I am going to have to ask you to see him for a reason that has nothing to do with you.”

  That was the cause of his grim concern.

  “Anything. I’ll be happy to…”

  “You had better hear me out before you volunteer.”

  “Volunteer? For what?”

  “Selena, I’ve told you that Howe is moving by sea toward the Chesapeake Bay, on the way to Philadelphia. Now, Washington may be able to hold him back. And he may not. Alex is optimistic, but then he’s always optimistic. What we are going to try to do, if we can get the message to Royce Campbell, is to attack Howe at sea, while he’s in the process of ferrying his army.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” she said, wondering how this would affect her.

  “You have to take him the message, Selena. Along with details of debarkation, orders of battle, intelligence reports. There’s no one else I can send.”

  Selena was stunned for a moment. Spying? She, a spy? “Why, you have an entire network! All your so-called purchasing agents and factors…”

  He shook his head, disconsolate. “No more. The British just executed Nathan Hale. As far as I know, he didn’t give them any information as to the rest of the men in my organization, but I can’t take any chances. Made a nice speech, though, Nate did. I regret he ‘had but one life,’ too. I could have used several more of him, truth to tell.”

  “Certainly, I’ll tell Royce what you want,” she said, deciding. The execution of a man she did not even know, rather than frightening or dissuading her, only served to enhance her determination.

  “There’s more to it than that. First, we don’t know if the British coastal watchers know that Royce will be putting in to port for resupply. If so, it’s very dangerous, even more so than it’s already been. Second, I’m afraid Sean is getting an inclination that there’s more here than meets the eye.”

  She told him about the Golden Spur. “I guess I might have been wrong about Sean,” he admitted ruefully.

  “I told you that from the beginning. He’s always going to be loyal to Great Britain. The fire burned him once before. I told you that, too.”

  “Aye. You did. I was ebullient, then, and the war was young. Now I know why old men in London direct British intelligence. They are not carried away as easily by high spirits. This is the time of my testing. I shouldn’t be involving you at all.”

  “Don’t think about that.” Selena did not want him to change his mind; in spite of the danger, she had to see Royce. “Sean did know about Hale, though,” she added.

  “Anything else?”

  She thought a moment, remembered. “Something to do was his switching locations, from Port Washington to…”

  “Montauk. Bad. Very bad. Both militarily and for me. Sean has to know something’s very wrong. It’s only a question of time…”

  “Then tell me what it is I have to learn,” Selena demanded. “There will be precious little time as it is. If I do find Royce, I have no intention of discussing Lord Howe, to the exclusion of all else.”

  Dick managed a smile. “Selena, I believe you mean that,” he said.

  Long Island was one long dusty road, and the August sun hammered down on the roof of the stagecoach. Little Davina fretted in the boiling interior of the vehicle, and Traudl had to gasp for air. Drops of perspiration flowed from her; now and then she almost moaned. Selena braced herself to endure the swirls of dust, kicked up by the hooves of the horses. They were switched at relay points every ten miles, blown and exhausted. It took an entire day to reach Montauk. But when the wild, white, untrammeled beaches came into view, and the clean, rolling sea, Selena felt her heart swell. It was, in a sense, a contradiction. She had come here to see Royce one final time, and to settle things between them in a manner both of them deserved. Then, if they met by chance in the future, there would be no regrets or misplaced hopes. Each would know the other’s heart.

  But when she saw the Atlantic, with its white surf gently beating on the shore, it did not seem an ending at all. It seemed a beginning.

  The Colony, a small new beach hotel—the one about which Samantha had written—was built far out on a peninsula. A wide porch on all four sides of the building gave a constant view of the sea, and Selena dined alone on the east porch, enjoying the twilight and the cool breeze.

  “Well, if it isn’t the little shopgirl herself.”

  She knew the voice, and she was terrified. Not by the voice itself, nor even by the person to whom it belonged, but by the fact that the vo
ice and the person were here.

  Veronica Blakemore.

  She put on the sweetest smile she could manage—it would have been sweeter had the journey not tired her—and looked up to face her tormentor.

  “What? All alone?” Veronica cried, in a mocking whisper quite loud enough to attract the attention of almost everyone dining on the porch. “But at least you were admitted to a good hotel.”

  Veronica’s eyes were hard, still with the promise of revenge in them. Then Selena became aware of the man standing just behind the black-haired Blakemore. Polished boots, impeccably tailored uniform, gleaming belt buckle, and epaulets. There was a faint look of distaste on Lord Ludford’s severe face as he listened to Veronica, or perhaps it was displeasure at having been seen in public with her.

  “We’re dining here, too, Mrs. Bloodwell,” Lord Ludford said, intervening as politely as he could. “Perhaps you’d care to join us?”

  Don’t you dare, Veronica said with her flashing eyes.

  Selena toyed with the idea of accepting the invitation, if only to bedevil Veronica, but, stunned by Ludford’s presence, she needed time to sort things out. Declining graciously, she was able to suggest that, just possibly, on another evening, if Lord Ludford would be staying…

  Ludford looked momentarily discomfited—this ever-suspicious martinet who scrutinized the morals and manners and movements of others—and Selena’s original surmise became an active, if less than charitable, suspicion. Ludford and Veronica had not come out here to the end of Long Island simply to dine.

  But then…? Smiling, making polite but inane comments before Ludford led Veronica to a distant table, Selena grappled with the situation’s complexity. Had not Ludford been a bit distant? No, he had even congratulated her on Sean’s Order of the Spur award (to which the adventuress had replied, “Isn’t that nice, and a commoner, too.”), and he had, at times, seemed overly friendly. That was when she thought she knew for certain that he was here to bed Veronica.

  Ludford and Hamilton, she thought. Both sides of the…

  That fact brought her up short.

  Was Veronica providing the British with information about the rebels with whom she came in contact? Or was it the other way around? Or was she doing both? Then, too, she recalled what Hamilton had said. If Veronica was siding with the loyalists, the rebels would win. The thought gave no comfort just then.

  The waiter appeared and asked if she would care for a sweet. But the heat combined with this new problem had ruined what was left of her appetite. She had, moreover, a long night ahead of her. “No, thank you,” she told him, half-distracted, and in a moment left the dining area.

  Don’t lose your head, she advised herself. She had not cared for Blakemore since first laying eyes upon her at Edinburgh Castle, but she must not let her own animosity lead to a false judgment about Veronica’s skill. Look at it logically. She was a beautiful woman, whose attractiveness to men was more than a matter of record. The main question, then, was whether Veronica was actually what she appeared to be: a haughty creature of whim and pleasure, born to be embraced, admired—or was that merely a pose, behind which she was truly much more? In this case, a spy herself? Or even a double agent?

  Selena did not know, but, as Dick had once suggested, it was necessary to assume that the other side knew everything you were going to do. The trick was to do it before they could stop you.

  Oh, no, she thought. They would have plenty of time, if things did not go well.

  What Selena had agreed to do would have been tricky enough under the best of circumstances. The eastern end of Long Island was split into two long prongs of land, Montauk Point and, to the north, Orient Point. Between them were any number of small bays, inlets, minuscule harbors, and islands. The Selena would anchor some miles off Montauk, and Royce could come into shore by small boat. The location to which the boat repaired was changed with each landing. This time it was to be a little more than a mile west of the Colony Hotel, across from Gardiners Island. The problem was that Selena could not be certain exactly which night the rendezvous was to occur. Royce had been—or ought to have been—sailing off the Grand Bank of Newfoundland, attempting to intercept and sink British shipping. That was far away.

  There was more than a lone chance that he would not show up at all, but she didn’t think of that. Climbing the stairs to the small suite she shared with Traudl and Davina, Selena realized still another unfortunate fact. Even if Ludford were himself here strictly for pleasure, her own movements would be more suspicious with the passage of each day. A single woman might indulge in a midnight walk on the water’s edge one night. But every night?

  She entered the suite. It was lamplit but dim, cool and pleasant. Nursemaid and ward had eaten in the suite. Davina slept now in a trundle bed, and Traudl was down on her knees beside her own bed, saying her prayers.

  “Amen,” she said aloud, and stood when Selena came in. “Did you enjoy your dinner, ma’am?”

  The question was innocuous enough. Perhaps it was Selena’s perspicacity, or perhaps just nerves, but she perceived in the question some inquisitorial intent. If Callie Fox watched everything, and told Otto all she knew, and if Sean had instructed Otto to “keep an eye open,” then why not Traudl, too? For a moment she felt violated, as if a loved one no longer trusted her. Then, sadly, coldly, she faced the facts. What she was about to do would be considered suspect by almost everyone. But she had to see Royce. That came first. While she believed in the rightness of the rebel cause, the message she carried to help that cause was subordinate to one last tender meeting with the man who had both possessed and saved her.

  Now, after praising the chef and the dining room and the hotel, she urged Traudl to rest. She had hours to wait. It was not even eleven yet. She turned out all but one lamp, and took it over to a chair near the window. There was a crescent moon tonight, and the sea rocked into the stark shoreline, waves of molten silver, rolling fields of gold. Somewhere out upon that sea, not too far away if God looked down tonight, the mighty ship that bore her name would already have dropped anchor, furled countless sails. A boat would already be moving across the water, bound toward her.

  Traudl, tired, fell asleep quickly. In minutes she was snoring lightly. She tossed a little, then quieted. Now. No, wait. Selena would have dearly loved a glass of wine, but it would not do to enter the public room downstairs on her own. Gilbertus Penrod would have made a fine escort—the Penrods’ summer cottage was a short distance away, near Montauk village—but it was far too late. She would send a card, or call on them tomorrow.

  Finally, it was midnight. It was time. She could hear quiet music coming from one of the porches, where a few couples might be dancing. An evenly spaced row of torches ran beside a boardwalk, down onto the beach, but it was deserted. Selena stepped away from the window, checked Davina, and slipped out of the room. The corridor was empty. She descended the stairs. No one at the main desk; no one in the lobby. Just in case someone might be observing her, she pretended to admire a few of the oil paintings on the wall, all of them more or less faithful renditions of Montauk in various seasons of the year. Then, with what she hoped would appear to be casual impulse, she slipped out onto the porch. Another theatrical pause. Ah, doesn’t the evening air feel good. Wouldn’t it be nice to step out onto the beach…

  Then she was out on the boardwalk, passing along beneath the row of torches. Another fire glimmered in the lighthouse off the Point; somewhere a buoy tingled, sounded. Then she reached the end of the boardwalk, her shadow great in the light of the last torch. She reached down and took off her shoes. Now to stroll easily out of the reach of the light, and then…

  A sound stopped her, just where the darkness began. Selena halted, letting her eyes adjust to the pale rind of moon, the pallid iridescence of the sand. The sound came again, familiar and low, near a clump of beach brush only a dozen yards from her position. Again, the throaty groan, but Selena did not need it in order to know what was going on nearby. For by now she
had seen the two white figures locked together there. Passion had overcome them, but they had preserved a measure of caution, anyway. Veronica had not removed her gown, the skirts of which rode up to her waist, folds of satin crushed into the sand. Her lovely legs were bent, knees drawn high, and her ankles, lightly crossed, rested on Ludford’s undulating back. He had not seen fit even to draw his breeches down, but had taken her summarily, with the minimum of exposure. Selena saw the frenzy set in—my God, was that what it looked like?—and used the moment to ease away. In a minute, she was running down along the water, the sand wet and alive beneath her bare feet, the air electric. She felt as if she might run forever. She felt as if, at any moment, she might begin to fly.

  “It is a natural breakwater,” Dick Weddington had told her. “Look for that. A chain of rocks extending out into the bay. That’s your landing point on the first night.”

  Was this it? She peered into the darkness, waiting for the moon to come out from behind the clouds. This had to be it! But there was no sound. There was nothing. The moon disappeared again, and it was very dark. A thousand terrors bloomed then, an unholy cluster of latent disasters. She was being watched, had been watched since her arrival at the Colony. Even now, up behind the dunes, British agents struggled to suppress their gleeful snickering. (“Look, mate, there she be.” “Silly fool of a woman.” “Aye. Thinks she be pullin’ the wool o’er our eyes. Thinks she be meetin’ ’er old lover in a secret glade. Let’s wait, an’ get us an eyeful.” “An’ ’im, too.” “Aye. ’Im and ’er together.” “They say she be a reglar princess, in the old country. That her father lost everythin’ fer dabblin’ stupidly in treason.” “Aye. Lak father lak daughter, eh, mate?”)

  Of course. That was why Ludford and Veronica were fully dressed, back there on the beach. They were only pretending. For Selena’s benefit, as a further ruse, a distraction. Skill and guile and cunning, and she had been victim of all three. What a stupid…