The Duke's Redemption. Carla Capshaw
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for opening night. The chatter of their guests’ conversation wafted through the house, growing louder until it became a roar as she and Christian reached the mansion’s first floor. House slaves hustled past carrying silver trays laden with food. The scents of roast pork, fowl and spiced fruit blended to create an appealing combination.
“So, the pair of you has finally decided to join us.” They turned in unison to see Zechariah walking toward them, a scowl pinching his shiny brow.
A short, rotund man, the elder Sayer possessed a massive belly that separated his crimson waistcoat from the top of his fuchsia trousers. His stock appeared as though he’d tied it without benefit of a looking glass and his skin shone more ruddy than usual thanks to the chalked wig that sat askew atop his head.
In the eighteen months since she’d arrived at Brixton Hall, it never ceased to amaze Elise that a man unable to harmonize his own clothing could effectively coordinate one of the Patriots’ most successful assemblies of espionage.
“Of course, Father,” Christian said. “I’d never miss so grand a gathering, especially one given in my honor. A man turns five and twenty but once in his life. Nothing could keep me away.”
Known for his sour disposition, Zechariah grunted, obviously not amused by his son’s facetious manner. “I don’t appreciate being left to greet our guests alone.”
Before Christian could reply, the strains of a harpsichord and stringed quartet shifted tempo, announcing the commencement of dancing. Merry laughter drifted into the foyer from several nearby rooms.
“Our guests seem happy enough,” Elise commented in an effort to change the subject. Now was not the time for the two men to quarrel, as they were wont to do far too often.
The spymaster took her hand, but continued to eye his son. “Yes, and we should join them. As usual, the ladies are eager for this young buck’s attentions. The gentlemen have already begun to ask after you, Elise. In fact, there’s one in particular I want you to meet.”
Drake leaned against the mantel, watching the festivities with sharp eyes. The merriment of the party might have cheered him under different circumstances, but frustration flayed his nerves and wore his patience thin. Kirby hadn’t exaggerated the Fox’s elusiveness. Drake had spent a fortune in bribes, yet learned little concerning the rebel spy. Only a nearly nonexistent trail had led him here to Brixton Hall, one of the largest plantations in the Carolinas.
His contacts had assured him the Fox would be in attendance tonight. A ball such as this provided the perfect opportunity for spies and their web of associates to carry out their business unnoticed and unhindered.
Drake raised his glass and sampled the sweet punch. He suffered no illusions the Fox would give himself away. He planned to keep a watchful eye, search for clues that might reveal the man’s identity at a later date.
He perused the room, absorbing each detail. Compared to the drawing rooms he frequented in England, this one was small and plain, though artfully decorated in bright shades of yellow and blue. An abundance of Chippendale furniture lined three walls. The rugs had been rolled back to reveal a polished, wood-planked floor where a group of laughing dancers performed a reel.
Since his arrival in the Colonies three months prior, Drake had done his best to change his manner, dress and speech to match that of a man of trade. Lieutenant Kirby assured him he’d succeeded in his deception though they hadn’t stayed anywhere long enough to put his disguise to a serious test.
Drake located Lieutenant Kirby near the refreshment table. The soldier had been contributing to the hunt by eavesdropping as he moved from place to place about the room.
The music faded. All eyes turned toward the doorway as Zechariah, his son, Christian, and a stunning young woman entered the room. The guests clapped for long moments, quieting for Zechariah when he raised his hands to plead for silence. The planter welcomed his friends and neighbors before offering a joyous toast in honor of his son.
It was the woman, however, who arrested Drake’s attention. He watched her, his interest keen. Like the other women in attendance, she wore an elaborately arranged wig. Quite inexplicably he felt a prick of irritation at being denied a view of her hair’s true color. Her face was pure beauty, with large wide eyes, a slender nose and full luscious lips that begged to be savored.
His eyes roamed over her tall, gently curved frame. The green gown she wore shimmered against her luminous skin. Diamonds around her neck and dangling from her delicate ears sparkled in the luster light, but it was her bright smile that lit up her face, and for him, the room.
He straightened into a more attentive posture, unable to divert his eyes from the girl as she allowed Christian Sayer to lead her to the dance floor, where the other guests followed them in a minuet.
Drake’s fingers clenched the glass in his hand. He didn’t care for the scene before him. The girl gazed into her escort’s eyes too often for Drake’s liking, flashing Christian a beautiful smile that Drake began to covet for himself.
Kirby joined him. “She’s fair to look upon, is she not, sir?”
With his eyes riveted on the couple, Drake nodded. “Indeed. Who is she?”
“Her name is Elise Cooper. I heard the wallflowers discussing her while I enjoyed the refreshments. According to them she’s an orphan and Zechariah’s ward. They also mentioned she’s as dimwitted as she is pretty.”
“Jealous harpies, I’d wager. What of her relationship with the son? ’Tis clear the puppy’s besotted with her. Are they affianced?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. I’ve heard no word. Perhaps they will be.”
Not if I win her first. Startled by the thought, Drake rejected it immediately. He had no time nor inclination to court her, no matter how beautiful she was. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when the girl relinquished Christian to another partner and went to stand with Zechariah at the edge of the dance floor.
Across the room, the fine hairs on Elise’s arms and the back of her neck stood to attention, alerting her to the odd sensation of being watched.
She looked around, trying to appear nonchalant. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed the man observing her. He was dark, handsome in a fierce sort of way. His sculpted lips turned in a seductive half smile, but it was the long scar along his jaw that intrigued her.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he cut a fine figure in a black waistcoat and breeches. His stark white shirt and elegant but simple stock stood in sharp contrast with his golden skin. He wore his black hair tied at the nape, one of only a few men in the room bold enough to refuse a wig.
His gaze captured hers, and his magnetic eyes seemed to discern her darkest secrets. His stare rattled her nerves and made her instantly more aware of herself in a manner that was most disconcerting.
To a woman used to being in the midst of trouble, he seemed the essence of it. She decided then to steer clear of him, for in one glance she knew his ilk: pure danger in masculine form.
Zechariah patted her hand. “Elise? Are you ill?”
She blinked and looked down into his round face. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve nearly drawn blood.”
Her gaze fell to where her fingernails dug into his linen-clad arm. She released him immediately.
Her spymaster fiddled with the froth of lace at his wrist. “Get hold of yourself, girl. You’ll never accomplish what you must if you’re more skittish than a colt.”
Elise narrowed her eyes and bit back a sharp retort. She kept her expression cheerful so as not to give away the game to onlookers, but she resented his tone.
She despised Zechariah’s hold on her life. But he’d offered the escape she’d prayed for as part of the bargain she’d made to free her sister. For now, she could do little but accept