The Duke's Redemption. Carla Capshaw
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have worried, sweet. You outshine all the other ladies of my acquaintance—here and in England.”
Determined not to be taken in by his flattery, she took another sip of punch. “You’re a prince to say so, sir.”
“I’m not a prince, Miss Cooper.” His white teeth flashed in a grin. “Perhaps something slightly less grand. Perhaps a duke?”
She knew he jested, but something in his words suggested a double meaning, one she had yet to grasp. Another couple walked close by, admiring the river. She nodded to them as they passed but didn’t speak until they were out of earshot. “Hardly, sir. It’s just an expression. You needn’t worry I’d mistake you for a genuine member of royalty. You’ve not the bearing for it.”
His smile faltered imperceptibly. One dark brow rose in question. “Is that so? How many royals have you known?”
“Few to none,” she admitted, glancing out over the river where moon and lantern light shimmered on the calm surface. “Although, I did have the pleasure of meeting Lord Cornwallis and his entourage at a ball I attended last summer.”
Amberly gave no reaction when she expected him to be impressed by the announcement. Whenever she mentioned the general’s name, most English men and women expressed a keen interest in the details of the man leading Britain’s southern campaign.
She changed the subject, searching for a topic that would encourage him to speak of himself. “Still, I suppose no ball competes with plying the open sea. I envy you, Mr. Amberly. Shipping must be a fascinating occupation.”
His thick eyelashes dipped to shield his eyes. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed. “To be sure, Miss Cooper. ’Tis quite fascinating if one enjoys endless days of bobbing along like a cork, going mad from boredom and smelling of fish. One can only scan the horizon so often. Two weeks into an Atlantic crossing, a ship, no matter how large, becomes excessively small indeed.”
“You surprise me, sir. The few sailors I’ve met love their lot in life more than they love their own mothers. You speak as though you can’t bear it.”
“On the contrary. I enjoy the sea and all its wonders, but I’m a practical and truthful man. Sailors who have naught but good to say about it are lying or victims of brain rot.”
She laughed. “I doubt I’d make a good sailor. I hate the feeling of being penned in. Yet, I must admit the sense of freedom one must feel holds great appeal for me.”
Drake moved closer and leaned against the tree. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and gave her a lazy smile.
This close to him she could smell his spicy cologne. Prin was right, he was dark for an Englishman, almost as dark as the Indians who lived near her father’s Virginia farm, and so mysterious she found it impossible to drag her eyes away from him.
Somewhere behind Elise a woman laughed, drawing her back to the task at hand. She had to focus. Prin’s future freedom, as well as her own, depended upon her being in control and sober of mind. She took her thoughts in hand and continued her quest with renewed purpose. “I’m curious about you, Mr. Amberly. I’d wager you have more than a few secrets.”
He shrugged in casual affirmation. “A few perhaps. No more than most men, a lot less than most women.”
She glanced away. Her entire existence was a blend of shadow and light. She possessed so many secrets even she had trouble remembering them all.
He reached out and ran his fingertip down her cheek. Startled by the caress, she caught her breath. She wasn’t used to being touched with such gentleness, and the feather-soft brush of his finger was a pleasurable sensation she loathed to end.
Straining her willpower to the seams, she pulled away. Her hand trembled as she tugged the edges of her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I…I must go.”
“Don’t,” he said.
“I must.”
“Why?”
Matters had gotten out of hand. She’d lost her concentration. She needed to regroup her thoughts and felt sure she’d swim in confusion as long as she stayed in his company. “We have other guests. Mr. Amberly and I must see to them.”
She turned in the direction of the well-lit brick mansion. “Fare thee well. Goodnight.”
He reached for her wrist, but she pretended not to notice as she moved beyond his grasp. He followed her. She heard his pursuit and stepped up her pace.
“I shall see you again soon, Miss Cooper.”
His tone was sincere enough, but to her flustered senses the statement sounded like a threat. “Not if I see you first, sir.”
His rich laughter stretched across the velvety night. “My heart is broken, dear girl, but thank you for the warning. I’ll be sure to sneak up on you the next time we meet.”
“Well,” Zechariah demanded a few hours later in the study. “What news have you, girl? You and Amberly seemed cozy enough.”
Elise shifted on her feet. She stood before the study’s waning fire, summoned to the old man like a disobedient servant. “Cozy isn’t the word I’d use.”
Her spymaster kept his back to her as he poured a drink and replaced the bottle’s crystal stop. Christian sat in the corner, hidden in shadow. The ball had ended several hours prior, and their guests had gone or sought out a bed for the night.
The old man faced her, took off his flowing powdered wig and tossed it to a nearby chair, where it landed in a cloud of chalk. Candlelight reflected on his bald head. He scratched his scaly crown and sighed before eyeing her with what she thought was suspicion. “I care not about the word, girl. I only wish to know if you discovered something useful.”
“No—”
“Then what am I to do with you? If you’ve forever lost your ability to aid our cause, I’ll ship you back to Williamsburg in the blink of an eye.”
Her jaw tightened. He’d used the same threat on many occasions. Before Hawk’s death she would have paid it no mind, but since that fateful night her guilt made her nearly useless as a spy. His irate expression signaled a real cause for concern. If he sent her back to Williamsburg, she’d be under Roger’s thumb once more. All hope of freeing Prin would be lost. “You didn’t allow me to fin—”
“We’re all risking our lives in this business. Some of us more than that,” Zechariah continued with an angry slash of his hand. “We have to stay sharp and spare no opportunity to locate the information we must acquire.”
Elise listened to the lecture, biding her time with a prayer for patience. Zechariah would run out of steam soon. Then she’d have her say.
Sayer’s tirade came to an abrupt stop. His countenance softened imperceptibly. “You’re not the first of our number to have a part in killing a man, you know. Hawk was our enemy. You did right to lay him low. I’ll have no more of this pouting. You must move on.”
He forestalled her when she began to protest. “Elise, I’d hate to lose you. In the past, you’ve proven your worth, but the war situation is grim. I cannot coddle you a moment longer.”
“You’ve no need to coddle me,” she said between clenched teeth. “I learned no information to support Amberly’s claims, but I observed something you may wish to consider.”
Sayer’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, I knew you’d not disappoint.”
Elise bit her tongue and refrained from reminding him of the diatribe he’d cast her way a moment ago. “I believe he’s more than he says he is. A minor aristocrat, perhaps.”
Christian stood and entered the candlelight. “What makes you think so?”
“His manner and his story conflict. He told Zechariah he operates