Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) (14 page)

Julian's eyes danced with humor, and Lizzy felt herself blush again. "What is your plan?" he wanted to know.

"My mother is holding a gala next week, and I wonder if you could persuade Lavender's aunt to allow her to come. It is my belief that if Lavender were to be exposed to merriment and fun, she might break out of her shell."

"What makes you think I can convince her aunt to allow her to attend your party?"

Elizabeth smiled up at him prettily. "I believe if you were to ask to escort Lavender to the gala, her aunt might consent. 1 believe she respects you a great deal."

"Are you issuing me an invitation to your gala, or pairing me up with your friend?"

Elizabeth's skin tingled when he looked at her through half-closed lashes. Yes, she thought to herself, this was the man for Lavender. "Both, Mr. West."

Julian balked at the idea of spending a whole evening with Lavender Daymond. But it seemed he had laid the groundwork, and there was no way to decline since it was he who had urged Miss Eldridge to help her friend. "I will do my best to persuade her aunt to let her go, but I believe I should point out that getting her to attend a dance will not straightaway change her life. Perhaps nothing can."

"Perhaps, but one has to start somewhere. I am going to do my best to get her out of that black gown."

Julian stood up. "I will attend your gala, but only if you agree to save me a dance, Miss Eldridge."

A shiver of delight moved down her spine as she looked into his dark eyes. "Of course, Mr. West. Are we not fellow conspirators?"

Lavender and Nicodemus met in the middle of the garden. She realized something was amiss the moment she saw the worried frown on his face. "Sarah sent word that you are needed," he said in a lowered voice.

Lavender felt a weariness descending on her. She had hoped Brainard would no longer need the Swallow. She glanced back over her shoulder and noticed that Julian and Lizzy were both deep in conversation. Still, she lowered her voice. "What is the assignment this time?"

"You are to go to the Swan Tavern tonight and confront a British agent who has agreed to deal with us for a price. You must be very cautious and use the password. Brainard says after tonight your password must be changed just in case this man is not who he claims to be."

"What does this British agent have that we are willing to pay for?"

Nicodemus pulled her along the pathway toward the house. "He is believed to have in his possession a document that lists over twenty of our most valuable spies. I am told the list names names, as well as locations. We must have this document because your name is included."

"I see."

Sadness clouded his eyes. "Lavender, like you, I had hoped you would no longer have to place yourself in danger. I pray this is the last time you will accept an assignment. I would not want you to go this time, except Sarah has been told that your name is on that list. I believe you can see how imperative it is that you relieve this man of his document."

Lavender glanced up at the sky, knowing it wouldn't be dark for another three hours. "Make everything ready, Nicodemus, I will meet you at sunset."

Nicodemus watched her walk away, deeply aware that she was troubled. He knew her well enough to realize her unhappiness did not come from the mission that faced her tonight. He heard a man's laughter, and glanced up to see Julian Westfield and Elizabeth Eldridge walking toward Lavender. Now that he saw the Duke of Mannington he could better understand the reason for the sadness in Lavender's eyes.

A forced smile curved Lavender's lips as she approached Lizzy and Julian. She wished she could be as young and carefree as her friend, but she felt years older. In playing the Swallow, she had seen and heard things that she would remember the rest of her life. It had not been easy to walk the road she had chosen without many of her dreams and illusions being shattered.

She gazed up at Julian Westfield and found him staring at her with a searching expression. "I . . . am needed," she stammered. "Will you both excuse me?"

Julian and Lizzy exchanged puzzled glances and watched Lavender hurry toward the house.

Julian was standing at his bedroom window, staring out at the lightning that streaked across the sky, thinking how quickly a storm could roll in from the ocean.

Hearing the knock on his door, he crossed the room and opened it to find Phoebe smiling at him. She handed him a note and dipped into a curtsy.

He had been sketching earlier and was irritated by the interruption. "Who is this from?" he asked.

"I don't know, suh, it was left by a man who said he wouldn't wait for an answer. He said I was to bring it to you straightaway."

"Very well. Thank you, Phoebe."

Again she bobbed a curtsy and moved down the hallway.

Julian closed the door and moved over to the candle so he could read the note.

"The matter we discussed will come to light tonight. I suggest you be at the appointed place by ten."

There was no signature, but Julian knew it was from Grimsley. Holding the note over the candle he watched it burn. Excitement pounded in his brain. Tonight he would have the Swallow!

10

The gale force wind lashed out at the two riders, twisting their capes about their bodies, stinging their faces with flying debris. In her impatience to have this night over with, Lavender kicked her heels into her mount's flanks, and the animal shot forward with renewed strength. Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rolled in the distance, reminding her that rain was not far behind.

All at once she became aware that Nicodemus had fallen behind, and she slowed her pace to look back at him. He waved for her to halt, so she pulled up her mount and rode back to where he had dismounted.

"My horse has gone lame!" He had to shout so he could be heard above the wind. Bending down, he examined the mare's foreleg. With a grim expression he patted the horse's haunches, and glanced up at Lavender. "I can't chance riding her any farther, Lavender, and we are still a good five miles from Yorktown."

"What will we do?"

"I'm not sure," he said, thinking of the possibilities open to them. "1 could go in your place, but then I don't want you out here all alone. Your horse will not carry us both, and I do not want you going on without me."

"We both know I have to go on, Nicodemus. You understand that I have to keep my appointment at the Swan Tavern. Our quarry might flee if you take my place, since he was told to expect a woman."

Nicodemus, knowing how impulsive Lavender could sometimes be, and how she had little regard for her own safety, grabbed hold of her reins. "I won't allow you to go alone, Lavender. It's too dangerous!" Again he had to yell to make himself heard above the screaming wind.

Her horse was stamping and prancing, eager to run, and she was having trouble holding him back. "I have no choice other than to ride on, Nicodemus. I will go straight away to the blacksmith shop, and send someone for you."

Before he could stop her, she had nudged her mount forward, and her reins were torn from his hand. "Don't do this, Lavender. Come back!" His voice was carried away by the howling wind. The night was so dark, he could no longer see her, and the sound of her horse's hooves was swallowed up by the thunder that echoed across the sky.

Lavender knew Nicodemus was not happy with her actions, but she had no choice, she had to meet the contact tonight. The transaction should be routine, so Nicodemus was not really needed. All that concerned her at the moment was getting that list of names so it could be destroyed. Hopefully this would be her last assignment. After tonight she would be free!

Colonel Grimsley took a liberal drink of ale, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Even though he hoped to help capture the Swallow tonight, he had no taste for this secrecy. He was a soldier, and unaccustomed to hiding in corners and playing cat-and-mouse games. He removed his gold watch from his pocket and discovered it was already ten-thirty. If the Swallow was coming tonight, she was late. Perhaps she had been held up by the weather, for, in truth, it was a foul night.

Grimsley wondered if Julian Westfield was faring any better than he was. The duke had arrived an hour ago and had gone directly to the upstairs room to wait. If luck was with them tonight, Grimsley would send the woman up to His Grace, and they would have captured the notorious Swallow! He smiled, hoping there would be a promotion in this for him.

Suddenly a clap of thunder rattled the doors and windows and Grimsley watched the candle on his table flicker and almost go out. Glancing around the empty common room, he ground his teeth together as the grotesque shapes danced across the wall, giving him a feeling of uneasiness. Damn that woman, she had him jumping at shadows.

When the gloved hand tapped him on the back, Colonel Grimsley almost jumped out of his skin. He glanced down and saw the black-gloved hand that rested on his shoulder. Slowly his eyes moved upward to meet a cool pair of the bluest blue eyes he had ever seen. He spun around to face the woman, wondering how in the hell she could have gained entrance to the common room without him knowing it.

But for the scarlet ribbon that she wore to keep her golden hair pulled back, she was dressed all in black— black cape and black trousers that disappeared inside black thigh-length boots. A black leather jerkin covered her upper body. Although she was wearing men's attire, she still appeared soft and feminine. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Swallow, because she definitely matched the description the duke had given him.

"I believe you are expecting me, sir," the soft, husky voice said.

He tried to disguise his voice, but when he spoke, the accent sounded false even to his own ears. "How did you get in here? I have been watching both the back and front entrance, and you couldn't have slipped past me."

Soft laughter met his ears as the Swallow casually strolled around the table and sat down opposite him. He was fascinated by her as the golden candlelight fell on her beautiful face. "When one is in my occupation, one learns to appear and disappear without fanfare," she told him.

"Shall we get on with the bargaining?" he asked, thinking how impatient the duke must be to have the Swallow sent up to him.

Her eyes moved carefully over his face. "Not just yet, sir. I am waiting for the password."

He became flustered, and for the life of him couldn't remember what he had been instructed to say. He was an officer in the Royal Army, and was supposed to be in charge of the situation, but obviously she had taken over and was in command.

"Password . . . password . . . what is the password?" he mumbled in confusion. "Oh, yes, I remember now! 'What flower blooms in the winter'?"

Her smile was infectious, and he thought she just might possibly be the loveliest creature he had ever seen. Pity, he thought, she would probably end up at the end of a hangman's noose. "All right, you have the password; we can bargain now," the Swallow told him.

"Not yet," he said, feeling like he was back in control of the situation. "How do I know you are who you are supposed to be?"

She leaned back in her chair and began to remove her black gloves, finger by finger. When she had worked her hands free of the gloves, she tucked them into her belt. He had become so fascinated with her delicate movements that he had forgotten what he had asked of her. In a move that surprised him, she stood up and propped her booted foot on the seat of the chair. "The cactus blooms in the desert'," she responded with dancing humor in her blue eyes.

"What. . . huh?" He felt as if he had lost control of the situation again.

The Swallow smiled, as if she knew how disturbing she was to his peace of mind. She was definitely in command of the circumstances. "I just gave you my response to your password. Do you want me to repeat it?" she asked with humor.

"I . . . no, that will not be necessary," he mumbled, feeling like a bungling fool.

For the first time, he noticed she wore a rapier, and that the ivory handle of a pistol peeped out of her belt.

"Do you have what I came for?" she asked.

"It... the list is upstairs in my room."

Now her voice was laced with impatience. "Well, go and get it. I do not have all night."

He licked his dry lips. "1 . . . that is not my instructions. I was told we would exchange passwords, and then I could leave,"

Her eyes narrowed. "Who gave you your instructions?"

"I..;.. am not at liberty to say."

"I see. Well, tell me this—how do you suppose 1 will get my hands on the list of names I came after if you leave?"

His eyes shifted away from her piercing gaze. "You can retrieve the document from my room." Grimsley feared he was about to lose her. What if she became suspicious and fled? "I was told to inform you where the list was to be found, and you could get it for yourself after I had gone."

"Are you not interested in the money I brought for you?" she asked, pondering his words for a moment. She realized he was nervous, and passed it off as this being his first clandestine episode.

Grimsley silently cursed his stupidity. "Yes, the money is what I came for."

Lavender removed a leather pouch from her belt and dropped it on the table beside him. "You can count it if you like."

He snatched up the pouch. "No, that will not be necessary. I trust you."

Her smile was soft. "Suppose I do not trust you? You see, I have been trained to be suspicious of everyone."

His eyes darted across the room and back to her. "Why should you be suspicious of me?"

She laughed. "One good reason to be leery of you would be because you are so nervous." She fingered the hilt of her sword. "But I have decided to rely on your greed to keep you honest with me. Tell me which is the room where I will find what I came after."

He felt relief wash over him because she had accepted his explanation. "When you get to the top of the stairs, it's the first door on your right."

She gave him a bright smile and a daring salute. "It has been nice negotiating with you. If you are going out, I suggest you have a care; the storm is fierce. By the way," her eyes twinkled. "If you are planning on making this your new occupation, you might want to work on your accent."

As she turned to move away, Grimsley almost called out a warning to her. It went against his fabric to see someone as lovely as she end up in prison. He reminded himself that she was the Swallow, and would deserve everything that came her way.

Lavender felt the stairs creak under her soft steps. This was the first time she had attempted a mission without Nicodemus watching over her. He might be irritated with her for leaving him behind and going off on her own, but he would get over it when he saw how easily she had accomplished her objective. There had been no danger; in fact, everything had been almost too easy. In a matter of minutes, she would have the document she had come for and could be on her way.

*                                          *                                          *

Julian, waiting in the darkened room, must have tested the door a dozen times to make sure it was not locked and could be easily opened. What if the Swallow did not come? Suppose she realized it was a trap and fled? He pressed his back against the wall and watched the lightning streak like a jagged spear across the heavens. Rain was pounding against the window with the force of a high wind. She had to come tonight—he had come too far and made too many plans for anything to miscarry now.

The smile on his face was not one of amusement. He wished it was still the custom to parade captives behind the victor's chariot. That would break the Swallow's spirit, and humble her in the dust. No matter, he would bind her and turn her over to a military tribunal, where she would be found guilty and receive the full penalty of the law. Her plea for mercy would not soften his heart. Soon, very soon, his brother's death would be avenged!

So silently did the outer door open, Julian would not even have been aware of it had not a streak of lightning momentarily illuminated the room. He flattened his body against the wall, and watched a shadow move across the room. His body came to life and excitement throbbed through his veins. She had come after all—he had her now!

Lavender shut the door behind her and waited in the darkened room for any sound that might mean danger. She took a hesitant step forward, and then another. She wondered why there was no light. Her nerve ends tightened, and she stood silently listening. She had tested danger so often that some inner voice warned her something was wrong here. Ever so carefully she took a step backward, her hand reached for the doorknob, and every instinct she possessed screamed out that she had fallen into a trap!

Fear took over her reasoning, and she stumbled backward in her haste to retreat. With panic urging her to flee, she turned and fumbled for the door. A scream rose in her throat, only to be silenced by the strong arms that went around her and the hand that clamped over her mouth. She fought and struggled against her unknown assailant, but he was too strong for her. She kicked and squirmed, finally working one hand free. If only she could reach her pistol, she thought wildly, she could turn her gun on the man and yet escape.

Her thoughts of freedom were short-lived, because he spun her around and pressed her against his hard, lean body. For the moment she stopped struggling. The only sounds that could be heard were the pounding of the rain on the window and the two people breathing heavily.

"I have you now," Julian said, as his arms tightened around her. "You have been very clever, but not clever enough. Little bird, 1 am about to clip your wings—
Swallow
!"

Lavender felt her body go limp. Dear Lord, she would know Julian Westfield's voice anywhere. She now knew why he had come to Williamsburg. He had come for her! But why?

His tight grip was hurting her, but she would have died rather than ask him for mercy. She was very much aware of his strength and her weakness. Her mind was not clear, because she could see no reason why a man of such prominence would bother about her.

He gripped her wrists and twisted her arms behind her back, while he removed first her pistol and then her rapier and tossed them to the floor, their clatter breaking an ominous silence.

"What?" he mocked, "no pleading for mercy—no cries of mistaken identity, Swallow, or whatever in the hell you call yourself."