Surrender the Night (11 page)

R
ose’s legs wobbled, and she slumped onto the settee. She lifted her gaze to General Smith and then to the two armed soldiers behind him. The general’s face was a cold mask, devoid of emotion. A breeze drifted in from the door and stirred the golden fringe of the epaulets crowning his shoulders. The pinpricks of a thousand needles traveled up her legs, through her stomach and chest, and onto her arms. “You found something, General?” Her voice rasped.

A British naval officer, perhaps?

Dread enveloped her. They had come to arrest her—had probably already bound Mr. Reed and placed him on a horse to escort him to the fort.

Mr. Snyder stood.

The general took a step toward her. His boots pounded like a judge’s gavel over the wooden floor. Rose’s heart stopped beating.

“Yes, miss. We discovered this bloody cloth in your icehouse.” He flapped the offending scrap through the air before her.

Rose’s vision blurred. “In the icehouse?” Her voice cracked. Was he toying with her?

The general studied her. “Are you all right, Miss McGuire?”

“General, if I may.” Mr. Snyder waved a palm toward Rose. “Surely you can see the sight of blood frightens the lady.”

“Ah, of course. My apologies, miss.” General Smith flicked the cloth over his shoulder to one of the men behind him.

Rose laid a hand on her heaving chest and struggled for a breath. “What do you make of it, General?”

Behind him, the kitchen door opened a crack, no doubt so Cora could listen to the proceedings.

“It’s obvious,” the general said, causing Rose’s stomach to clamp again. “A wounded enemy soldier must have taken refuge there. Have you seen or heard anything during the past few weeks?”

Rose searched his hard eyes for any sign of trickery. “No sir.” She wrapped her arms around her aching stomach. “We haven’t used the icehouse in years. What need would I have to go out there? I can’t believe a British soldier was so close. My word.” She clutched her throat to stop her nervous babbling.

Mr. Snyder sat down beside her and took her hand. “It’s all right, Miss McGuire.” True concern burned in his eyes. He faced the general. “You’ve upset her. Obviously she knows nothing about this.”

Rose slid her hand from his.

The general studied the room with censure. “What of your aunt and uncle?”

“I assure you, General,” Rose said. “If they spotted an enemy soldier on our land, they would have alerted you immediately.”

The general nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Well, it seems that whoever it was has long since gone. I am sorry to have upset you, miss, but we are at war. And one cannot be too careful.”

“Of course. I thank you for your diligence, General.” But all Rose heard was “has long since gone.” Had Mr. Reed indeed left? Without so much as a by your leave or a thank you for all she’d done for him—all she had risked? She nearly chuckled at her own foolishness. What was she thinking? Mr. Reed had saved her life. He owed her no thanks. She should be happy that he was gone.

“I shall relieve you of my company.” The general gave her a short bow, turned, and marched from the room, his men following after him.

Only then did Rose fully release the breath that had jammed in her throat. Only to have her lungs constrict again as Mr. Snyder caressed
her bare fingers. Why did the man always have to touch her?

Rose leaped from the settee. “I thank you for coming to my defense, Mr. Snyder.”

He shrugged. “It was my pleasure to shield you from the general’s harsh demeanor. You know how these military sorts are.” He waved a lacy cuff through the air as the last rays of the setting sun glinted off the jewel on his finger.

Shadows blossomed like hovering specters throughout the parlor, adding to her unease. Rose lit a lantern from the embers in the fireplace. When she turned back around, Mr. Snyder stared at her with the most peculiar look. The realization struck her that she was inappropriately alone with him. She could not hear Cora rumbling about in the kitchen. Perhaps the cook had gone out to the privy. And where was Amelia when Rose needed her?

Rising to his feet, Mr. Snyder sauntered toward her, a gentle smile on his lips. “Never fear, you are safe now, Miss McGuire. I shan’t allow any harm to come to you.”

Then why did Rose feel so uneasy? “We should not be alone without benefit of an escort, sir.” She snapped her gaze to the door. “I must ask you to leave.”

“You have nothing to fear from me.” His forehead wrinkled. “I simply wish to discuss our future.”

“I am unaware that we have one.” She tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her path. Clenching her fists at her side, she stood her ground. Though the man was annoying, Rose doubted he would do her any real harm. Not with his reputation as city councilman at risk.

“But that is what I wish to discuss, my dear.” He loosened his cravat. One golden brow rose above a pair of pleading eyes.

“Mr. Snyder, you overstep your bounds. I am most certainly not your dear.” Rose started for the door, but he stepped in front of her yet again. The bergamot cologne he doused himself with stung her nose.

“Rose, I beg you.” He took her hand and placed a wet kiss upon it. “Do not deny the affection I see in your eyes. Accept my courtship. I’m sure your uncle would find the match agreeable.” He offered her a timid smile. “I cannot bear to live without you.”

Tugging her hand from his—yet again—Rose took a step back, a battle of mind and heart waging a war within her. She should accept
his offer. He had everything to recommend him and she had nothing, save this piece of land. But something in her heart forbade her—she did not love him. Could barely tolerate his presence. But perhaps she could learn. Couldn’t she? To ensure herself a future? “I need more time.”

He frowned and lowered his chin.

Rose pursed her lips. “I fear my feelings for you do not go beyond friendship.”

He seemed to shrink in stature. “I see. Yet, surely after we are married, your love for me will grow?”

“Perhaps.”

“Consider the prestige you will acquire from being a councilman’s wife.”

“And what will you acquire from the match?”

“A beautiful wife.” His mouth remained open as if he intended to say something else.

“And my land.” Rose snapped, leveling an incriminating gaze upon him.

His eyes widened, then he shrugged. “I daresay it is not so uncommon to covet such a sweet dowry. Any suitor would feel the same.”

Rose knew he was right. Most marriage contracts revolved around money and land. And this man seemed to admire and love her as well. Could she hope for any more? “Mr. Snyder, though I am flattered by your offer, I ask you to wait a little while longer.”

Disappointment rolled over his angular face.

“Now, if you please.” Rose softened her tone. “For propriety’s sake, I must ask you to leave.”

He did not move. Fury chased the kindness from his face. “I will not wait forever for you. And I doubt you’ll get a better offer.”

The truth of his words sliced through her like a hot blade. “Perhaps not. Still, I insist you leave at once.”

A cool breeze blew over them. The ominous thud of a boot step.

“I believe the lady asked you to leave.” A deep voice that rang with a British lilt floated in on the wind.

Leaning on a crutch, Mr. Reed’s body consumed the open space of the doorway. His dark eyes shifted from her to Mr. Snyder.

The councilman spun around at the intrusion. “Of all the … who the devil are you?”

“Forgive me, Miss McGuire.” Mr. Reed nodded in her direction. “The door was slightly ajar, and I thought it best to ensure you were safe.”

Rose tried to form the words “thank you,” but nothing came out of her mouth. The kitchen door opened, and Amelia entered, a look of shock pinching her features.

Rose swept her gaze back to Mr. Reed, her mind trying to process what the daft man was doing.

Mr. Snyder stepped toward Mr. Reed. “I asked you to identify yourself, sir.”

Mr. Reed’s brows lifted as his glance shifted to Rose.

“He’s our new man of work, Mr. Snyder.” She blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

Mr. Snyder swerved about. “Your man of work? I wasn’t aware you’d hired a man.” His face grew red and puffy. “He sounds like a British aristocrat!”

Rose’s mind reeled. “Yes … well … his accent …”

Amelia halted just inside the foyer.

Mr. Reed hobbled toward the parlor, his boots scraping over the wooden floor. He faced them with the confidence of a man who had nothing to hide. “What Miss McGuire is trying to say is that I spent my formative years in England living with my mother. I suppose I’ve never quite lost my accent.”

“Indeed!” Mr. Snyder’s eyes turned to steel. “What happened to your leg, sir?”

“Shot by the enemy.”

Amelia slipped beside Rose and squeezed her hand. When Mr. Reed had first announced himself, Rose thought all was lost. But now as she watched him counter Mr. Snyder’s insolent questions with grace and bravado, her heartbeat slowed from frantic to flurried.

“Are in you in the army?” Mr. Snyder continued his interrogation.

“Vermont State militia. Wounded at Odelltown, Quebec,” Mr. Reed replied with calm assurance.

Rose bit her lip and wondered how he knew such things. But no doubt the British navy kept abreast of recent land battles.

Mr. Snyder’s cold eyes swept to Rose. “Your uncle hired a crippled servant? I just saw him today in town, and he failed to mention it.”

“What business is it of yours?” Rose shrugged, sharing a glance with Mr. Reed. Even leaning on his staff, he stood tall and bold. Not a hint of fear shadowed his face. He adjusted his makeshift crutch and shifted his broad shoulders as a breeze wafting in the door played with loose strands of his dark hair.

“Yet when I arrived”—Mr. Snyder faced Mr. Reed and fisted a hand on his hip—“you did not come out to take my horse.”

“Forgive my negligence, sir. I was mending a fence at the perimeter.”

“Ah, such unforgivable behavior.” Mr. Snyder’s eyes flashed indignant fury. “A good servant hears his master’s guests arriving and anticipates their every need.” He turned to Rose. “Your uncle needs a lesson in hiring qualified staff.” His disdainful glance drifted over Amelia.

“Which is also none of your concern, Mr. Snyder.” Rose gestured toward the open door. “Now, if you please.”

His gaze shifted from Rose to Mr. Reed, who eyed him with an authority unbefitting a servant. Grabbing his hat and cane from the rack, Mr. Snyder barreled toward the door just as the sound of a carriage crunched over the gravel outside.

“By the by, here are your aunt and uncle now.” Mr. Snyder hesitated in the doorway.

Amelia gasped and drew a hand to her mouth.

Rose’s heart took up a rapid pace once again. Mr. Snyder was no fool. As soon as her aunt and uncle denied knowing Mr. Reed, he would figure out where he had come from and all would be lost. Releasing Amelia’s hand, Rose dashed forward just as her aunt and uncle came through the door. “Uncle Forbes, Aunt Muira, Mr. Snyder was just leaving.”

“I can see that. Good evening to you, Mr. Snyder.” Uncle Forbes entered the room, his wife on his arm. His glance took in Mr. Reed standing staunchly to the side. “And who, pray tell, are you?”

“As I suspected!” Mr. Snyder swung about and slammed his cane on the floor.

“Uncle.” Rose grabbed Uncle Forbes’s arm and gestured toward Mr. Reed. “Remember you mentioned to Mr. O’Brien that you were looking to hire a man of work, and he recommended Mr. Reed.” Rose lifted her brows and gave him a pleading
please-play-along
look.

Her uncle shifted his gaze between her and Mr. Reed as Aunt Muira released his arm and circled the tall British man.

“And you hired him sight unseen based on his recommendation?” Rose forced sincerity into her tone.

“Pure rubbish.” Mr. Snyder took a step inside.

Ignoring him, her uncle scratched his gray beard. “Indeed, the incident grows clearer in my mind.”

“Well, this is Mr. Reed.” Rose turned her back to Mr. Snyder and mouthed
Please, Uncle
. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amelia gripping the stairway post for support.

A curious look claimed Uncle Forbes’s face, but deep within his aged brown eyes, Rose spotted a glimmer of understanding. “Mr. Reed, you say?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“At your service.” Mr. Reed bowed regally, ever the statue of serenity.

Rose heard the swish of Aunt Muira’s skirts as she approached. “Ah, good, Forbes, you finally found someone.” She beamed at her husband causing his cheeks to redden.

Uncle Forbes grabbed the lapels of his coat and swung about. “Yes, Mr. Reed, of course. Welcome.”

Mr. Snyder huffed his displeasure from the doorway.

“Mr. Reed,” Uncle Forbes said. “Can you see to the councilman’s equipage?”

Mr. Reed tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind his ear. “I have already prepared Mr. Snyder’s horse and carriage for his departure, sir.”

Uncle Forbes smiled. “Very good. Very good. See, the man is already fast at work.” He faced Mr. Snyder. “Good evening to you then.”

Mr. Snyder’s face grew as red as his hair. Rose would have laughed if her heart were not still in her throat. Amelia, however, seemed to have no such impediment and let out a merry giggle. The councilman stormed out the door, and Mr. Reed closed it behind him.

Sweeping off her shawl, Aunt Muira handed it to Mr. Reed. “Well, aren’t you a fine figure of a man,” she exclaimed, looking him over. “I do believe he’ll do quite nicely, Forbes. I shall feel very safe with Mr. Reed here protecting the girls.”

“I do my best to make you happy, dear.” Uncle Forbes handed Mr. Reed his coat, and the poor man gave Rose a quizzical look. She
gestured toward the coatrack by the door, and he obligingly hung up the garments.

“Well.” Uncle Forbes rubbed his hands together. “I, for one, am famished. What is that delicious smell?”

Only then did Rose once again detect the aroma of roast rabbit and apple dumplings. Withdrawing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at her neck and dared a glance at Mr. Reed. Wayward strands of hair the color of cocoa drifted over his collar. Dark stubble lined his jaw and chin, and his deep eyes locked on hers.