Surrender the Night (32 page)

Intending to grab his sack and sword and slip out into the night, Alex, instead, found himself an hour later clearing a trail of pounded dirt across the hay-strewn ground of his quarters. His gut contorted, his heart constricted, and he struggled to release each breath. He should leave. He must leave.

Yet the thought of going back to his ship and being forced to fight against these Americans, these people whom he’d come to admire—and some even love—caused bile to rise in his throat. He shook off a
sudden chill that shuddered over him and scanned the room, seeking the source. Yet he found no holes in the walls nor open window or door that would allow a breeze to enter. The hot, humid air swamped back over him, and he ran his sleeve over his forehead and swerved around to trek across the room again.

If Rose returned his affections. If she could overcome his nationality, his heritage, then maybe … maybe Alex could become one of these backwoods Americans. And once accepted as such, his presence would no longer endanger this precious family.

He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his flesh. He was either a fool or completely mad for even entertaining such a thought.

Perhaps both.

He stopped pacing and fell into the chair beside the table. Leaning forward, he dropped his head into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

“What do you want, Alex?”

The whisper rang ominous and clear, and yet it came from nowhere. Alex lifted his head. Perhaps he had gone mad, indeed. But the question remained. What did he want? Honor, position, power, fortune like his father possessed? Was his father happy? Alex searched his memories and found no moment of joy in his childhood home, no smiles upon his parents’ lips, no gentle touches or embraces. Then why, when he had been so miserable as a child, did he seek after the same things? Alex shook his head.

“I love you, son.”

Tears burned behind Alex’s eyes as the silent words drifted over him.
Son
. Such an endearing yet powerful term, implying an affection and a bond that could never be broken. He remembered what Mr. Drummond had said about how God spoke to him—from deep within him.

Exactly where this voice seemed to originate.

Alex’s breath halted in his throat. “God?” he spoke into the still air, then felt foolish and lowered his chin. Why would God bother with him? Yet hadn’t God answered his prayer last night asking for the chance to speak to Mr. Drummond?

A cold chill enveloped Alex, jarring his senses. No, nothing but a coincidence. Yet hope sparked a tiny flame within him that God would
actually speak to him. That he
did
care for Alex like a father cared for a son.

“Lord, if You are listening, tell me what to do. If I stay, I’ll lose everything I’ve ever worked for and bring further disgrace to my family. If I go …” Alex hesitated.

“You’ll lose all that I have to offer you.”

Offer me?
God had something for him? Alex stood and took up a pace again to settle his nerves. His mind played tricks on him. The voice surely rose from his scrambled imaginings. He threw back his shoulders, wincing at the ache that stretched across them like a tightrope. The pain of his sore muscles seemed to jar him back to reality. Back to the honor and duty of a British naval officer and the son of a viscount. He had to leave, and he had to do it now or he feared he never would.

CHAPTER 18

R
ose scratched Liverpool behind the ears, eliciting an affectionate moo from the cow then moved to Valor’s stall. The horse lifted her head over the railing. One large brown eye assessed Rose as she approached—an eye so full of sorrow and compassion it nearly crumbled the wall of tears behind Rose’s eyes.

“Oh Valor.” She leaned her cheek against the horse’s face, inhaling the musky, sweet scent of horseflesh. “I can always rely on you. You’ll never leave me, will you?”

Valor blew out a snort in response and stomped her hoof.

Though Rose had snuffed her candle and crawled early into bed nearly an hour ago, slumber had escaped her.

Just like Mr. Reed. He was no doubt on his way back to his ship by now.
Lord, keep him safe
.

Rose kissed Valor and took up a pace across the hay-strewn ground. It was better that he left. Better for them both. Better for their countries. Then why did she feel as though her heart would dissolve beneath the pain? She swerved around and headed the other way. “Oh Lord, of all the men in the world, why did You allow me to fall in love with a British officer?” Tears escaped the corners of her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She didn’t understand God’s reasoning. But
then again, she didn’t understand why God had allowed any of the tragedies in her life.

The light thud of a footfall jarred her heart into a frenzied beat. Memories of Lieutenant Garrick’s attack bombarded her. She swerved toward the open door.

Mr. Reed stood at the entrance to the barn—an apparition of her grieved mind. A gust of wind tousled a strand of his hair that had broken free from its tie. Still donned in the stained livery of a footman, his white shirt stretched across his thick chest like a milky band in the moonlight.

She rubbed her eyes and took a step back.

He held up a hand. “It’s only me, Miss McGuire.” His deep voice sent her heart into a different kind of frenzy.

Rose swallowed. Every inch of her wanted to throw herself into his arms. A seed of hope began to sprout within her that perhaps he wouldn’t leave at all. Perhaps he had come to tell her he intended to switch sides, to become an American. “What do you want?”

“Forgive me. I … I …” He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was looking for my uniform and sword.”

“I gave them to you.”

He blinked as a puzzled look tightened his features. “I hid them under my bed, but when I went to retrieve them, I found them gone. I thought. … I thought. …”

“You thought I took them? Why would I when I want you to leave?” The lie made her cringe. His statement dried up her hope. A breeze blew through the barn, bringing a chill with it. She hugged herself.

His puzzlement turned to concern as he approached her. “You’ve been crying.” The timbre of his British accent eased through her like warm tea on a winter’s night.

Rose looked away. Sorrow constricted her chest.

Touching her chin with his finger, he moved her gaze back to his. Lantern light angled over his sharp jaw and flickered in his hazel eyes now brimming with affection. “Rose, surely you are aware of my feelings for you.”

Rose’s breath halted in her throat.

“The pain of never seeing you again overwhelms me.” His warm
hands enveloped hers and he looked down.

Rose’s breath returned and gusted out of her mouth. A sob emerged behind it.

Which he must have taken as shock, or worse, disapproval. “My apologies for being so bold.” He gazed down at their hands and released his grip. “But situation and time deny me the luxury of proper etiquette.”

Rose finally found her voice. “Why do you tell me this when you are leaving?”

“Because I want you to know. I want you to remember me. To know that you affected me deeply—changed me.”

Hope sparked in Rose’s heart. “Then why not stay? Become an American.”

He shook his head and stared at the ground. Dark strands of hair hung around his face, hiding his expression.

A tear slid down her cheek. He looked up.

“I’ve made you cry.” He started to turn away, but Rose grabbed his hand. His warm fingers wrapped around hers as if he’d never let go. “You are the first man I’ve allowed to touch me—the first man I’ve felt safe with in years.”

“That pleases me more than I can say.” He gathered both her hands in his once again. His manly smell surrounded her like a shield. A look of complete and unfettered concern beamed from his eyes. “Rose, tell me what happened to you.”

Alex watched as Rose turned and made her way to the barn door, leaning against its frame. He followed her. A breeze swirled around them, fluttering the hem of her gown and dancing among the golden curls that hung to her waist. Moonlight encased her in a protective glow as if she were too beautiful, too pure to touch.

“Remember when I told you about the so-called friend of my father’s who took me in after my mother died and made me a servant?” Her voice quavered.

Alex nodded.

“I didn’t tell you everything that happened to me after I ran away from him.” She shifted her gaze away.

“You bartered passage aboard a merchant ship, if memory serves me.”

She swallowed hard and opened and closed her mouth several times as if trying to say something.

“There is no need to tell me.”

Blue eyes shot to his, cold with pain. “I want to. I want you to know.”

She turned away from him and gazed out upon the farm. “At first the captain and crew were kind to me. They gave me my own quarters and fed me well.”

The muscles in Alex’s chest tightened. The tone of her voice, the defeated pain, said it all. Somehow he knew what was coming, and he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to know that anyone had hurt this precious lady.

“But one night, two sailors crept into my cabin. One of them assaulted me—” Her voice cracked.

Blood pulsed hot in Alex’s veins.

“During the struggle, I grabbed the pistol of the man attacking me. And I shot him.” Her delicate jaw grew taut. “The captain burst into the room before the other man could react. But he was too late. The sailor was dead and I was …”

Alex stepped toward her.

She shuffled away. “The captain put me ashore, stating he wanted no more trouble aboard his ship.”

The anguish in her tone sent a lance through Alex’s heart.

“I traveled on foot, keeping to the trees that lined the coach trails, not daring to trust anyone again. Finally, two weeks later, I arrived at my aunt and uncle’s house in town, starved and beaten.” Drawing in a deep breath, she faced him, her features tight and a distant look in her eyes.

Alex tightened his jaw. Her sad tale had not surprised him. He had suspected as much. But now that he knew for sure, he could understand why she was frightened of everything. Why she feared even going into town. What this poor girl had endured at so young an age—just seventeen. It took all his strength to contain the rage bubbling up inside him at the sailors who had accosted Rose. But his anger would do her no good right now. Now, she needed understanding. She needed love and acceptance.

Her shoulders began to quiver beneath a sob. “I killed a man.” She shook her head. “And the worst of it is I’m not sorry for it.”

Alex reached out for her, but she backed away.

“I’m a murderer,” she said. “The Bible says ‘thou shalt not kill.’”

“I’m told by a very reliable source that God forgives.” Alex grinned, hoping to lighten her mood.

“Does He forgive when I’m not sorry?”

Alex had no idea. He suddenly wished for Mr. Drummond’s wise counsel, anything to help ease Rose’s torment. “Is that why you abhor guns?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head upward, allowing the moonlight to soften the hard lines of anguish. “What that sailor did to me was done. I am defiled. But because of that pistol, I now live with the guilt of his murder.”