Surrender the Night (47 page)

It had taken every ounce of her strength to haul Mr. Snyder to his feet and then—with him draped over her shoulder—assist him down the long hall in search of a hiding place. She had lugged him toward the back of the house and then up another flight of stairs before she could go no farther.

“Rose,” he whispered, his voice as ragged as his breathing.

“Shhh, Mr. Snyder. I’m right here.” She dabbed his forehead and looked at his blue eyes in the shadows—eyes that had lost the sting of arrogance and determination. Though she pressed as hard as she could on the wound, Mr. Snyder’s once gold waistcoat had transformed into a brown pond. Too much blood.

He was losing far too much blood.

Boots thumped nearby, and a door slammed in the distance. Rose swallowed a lump of terror. If any of the soldiers entered the room, she prayed the obvious lack of valuables would force them to leave. Unless, of course, they took the time to walk over and peek behind the sofa. If they did, perhaps the Lord would make her and Mr. Snyder invisible. Why not? Surely the Creator of the universe could perform such a simple task.

Despite the mad thumping of her heart and the sweat trickling down her back, Rose felt an inner peace. Whether God saw her through this harrowing night or took her home, she was content that His will would be done. And that it would be for the best. What a wonderful change God had worked in her heart from just a few days ago! Yes, some of her fear remained, but God’s peace had removed the sting from it, rendering it impotent.

“I’m sorry, Rose.” Mr. Snyder coughed. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

Rose flattened her lips and stared at the man who had threatened her family, who had sent her beloved Alex away, forever destroying Rose’s chance at true love and happiness. She searched her heart for any animosity and strangely found none, as if his life-threatening injury or perhaps God Himself had swept it all away.

A flash of lightning lit his face, and Rose nearly gasped at the gray pallor of his skin. Beneath her hand, his heart still beat, though its pulse had weakened. A tear slid down her cheek. She bit her lip.
No, Lord. No. Please do not let him die
.

Yet … a shameful thought skipped across Rose’s mind. If Mr. Snyder died, Rose and her family would be safe from his threats. She sighed and wiped the blood from Mr. Snyder’s lips. Even still, she did not wish him dead.

Withdrawing her right hand from his wound, Rose placed her other one upon it, then shook out the cramp in her palm. Not that holding the wound was doing any good. This amount of blood indicated a major organ or artery had been penetrated. If only her aunt or Dr. Wilson were here. Then again, what could any of them do in the middle of an enemy-occupied city?

“I have been a beast, Rose.” Mr. Snyder’s voice cracked. “I wanted
your land. And I wanted you.” He attempted to smile.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does. I want you to understand.” His voice rasped like the scraping of wood on wood. “I longed to be a man of importance, of prominence. I wanted recognition, status, I wanted to be admired.” He coughed and another stream of blood spilled from his lips. “And someday, maybe even loved.” His sorrowful eyes met hers.

Thunder pounded on the walls of the house. Rose’s heart collapsed in anguish for Mr. Synder’s pain. “A man’s true value is not measured in his wealth or status, but in his honor and charity,” she said.

Understanding flashed in Mr. Snyder’s dull eyes. “Yes, I see that now.”

Somewhere a window shattered. Hideous laughter ensued.

“You must leave, Rose.” Mr. Snyder’s tone grew urgent. “Before they find you. I am done for.”

Rose gripped his hand. “I won’t leave you.”

His forehead wrinkled. “After all I’ve done?”

The patter of rain sounded on the roof like the march of a thousand soldiers.

She squeezed his hand.

His eyes misted. “Forgive me, Rose?”

Rose dabbed at the sweat beading in the red whiskers that lined his jaw—the ones he always kept so expertly trimmed. “Yes, of course.” A sudden fear gripped her as she watched his life ebb away—fear for his eternal destination. “But it’s God’s forgiveness you need to seek.”

He nodded, coughing. Sprinkles of blood flew from his mouth.

Rose smiled and wiped the tears spilling down her cheeks.

He coughed again, then expelled a deep breath.

And went completely still.

A flash of lightning revealed eyes devoid of life.

Releasing the pressure on his chest, Rose curled up into a ball on the floor beside him and began to sob.

Thunder cracked the sky with a loud boom.

The door squeaked open. Swallowing a sob, Rose peered beneath the sofa. A breeze wafted around her with the scent of rain and sweat and smoke. Boots, immersed in a circle of light, thudded over the wooden floor. Black Hessian boots. Rose held her breath.

Oh Lord, make him go away
.

Inching to the edge of the sofa, Rose dared a peek around the corner. She gasped.

Alexander Reed stood in the center of the room.

CHAPTER 28

T
oo shocked to move, Alex stared at the woman he loved. He shook his head. He’d gone mad. There was no other explanation, for Rose would not have traveled this far from home. Holding up the lantern, he took a step toward her. Rain tapped an eerie cadence on the roof. Lightning flashed outside the window, coating her in silver. Alex blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to settle his heart. Only a vision. Just a vision conjured up by his despair.

Thunder rumbled through the walls. He snapped his eyes open.

The vision moved. It gripped the sofa and slowly stood. Wide, lustrous blue eyes gaped at him.

He inched toward her. “Rose?”

She flew into his arms. He wrapped one arm around her and dropped his face into her hair. The smell of hay and honeysuckle confirmed what the warmth flooding his body told him.

She was real.

She began to sob. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Withdrawing, he set the lantern on the floor, then gripped her shoulders and glanced over her, looking for any injuries, as sudden fear dashed away his joy. “What the deuces are you doing here?”

Sadistic laughter barreled down the hallway.

Rose wiped the tears from her face and fell into him again. “My aunt and uncle were at the orphanage. I came to warn them.”

Alex bundled her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You foolish, wonderful lady.”

Lantern light flickered over her face as her eyes, bounding with love, sought his. He stroked her cheeks and lowered his lips to hers. They tasted of salty tears and Rose. She moaned, and he pressed her against him and ran his fingers through her hair. “I love you, Rose.”

“You love me?”

“Yes.” He brushed the hair from her face. “And I want to stay with you. Become an American.”

She blinked and took a step back. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Trying to find your military so I can desert mine, trying to stop the destruction.” Alex ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“I can’t believe you want to become an American.” Rose approached and cradled his face in her hands. “Is it true?”

“Truer than anything I’ve ever known.” Alex smiled and leaned his forehead against hers.

A loud blast from inside the house jolted him back to reality. Releasing Rose, he gripped the hilt of his sword, stepped to the door and peered out. Fear tightened his gut. “Your aunt and uncle?”

“They were already gone when I got here.”

“Then what are you doing in this house?”

“I came in to warn the president’s wife.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “Mr … Mr …” Her voice quaked. “Mr. Snyder.”

Alex turned to give her a questioning look. “What of Mr. Snyder?”

“He followed me.” Her eyes snapped to the only piece of furniture in the room. Thunder growled outside. “He’s dead.” Rose shuddered and stared at the sofa.

Picking up the lantern, Alex skirted the velvet couch. Blank eyes stared up at him above a blood-soaked cravat and waistcoat. He tore his gaze away and looked at Rose. “How?”

“A British soldier shot him.”

Alex swallowed as realization settled. Yes. The soldier who had died by Alex’s side. More footsteps pounded outside the room, joining the tap of raindrops atop the roof. Alex grasped Rose’s hand once again.
This time he noticed how cold and moist her skin was. Terror like he’d never felt before consumed him. He must keep Rose safe.

“We have to get you out of here. Soldiers are searching the entire mansion. They will find you.”

The ominous clap of a footfall sounded behind him. Alex spun around.

The dark figure of a British soldier stepped inside the room. “Ah, I see you’ve found a sweet American tart, my friend. Care to share?”

The soldier sauntered into the room, pistol in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other. All hope fled Rose before an advancing onslaught of fear. Her pulse roared in her ears. No matter what happened, she would never forget these final minutes God had allowed her with the man she loved.

Alex moved in front of her as if he could shield her from this man. From the world. She wished he could.
Oh Lord, please protect him. Please don’t let him do anything foolish
. She glanced over the room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon, but found none. Mr. Snyder’s pistol was in the dining room where he’d dropped it beside his ever-present cane.

Alex’s hand flew to the hilt of his service sword. “The woman is my prisoner.”

“Egad, man. She’s a rebel wench.” The soldier, a sergeant, evidenced by the three strips on his red coat, peered around Alex. “And a comely one at that.” Desire burned in his dark eyes. Rose’s stomach soured.

“Besides.” The man wobbled past Alex. “Admiral Cockburn has given us his leave to take whatever we find in the house.” The smell of alcohol emanating from the brute burned Rose’s nose.

Alex moved in front of her again. His muscles seemed to ripple beneath his dark navy coat. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a sigh of compliance. “Very well. I suppose I’ll oblige you, sergeant.” He gave a chuckle that would have convinced Rose of his sincerity if she didn’t know him better. He pointed toward the soldier’s pistol. “No need for that, is there? We are on the same side, after all.”

The sergeant glanced at the weapon in his hand as if he’d not realized he held it. Stuffing it in its holster, he hefted the bottle to
his lips and took a big draught. He wiped his mouth and handed it to Alex.

Alex took a sip then gestured toward the hallway. “Do get the door, sergeant, while I get the wench ready. We don’t want to be disturbed, do we?”

Lightning flickered outside, flashing an eerie gray over the sergeant’s angular face. His wide grin reminded Rose of a row of dead bones standing at attention. “Aye, I like the way you think, sir.” Removing the tall black shako from his head, he set it on the sofa, scouring Rose with a salacious gaze before he turned and started toward the door.

Alex didn’t hesitate. Drawing his sword, he struck the man’s head with the hilt. With a moan, the sergeant folded to the ground like a used piece of foolscap.