Less Than a Gentleman (11 page)

She snorted. “Do you think I came from a cabbage patch? Of course I had a mother and father. And brothers and sisters. Haven’t seen them since the master brought me here.”

Matthias swallowed hard. Dottie had been at Loblolly for twenty years. He washed and shaved in silence.

Dottie heaped eggs and sausages onto a plate. “Come and eat.”

“Thank you.” He sat at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry, Dottie. About your family.”

“I know.” She patted his shoulder. “You’re a good boy. Always have been.”

With a frown, he began eating. If he was good, he wouldn’t have made Caroline wait for the news that her father was well.

As he finished the last bite, Betsy walked in with a tray of dirty dishes.

“They finished eating in the Great House.” She set the tray next to the dishpan. “Miss Munro said she was taking the children to the garden.”

Caroline.
Maybe he could see her before he left. He handed his empty plate to Betsy. “Is Miss Ludlow with them?”

“Lord, no.” Betsy scoffed. “She doesn’t care for the young’uns.”

Matthias shrugged on his plain brown coat. “I’ll return for the bread in a little while. Betsy, can I have that letter back?”

When she passed him the letter, he tossed it into the fire. With a grin, he headed for the garden. And Caroline.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

A
s he exited the kitchen, Matthias glanced around to make sure he wasn’t seen. He dashed to the pergola, and instantly, the temperature dropped as he was surrounded by green, living shade. The sun pierced through the vines here and there, dappling the ground with spots of light.

He heard the children talking. Grasping a vine in his hand, he opened a peephole. There she was, in jasmine-yellow cotton, her red curls gleaming in the morning sun.

“Miss Munro,” he whispered.

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Over here.”

She squinted in his direction. He crooked a finger through the opening.

She approached, a smile spreading across her sunny face. “Is that Haversham or a hedge that beckons me?”

“Come in,” he whispered.

As he walked to the entrance, he could spot her yellow gown on the other side of the vines, moving on a parallel course. She reached the entrance. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cool, leafy tunnel.

She laughed. “Whatever are you doing here? Where were you at breakfast?”

“I don’t work in the house anymore.” Still holding her hand, he backed into the pergola, taking her with him. “In fact, I have to go away for a while.”

“You have more business matters to attend to?”

“Aye.”

“How long will you be gone?” She moved closer to him. A ray of sunshine shot through the vines, lighting her face. Tiny freckles dusted her little nose.

Freckle-face
. Memory of the dead redcoat flashed through Matt’s mind. He released her hand. He had no idea how many men he’d dispatched in the heat of battle. Who had time to think about it when fighting for survival? But Freckle-face was the last man he’d killed, and he’d watched the light extinguish in the soldier’s eyes.

What the hell was he doing, flirting with Caroline? He’d made his decision in the library to keep a distance from her. But it was damned hard to honor that decision when he was in her presence. The minute he saw her, he wanted to hold her and kiss her. But he had vowed to remain unattached throughout the war.
Timing is everything
. And this was the wrong time.

He stepped back. She must have noticed something in his expression for her smile faded.

He took a deep breath. “Miss Munro, I must apologize for last night.”

“Oh?” Her eyes darkened with a wary look.

“I took far too much liberty. It won’t happen again.”

Her back stiffened. “I see.”

“I can explain.”

“There’s no need.” She brushed back a curl with an impatient gesture. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure—”

“ ’Tis simple enough,” she interrupted him. “
I
may have enjoyed it, but you were eager to leave. And now you no longer wish to see me. I understand perfectly. Good day.” She swiveled and headed for the pergola entrance.

“Bloody hell, I liked it. Too much.”

She halted.

Damn
. What was he doing? He should have let her go. “ ’Tis a matter of timing. I’m not . . . free at this time.”

She turned slowly. “Because of your indenture? I thought you understood. I don’t care about that.”

Was it possible that she could love him for himself? Not for the house, the land, or the wealth. He clenched his fists. He’d be a fool to give her up.

But what choice did he have? He could be dead in a week, a month, a year. He couldn’t make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

He had to withdraw. “I shouldn’t see you again. Times are too dangerous because of the war.”

Her eyes reflected the hurt he caused. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she’d taken a chill. “I would agree if you were involved with the war. I vowed never to love a soldier again for that same reason. But you’re—”

“You loved a soldier? When was this?”

“Three years ago. He died at Brandywine. I never want to endure that pain again.” She wandered toward the hedge and fingered the small jasmine leaves. “You’re not a soldier. I thought you would be safe.”

Matthias paced toward her. “Is that why you kissed me? Because I’m
not
a soldier?”

She shrugged with a bewildered look. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t fond of you. But I’ve avoided soldiers like smallpox for three years. I wouldn’t have talked to you if you were a soldier. I would never have let it progress to the point that we . . . kissed.”

He cursed silently. He would have never believed that masquerading as a butler could cause such a mess. If he confessed to being a soldier, would she spurn him? It provided a way for him to end their relationship, but he damned well didn’t want to take it. She was so tempting. And she thought he was safe to fall in love with.

God help him, he wanted that love. He wanted her.

Suddenly, her answer was paramount. “What if I decided, now, to join the army? Would you refuse to see me again?”

Her eyes glistened with tears. “I would beg you not to join.”

“But if I did?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I—I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Everything is happening so quickly. I hardly know you but . . . I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Her eyes locked with his. He knew the instant she understood the desire he struggled with. Her gaze lowered to his mouth with a languid, sensual, green-eyed invitation.

He pulled her into his arms. She pressed against him, grabbing his shoulders. Their mouths met in a frantic reenactment of the evening before.

He devoured her lips. He nibbled her neck. He savored the taste of her skin. She smelled of sunshine and magnolia, and felt warm and willing. She melted against him.

And still, it wasn’t enough. He returned to her mouth. This was even better than last night. With her hands wrapped around his neck, she was kissing him back. He felt the tightening in his breeches. With a groan, he invaded her mouth with his tongue.

She started and pulled back. “What was that?”

“A kiss.” He leaned forward, wanting more.

She stepped back. “Is that allowed? I mean . . . you meant to do that?”

“ ’Twas no accident.”

“Oh.” Her face grew pink. “Of course. People don’t accidentally stick out their tongues.”

He grinned. “True.” So this soldier from her past had never given her a truly passionate kiss. The thought gladdened his heart.

“When I was a little girl, I thought such things were— Never mind.” She shook her head. “I’ve said enough. My tongue is my worst enemy.”

“It tasted friendly to me.”

With an exasperated look, she gave his chest a playful push that didn’t budge him.

He chuckled. “At least you didn’t bite me.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you were doing it on purpose.” Her blush deepened. “When I was young, I heard some women in the village talking about a woman named Polly. She went into the forest with a man and nine months later,
voilà
—a baby. So I thought it
was
some sort of accident.”

“Like falling into a pond?”

She laughed. “I suppose.”

He gathered her back into his arms. With a shy glance at his face, she rested her hands on his chest.

“Caroline.” He leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. Her scent and the softness of her skin made him instantly hard.

“Hmm?” She skimmed her hands up to his neck.

With each breath, her breasts rose toward him, enticing him to have a taste. He leaned her back.

“Ow!” She jumped. “What was that?”

He straightened. “Excuse me.” She must have felt the bulge that time.

“Something jabbed me.” She pivoted. “Oh, no wonder. I backed into a stem from this climbing rose.”

He glared at the rosebush. How come she never felt him?

“I’m all right. ’Twas naught but a tiny twig.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“I should check on the children.” She peeked through an opening in the hedge. “Oh, dear, they’re digging in Jane’s flowerbed.” She turned to him with apologetic smile. “I should go before they destroy the garden.”

Matthias peered through another peephole and spotted a blue parasol. “Miss Ludlow is coming.”
Damn
. How could he return to the kitchen without her seeing him?

Caroline looked again through the hedge. “Another parasol? She must have one to match every gown.”

Agatha sauntered into the garden and stopped at the sight of the children. “Oh, my, whatever are you doing?”

“We’re digging.” Charlotte rose to her feet and wiped her soiled hands on her gown. “Want to see what we found?”

Agatha shuddered so hard her parasol shook. “How disgusting. What filthy urchins.”

“They’re not urchins. They’re earthworms,” Edward announced.

Agatha snorted. “Silly child, I was referring to you and your dirty sister.”

Caroline stiffened. “I’m going to stuff that parasol down her throat and open it,” she muttered.

“Wait.” Matthias looped an arm around her shoulders so she wouldn’t leave, then pushed back more vines to give them a better view.

Charlotte lifted her chin. “I am not a worm. I’m a princess.”

Edward jumped to his feet with an eight-inch earthworm in his hands. “Zounds! This is the biggest one yet!”

Agatha jumped back. “A
snake
!”

“ ’Tis not a snake.” Edward walked toward her, stretching the slimy worm out to its longest length. “See?”

Agatha lunged back. “Keep that away from me.”

“But, miss,” Edward said. “You should look behind—”

“Stay away!” Agatha leapt back. She teetered on the edge of the reflecting pool, her parasol waving frantically in the air. With a screech, she tumbled backward into the water.

Caroline gasped and whispered, “Oh, no!”

Matthias grinned. “Oh, yes.”

Agatha floundered about, slapping lily pads and splashing water all over herself. Her curls drooped on each side of her head like long dog ears. “Blast you, you bloody beggar! ’Twill be your fault if I drown in here.”

Edward kicked off his shoes. “I tried to warn you.” He jumped into the pool and waded to her. The water only reached his knees.

“Keep away from me!” Agatha shouted. “This is your fault.”

“I just want to help you up.” Edward leaned over her.

She swatted his hands away.

“Oh, no, you made me drop the worm.” Edward inspected her gown. “There it is!” He pointed at her bodice.

Agatha spotted the worm slithering up her gown toward her breasts and let out a window-shattering screech.

Matthias bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Bravo, Edward.”

“ ’Tis not amusing.” Caroline grinned.

“Falling in a pond.” Matthias slanted her a wry look. “I wonder if she’s with child.”

Caroline elbowed him in the ribs. “I’d better go.”

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

With the chaos surrounding Agatha, Matthias found it easy to escape unnoticed. But he couldn’t escape what he had done. He had failed to end the relationship with Caroline.

The trap at Kingstree would be ready within a week, and though he hoped the ambush would go smoothly, bloodshed was always possible. He shouldn’t have kissed her again. Not when his next mission could be dangerous.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

Kingstree, South Carolina

Saturday, September 16, 1780

“M
ove your damned horse,” the British officer commanded.

Matthias squatted behind his reclining horse, his musket on the ground by his feet. From his position in the middle of the road, he’d watched the redcoats cross the bridge. There were only five of them—two soldiers on the wagon, two more on foot, and the impatient lieutenant on horseback.

Rubbing his horse’s neck, Matthias gave the officer an apologetic look. “I’m afraid he’s gone lame, sir.”

“He’s blocking the road.” The lieutenant wiped the sweat from his brow with a lacy handkerchief, his woolen uniform obviously uncomfortable in the noonday heat. “Shoot the beast. My men will help you haul it to the side.”

“Aye, sir.” Matt picked up his musket and stood.

“Quickly, man. We haven’t all day.” The officer stuffed his handkerchief up his sleeve. “Aim for the head.”

“As you wish.” In seconds, Matthias had his musket raised and aimed. Directly at the lieutenant’s head.

“What the hell—” The officer’s eyes widened.

The other redcoats scrambled for their weapons, then halted as two dozen partisans appeared from the cover of bushes and trees, all with muskets trained on them.

The lieutenant’s face reddened with anger. “This is an outrage!”

“No, this is an ambush.” Matt whistled. His horse rolled to a standing position and cantered off.

The lieutenant’s gaze darted nervously along the line of armed partisans. “If you deny us passage, you will all be guilty of treason.”

Matthias kept his musket aimed at the officer. “If we kill all of you, who will be left to report it?”

The British soldiers gave their commanding officer a frantic look for guidance. The partisans slowly advanced.

With a clenched jaw, the lieutenant addressed his men, “Lay down your weapons.”

Matthias breathed easier. Over half of his men were out of musket balls and powder, but the bluff had worked.

As planned, the partisans ushered the redcoats into the nearby woods. Simon scrambled onto the supply wagon and drove away. Ten militiamen mounted their horses and rode escort. Matthias and Richard tied the five British soldiers to trees while the rest of his men stood guard.

“Make yourselves comfortable. You may have a long wait,” Matthias advised the sitting soldiers. He would send a man to Kingstree to arrange for the townspeople to discover the redcoats and release them the next morning.

“We’ll come after you,” the lieutenant warned. “We’ll hunt you down.”

Matthias tightened the knot around the lieutenant’s ankles. Using his knife, he cut off the excess rope. “You could wander the swamp for years and not find us.”

“They’d probably drown in a bog,” Richard added.

“Traitors,” the lieutenant growled. “I’ll see you hang.”

“Then perhaps I should adjust your eyesight, now.” Matthias lifted his knife so the blade caught the sunlight and cast a glare across the officer’s face.

The lieutenant paled.

Matthias leaned closer. “How many homes have you burned to the ground? How many children have you left to starve?”

“This is war,” the redcoat whispered. “We do what we must.”

“Aye, we do.” Matthias straightened. “A shame you have no way to defend yourself. ’Twill be a long night.”

“Aye.” Richard nodded with a twinkle in his eye. “The snakes are bad this close to the river.”

Matthias wedged the knife under his belt. “Did you know that alligators are attracted to the color red?”

“Really?” Richard smiled. “How interesting.”

Ignoring the frightened protests from the captured redcoats, Matthias mounted his horse. With the rest of his men, he rode back to Snow’s Island.

A
nother week passed, and Matthias stayed at the campsite with his men. Luckily, the supplies they’d captured contained weapons and ammunition they sorely needed. He was careful to ration the wine and rum, and doubled the guard in case the British attempted to locate them.

It was nigh impossible to live each day surrounded by green vegetation without recalling Caroline’s green eyes. And he couldn’t pass a sweet bay magnolia without longing to bury his nose in her scented curls.

The evenings were worse. The men sat around the campfire and reminisced about their wives and children. And he would remember how she had melted in his arms, how she had returned his kisses, how her eyes had glimmered with tears at the thought of losing him.

“Roasted potatoes again?” Simon sat cross-legged, staring glumly at the potato on a slab of bark. “You know what I’d like, Captain? More of that bread you bring from your home.”

The men murmured in agreement.

Richard gave him an amused look. “You haven’t been home in a fortnight.”

“I’m not hungry.” Matthias passed his potato to Simon before walking away.

He settled under an ash tree and swatted at the buzzing mosquitoes. The humming sound of locusts grew louder as the sun descended. A marbled salamander scurried into a clump of marsh fern. Why had he told Caroline he’d be back in a few days? He closed his eyes and muttered a curse.

“Sounds like a woman,” Richard said.

He opened his eyes to glare at his cousin. “Sounds like someone prying into my business.”

“A bit grumpy, are we?” Richard sat beside him. “The men are laying bets as to why you’ve been growling so much.”

Matthias ground his teeth. “I’m not growling.”

“Right.” Richard smiled. “So is it a woman? The one you called a ‘conniving little she-demon’?”

“No.”

“The one you called a ‘vixen with sharp little teeth’?”

“Go to hell.”

Rich laughed. “The wound’s a little tender, huh?”

“What wound?”

Rich’s face grew serious. “She wasn’t interested, I take it. That’s why you’re staying here.”

“She
is
interested. That’s why I’m staying here.”

“And that’s supposed to make sense? You’ve been breathing in swamp gas?”

Matthias shot his cousin a wry look. “You know how I feel about this war. ’Twould be foolish for me to marry and father children when I could die any day.”

Rich tugged a leaf off a nearby pepperbush and dissected it slowly. “You’ve given thought lately to marriage and children?”

Matthias shrugged. “The timing is wrong.”

Richard tossed the mangled leaf to the ground. “What if there was no war?”

“There’s no point to this. Go away.”

“Answer me. If there were peace, would you pursue her?”

If there were peace, Richard wouldn’t have that blasted red scar down his face. Matthias rubbed his brow. “You could have peace, Rich. You could go home and forget about this nonsense.”

“ ’Tis not nonsense.”

Matthias sighed. Richard’s father, the Quaker minister, had opposed his son’s entering the army. But as soon as Matthias had joined, Richard had followed suit. And Matthias knew his uncle blamed him for leading Richard into the war.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Richard persisted. “If there was no war, would you pursue her?”

Matthias leaned his head back and gazed at the darkening sky. “I suppose I would.”

“You suppose?”

Matthias shrugged.

“I’ve known you all your life. ’Tis not like you to be indecisive. What’s wrong?”

Matt gave his cousin an annoyed look. “I’m not sure. I cannot decide.”

Richard rubbed at the scar on his face. “I know. There’s something wrong with her.”

Matthias scoffed. “I think not.”

“Oh, there
must
be. Because if you thought she was perfect for you, you wouldn’t let anything stand in your way. Is she ugly and scrawny?”

“No!”

“Then she’s stupid.”

“No, dammit. And stop insulting her or I’ll bash your teeth in.”

“Ah, so you
do
care for her.” Richard grinned with triumph.

Matt glared at his cousin. “Very clever.”

“Perhaps you’re afraid.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I mean it. Your parents have a miserable marriage. Are you afraid you’ll have one?”

“No. My parents’ marriage was arranged. I shall choose my own wife. And she’ll need to love
me,
not the plantation.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re expected to settle down at Loblolly and breed more heirs for the little kingdom.”

Matthias gritted his teeth. “I know. What’s your point?”

“You were never happy there. You hated the way your father was treating—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Richard rose to his feet and brushed off his breeches. “I think you’re avoiding the truth.”

Matthias snorted. “The truth is we’re at war.”

“And it makes the perfect excuse for you not to marry. How convenient.”

“War is never convenient.” Matthias scowled at his cousin as Richard wandered back to camp.

A
t General Cornwallis’s headquarters, Captain Ezra Hickman checked the polish on his boots and tucked his tricorne under his arm. A week had passed since he’d made his recommendation, and now the general wished to see him.

The door opened, and Cornwallis’s chief aide motioned for him to enter. Ezra strode inside and stood at attention. The general fumbled through papers on his desk.

As Ezra waited to be acknowledged, he chanced a few furtive glances at the other occupants in the room. Next to him stood an ashen-faced lieutenant who looked ready to lose his dinner. Against the far wall, he spotted Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton. Yes! The general was planning to honor his request. Soon, he’d be trading his red coat for the green one of a dragoon.

“Hickman, is it?” Cornwallis scratched his chin, not bothering to look up. “I expect you know the lieutenant colonel.”

“Yes, sir.” Ezra bowed to Tarleton. “I am honored, sir. Your reputation is legendary.”

Tarleton snorted. “I’m not interested in legends. I want results.”

“Yes, sir.” Ezra felt his face redden.

Cornwallis waved a pudgy hand. “Don’t mind him. He’s been in a foul mood ever since the incident at Nelson’s Ferry.”

Tarleton stalked to a window and stood there, looking out at the rows of tents. “That bastard Marion cannot hide from me forever.”

“I saw a report on Marion this morning. Where the deuce is it?” Cornwallis thumbed through a stack of papers and called to his aide, “George, who was the man who filed that report?”

“Greville, my lord,” the aide replied with a stony expression. “Do you request his presence?”

“Yes. Right away.” Cornwallis motioned for his aide to go. “Now where were we?”

Tarleton turned with an annoyed expression. “We were discussing the debacle at Kingstree. I wanted to have the lieutenant here flogged.”

“I believe a loss in wages will suffice.” Cornwallis looked at the lieutenant. “What say you, Rooster?”

“Brewster, sir.” The lieutenant bowed his head. “I will gladly forgo my wages, sir.”

“You deserve worse.” Tarleton strode toward the lieutenant. “Losing your supplies to a pack of ruffians? You’re lucky I don’t whip the skin off your back.”

“Yes, sir,” Brewster replied with a strained voice.

“Why did you cross at Kingstree?” Tarleton demanded.

“It was the only bridge. The partisans burned all the others.”

“And that didn’t seem suspicious to you?” Tarleton’s eyes blazed with anger as he turned to Hickman. “And you, did you lose your shipment as well?”

Ezra stood stiff at attention. “No, sir. I arrived without incident.”

Tarleton examined him. “You speak like a local.”

“I come from Charles Town, sir.”

“Do you know your way around the swamps?”

Ezra hesitated. His knowledge was limited, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Cornwallis leaned back in his chair. “Hickman recommends we move our supplies by barge. In fact, he knows a perfect place halfway to Charles Town. What was the name of that plantation?”

“Loblolly, my lord,” Ezra answered. “On the Black River.”

“Your suggestion has merit,” Cornwallis continued. “And since you are already acquainted with the house and its occupants, I’m putting you in charge.”

Ezra’s mouth dropped open.
Damn.
He would be far from the battle lines and entirely forgotten.

Cornwallis smiled as he poured a crystal glass full of wine. “You’re a lucky devil, Hickman. You’ll be eating well and living in comfort while the rest of us suffer.”

The general didn’t look like he was suffering or missing any meals, Ezra thought. “My lord, I was hoping for something more—” He noticed a hard glint in the general’s eyes. This was not the time. “I am delighted to be of service, my lord.”

The door opened behind him, and the aide spoke. “Greville, sir.”

A tall soldier marched in and stood at attention.

“You’re the soldier who escaped from the partisans?” Cornwallis asked.

“Yes, sir,” Greville replied, his eyes gleaming with pride. “I escaped five days ago in North Carolina. I made it back here last night.”

Tarleton advanced on the soldier. “You were captured at Nelson’s Ferry?”

Greville’s face reddened. “Yes, sir.”

Tarleton gritted his teeth. “Where is Marion now?”

“He was in North Carolina when I escaped, sir. I believe he is still there.”

Tarleton turned to Lieutenant Brewster. “When was the ambush at Kingstree?”

“A week ago, sir,” Brewster answered.

Tarleton stepped closer to the lieutenant. “Who was the leader of the ambush?”

A drop of sweat ran down the lieutenant’s cheek. “I don’t know his name, sir. He had dark hair—”

“So does Marion,” Tarleton interrupted. “Was he a short, swarthy fellow, in his forties?”

“No, sir,” Brewster answered. “He was young and tall. He threatened to cut my eyes out with that vicious knife of his.”

“Wait.” Greville held up a hand. “He has a knife?”

“Yes, a long, wicked one with a handle inlaid with ivory.”

“That’s my knife,” Greville insisted. “After the bastard broke my nose, he stole my knife to murder one of our soldiers at Nelson’s Ferry.”