A More Perfect Union: Emily's Vow Part 17

She darted a look at him. "You knew?"

"Of course. He told me."

A surge of annoyance flitted through Emily, and she returned her attention to the store's books. "A few more moments, then we'll go."

She paused, skimming the interior of the store, contemplating the sense of a mismatch between what she read and what she saw. Shelves lined the walls, fairly groaning under the weight of the goods they supported. Wooden crates and barrels of all sizes filled the shelves and cluttered the floor. A beautiful set of elaborately carved ivory tusks held pride of place on a high shelf with a wide a.s.sortment of colored bottles, statuettes, stuffed animals, and bolts of fabric.

Suddenly it struck her. The list of imported items in the ledger did not reflect the contents of the shelves. When had they arrived? Indeed, many more items occupied the store than were included on the list.

At least legally.

Apprehension settled between her shoulder blades.

The door jerked open, and Sawyer filled its opening, his breath coming quick and harsh. Scowling, he motioned to Frank. "Captain Thomson, you must hurry to the office. Please!"

"Sawyer? What are you doing here?" Frank moved quickly toward his apprentice.

"Sir, please, you must come."

"What's the matter, boy? Spit it out." Frank fastened his cape around his shoulders, preparing to follow the boy back to the office.

"The soldiers are nosing about the plates for tomorrow's edition," Sawyer said. "I didn't know what else to do but come find you."

"You did right, boy. But-" Frank glanced at Emily, an unspoken question hovering in the air.

"I'll be fine." Emily detected concern and uncertainty in his eyes. She shooed him out the door with a wave. "I'll stay put, I promise. Now go."

With a raised brow, he hurried after Sawyer, though he glanced back at her as he pa.s.sed the display window.

Alone, Emily stared at the book on the polished desk. The sheets contained finely written characters, meticulously executed, as though the writer created a work of art rather than a business accounting ledger with its typical scrawl. Page after page contained details of s.h.i.+pments, their date of arrival, the number of crates or containers included, and their general contents. Here sat proof that her father engaged in privateering.

When the door burst open, she didn't look up, expecting Frank to have returned after handling the intruding soldiers.

"Well, well." A razor-sharp voice sliced the air. "Look who we have."

Fear shot through her, and she raised her eyes to see the turncoat standing in the door, one hand on his pistol. Fiddlesticks. Surely John did not think she was dangerous. How ridiculous. Though she did have cause to fear him. The memory of him attacking her in the market rose in her mind, the sound of Tommy's cries echoing in her ears. Keeping John calm must take priority if she was to escape this confrontation without further injury.

"Major Bradley." She rose from her seat, staying behind the desk. His hand gripped the handle of his firearm. When he moistened his lips with his tongue, she gripped the edge of the desk and watched with growing alarm as his eyes roved her body. She kept her voice steady with all her self-control. "Is there aught I can do for you?"

"I'm sure, Miss Sullivan." He strode toward her as he spoke, dropping his hand from his weapon in order to grasp her fingers as he reached her side. "However, this is not a social visit."

"I do not understand, sir." She had no choice but to allow him to retain her hand despite the warning bells ringing in her ears. She hoped he would not repeat the violence he had inflicted on her previously. She also hoped Frank returned very soon to even the odds.

"Your father permits you to work here?" John's eyes took in the open ledger on the desk. "You handle the books?"

What could she say? Her father had no idea she snooped in his financial records on this day. Further, he would be appalled to find her in this part of town alone, though she adhered to her promise and hadn't ventured out by herself. She'd welcome her father's sudden appearance right about now. And where was Frank?

The soldiers. Perhaps they detained him and now more came to arrest her father. They must suspect him of treason. She must prevent the British from apprehending her father as it appeared he dabbled in activities they deemed illegal. Though she also wanted answers from him, she stood her ground. Her duty was clear: protect her family, as her father protected her. Her father's health and welfare remained at stake, and being older he would not fare well in prison. She squared her chin. This sorry excuse for a man dare not arrest a lady.

"I ensure the books are in order for the upcoming week's business," she said, bravado echoing in her voice. Not a lie, per se, but not the truth either. "Is there a problem?"

John nodded, a lascivious grin spreading across his mouth. "Then you'll need to come with me, my love." His grip on her hand tightened painfully.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, as I am expected home." His love indeed! She refrained from challenging his claim. But did he feel the tremor racing through her as he gripped her hand? "My father would not be pleased if I keep him waiting."

"Your father is welcome to join you then. I'll send word to him. Where did you say he is?" He pulled her with him as he started for the door.

"Where are we going? What is this about?" She resisted with all her strength but to no avail. She dragged her feet, wis.h.i.+ng he would stop.

"Your father works as a privateer, an offense not tolerated by King George." Ice formed in his eyes as he gazed at her. "Nor by me. Taking you to the Provost will surely flush him out." Without another word he hauled her along beside him.

He intended to throw her in the bas.e.m.e.nt dungeon of the Old Exchange, with its vermin and disease. Terror snaked through her.

"No! Don't do this!" She slapped at his hand with her free one, futilely attempting to loosen the iron grip. "Unhand me!"

For response, he clapped an arm around her waist and dragged her from the store, onto the street, and shoved her at another soldier standing there. The startled man easily subdued her flailing arms and secured her hands behind her with a length of rope. "Don't fight, miss. It only makes the ropes tighter."

"Stop!" She did not have the strength to fight two brawny men as they hurried her down the street. When they turned the corner, she saw the Old Exchange hunkered at the end of the thoroughfare, its bas.e.m.e.nt windows barred, a pair of stern soldiers standing guard before the steps leading down to the door. "No!"

Frantic at the thought of being locked up in the dark, musty, rat-infested building along the waterfront, she fought against the restraints. As promised, the ropes tightened, searing pain preceding the coppery scent of blood as the rough fibers bit into her tender skin. Still she fought. At one point she managed to twist away from the soldier and turned to flee in the direction from which they'd come. Her mind filled with the thought of Frank. He would help her, save her from this horrific nightmare. What had she done? Her brazen flaunting of the restrictions her father imposed to protect her had landed her in the soup kettle this time.

Looking up Broad Street, she saw Frank stop and stare at her. Unmoving. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he see she'd been arrested? "Frank!"

Strong hands grabbed her from behind, dragging her toward the prison.

Chapter 16.

The ma.s.sive door to the Old Exchange banged shut at the far end of the street as Frank raced toward it. Dirk Reynolds stopped midstride when Frank ran past him. Uncaring what anyone thought, Frank kept his eyes on the door and the two men flanking the heavy wood barrier. One guard, seeing Frank's approach, stepped in front of the door, rifle aimed at him as he skidded to a stop. The second guard lowered his gun into position.

"Captain, turn around and walk away." The first guard used his rifle muzzle to suggest Frank change direction while the other guard aimed steadily at Frank's chest.

Right now Emily may be tortured or beaten in that hole. The b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d likely had his hands on her as well. Feeling ill, Frank took a step, then another.

"I must see her," he said, advancing.

Two rifles trained on him with each step. He peered at the two men, finally recognizing them.

"Captain, go home."

"David, you know me. I saw them take her in there not two minutes ago." He addressed the first guard, raising his hands in submission. "I must know why."

"Go home, Frank," David said kindly, though keeping the gun steady. "You can find out more tomorrow."

"You don't understand. Her father's going to kill me." Frank ran a hand through his hair and grimaced at the two guards.

If only he'd been faster, but he'd been so shocked to see his love dragged down the street by two ogres that his brain refused to function. The shock coupled with the d.a.m.ning letters in his pocket, ones he dared not be caught holding, prevented him from reacting swiftly. His loyalist farce teetered on his next actions. He needed a reason before he entered the devil's lair. Now Emily faced the unspeakable terror a woman would experience in such a dreadful place with the man who would harm her if given the chance. The man who abused Frank's home, his son, and his woman.

"If you go in there, someone will do worse than that to me," David said.

"Please, why did they arrest her?" He couldn't fathom what she could be accused of while sitting in her father's store. He'd vowed to keep her safe and failed. His failure fit as comfortably as a horsehair suit.

"The major did not say, sir," the man said. "I have to ask you to leave now or face the same consequences as your lady."

Recognizing arguing with the guard or being arrested did not further his cause, Frank reluctantly turned away. He started walking up the street, heading slowly back to the Sullivan house in defeat.

What in the store had triggered this a.s.sault? Had she perchance antagonized Bradley again? Maybe he thought she had something to do with her father's clandestine activities. Apprehension raced down his back at the image of witnessing her hanging for treason.

Pausing, he scanned the outside of the Old Exchange, an excellent example of harmony and balance typified by the Palladian style of architecture. He'd always been impressed by the arches on the main floor for the open air marketing exchange and soaring windows of the upper floor. Several small windows were s.p.a.ced around the bottom of the brick structure, allowing in some light, but Emily would hate being trapped inside. His love needed suns.h.i.+ne, birds singing, and flowers to keep her spirit alive and flouris.h.i.+ng.

He needed help, and he knew where to find it. Amy would know who to ask and how to break her out of there without raising suspicion about Frank's involvement. He'd never heard of a woman being held in the Provost as the prisoners tended to be political criminals. Women held no political opinion, so what was Bradley about? He'd lay ten to one odds that the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's commanding officer knew naught of what the major had done. Colonel Balfour would release her post-haste but only if made aware of the situation in a way not involving Frank in the process. He needed Amy's story weaving skills to effect his love's escape from that dark place.

He struck out for the Abernathy home at a run.

Biting her tongue to refrain from speaking her mind, Emily had endured the pus.h.i.+ng and pulling down the steps into the Old Exchange. Once used as the Harbor Master's office and for storing the goods being s.h.i.+pped in and out of town, now only pirates and those who defied the king resided within the odoriferous walls. At one time the building had enjoyed the respect of the town. Now it reeked of the pungent odors of urine, spoilage and decay. She gagged at the overpowering smells a.s.sailing her senses.

"Welcome to your home away from home." John paused in the large communal prison.

Dim light leaked through the small windows situated near the ceiling. Several other prisoners stared at them from where they sat on the cold red brick floor or lay on beds made from piles of straw, but kept their distance. The scrabble of claws in the deeper regions of the s.p.a.ce skittered chills down her back. John peered at her for a moment, a slow smile creasing his face. His leer frightened her and she s.h.i.+vered.

She stumbled when the soldier pushed her forward, the ropes biting deeper. He tugged at the knot and the rope slipped off her wrists. She rubbed the red skin on each wrist to ease the pain.

"You are dismissed," John said to the soldier, keeping his eyes on Emily. Green eyes cold as a dead fish appraised her while he waited for the other man to heed his order.

Silently the man left, glancing over his shoulder before walking away.

Emily swallowed but maintained eye contact with John. He had a heart once, a deep compa.s.sion for animals and people. Raised as a gentleman, surely he would not harm a lady. Yes, he had hurt her in the market, but likely that was a lapse caused by the sudden embarra.s.sment when Tommy pulled his wig askew. She hoped. She raised her chin, portraying a confidence she barely felt.

"First, I must search you for any contraband you might be hiding." His eyes glittered in the dim light. He pushed his sleeves up as he walked toward her. "This won't hurt. You may even enjoy it. Like old times."

"Contraband?" His hands roaming over her? Searching her. No. She shuddered as loathing wriggled through her veins. This couldn't be happening. He must not touch her. She must stall him, think of a way to escape.

"Weapons." He took a step toward her, smirking, and she retreated two steps without consciously commanding her body to move.

"I'm unarmed." Oh G.o.d, help me. Her voice shook, and she swallowed. Squelching panic, she met his ogling expression.

"It's required of all new prisoners." His gaze roamed her body, his measured steps closing the distance between them as inevitably as a rising tide. "Especially the women, with those skirts designed for hiding... secrets. My regrets for inconveniencing you, my sweet, but that is why I sent the other soldier out. Given our intimate past, I thought you'd be more comfortable if I performed the task."

A shudder chilled her spine. Years ago, yes, she had longed for his kiss. A long time ago. She'd grown older and oh so much wiser. She no longer found him fascinating or mysterious. Instead he'd become mean-spirited and violent. And Frank had entered the picture. This man before her, this loyalist turncoat, was completely changed from the kindhearted boy she once knew. He'd matured into a dangerously devious man. No feeling or compa.s.sion dared linger within him.

"Shall we begin?" He took another step, then another.

"It's-it's really not necessary, John." She forced herself to use his common name and to remain still though her instincts screamed at her to flee. To where, she did not know. The steps were outside and she'd have to somehow find a way past the guards. She'd never manage to run by them. Right now she needed his trust. Steeling her determination, she swallowed and nodded. "I promise."

"Is that so?" One hand snared a wrist and tugged her closer. The other hand slid down her arm from shoulder to wrist, patting her sleeve. Her stomach recoiled. He switched hands and repeated the process on the other arm. Bile rose to burn her throat, making it painful to swallow her fear. Turning her around so she faced the wall, he ran both hands down her back. Ten pair of eyes trained on her mortification but n.o.body made a move to intervene. She tried to remain immobile but couldn't and stepped away. She may actually vomit.

He grabbed her by the waist with both hands and squashed her against him, knocking her breath from her chest in a rush. Stunned, she gasped for air, aware of the steely grip digging painfully into her sides. Slowly he turned her back around to face his seething anger.

Gripping her chin painfully, he glared at her. "Do not move away from me again, or you will regret the consequences. Now, hold still."

Trembling at the venom in his voice coupled with his formidable strength, she forced herself to stand like a sculpture as he slowly relaxed his grip enough to continue plundering her body. Each stroke and pat violated her and left her feeling soiled. Shame washed over her.

This was a mistake, a horrid mistake. Violent tremors racked her composure. Frank, where are you?

"It doesn't have to be this way, my dear." John fingered a wayward curl nestled against her neck.

She recalled the last time he did so and Tommy's tears, which nearly caused her own to start. Did the little boy miss her as much as she missed him? The sudden realization that she may never see him again choked her breath. But her father had not raised her to be a coward.

She shook off his hand with a toss of her head. "What do you mean?" Faint hope bloomed in her heart at the promise of an alternative.

He shrugged. "If you tell me your father's whereabouts, I am sure we can work out a compromise."

As a boy John had impressed her with his creative solutions to seemingly impossible situations. She once thought he demonstrated a unique level of mental brilliance in many ways, but perhaps his deviousness actually masqueraded as intelligence. Or maybe those attributes went hand in hand.

"What kind of compromise?"

"You can be mine again, like before." His breath warmed her cheek as he leaned closer, his lips near her ear, his words barely a whisper. "You can be my wife, and then all of this would stop."

Never in a thousand years. "I do not think that is possible since you became a loyalist."

"Of course it is, my dear. Women have no official political opinion but bend to the will of their husband. As you, of course, will." He kissed her cheek, his hands biting into her waist and pulling her against him until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s brushed his chest. Panic flared when she felt the hard evidence of his l.u.s.t against her leg.

"John..." She kept herself rigid, trying to pull away from him, but he held her tight against his hard frame. His suggestion defied logic. Subjugating herself to the will of any man remained out of the question. Never to him.

"Yes?"

"We cannot." No! Death was more appealing.

His eyes searched her face, widening before narrowing dangerously. "It's him, isn't it? That newsman?"

She remained silent, unsure which answer would anger him more, knowing she did love someone or that she didn't but still refused to be with him. The desperation mingled with l.u.s.t in his eyes stirred horror within her.

His punis.h.i.+ng fingers dug into her again. "Be still." He ran his hands down her hips, squeezing and pinching as he probed through the layers of her clothing.

"Major..." She couldn't say more, didn't know what would help or hurt her situation.

He removed his hands from her skirts and resumed his full height, smirking as he tugged on the strings of her bonnet, slipping it off in one smooth motion. It floated to the floor. "Forgive me, my dear, but you carry me away with your beauty."

His hand reached up to search her hair, landing on the hair combs she always wore.

"What have we here?" He searched her expression. "I thought you said you had no weapons."