The Turncoat Read Online Free

Tremayne.
    Treason. To speak the name of France, where no doubt Congress was already begging powder, shot, and ordnance, was to speak treason. And behind a slender walnut panel, folded, signed, and sealed, was also treason.
    She willed herself to look away and to answer the man looming over her. “Quakers are pacifists, Major. I’ve no notion where to acquire such things.”
    *   *   *
    A quarter of an hour of Mrs. Ferrers’ company in the parlor convinced Peter Tremayne that he would be better off with the affections of his horse. Her manner was polished and charming. She laughed prettily at his jokes. She paid him deft compliments and asked a steady stream of flattering questions. She would have been at home in any London drawing room, and like most of the English ladies of her class, she ventured no opinions, offered no counterarguments, tendered no opposition to anything he said.
    So when the country niece, whom he had barely noticed, betrayed an argumentative nature and a curiously martial education, he was intrigued.
    She had made no impression on him outside the house, and later had contrived to hide behind the harpsichord in the parlor. The girl was a baffling contradiction. Her plain clothes, long, undressed hair, and unmarried status marked her as an innocent, but she had the frank and aggressive manner of an experienced woman.
    He moved closer and noted her wide, expressive eyes and fine skin. Of her body beneath the shapeless jacket he could tell nothing. Her skirts were wrinkled and appeared damp and charred at the hem, and he suspected that the granules clinging to her hair were bits of piecrust. He was, against all reason, enchanted.
    The aunt had panicked when the girl started talking politics. The widow was clearly a Tory, anxious to preserve her property and favored status during the occupation. Kate was something different.
    Quaker women, he knew, were encouraged to be freethinkers, and had even been known to preach at their meetings. Whatever Kate was, though, she was guileless. He had baited her easily and noted her sudden flush when she realized what he had done.
    Her eyes had betrayed her. There was something hidden in the fireplace behind him. He was uninterested in her secrets. Quakers weren’t inclined toward intrigue. But his thoughts were turning inevitably to seduction, and this just might prove an opening gambit.
    “Quakers are pacifists, Major. I’ve no notion where to acquire such things.”
    “France,” he supplied. “The Rebels will seek aid from France. The Old Enemy.”
    “But surely that would bring the French into open war with Britain.”
    “Yes. And for that reason, France won’t risk such aid unless the Rebels win a significant victory. Trenton, no matter how many Hessians were captured, was a skirmish, not a battle.” Without taking his eyes off Kate, he ran his hand along the mantel behind him, felt the spring, and pressed.
    He didn’t turn to look. The expression on the girl’s face, her dark eyes wide, told him he’d found what he was looking for. The sound of surprise she made was curiously erotic to him.
    He turned to the opening he had discovered and fished out a sealed letter. He turned it over in his hands. No address. “How charming. A secret letter. Miss Grey, whomever can you be writing to?”
    *   *   *
    K ate had been reluctant to trust Mrs. Ferrers. Now she wished fervently that the missive had been fed to the fire.
    Peter Tremayne turned the letter over in his long, slender fingers. “No address. Now that is mysterious.”
    Kate realized that Peter Tremayne was playing a game unfamiliar to her.
    “Perhaps we should open it to determine its direction?” He fingered the seal on the letter.
    She held out her hand and spoke as she would to an errant child. “It isn’t addressed to you . That much is clear.”
    He looked at her open palm curiously and appeared to consider it a moment. He held the letter out to her, but before she could grasp