“Molly is mad for Peter and apparently he is for her,” Callie murmured. “Do you think anything will come of it?”
“I trust you mean marriage, not a by-blow.”
“Of course!” she said indignantly. “I want her to find a kind, devoted husband who will care for her and any family they might have. Like Sarah and Josh.”
“Peter seems like a thoroughly good fellow. Assuming he survives the British attack, yes, I think they might have a future. I suppose her inheritance will be decent?”
“With the slaves all freed it won’t be a great fortune, but should be enough to let her live independently or take a good dowry into a marriage.”
“Money always makes a potential mate more attractive,” Gordon said. “But they’re young. The attraction might be fleeting.”
“I told Molly that, and she wanted to know if at her age I’d been so entranced by a young man that I wanted him above everything.” She chuckled. “I had to admit that never happened to me.”
“No?”
“I thought about it and decided that being friends with you absorbed all my energy where boys were concerned.”
He considered. “The same was true for me. Maybe that made us slower to think about mating than others our age.”
“I’d rather think I was just slow than that there was something wrong with me,” she said wryly.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said reassuringly. “You just lacked opportunity since you went directly from being my best friend into marriage with a man old enough to be your father. I assume that when you reached Jamaica, you were too honorable to take up with a man nearer your own age?”
“I never met anyone who tempted me enough for adultery,” she replied. “What about you? Once you got out into the world, did you find yourself to have the normal amount of interest in the opposite sex?”
Trust Callie to ask such a direct question. He smiled into the night. “Oh, yes. Quite unremarkably normal.” But though he’d met women he enjoyed in and out of bed, he’d never met one who held his mind and heart, or drove him to youthful madness.
“Ever since we met in Washington, I keep thinking how different our lives would have been if we hadn’t been caught by our fathers when we eloped,” she mused. “If we’d married in Scotland, would our lives have been better or worse? Would we have bored each other as we matured and developed roving eyes? Would friendship have been a strong enough foundation for a marriage even if we weren’t mad for each other?”
“I’ve thought about that, too,” he admitted. “I offered to marry you as a friend to save you from an unwanted marriage. But when you gave me a thank-you kiss—well, I realized you were a girl, and that elopement wasn’t such a bad idea.”
She laughed. “Really? I remember being enormously relieved and grateful and excited by the adventure, but not romantic about you. I guess I’m just not very passionate.”
“I beg to differ.” Remembering the way she’d responded to his good-bye kiss earlier in the day—or rather, yesterday—he rolled face to face and kissed her again. Slowly, thoroughly, and feeling quite passionate enough for both of them.
He caressed the subtle arc of her elegant back, sliding over the worn linen till he reached the sweet curve of her backside. His palm stilled there as he drew her tight against his groin.
She made a soft sound deep in her throat and pressed closer yet, her mouth hungry and responsive. She didn’t shift her lower body away but instead slid her leg between his, bringing them into searing contact even through layers of fabric.
Fatigue vanished and he gasped, “If you don’t want this to continue, the time to stop is now!”
Her reply was to slide her hands under his loose shirt, erotically cool against his heated skin. “Let us forget this day, together,” she breathed.
Burying any last gentlemanly scruples, he moved his hand to her breast, feeling the warm fullness through the fabric of her shift. She sucked in her breath and arched into his hand when he thumbed her nipple. She captured his mouth again and her tongue danced against his, teasing and inviting.
He slipped one hand under the hem of her loose shift, skimming his palm up her smooth, shapely leg. Higher, higher, over her hip. Then, delicately, between her thighs until he reached silken, intimate heat. She whimpered and moved her legs apart, the small sound drowned by the rain.
As he explored the sensitive folds, she began to writhe against his deft fingers, her hips rocking into his touch. He realized dizzily that he could take her now and she would welcome him, and his yearning for that mesmerizing fulfillment almost destroyed the last vestiges of his control.
But he had just enough sense left to realize that full intimacy would cross a line that would change everything between them, and perhaps destroy any chance for a future. So tonight there would be no ultimate joining, but he would, by God, prove that she had her share of a woman’s passion!
He reclaimed her irresistible mouth while his fingers delved ever deeper into her most secret places. Heat and moisture and sensual scents, more intoxicating than the best of brandies.
When she shattered under his touch, his mouth captured her cry. She softened against him as her tension slowly dissolved.
He moved his lips to her throat and the delicate hollow of her shoulder, feeling the hot beat of her blood against his tongue. She was so desirable, so sweetly edible.
As her breathing slowed, she flowed bonelessly against him, molding herself so closely that it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. His blood pounded frantically through his veins, demanding satisfaction, but the intensity of her pleasure was almost enough to compensate.
He was halfway back to sane when he realized that her hand was shyly sliding under the waist of his drawers. He’d barely registered that when she clasped him and his whole body went rigid.
She wasn’t expert in her ministrations, but she didn’t need to be. Callie’s hand stroking him, Callie’s body pressed against his, Callie’s essence were enough to melt his brain into blazing oblivion. He crushed her close, groaning, “Callie . . . dear God, Callie!”
“My Richard,” she whispered, her breath a caress against his throat. “My Lionheart.”
Her hand tightened with experimental pressure and triggered a violent culmination that seemed to go on forever, yet was too swiftly done. Blissful oblivion.
He held her close as his mind and body slowly aligned again. When had he known such fierce satisfaction?
Never.
Such contentment?
Never.
“Sorry, Catkin,” he murmured unsteadily. “I didn’t mean this to happen.”
“Nor did I. But it certainly was a fine distraction from a difficult day,” she said with a hint of laughter.
“I’m glad you think so.” He smiled ruefully. “I lied. I’m not the least bit sorry about this even if it was unplanned.”
He gently kneaded her back and neck, not wanting to let her go, ever. Acting on that yearning, he said, “Callie, will you marry me? We’re both rather damaged by life and have our share of limitations, but I think we’re better together than apart.”
She didn’t reply for long, long moments. But she didn’t try to pull away, either. Finally she said, “It’s hard to see beyond the next few days. But if we’re alive and intact after this battle, the subject is worth discussing.”
He laughed exuberantly. “I’m finally beginning to wear you down!”
“I believe you are,” she said with a smile in her voice. “But also, everything has changed since you swept back into my life three weeks ago.”
“My world is different, too.” He’d moved from constant restless seeking to peace. He’d literally traveled around the world to find his way home. Now he just needed to persuade his wary warrior woman to share her life with his.
He kissed the top of her head, then pulled the blankets over them. The rain was slowing, but the temperature had dropped so that the night air was cool. “I’d like to h
old you like this forever.”
“I’ll settle for tonight since we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.” She wriggled delightfully as she found the most comfortable position against him. She fit so well into his embrace. “May dawn be slow in coming!”
His bone deep fatigue had dissolved, leaving relaxed contentment. When had he ever been happier? Never.
He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips.
* * *
The night shattered when the British began to bombard Fort McHenry at dawn. The most powerful navy in the world was knocking on Baltimore’s door.
Chapter 27
Josh guided the physician and his assistant into the warehouse office, all three of them dripping with rain. A dignified man of middle years, the physician had responded immediately to the power of the Carroll name at the end of Peter’s note. After waiting for the sound of a particularly noisy series of bombs to diminish, Josh announced, “Dr. Williams and his assistant, Miss Callista.”
Callie moved around the counter to greet the doctor. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Dr. Williams. The . . . the body is on the worktable back here.” She led the doctor back to where the long, tarpaulin-wrapped shape rested on the table where Molly had worked on her rag rugs.
When they were all gathered around the table, Callie gestured to Richard and Molly and introduced them with the names they’d decided were most appropriate. So many different names! Richard shouldn’t be a lord, and there didn’t need to be any mention that Molly and Trey were illegitimate. Best if she and the young people were all Newells. “This is Mr. Audley and Miss Mary Newell. I assume Josh explained that the deceased is my stepson, Henry Newell, who just arrived from Jamaica in search of his family and became a victim of this dreadful violence?”
Williams nodded as he removed his streaming cloak and handed it to Josh without even glancing at him. Josh played the role of unnoticeable slave very well. “Yes, I gather the unfortunate gentleman was shot. What were the circumstances?”
“Peter Carroll had brought us news that Molly’s brother, a militia sharpshooter, had been wounded during the fighting at North Point,” Richard explained. He’d claimed the honor of telling the necessary lies because he would be best at it. “Josh and I took our cart out to retrieve Trey under Peter’s guidance. We were bringing him home when we discovered Mr. Newell, who was mortally wounded on the road back to the city. Trey was unconscious, but Josh recognized Mr. Newell immediately. His horse had disappeared. Likely stolen by the British.”
Williams made a note in a small notebook. He didn’t seem to find anything suspicious in the account. “Do you know why he rode out into a battlefield?”
“Mr. Newell was still breathing and semiconscious. He said he was seeking his younger brother, whom he knew to be a fine marksman and with the courage to volunteer for the most dangerous position.” Richard’s voice lowered. “He was aware enough to understand that Trey was beside him and not critically wounded. We brought Mr. Newell back to the city in the hope we could get him to a surgeon in time.”
“Alas, it was too late.” Callie dabbed at her eyes with a fine muslin handkerchief. “He had already passed by the time he arrived here. To think that he came all this way because of his young brother and sister!”
“Admirable but foolish,” Williams said gravely as he made another note. “I gather you’re a friend of the family, Mr. Audley?”
“Mrs. Newell and I are betrothed,” Richard said blandly, ignoring startled glances from Callie, Molly, and Josh. “We plan to wed when things have settled down.”
“I was completely undone by Henry’s death,” Callie said, doing her best to sound helpless. “Mr. Audley has been invaluable in helping us through this trying time. He was the one who explained the importance of a certificate of death. Henry was a man of property, and with neither wife nor child of his own, his brother and sister are his heirs. The situation is complicated by the fact that he is from Jamaica, so all must be done properly here.”
“I understand entirely.” The doctor tucked his notebook away inside his coat. “I’m honored that Mr. Carroll suggested me to serve you in such an important matter.”
An unusually violent set of concussions at the fort briefly shook the warehouse. Everyone flinched, but after hours of the bombardment, there were no stronger reactions.
Richard continued, “Henry Newell would have been my stepson. Though I never had the opportunity to truly know him before his tragic demise, I must do my best for him now.” He solemnly pulled the tarpaulin down to reveal Henry’s face. Even in death, lines of anger and brutality showed in his face.
“There is no question of the identity of the deceased?” Dr. Williams asked, which sounded like an official question required before he issued a death certificate.
“Yes, it is certainly my stepson. Here are the papers he carried.” Callie produced the documents that Richard had taken from Henry’s pockets. There had also been a substantial amount of money. They’d confiscated most of it on behalf of Molly and Trey.
“There was also this signet ring.” She showed the gold ring with an elaborate initial N engraved on the flat top. “It belonged to my husband and went to Henry on his father’s death. Now it must go to Matthew’s younger son.” Though she wasn’t sure that Trey would want any part of something Henry had worn.
Williams nodded. “Can anyone else identify the body?”
Molly stepped forward. “Yes, it is certainly my older brother, Henry. If only he hadn’t come to America!” She began to cry, her sobs echoing through the warehouse office. Callie put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“Trey, the younger brother, can also swear to his identity,” Richard said. “He can’t manage the stairs because of his leg wound, but he saw Henry yesterday and was conscious enough to testify. I can take you up to him if you like.”
“No, that isn’t necessary.” Williams pulled the canvas all the way down to Henry’s waist, revealing the wound in the center of his chest, blood dried on the shirt around it. “Nor is there any question of the manner of death.” The physician shook his head sadly. “Such a young man. A pity that Mr. Newell traveled so far to aid his family only to meet death so far from his home.”
“A great loss for Jamaican society and for his family,” Richard agreed piously. Callie had to admit that he lied very well. He continued, “Our last duty to Mr. Newell is to give him a proper Christian burial. He was Church of England and that would be our choice if a church is convenient.”
“St. Paul’s, which I attend, is quite near.” Williams smiled with a touch of humor as he pulled the tarpaulin over Henry’s head again. “We Baltimoreans are proud of our city, but it’s a modest size compared to London! Everything is nearby.”
“Do you think the vicar would be able to help us?” Callie asked. No one mentioned that the hot weather made time a significant issue.
“The vicar, Reverend Harbow, is a friend of mine.” Williams smiled soberly. “In the last fortnight, he told me he’d have the sexton dig extra graves in case they were needed after the battle. I’m sure he’d be willing to oblige you with a swift funeral. There’s a coffin maker nearby who also made extras just in case.”
How very practical. Callie drew a deep breath, realizing she couldn’t wait to get Henry safely buried. “Richard, my dear, shall we call on the vicar?”
“Of course.” Richard lifted one of the oilskin capes they’d brought down because of the pouring rain and draped it over her shoulders. “Dr. Williams, could you send your assistant to the coffin shop to order one brought here? We have a cart that can transport the coffin to the church if the Reverend Harbow can accommodate us.”
“I’m happy to lend what aid I can.” Williams beckoned the assistant closer and explained, after which Richard gave the man some of Henry’s money for the coffin. The money was proving useful since even Richard didn’t have unlimited resources.
It was decided that Molly and Josh would stay with the body till t
he coffin arrived. Callie and Richard would go to St. Paul’s and try to persuade the vicar to bury a distinguished foreigner who was not of his parish. Callie silently prayed that the funeral could be held right away, preferably this afternoon.
Dr. Williams accompanied them out and gave directions to St. Paul’s before taking his leave. Callie took a firm hold of Richard’s arm as wind and rain buffeted them and cannons boomed in the distance. When they were out of earshot of the doctor, she asked with dangerous sweetness, “How did I miss the fact that we’re betrothed?”
Richard grinned. “I thought if we were on the verge of marriage it would give me more standing to deal with doctors and vicars and the like.”
She rolled her eyes. “Remind me to break our betrothal after we’ve buried Henry.”
“Yes, Catkin,” he said meekly, but his eyes were dancing. “It will be as if the betrothal never happened.”
She ducked her head and concentrated on the sloppy footing. She’d never admit it, but she found it . . . interesting to test the idea of being betrothed to Richard. It no longer sounded impossible or undesirable.
She glanced at him askance. Blast the man! After the previous night and the discovery of a passionate side she hadn’t realized she possessed, it was becoming harder and harder to imagine sending him away. Easier and easier to imagine them sharing a bed . . .
Later! She’d think about the future later. For now, she’d concentrate on burying her stepson, and on blocking out the constant boom of the guns.
* * *
The funeral of Henry Newell was swift and simple. Callie guessed that everyone in the city who wasn’t on the front lines of battle was taut with nerves from the ongoing battle and grateful to have worthwhile work to do. Reverend Harbow had been very sympathetic and helpful. It surely didn’t hurt that Richard had mentioned the name “Carroll” a time or two.